08-08-2019, 12:41 PM
❝ MAKING MY OWN ROAD OUT OF GRAVEL AND SOME WINE; IF I HAVE TO FALL THEN IT WON'T BE IN YOUR LINE—I'M A BLACK SHEEP ❞
After three long days, Vandal finally finds it; she remembers having built it from nothing but scratch, adding more and more until it extended past one tree canopy and onto another, forming a network of bridges linking several smaller huts to a larger middle one. She remembers having offered each empty room to whoever needed a place to stay—some of her nieces had even chosen to move in with her, customizing their rooms to their liking until it was a place that they could call their own, and the black beast had found some joy in that, in having her family so close and giving them a space where they felt the most at home.
The sprawling treehouse is still perfectly intact, although she admits that it's also completely overgrown. Some of the steps spiraling around one of the massive trunks have fallen off, and she can count four shutters that must have fallen off the windows during her absence. The rest, however, are still standing, and she clicks her tongue thoughtfully at the idea of reviving her little abode.
With a look of determination dancing on her face, Vandal summons a burst of wind to catch underneath her outstretched wings, carrying her higher and higher until she can easily step onto the porch of the main hut; the front door is ajar, just as she had left it, and she tries not to focus on the scratch marks disappearing into the seams as she pulls it open. "Oh baby," she can't help but murmur, eyeing the dust-laden interior, the overthrown tables, the splashes of faded gold in the corners; she remembers exactly what happened, what would have caused such a mess, but she frantically swallows down the memory in fear that she'll remember too much.
She wanders over, sifts through the wrecked furniture, and uncovers a small, leatherbound journal lodged between the floorboards. She takes it gingerly between her talons, before turning around and throwing it straight out of the window—she doesn't see where it falls, but she thinks it'll be better that way.
"Damn it all to hell," she grumbles under her breath, recoiling when she feels something warm trace the line of her cheek. Lifting a talon, she rubs it over the side of her face furiously, trying to make the tear go away, but it keeps falling anyway as she turns in a circle to look at the forgotten walls, the crooked paintings, the old treasure chest she knows to be empty. In the far corner, she sees two doors, their plaques collecting rust: Aita's and Cleo's, she remembers, two more of her nieces who had moved in, but have undoubtedly disappeared during her absence.
She closes her eyes and hopes she can still hear the ghost of their voices echoing down the halls, but all is quiet, and she realizes she can't quite remember what they sound like anymore.
Taking a deep, trembling breath, Vandal tests a smile on her face and keeps it there, pushing the last of the tear tracks away. She makes her way back to the doorway and looks out at the horizon; she'll start cleaning the treehouse soon, but for the moment she chooses to appreciate that not all things have disappeared from her life. Her home still stands, and she will rebuild again.
ooc. grammar? sentence structure? lol what are those?
The sprawling treehouse is still perfectly intact, although she admits that it's also completely overgrown. Some of the steps spiraling around one of the massive trunks have fallen off, and she can count four shutters that must have fallen off the windows during her absence. The rest, however, are still standing, and she clicks her tongue thoughtfully at the idea of reviving her little abode.
With a look of determination dancing on her face, Vandal summons a burst of wind to catch underneath her outstretched wings, carrying her higher and higher until she can easily step onto the porch of the main hut; the front door is ajar, just as she had left it, and she tries not to focus on the scratch marks disappearing into the seams as she pulls it open. "Oh baby," she can't help but murmur, eyeing the dust-laden interior, the overthrown tables, the splashes of faded gold in the corners; she remembers exactly what happened, what would have caused such a mess, but she frantically swallows down the memory in fear that she'll remember too much.
She wanders over, sifts through the wrecked furniture, and uncovers a small, leatherbound journal lodged between the floorboards. She takes it gingerly between her talons, before turning around and throwing it straight out of the window—she doesn't see where it falls, but she thinks it'll be better that way.
"Damn it all to hell," she grumbles under her breath, recoiling when she feels something warm trace the line of her cheek. Lifting a talon, she rubs it over the side of her face furiously, trying to make the tear go away, but it keeps falling anyway as she turns in a circle to look at the forgotten walls, the crooked paintings, the old treasure chest she knows to be empty. In the far corner, she sees two doors, their plaques collecting rust: Aita's and Cleo's, she remembers, two more of her nieces who had moved in, but have undoubtedly disappeared during her absence.
She closes her eyes and hopes she can still hear the ghost of their voices echoing down the halls, but all is quiet, and she realizes she can't quite remember what they sound like anymore.
Taking a deep, trembling breath, Vandal tests a smile on her face and keeps it there, pushing the last of the tear tracks away. She makes her way back to the doorway and looks out at the horizon; she'll start cleaning the treehouse soon, but for the moment she chooses to appreciate that not all things have disappeared from her life. Her home still stands, and she will rebuild again.
ooc. grammar? sentence structure? lol what are those?
I TOLD THAT DEVIL TO TAKE YOU BACK
MAXINE VIENNA "VANDAL" ROUX — TAGS — THE TYPHOON