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IT'S A WICKED TWISTED FABLE
Argus could not, would not go home. Not like this, unstable and rash and so, so close to shattering as it is. They couldn't handle it, couldn't handle the brutal tide of responsibility, the chilling weight of familiarity. Kind faces- kind hearts and it was all just so undeserving. They, were just so undeserving of it all. This wasn't a new thought, no matter what they like to think this was not the reason they left but just another reason to stay away, at least for another month. Until this month fades and the stability will at least normalize. But not now, not here. Argus’ mind is a battleground, and their soul has always been split- shattered and fractured at the edges like a fraying cloth worried under anxious hands. As much as people play in pretend that the month is just another, the converging lines between spirit and living has never been closer, so close to them but so, so spiralling. Even now their paws tremble with their will, the only thing keeping them from stumbling unto their feet. And the reason why is such a guarded secret, because everything about Argus always is.
There are some, that knew. Some dead and gone and well and truly silent, as the grave. Keeping the masses ignorant has nothing to do with their mortality of their nature or even what they would bring with them beyond this life, but just an instinctive habit. It's a tragedy that it will remain as such, because as much as Argus is blantedly unashamed of every painstakingly flaw on their body they have an insistant rejection to the change of their habits. They hunt at night, they do not hunt together, they have their habits, keeping secrets is not the only one. Secrets of things that will do no one good- not even themself. They will keep it for nothing else but that, if for nothing else, than these habits. Their own refusal to admit to their fear of such secrets is one if the reasons why their spirit remains a frayed hand me down of its former self.
Because they are a spirit, maybe not full shinigami or full spirit-consuming beast but a blurred outline of something trapped. Possessing the empty shell of a body carved to mimic the one that Argus once had- that whisper once had. The soul befalls the other half of them, and with the possession if the body, the consumption of the spirit- all claimed to the beast now living under this skin. It is not immortality, but it is a near thing, a dangerous thing- they always are when reguareing argus. They've never graced the afterlife beyond sparse moments, and even then it was only the barests gaps between. Enough to cement the fact that the afterlife was real, but not enough to convince them they wanted any part in it. So they stay away, stay in the world with the living and cling to the dead all the same. Cling to this earth while the rest if their spirit cries enough, wants to be home wants to drift within that something of an afterlife, and forget the horrendous grievances of their living, waking life. But Argus was always a coward, their soul reeks of putrid fear and inaction that bleeds into their own conscious and tells them to hate, to consume.
For this month only, they allow their soul to break and well and truly shatter. If at the end it is no longer Argus in the center- in control, then at least they can be a semblance of whole again.
That does not mean Argus does not lament that fact. Despise their own cowardance for the simple matter than fear is what keeps them complacent. Keeps then away from pincher and his trust in them, in the small little snare that was once so bright gone missing because they can never hold onto what is theirs what they wants to be there for once. Will never be. There was a reason why villians were never meant to retire, and this is it, isn't it? Because the very real possibility to leave them all behind is a bit ruthless and nauseating to think about, but they have done it before- they have all done it before and where would they go? Would they one day set to stare into their comrades eyes on the other side - the wrong side of the battlefield? Rend them in two? Destroy this home they have made for themself just as easily as they used to?
It's not like they don't dream it already.
It isn't like that hasn't happened to them before- had it happened to them before.
They are not good, and the fact that they do not cry is proof of that. Proof that Argus is not kind or just, in fact she has attempted to prove otherwise many many times. They have proved it before and there will come a time to do it again, but today, tonight, there is a greater evil. It seeps under their skin like a dark familiar stranger. October is the month that it happens, the dead and living interact and as much as Argus is dead- a spirit another part seeths alive just as strong. And it cries out for blood.
It's a premonition, not necessary now but Argus wants to prepare, leave her things in places they can find it easily again and lose the things she has taken that they want to forget. So, sunhaven. The town for trade and the like, here they can sell their wares, and be out just as quick.
What once was a wolf is now a glorified lizard. Eyes swivel around distinct places along the porcalyn bone adoneing their face, a light purple cloak wraps around their small form, the size of a dog, hides the rest of their features. Only showing the belly full of scales and the tuff's if fur along their spine like a mane. A small sack grasped in their jaws as they set it on the border, pull out each item onto display and wait for someone to come browse their wares.
A few books on healing and battle strategy, a fee carved gym neckalces, dreamcatchers, small potted plants of Callas and even a catctus.
The only thing they keep their own, is the blade. This they secure around their own back, small wakashi with a similar purple hued hilt.
