10-12-2018, 01:09 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]If there was one thing Lazarus had learned in his life before The Ascendants, before Gabe, it was that in the end, he was alone. Nobody had his back. So he had learned not to expect it, but to relish in it when he could. There was no point in feeling bitter over something's loss — if it never meant anything, it would never hurt. In action, that mentality had fostered a sort of ruthlessness in the dog. Gabriel had picked him up off of a street corner because of his own failure to kill the hybrid, and before that he survived through his own force of will. He wanted to live more than the others, he was more capable of living than the others. So why not? Why not take what he needed or wanted or just — thought of? Why not? Dark thoughts had been fostered by darker people, and in saving him, Gabe had rid the world of creatures worse than him. (Were they? Worse, that is. He's trying; it's not enough.)
Over the months, though, the dog had softened. Piece by piece, bit by bit. Memories of rotting food and bared teeth faded slowly as they were replaced with the way that light bounced off of their Starpool. He read better, he talked better, he didn't feel so terribly distant from everyone around him. The medics seemed to care about him, the way that they care for everyone, and when Gabe had been off on his mission, Lazarus had... adjusted. First to the guilt — before that, he had never known what it felt like to regret his actions — and then to the people. With time, he hadn't hated the world so fiercely. That doesn't mean that he doesn't remember it.
Anger still burns underneath his skin like a smoldering fire, ready to ignite again at the slightest change in the breeze. Now it comes literally. People brush too close to him, say something to sharp, and red wreathes around him, lights up the slick black of his fur. And it feels like — he feels like a lost cause, an' he feels like everyone knows it. He knows there's at least someone out there that wouldn't agree, but the feeling still has the canine leaving the Observatory more often than usual, which was saying something. He had spent most of his day so far lazing at the edge of the forest or the Starpool, rotating between the two whenever things got noisy or he just needed a change of scenery. Now, with his stomach full and hunger sated, is a great time for one of those shifts. What he had hoped would be a peaceful nap near the water is suddenly anything but. The familiar scents of death and fire draw Lazarus in with a wrinkled nose, head cocked in confusion until he stands right in the midst of it.
A hundred things click into place at once. Green eyes widen and his stomach drops to the dirt. (Your fault? It's not your fault. You didn't do this.) Despite his own assurances, hindered by his own fear, Laz isn't entirely sure if he believes his mantra.
Over the months, though, the dog had softened. Piece by piece, bit by bit. Memories of rotting food and bared teeth faded slowly as they were replaced with the way that light bounced off of their Starpool. He read better, he talked better, he didn't feel so terribly distant from everyone around him. The medics seemed to care about him, the way that they care for everyone, and when Gabe had been off on his mission, Lazarus had... adjusted. First to the guilt — before that, he had never known what it felt like to regret his actions — and then to the people. With time, he hadn't hated the world so fiercely. That doesn't mean that he doesn't remember it.
Anger still burns underneath his skin like a smoldering fire, ready to ignite again at the slightest change in the breeze. Now it comes literally. People brush too close to him, say something to sharp, and red wreathes around him, lights up the slick black of his fur. And it feels like — he feels like a lost cause, an' he feels like everyone knows it. He knows there's at least someone out there that wouldn't agree, but the feeling still has the canine leaving the Observatory more often than usual, which was saying something. He had spent most of his day so far lazing at the edge of the forest or the Starpool, rotating between the two whenever things got noisy or he just needed a change of scenery. Now, with his stomach full and hunger sated, is a great time for one of those shifts. What he had hoped would be a peaceful nap near the water is suddenly anything but. The familiar scents of death and fire draw Lazarus in with a wrinkled nose, head cocked in confusion until he stands right in the midst of it.
A hundred things click into place at once. Green eyes widen and his stomach drops to the dirt. (Your fault? It's not your fault. You didn't do this.) Despite his own assurances, hindered by his own fear, Laz isn't entirely sure if he believes his mantra.
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｢ GRAVE DIGGER, GRAVE DIGGER. [url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=7333.msg48711#msg48711]INFO. ｣