NOW ITS ROTTEN | CORPSEs, TW GORE

[elijah]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border-width:0; width: 70%; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; line-height: 1.5; font-size: 9pt;"]Sometimes, as if caught up by a dangerous pride, Elijah liked to have considered himself as omnipresent. After all, his rats liked to spread all over The Typhoon's territory, often swarming in clusters when the demiangel arrived and revealing their true number and size. But it wasn't as if everything was reported to the young pirate. Some things were better kept secret from him and while Elijah had no qualms against the keeping of secrets from him, sooner or later the male would find out. Much like the Captain, the boy was no stranger to the tragedies of death. He saw his mother and father dead within his house, he felt the loss of his siblings and the agony of helplessness. His flight was taken to him, his trust in the world had been broken. And yet he lived and felt alive. Elijah was alive. Wasn't that good enough for him? Elijah was aware that his rats often spared him the details of suffering and struggle. They knew that the boy had seen too much as a child and now wanted him to live a life as empty of pain as possible. Yet Elijah still found himself drawn towards The Typhoon, drawn towards 'home' that no longer felt like 'home' but still resonated within him. He was opening himself up to the wounds his rats tried so hard to close and mend.

It was perhaps a good thing that he had grown accustomed to the wafting stench of blood and demise. If he had been his younger, more broken self, he would have frozen in his place. His limbs would go cold, his blood would leave his face. He would have felt himself begin to shatter into a cry, remembering the awful smell of his last memory of his parents. It almost scares him now that he feels a buzzing numbness. He feels an irritation towards the smell but all other emotions are overwhelmed by the sense of indifference. Lives were so frail. Not even an angel from heaven could withstand the blunt steel of death.

Before he even sees the mess of corpses, he hears the Captain's voice, ear twitching when he arrives. He looks at the bodies but then quickly tears his eyes away, quietly noting the scent before sending his rats in to assist with the burial and clean up of the bodies. "Oh dear, they put a lot of effort into trying to make us angry," he utters calmly, and yet his voice is still stained with slight frustration. Lives weren't as expendable as people said they were. Why couldn't they understand that? Even then, it was clear that they did understand and were thus using this feeling against them. "Is this scent Tanglewood?"