04-07-2019, 03:38 AM
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Crow's whereabouts were kept under wraps so tight that even his own children did not know where he was headed. In all frankness, the feline was unsure himself of what he was to expect. He was told a location, and inside his head was the notion that he had something important to discuss with the leader of the Typhoon. As he plodded about, his sinewy paws kicked up pebbles in their wake, an act of apathy—politics bored him, but it was part of the description of the job that was abruptly shoved upon him a month prior. Fat chance.
The feline found it difficult to trust anyone as of late, more so than before, when he was fresh in the world with not a single scar nestled atop his skin and within his brain. Shit happened, people walked away, and he was stabbed in the back so much he was messed up for worse, never to recover. Time turned Crow's fears into a nagging flea in his pelt, small at first but an troublesome itch the more it was allowed to fester.
Alas his thoughts were cleaved, a familiar face coming into view, and the feline used every ounce in him to keep his hackles from raising in discomfort from the encounter. Crow halted, gaze landing on the offerings placed on the ground, and his anxiety became dulled, a sure sign nothing bad was to happen. "So, u-uh," he stuttered, shifting his weight, "w-what's goin' on?"
What a pathetic excuse for an ambassador he was.
Crow's whereabouts were kept under wraps so tight that even his own children did not know where he was headed. In all frankness, the feline was unsure himself of what he was to expect. He was told a location, and inside his head was the notion that he had something important to discuss with the leader of the Typhoon. As he plodded about, his sinewy paws kicked up pebbles in their wake, an act of apathy—politics bored him, but it was part of the description of the job that was abruptly shoved upon him a month prior. Fat chance.
The feline found it difficult to trust anyone as of late, more so than before, when he was fresh in the world with not a single scar nestled atop his skin and within his brain. Shit happened, people walked away, and he was stabbed in the back so much he was messed up for worse, never to recover. Time turned Crow's fears into a nagging flea in his pelt, small at first but an troublesome itch the more it was allowed to fester.
Alas his thoughts were cleaved, a familiar face coming into view, and the feline used every ounce in him to keep his hackles from raising in discomfort from the encounter. Crow halted, gaze landing on the offerings placed on the ground, and his anxiety became dulled, a sure sign nothing bad was to happen. "So, u-uh," he stuttered, shifting his weight, "w-what's goin' on?"
What a pathetic excuse for an ambassador he was.