art of war / bubonicplague

[sephiroth]

SEPHIROTH

MALE — ROSEBLOODS — PHARAOH — HOVER FOR TAGS

[div style="background-color: #292727; color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; width: 500px; height: 340px; padding: 10px;"]The Pharaoh’s experience with fire wasn’t exactly something that brought him joy.  Flames had consumed the last territory he had lived in during his time as a Roseblood, ravaging the mansion and the surrounding forest to nothing just as quickly as this had happened.  It brought destruction and death, and he would be in awe of such power if he was in control of it.  Mother had spoken to him sweet melodies of fire before, moons ago long after the mansion’s collapse and before the burning of the rainforest, so he knew it was perhaps destiny to tame the blazing beast.  Though apparently that wasn’t enough to stop Lucifer’s rage.

Had it been because he had shut her off and now found her impossible to reach?  He mused over that, unpleasant and alone as it made him feel.

Sephiroth’s thoughts were interrupted by foreign scent and a harsh voice, one that made him pause in his steps but not turn.  He recognized Bubonic’s voice, the same one that had mocked him when Solas had returned to the group, the one he didn’t even grace with his voice and instead gave a frosty look and an animal growl.  While many were below him, the platinum maned lion considered those who dared to confront and insult him to be nothing but dirt between his paw pads.  His contempt for most was obvious in his low voice and dismissive body language, double so for those who had crossed him.  At the moment he did not grant the massive canine beast with the privilege of being seen through Sephiroth’s intense gaze, and instead the Pharaoh spoke ahead of him with his back to Bubonic.

”I believe I’ve made myself clear when it comes to how we are going to deal with this.  We’re strong, we don’t retreat when the lower beasts make us their target.  We prove we’re better than that.”  Sephiroth’s deep and stubborn tones carried throughout the dead and dry breeze that wafted through the ashen remains of the land.  ”Though you in your no doubt infinite wisdom surely know better than I, hm?  Or am I to assume you’d rather flee this land with your tail between your legs when faced with the mildest of challenges?”  Sephiroth had quite the special talent for making mundane words come off as a request to drop dead, this situation being no different.  He didn’t know how to pick his fights, and being confronted directly like this was a perfect opportunity to make it clear how he thought better of himself, and assumed the worst of others.

#psychosocial.