☼ STATIC SCREENS — JOINING

[elijah]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border-width:0; width: 70%; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; line-height: 1.5; font-size: 9pt;"]His past brings about its own slaughterhouse of bad memories. The sickly tar that overfilled his parents' mouths, coughing and melting along the ground of his mama's house. Stillness, not a heartbeat...and most certainly not a single goodbye to young Elijah. It was God who took them away, God who kept them away, God who left him at the mercy of his most haunted mind. Despite part of his blood being angelic, he resented the Heavens. But he also resented the unholy realm of Hell. He knew they existed for both parts of his bloodline co-existed as angelic and demonic...but he hated the intangible, the untouchable plane of reality that befell all who dared to breathe. Sometimes, the lifting scent of The Typhoon brought him comfort. It allowed him to sleep because of all the pleasantries he grew up in, the sheltered moments where he used to collect seashells and watch the tides creep closer and closer to land. He remembers flying across the lighthouse, seeing the figures of pirates below him and their inaudible squabbles. And yet he also remembers the smell of fear and loss intertwined with the scent of the ocean, the metallic salty air. While he does not have memories of war and battle like Ymir, he has seen the unspeakable tragedies a child should never have faced. Not once had death and violence been considered by the fates for him to see. But not even the fates had the ability to truly weave his future. Nothing stayed linear.

He could agree with Ymir's discomforts of thinking about her former group. He has troubles when it comes to letting his mind wander to a time before he had to grow up. Sometimes he thinks he grew up too fast. It is bittersweet to think of a time he used to fly, a time he used to let wind embrace the tips of his toes. He used to have two beautiful feathered wings. They took him wherever he wanted, they let him adventure far and wide to make discoveries a child couldn't begin to imagine. He loved his fantasy. He loved the idea of being a knight, a warlock, a fighter. He wanted to fight the world, challenge it because as a child there was no such thing as consequences. Fears and worries didn't exist within the mind of someone so young, so fresh-blooded. And now he has one wing. One wing to remind him of its other half, the fact that it had once been a pair. One wing that was lonely and dragged uselessly across the ground, still functioned normally but was useless without the other. Elijah feels his own feathers rustle, the ragdoll pressing his teeth together as he closes his eyes. It is a simple trick to let himself clear his thoughts. Turn his eyes away from the light and disillusioned thoughts, let himself regrip and let the negativity dissolve. He is new. He is his own. His rats would keep him safe. He has The Typhoon.

It was like a magnetic pull that he was drawn back to the island of pirates. He felt happier here. He didn't have to worry about those bad individuals who preyed on anyone who appeared weak. With his own soft-beating heart, his frame was thin and puny. Elijah cannot protect himself in battle. While he had control over the winds, it was the battle of stamina that continued to breathe down his neck. It was the rats who kept him safe. They followed him and whisper rumours, telling him what path was best to take and what stranger not to talk to. Without them, he might have died at the age of four months. Now he was seven months old. Hardly much older, still a child, but hardened. Experiences are what make children grow and evolve.

Goldenluxury, now Captain, has welcomed him home with a smile. His rats, familiar with the landscape, continue to roam with purpose. The only one who was floating, moving where the currents took him, was Elijah. He let his rats dictate where he went, who he could speak to, what he thought of himself. They existed as his lifeline, keeping him safe because they were the guardian of each other. Elijah was the guardian of the rats and the rats were the guardians of Elijah. On the topic of his protectors, the creatures were nervous today. It hasn't been too long since a few had reported back the smell of injury - the sickly scent of blood. It is accompanied by the sonorous sound of bells. Metals clang conflicts and his ears twist towards the direction of the railroad gate, body moving before his eyes. She must be injured and he considers grasping some of the left over herbs from their under-reconstruction temple but Elijah chooses not to. His knowledge is limited to what he saw his mother do when Junji had been the head soothsayer. While he retained basic medical understandings in order to treat his rats of injuries, he is hesitant to waste anything on a stranger. Besides, he thinks, he doesn't know what exactly the injury is. His rats could only carry so much as a herd. How was he to know if the wounds were infected or not?

He moves hastily, thinking it to be more hospitable to arrive swiftly than make The Typhoon's guest wait any longer than she needed to. As he arrives, his eyes catch sight of the dire wolf and the spread of scratches along her body. It was hard not to miss the sight of her infected eye, the boy's expression not so much as wavering at the sight of it. His face was unreadable, stone cold when he assesses her during his approach. It is when Elijah reaches speaking distance, however, that he lights up into a warm smile. "I'm sorry you've gotten this badly hurt," the boy says, seeing no point in asking if she wanted to be treated. It was all too obvious. No one would come to The Typhoon badly injured if not to receive treatment. "I'm not a healer but I remember how to heal infections from my mother... otherwise I haven't seen any of our sages lately." Saying 'mother' must have been a little misleading. Junji had always went by male pronouns and was an androgyne if Elijah remembered correctly. Well, he never really cared much about genders. He simply knew that it was Junji who brought him.

Part of him begins to wonder where all the sages were, assuming that the Necro Mambas were too busy dealing with the devastation of their damaged temple and injured civilians. It would make sense that it was pirates over strangers. They had a limited herb supply that he was wary of simply taking them. Then again, no one needed to know. He happens to still own the medical kit that Peppino had once given out to everyone. Usually he treated his rats before infection could occur, always checking up to make sure each and every one of them were okay, so he still had enough for infections that had already manifested. "But of course, I'm just assuming you're looking for medical help so I apologise if I got ahead of myself, miss...uh?" he flicks an ear in the canine's direction, unsure what to call her and hoping that she got the verbal cue to introduce herself. The demiangel had never really thought himself as a demanding child. "My name is Elijah Rosario, by the way. You can call me Eli for short if it's easier to remember. Is there anything else you're looking for?"