12-12-2018, 12:40 AM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]//basically reaper unearthed moonmade's body, but he's experienced some memory/personality bleed from gabriel, so he's sitting with the body
Pincher was gone.
He was gone, and he hadn't released Reaper from his shackles. No one held them, but they didn't have to. They dragged and caught in the dirt, chafed around his neck, rubbed his skin raw- they bound him to this directionless purpose, this impossible goal. Knowing the futility did not free him from his duty. Reaper would not find peace until The Ascendants belonged to The Typhoon, whether or not the current captain wanted control, but though they were all weak, they communicated this time. Didn't leap to accusations and violence. Too many new variables, he knew.
Bastille was to fall to his claws, but he disappeared. Moonmade was to gurgle dying breaths in a pool of his blood, not away in a bed. Agathe. Now there was another- Atticus. Watching this succession, how did any of them believe they were irreplaceable? Their places were filled so easily, so quickly. Dominos.
It was supposed to be easier, with the weak, soft-hearted fool out of his mind. But like the repeated replacements in this place, the hunger filled whatever cavern was left, and it grew, tunneling deeper, mining away Reaper's tenuous control. He often opened his eyes to the smattering of bloodied bones encircling his body, an uneven nest of unrecognizable creatures. Reaper knew now they had been two sides of the same coin, he and Gabriel. As one eroded, the other followed suit.
He woke this time on a grave. There was a smaller imprint on the side he knew would fit Gabriel's dimensions, and he knew this belonged to one of the whelps.
Maybe these people needed a refresher course- a little reminder of the chaos they ignored, of the blood they would leave behind. He tore at the dirt mindlessly, a snarl on each of his mouths, the world shifting in and out of focus as his many eyes struggled to find a focal point. Dense soil flew in every direction, and he wasn't certain how long it was, but when he reached a decomposing body, his muscles burned, and his mouth salivated automatically at death. It was a lion, this corpse.
Moonmade, then. He looked so small, so much smaller than Gabe remembered-
A growl leaped out of his chest, and he hauled the body out of the grave, dropping it on the side. He could tear it apart, pile the limbs in a heap and settle the skull atop it; he could hang it from a tree, or sneak it into the observatory and leave it there. Could find where Atticus slept and leave his predecessor's corpse curled on his bed.
Reaper did none of those things.
A feather drifted across his main gaze, dark, speckled with white; it landed on the body's side, and hadn't settled for more than a heartbeat before he was bent over Moon, a paw beneath his head, face buried in his neck. Both of the tar lion's pinioned wings curved around him, over him. "Perdóname- lo siento, I'm so sorry, so sorry- luz de mi vida, te extraño. What- ¿qué te he hecho yo?"[sup]1[/sup] Laz- he didn't- Wild, frenzied eyes sought the direction of Lazarus' grave, ill with the idea that he might have dragged him from his rest, that his body was exposed, but he couldn't move, muscles ravaged by constant tremors.
//
1 (in order). Forgive me, I'm sorry, light of my life, I miss you. What have I done to you?
Pincher was gone.
He was gone, and he hadn't released Reaper from his shackles. No one held them, but they didn't have to. They dragged and caught in the dirt, chafed around his neck, rubbed his skin raw- they bound him to this directionless purpose, this impossible goal. Knowing the futility did not free him from his duty. Reaper would not find peace until The Ascendants belonged to The Typhoon, whether or not the current captain wanted control, but though they were all weak, they communicated this time. Didn't leap to accusations and violence. Too many new variables, he knew.
Bastille was to fall to his claws, but he disappeared. Moonmade was to gurgle dying breaths in a pool of his blood, not away in a bed. Agathe. Now there was another- Atticus. Watching this succession, how did any of them believe they were irreplaceable? Their places were filled so easily, so quickly. Dominos.
It was supposed to be easier, with the weak, soft-hearted fool out of his mind. But like the repeated replacements in this place, the hunger filled whatever cavern was left, and it grew, tunneling deeper, mining away Reaper's tenuous control. He often opened his eyes to the smattering of bloodied bones encircling his body, an uneven nest of unrecognizable creatures. Reaper knew now they had been two sides of the same coin, he and Gabriel. As one eroded, the other followed suit.
He woke this time on a grave. There was a smaller imprint on the side he knew would fit Gabriel's dimensions, and he knew this belonged to one of the whelps.
Maybe these people needed a refresher course- a little reminder of the chaos they ignored, of the blood they would leave behind. He tore at the dirt mindlessly, a snarl on each of his mouths, the world shifting in and out of focus as his many eyes struggled to find a focal point. Dense soil flew in every direction, and he wasn't certain how long it was, but when he reached a decomposing body, his muscles burned, and his mouth salivated automatically at death. It was a lion, this corpse.
Moonmade, then. He looked so small, so much smaller than Gabe remembered-
A growl leaped out of his chest, and he hauled the body out of the grave, dropping it on the side. He could tear it apart, pile the limbs in a heap and settle the skull atop it; he could hang it from a tree, or sneak it into the observatory and leave it there. Could find where Atticus slept and leave his predecessor's corpse curled on his bed.
Reaper did none of those things.
A feather drifted across his main gaze, dark, speckled with white; it landed on the body's side, and hadn't settled for more than a heartbeat before he was bent over Moon, a paw beneath his head, face buried in his neck. Both of the tar lion's pinioned wings curved around him, over him. "Perdóname- lo siento, I'm so sorry, so sorry- luz de mi vida, te extraño. What- ¿qué te he hecho yo?"[sup]1[/sup] Laz- he didn't- Wild, frenzied eyes sought the direction of Lazarus' grave, ill with the idea that he might have dragged him from his rest, that his body was exposed, but he couldn't move, muscles ravaged by constant tremors.
//
1 (in order). Forgive me, I'm sorry, light of my life, I miss you. What have I done to you?
[align=center][table][tr][td]
FEELS LIKE I'M
[/td][td]FALLING APART
[/td][td]FALLING APART
[/td][/tr][/table]