11-15-2018, 08:28 AM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"][ its my son ]
The problem with being such a warm, seemingly social creature as he seemed to be was that inevitably Des found his way back to civilization one way or another. There was a price to pay no matter what he chose to do, and regardless of if he stayed alone or among others, his demons would haunt him. It was simply a matter of how long he could allow himself to be surrounded before the fears started to get under his skin, both based on history and not. There was nothing promising him that no one in the places Desperado chose to inhabit wouldn't hurt him, and likewise he could not promise anyone else the same courtesy. His moods were fickle, his demons ugly... and sometimes, when the shadows seemed to hold nothing but monsters, his paws became far too twitchy and blood would spill. It had happened many times already, both to friends and enemies alike, and now there was very little trust left in everything for Des to bother much with staying in places.
He was a self-made wanderer, moving from place to place with the hope that eventually things would get better. He'd been repeating that for the past three years, however, and so far it proved to be an empty mantra. It was to no surprise, then, that sometimes he just needed to run and escape whatever was plaguing him, either by leaving the situation entirely or through one of his many vices. Sometimes it worked, and he inevitably found himself returning to whatever place he could find it in himself to call home. For now it was here, with this ragtag group of pirates who, despite their flaws, stuck together and were the closest thing to a family Desperado could ever hope for (and even then they were hardly a family. Half of them didn't even know his name with how much he tended to disappear.)
Maybe it would have bothered him more if he didn't know that it was for the best. The less people he was attached to, and the less people who were attached to him, the easier it would be to run before things got messy again. A small part of him despised every time he changed his scenario again, but a bigger, louder part made it easy. His demons had one hell of a hold on him, and at this point it seemed like he was becoming more and more like them with each passing day. Tired, volatile, with a penchant for obstinance just for obstinance's sake.
The easy smile never faded, though. The charm still stayed, a useful skill to weasling his way in and out of situations when the time called for it. It was how he knew so much about others while giving away so little about himself. Most either didn't realize or didn't question him on it, whether it was because they simply didn't care or they didn't want to bother fighting him on it. He wouldn't blame them either way; he was hardly someone worth caring about. As long as he kept his nose in his own business and didn't say the wrong thing at the wrong time, most of the people here were content with letting him do his own thing. He always came back, regardess. Maybe they trusted him because they knew he had nowhere else to go.
Or maybe that was his own head talking again, and he was looking too deep into every little action that everyone presented to him. You didn't survive by being ignorant, though. Small details never failed to escape him because he knew that one day they might help him escape. The more you knew about people without them realizing it, the more you had under your sleeve when the time came to either fight or flee.
Small details such as the stranger sitting on the border, one of not too many to not ring the damn bell the moment he saw it to send everyone's ears ringing and panties in a twist to see who could get to the border the fastest. Maybe he didn't see it, or maybe he detested the sound as much as everyone else here seemed to. That or (if Desperado knew half as much about his own problems as he claimed to) he was nervous, questioning his decision and waiting to see if anyone would notice him before he could slip quietly away like he had never been there. Des had been in that position many times already to pick up a few hints, but, as always, he kept his nose in his own business the same way he hoped everyone else would. He wasn't going to go picking at people's problems, not when he had his own.
He found that, for the first time in a very long time, he wasn't sure what else to say as he padded over to meet Bakugou at the gate. It was easy to retort with a quip when the party responding had said anything to begin with, but all that the tiger had offered to them was a hello that wasn't even directed to anyone in particular. It was that mixed with that constant, tiring ache that forced him into subdued silence, brooding over his own decisions and wondering if there was something he was supposed to say but couldn't find at the moment.
No matter. His maw still held an easy smile, dual colored eyes steadily taking into account the tiger's rather scarred form. There was very little he could judge without sounding like a hypocrite, his own body marred and raised from countless sustained injuries, the newest addition to those being the one on his neck, coincidentally hidden by the jeweled collar he had favored today over the black necklace that reminded him a little too much of his past for that day. He was exhausted with remembering, and even though he never failed to seek out the first thing that could hurt him in a room full of weapons both physical and mental, today he just wanted to rest.