IT'S A WICKED TWISTED FABLE
Argus could not, would not go home. Not like this, unstable and rash and so, so close to shattering as it is. They couldn't handle it, couldn't handle the brutal tide of responsibility, the chilling weight of familiarity. Kind faces- kind hearts and it was all just so undeserving. They, were just so undeserving of it all. This wasn't a new thought, no matter what they like to think this was not the reason they left but just another reason to stay away, at least for another month. Until this month fades and the stability will at least normalize. But not now, not here. Argus’ mind is a battleground, and their soul has always been split- shattered and fractured at the edges like a fraying cloth worried under anxious hands. As much as people play in pretend that the month is just another, the converging lines between spirit and living has never been closer, so close to them but so, so spiralling. Even now their paws tremble with their will, the only thing keeping them from stumbling unto their feet. And the reason why is such a guarded secret, because everything about Argus always is.
There are some, that knew. Some dead and gone and well and truly silent, as the grave. Keeping the masses ignorant has nothing to do with their mortality of their nature or even what they would bring with them beyond this life, but just an instinctive habit. It's a tragedy that it will remain as such, because as much as Argus is blantedly unashamed of every painstakingly flaw on their body they have an insistant rejection to the change of their habits. They hunt at night, they do not hunt together, they have their habits, keeping secrets is not the only one. Secrets of things that will do no one good- not even themself. They will keep it for nothing else but that, if for nothing else, than these habits. Their own refusal to admit to their fear of such secrets is one if the reasons why their spirit remains a frayed hand me down of its former self.
Because they are a spirit, maybe not full shinigami or full spirit-consuming beast but a blurred outline of something trapped. Possessing the empty shell of a body carved to mimic the one that Argus once had- that whisper once had. The soul befalls the other half of them, and with the possession if the body, the consumption of the spirit- all claimed to the beast now living under this skin. It is not immortality, but it is a near thing, a dangerous thing- they always are when reguareing argus. They've never graced the afterlife beyond sparse moments, and even then it was only the barests gaps between. Enough to cement the fact that the afterlife was real, but not enough to convince them they wanted any part in it. So they stay away, stay in the world with the living and cling to the dead all the same. Cling to this earth while the rest if their spirit cries enough, wants to be home wants to drift within that something of an afterlife, and forget the horrendous grievances of their living, waking life. But Argus was always a coward, their soul reeks of putrid fear and inaction that bleeds into their own conscious and tells them to hate, to consume.
For this month only, they allow their soul to break and well and truly shatter. If at the end it is no longer Argus in the center- in control, then at least they can be a semblance of whole again.
That does not mean Argus does not lament that fact. Despise their own cowardance for the simple matter than fear is what keeps them complacent. Keeps then away from pincher and his trust in them, in the small little snare that was once so bright gone missing because they can never hold onto what is theirs what they wants to be there for once. Will never be. There was a reason why villians were never meant to retire, and this is it, isn't it? Because the very real possibility to leave them all behind is a bit ruthless and nauseating to think about, but they have done it before- they have all done it before and where would they go? Would they one day set to stare into their comrades eyes on the other side - the wrong side of the battlefield? Rend them in two? Destroy this home they have made for themself just as easily as they used to?
It's not like they don't dream it already.
It isn't like that hasn't happened to them before- had it happened to them before.
They are not good, and the fact that they do not cry is proof of that. Proof that Argus is not kind or just, in fact she has attempted to prove otherwise many many times. They have proved it before and there will come a time to do it again, but today, tonight, there is a greater evil. It seeps under their skin like a dark familiar stranger. October is the month that it happens, the dead and living interact and as much as Argus is dead- a spirit another part seeths alive just as strong. And it cries out for blood.
It's a premonition, not necessary now but Argus wants to prepare, leave her things in places they can find it easily again and lose the things she has taken that they want to forget. So, sunhaven. The town for trade and the like, here they can sell their wares, and be out just as quick.
What once was a wolf is now a glorified lizard. Eyes swivel around distinct places along the porcalyn bone adoneing their face, a light purple cloak wraps around their small form, the size of a dog, hides the rest of their features. Only showing the belly full of scales and the tuff's if fur along their spine like a mane. A small sack grasped in their jaws as they set it on the border, pull out each item onto display and wait for someone to come browse their wares.
A few books on healing and battle strategy, a fee carved gym neckalces, dreamcatchers, small potted plants of Callas and even a catctus.
The only thing they keep their own, is the blade. This they secure around their own back, small wakashi with a similar purple hued hilt.
[glow=#212121,2,300]She's unstable![/glow]
[W]isker