03-04-2020, 12:14 AM
To feel hunted was hardly an unfamiliar feeling to Michael, a male who had been a fugitive now for nearly the entirety of his life. It was honestly just something he became used to, integrating himself within large groups and hiding himself away under a new life and a new alias just so that he wouldn't have to deal with the fallout of his past actions. However, there was one key difference between he and Goldie, and that was just why they were hunted. For the most part, Goldie was subject to the hurt and scorn of others because of good actions she had done, in the name of justice and making her father – and the group that she ran – proud. Oh the other hand, Michael was often the subject of scorn and hurt because of the awful things he had done. Stealing, maiming, killing... he never felt much remorse for it, considering the fact that, the grand majority of the time, the people he was hurting were just as bad as he was, but that didn't mean he didn't have people chasing him down, eager to get revenge for their brother or their mother or their best friend. Goldie was a good person, and Michael just... wasn't. Michael was trying to be better, he really was, for Roxie, but he couldn't just erase the mistakes in his past, numerous as they always were. He just hoped that those mistakes didn't end up coming back to haunt him, or the Typhoon.
The smell of blood was what first drew Michael over to the scene of Goldie laid out upon the ground, the tangy unmistakable taste clinging to the roof of the bobcat's mouth as he grew closer. It was familiar, and he couldn't help but get unpleasant flashbacks of deep, dark rooms where he awaited the next time he would be subject to spilling his blood upon the ground, or the sharp and jagged flash of bared fangs as a dire wolf leaped for him. Despite this, he pushed through the unpleasant memories, mainly because the scent of blood was also entwined with the scent of The Typhoon, and that was never a good sign. He couldn't help but wonder exactly how often people were getting hurt around here, considering people like Sam showing up at the border half dead and he and Roxie having to fight off the dire wolf. It wouldn't have surprised him if someone told him that the Typhoon was legitimately cursed, or some shit like that. At least it would be a better explanation than the one that his brain helpfully provided as he ambled over slowly – sometimes shit just happens.
The dark furred bobcat arrived shortly after Octane did, his eyes landing upon Goldie's prone form and the notable lack of a chunk of her ear. He winced at the sight of it, knowing that must've hurt like a bitch. He couldn't imagine someone ripping one of his earrings out. He was soon distracted from the unpleasant mental image by the sons of Octane's voice, slightly raised in pitch and accompanied by the excited flicking of a tail. Michael felt a surge of annoyance in his chest at the nature of Octane's excitement, one of his paws moving up to smack Octane in the back of the head lightly before he grumbled, "You could at least try to pretend that you're actually fuckin' concerned for her, you asshole." After that, he turned his attention instead to Roxie, his practical sister hunched over Goldie as she tried to help her niece out with her injuries, "Rox... is there anythin' I can try and do to help out?" He knew that the answer was probably no, considering he had very little medical experience to his name, but he had to at least try and offer.
The smell of blood was what first drew Michael over to the scene of Goldie laid out upon the ground, the tangy unmistakable taste clinging to the roof of the bobcat's mouth as he grew closer. It was familiar, and he couldn't help but get unpleasant flashbacks of deep, dark rooms where he awaited the next time he would be subject to spilling his blood upon the ground, or the sharp and jagged flash of bared fangs as a dire wolf leaped for him. Despite this, he pushed through the unpleasant memories, mainly because the scent of blood was also entwined with the scent of The Typhoon, and that was never a good sign. He couldn't help but wonder exactly how often people were getting hurt around here, considering people like Sam showing up at the border half dead and he and Roxie having to fight off the dire wolf. It wouldn't have surprised him if someone told him that the Typhoon was legitimately cursed, or some shit like that. At least it would be a better explanation than the one that his brain helpfully provided as he ambled over slowly – sometimes shit just happens.
The dark furred bobcat arrived shortly after Octane did, his eyes landing upon Goldie's prone form and the notable lack of a chunk of her ear. He winced at the sight of it, knowing that must've hurt like a bitch. He couldn't imagine someone ripping one of his earrings out. He was soon distracted from the unpleasant mental image by the sons of Octane's voice, slightly raised in pitch and accompanied by the excited flicking of a tail. Michael felt a surge of annoyance in his chest at the nature of Octane's excitement, one of his paws moving up to smack Octane in the back of the head lightly before he grumbled, "You could at least try to pretend that you're actually fuckin' concerned for her, you asshole." After that, he turned his attention instead to Roxie, his practical sister hunched over Goldie as she tried to help her niece out with her injuries, "Rox... is there anythin' I can try and do to help out?" He knew that the answer was probably no, considering he had very little medical experience to his name, but he had to at least try and offer.
[glow=#75603C,1,000]" oh, it's a setup, no, no, we won't fall. "[/glow]
— Reggan