The problem with being such a warm, seemingly social creature as he seemed to be was that inevitably Des found his way back to civilization one way or another. There was a price to pay no matter what he chose to do, and regardless of if he stayed alone or among others, his demons would haunt him. It was simply a matter of how long he could allow himself to be surrounded before the fears started to get under his skin, both based on history and not. There was nothing promising him that no one in the places Desperado chose to inhabit wouldn't hurt him, and likewise he could not promise anyone else the same courtesy. His moods were fickle, his demons ugly... and sometimes, when the shadows seemed to hold nothing but monsters, his paws became far too twitchy and blood would spill. It had happened many times already, both to friends and enemies alike, and now there was very little trust left in everything for Des to bother much with staying in places.
He was a self-made wanderer, moving from place to place with the hope that eventually things would get better. He'd been repeating that for the past three years, however, and so far it proved to be an empty mantra. It was to no surprise, then, that sometimes he just needed to run and escape whatever was plaguing him, either by leaving the situation entirely or through one of his many vices. Sometimes it worked, and he inevitably found himself returning to whatever place he could find it in himself to call home. For now it was here, with this ragtag group of pirates who, despite their flaws, stuck together and were the closest thing to a family Desperado could ever hope for (and even then they were hardly a family. Half of them didn't even know his name with how much he tended to disappear.)
Maybe it would have bothered him more if he didn't know that it was for the best. The less people he was attached to, and the less people who were attached to him, the easier it would be to run before things got messy again. A small part of him despised every time he changed his scenario again, but a bigger, louder part made it easy. His demons had one hell of a hold on him, and at this point it seemed like he was becoming more and more like them with each passing day. Tired, volatile, with a penchant for obstinance just for obstinance's sake.
The easy smile never faded, though. The charm still stayed, a useful skill to weasling his way in and out of situations when the time called for it. It was how he knew so much about others while giving away so little about himself. Most either didn't realize or didn't question him on it, whether it was because they simply didn't care or they didn't want to bother fighting him on it. He wouldn't blame them either way; he was hardly someone worth caring about. As long as he kept his nose in his own business and didn't say the wrong thing at the wrong time, most of the people here were content with letting him do his own thing. He always came back, regardess. Maybe they trusted him because they knew he had nowhere else to go.
Or maybe that was his own head talking again, and he was looking too deep into every little action that everyone presented to him. You didn't survive by being ignorant, though. Small details never failed to escape him because he knew that one day they might help him escape. The more you knew about people without them realizing it, the more you had under your sleeve when the time came to either fight or flee.
Small details such as the stranger sitting on the border, one of not too many to not ring the damn bell the moment he saw it to send everyone's ears ringing and panties in a twist to see who could get to the border the fastest. Maybe he didn't see it, or maybe he detested the sound as much as everyone else here seemed to. That or (if Desperado knew half as much about his own problems as he claimed to) he was nervous, questioning his decision and waiting to see if anyone would notice him before he could slip quietly away like he had never been there. Des had been in that position many times already to pick up a few hints, but, as always, he kept his nose in his own business the same way he hoped everyone else would. He wasn't going to go picking at people's problems, not when he had his own.
He found that, for the first time in a very long time, he wasn't sure what else to say as he padded over to meet Bakugou at the gate. It was easy to retort with a quip when the party responding had said anything to begin with, but all that the tiger had offered to them was a hello that wasn't even directed to anyone in particular. It was that mixed with that constant, tiring ache that forced him into subdued silence, brooding over his own decisions and wondering if there was something he was supposed to say but couldn't find at the moment.
No matter. His maw still held an easy smile, dual colored eyes steadily taking into account the tiger's rather scarred form. There was very little he could judge without sounding like a hypocrite, his own body marred and raised from countless sustained injuries, the newest addition to those being the one on his neck, coincidentally hidden by the jeweled collar he had favored today over the black necklace that reminded him a little too much of his past for that day. He was exhausted with remembering, and even though he never failed to seek out the first thing that could hurt him in a room full of weapons both physical and mental, today he just wanted to rest.
♔ — I want brimstone in my garden