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he's not technically dead yet, but he will be very. very shortly, so. uh. yeah. incident and injury are not described in detail so there shouldn't really be anything. awful here? aside from death and blood.
Lazarus had never been a fan of the cold. Even without leaves to start falling, he would know when it was close. A nip in the air would drive the younger dogs to huddle together, a pile of shifting fur. He had not been a part of those piles for long (too rough, even for street kids), so afterwards he would grow wary of those first nips in the air, frowning as the chill bit at his skin under short fur that was hardly meant for this. He earned the warmest corners because he had no other option, except to keel over and admit defeat. That had never been his way in life. Lazarus fought for every inch he gained towards the future. It never stuck around, that inch, but eventually he gained two, and three, and four. Months later, he was miles away from the street corner and that sudden, relentless cold. These days, at least he has a warning. His second fall, and he's starting to feel that chill again.
The leaves at the edge of The Ascendants' territory are turning all kinds of pretty colors, like flickering candle flames, maybe. It took him long enough to realize that it was better this way. The world was beautiful. He never saw it when it was black and grey — he slept on concrete until everything hurt and his body scabbed up. The grass here is soft. He sits at the edge of their pool sometimes and just thinks, even when he's not battling down a fever. Rituals surrounding this place went right over his head. To Lazarus, it was only pretty. But that on its own is enough to calm him down, even if it means nothing to him. Or maybe the meaning is just different than what it should be. He doesn't understand the pendants and the necklaces and the the meteorites. Stars don't mean anything. It's just... people. People are starting to matter.
He made it this far because of Gabriel. That was the only reason he ever made it off of that street corner, to a place where leaves let him know that it was getting cold before the snow did. The world is open and he feels free, but there's a debt to be paid. Nobody who knows him would say that they expected him to live a long, peaceful life. Life around him was a violent whirlwind. He had never learned how to be gentle, though people had tried. Old habits died hard, or so they said. That didn't mean he was entirely incapable of learning new things — he tried, even if it wasn't always enough. He didn't bite, didn't snarl, didn't snap when people got too close. But there was some doubt lingering, after the recent... mess. Both in their minds and his. It made this decision an easier one, because if he couldn't live right, maybe he could die right.
Everything went slower than he would expect it to, but it was also far more peaceful than he would ever deserve. Lazarus was used to bleeding. His body pressed firmly against the ground shields clear water from the deep red that flows almost lethargically now. It slicks his throat and his chest, sticky and heavy, and he feels so... sleepy, pleasantly so, though his heart was beating faster against his skin. There's a certain peace to be found in what's inevitable. Like death, and winter.
he's not technically dead yet, but he will be very. very shortly, so. uh. yeah. incident and injury are not described in detail so there shouldn't really be anything. awful here? aside from death and blood.
small description of the wound if anyone needs to know?:
The leaves at the edge of The Ascendants' territory are turning all kinds of pretty colors, like flickering candle flames, maybe. It took him long enough to realize that it was better this way. The world was beautiful. He never saw it when it was black and grey — he slept on concrete until everything hurt and his body scabbed up. The grass here is soft. He sits at the edge of their pool sometimes and just thinks, even when he's not battling down a fever. Rituals surrounding this place went right over his head. To Lazarus, it was only pretty. But that on its own is enough to calm him down, even if it means nothing to him. Or maybe the meaning is just different than what it should be. He doesn't understand the pendants and the necklaces and the the meteorites. Stars don't mean anything. It's just... people. People are starting to matter.
He made it this far because of Gabriel. That was the only reason he ever made it off of that street corner, to a place where leaves let him know that it was getting cold before the snow did. The world is open and he feels free, but there's a debt to be paid. Nobody who knows him would say that they expected him to live a long, peaceful life. Life around him was a violent whirlwind. He had never learned how to be gentle, though people had tried. Old habits died hard, or so they said. That didn't mean he was entirely incapable of learning new things — he tried, even if it wasn't always enough. He didn't bite, didn't snarl, didn't snap when people got too close. But there was some doubt lingering, after the recent... mess. Both in their minds and his. It made this decision an easier one, because if he couldn't live right, maybe he could die right.
Everything went slower than he would expect it to, but it was also far more peaceful than he would ever deserve. Lazarus was used to bleeding. His body pressed firmly against the ground shields clear water from the deep red that flows almost lethargically now. It slicks his throat and his chest, sticky and heavy, and he feels so... sleepy, pleasantly so, though his heart was beating faster against his skin. There's a certain peace to be found in what's inevitable. Like death, and winter.
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｢ GRAVE DIGGER, GRAVE DIGGER. [url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=7333.msg48711#msg48711]INFO. ｣