10-11-2018, 11:43 PM
He would have a similar stance to Pincher had he grown up in this world, but seeing that cats could speak to dragons and butterflies could breathe fire, nothing ever really surprised him now. Of course, this wasn't to say that Bakugou knew everything. He was simply far more open to the strange shenanigans that happened around him, watching the way events unfolded rather swimmingly. There is a nonchalance that simmers beneath his skin, a superior detachment flickering from his sanguine hues when it came to the supernatural. Always, he reminds himself, it should be expected. And yet he had been genuinely gripped in confusion when he chose to walk outside, touched by an eerily cold breeze that somehow made him shiver despite the constant fire that burned within him. He didn't see anything at first, nothing through the dark, abyssal backdrop that coated their tropical landscape. It was all painted into a sea of black, a murkiness even seemed to cloud the brightness of the stars above him. All he can do is watch and wait. The moon watches too. But unlike Bakugou, the moon knew.
He was about to re-enter his hut when he heard the wails, the agonised voices that filled the emptiness around him, encircling him. They strangled the silence away and suddenly Bakugou realised he misses the silence, the quiet that had so indifferently held him. "What th -" his own voice died, his own noises becoming inaudible among the shrieking shrill which rung against his pointed ears. He struggled to hear as if he was muted, straining himself that it felt like blood was being drained from the sides of his face. The Reaver winces, stepping forward and swatting at what must have been flies. But he begins to notice the small, reflective glow of white bones, whizzing past him like a storm, spinning around him. On instinct, fire begins to surround his body like a protective shield. He blasts fire from left to right, in front of him and behind him, desperate to shoo whatever was on his back. FUCK OFF, he feels himself shout but he can't hear, deafened by the ringing in his ears before finally snapping and channeling a column of fire. Red, hot flames rise, illuminating the area around him and shooting to the sky. Wails turned into screeching because legend had it that ghosts did not enjoy the light. They appeared in hauntings to the night but were banished upon morning.
Exhausted of his energy, having not slept and unleashing more power than he should have been able to, he felt his own body begin to crumble from the grasps of fatigue. He was ready to collapse, ears suddenly screaming with sound as if the world had been unmuted and was now blasted at full volume, when he heard a yowl from across the beach. Marcellus? His instinct was to move, legs suddenly sliding to push his body forward but slipping instead. He thuds, skidding down the small hill that led to his house and welcoming a mouth full of sand. He coughs, choking and spitting grains, spluttering uncomfortably. But he's closer to Marcellus, seeing the Toyger attacked by bones. Teleport. He can teleport there. And yet...he's so tired. He could close his eyes in this mysterious war, let himself be overcome by the shrills. He heaves his body with a paw, focusing tremendously over the fatigue when the floating, moving skeleton of a cat rams into him. It wakes him up for that instance, allowing his body to blink from his current position to [member=1489]MARCELLUS[/member] . Then, instantly, he pushes himself to breathe a jet of blames at the bones which continued to harass the Toyger. "F-FuCK OFF!" he chokes on his words, wheezing and rasping from air from the overuse of his powers.
He was shaking in his own fur, but not out of fear of the ghosts but from the excess of energy he had used. He could hardly stand on his own paws. This is too much to be some shithead's prank, the ragdoll thinks to himself, continuing to talk to himself from within the safety of his own mind. The more he talks himself through this, the more awake he can keep himself. It doesn't, however, stop the nausea from setting in. Wails beginning to pick up again, reverberating with the shifting sands. Bakugou lifts a quivering paw, "My hut. Get... get to my hut."
He was about to re-enter his hut when he heard the wails, the agonised voices that filled the emptiness around him, encircling him. They strangled the silence away and suddenly Bakugou realised he misses the silence, the quiet that had so indifferently held him. "What th -" his own voice died, his own noises becoming inaudible among the shrieking shrill which rung against his pointed ears. He struggled to hear as if he was muted, straining himself that it felt like blood was being drained from the sides of his face. The Reaver winces, stepping forward and swatting at what must have been flies. But he begins to notice the small, reflective glow of white bones, whizzing past him like a storm, spinning around him. On instinct, fire begins to surround his body like a protective shield. He blasts fire from left to right, in front of him and behind him, desperate to shoo whatever was on his back. FUCK OFF, he feels himself shout but he can't hear, deafened by the ringing in his ears before finally snapping and channeling a column of fire. Red, hot flames rise, illuminating the area around him and shooting to the sky. Wails turned into screeching because legend had it that ghosts did not enjoy the light. They appeared in hauntings to the night but were banished upon morning.
Exhausted of his energy, having not slept and unleashing more power than he should have been able to, he felt his own body begin to crumble from the grasps of fatigue. He was ready to collapse, ears suddenly screaming with sound as if the world had been unmuted and was now blasted at full volume, when he heard a yowl from across the beach. Marcellus? His instinct was to move, legs suddenly sliding to push his body forward but slipping instead. He thuds, skidding down the small hill that led to his house and welcoming a mouth full of sand. He coughs, choking and spitting grains, spluttering uncomfortably. But he's closer to Marcellus, seeing the Toyger attacked by bones. Teleport. He can teleport there. And yet...he's so tired. He could close his eyes in this mysterious war, let himself be overcome by the shrills. He heaves his body with a paw, focusing tremendously over the fatigue when the floating, moving skeleton of a cat rams into him. It wakes him up for that instance, allowing his body to blink from his current position to [member=1489]MARCELLUS[/member] . Then, instantly, he pushes himself to breathe a jet of blames at the bones which continued to harass the Toyger. "F-FuCK OFF!" he chokes on his words, wheezing and rasping from air from the overuse of his powers.
He was shaking in his own fur, but not out of fear of the ghosts but from the excess of energy he had used. He could hardly stand on his own paws. This is too much to be some shithead's prank, the ragdoll thinks to himself, continuing to talk to himself from within the safety of his own mind. The more he talks himself through this, the more awake he can keep himself. It doesn't, however, stop the nausea from setting in. Wails beginning to pick up again, reverberating with the shifting sands. Bakugou lifts a quivering paw, "My hut. Get... get to my hut."