03-24-2020, 01:08 AM
decisions to decisions are made and not bought
As simple as Astiar was, he could understand death. It was one of the few things that the cicada grasped without needing a simplistic explanation for how it worked and what it meant. The concept of death was scary. He had instincts to keep it from claiming him, even if his intincts were bare bones and barely did much more than keep him alive. It told him what to eat, how to eat, how to fly, walk, buzz, scratch, chew, and drink. Instinct said the smell of death was to be avoided. If there was something dead, chances were the cause of death was still lingering around. Instances of predators such as birds, usually. Other creatures that ate insects easily were considered in his mind. Spiders, more birds, or literally any omnivorous creature that walked or flew or burrowed. Death was scary, and its smell had to be avoided if he wanted to perform self preservation.
Something else told him that this was an instance where doing so was not the solution. The dragon smells the scent of death long before he sees it. His antennae curl and his mind stumbles through a dilemma. To investigate, or not? Astiar's feet carry him forward. Perhaps the feeling settling in his stomach is dread. It certainly is no pleasant emotion, and even the simple minded insect can recognize such a thing. Antennae curled, hearing wheezing. His approach is too slow, and he arrives too late to the scene. Red eyes recognize the body, even if it is devoid of life. The dragon's pace quickens, wings stilling in their near ever present buzzing. He lowers his head and nudges ever gently, seeking a response. Dead bodies usually do not reply to such things. Astiar understands death in that it means being gone. This is different. This was a person that he cared for. His jaws open, and he unleashes a sharp screeching noise. Panic, him using his talons to carefully nudge the lifeless body again. The part of him that has cracked the shell of instinct desperately wants to see a cough and the other rise up.
In the majority of cases, insects do not grieve. They have no sadness nor do they mourn over the lost members of their kind. They normally follow a 'better you than me' mentality, for the strength of the group meant the sacrifices of the few. Astiar, long ago, had been an insect. This current body had capability, and it was being exhibited. His antennae are lowered, chuff like sobs coming from his parted maw. Distressed noises sound as he continues to occasionally nudge. Astiar knows death. It does not mean that it is within his power to understand how to deal with how higher minded beings saw it. This was different and it did not match with his comprehension of death. The cicada bows his head and stills his movements, falling into mourning.
Something else told him that this was an instance where doing so was not the solution. The dragon smells the scent of death long before he sees it. His antennae curl and his mind stumbles through a dilemma. To investigate, or not? Astiar's feet carry him forward. Perhaps the feeling settling in his stomach is dread. It certainly is no pleasant emotion, and even the simple minded insect can recognize such a thing. Antennae curled, hearing wheezing. His approach is too slow, and he arrives too late to the scene. Red eyes recognize the body, even if it is devoid of life. The dragon's pace quickens, wings stilling in their near ever present buzzing. He lowers his head and nudges ever gently, seeking a response. Dead bodies usually do not reply to such things. Astiar understands death in that it means being gone. This is different. This was a person that he cared for. His jaws open, and he unleashes a sharp screeching noise. Panic, him using his talons to carefully nudge the lifeless body again. The part of him that has cracked the shell of instinct desperately wants to see a cough and the other rise up.
In the majority of cases, insects do not grieve. They have no sadness nor do they mourn over the lost members of their kind. They normally follow a 'better you than me' mentality, for the strength of the group meant the sacrifices of the few. Astiar, long ago, had been an insect. This current body had capability, and it was being exhibited. His antennae are lowered, chuff like sobs coming from his parted maw. Distressed noises sound as he continues to occasionally nudge. Astiar knows death. It does not mean that it is within his power to understand how to deal with how higher minded beings saw it. This was different and it did not match with his comprehension of death. The cicada bows his head and stills his movements, falling into mourning.
control yourself and take only what you need from it
TAGS 9/4/19:
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FULZANIN is a 19 year old content creator. Currently roleplaying as Beezlebub in the Pitt and Jotunhel in the Typhoon. Time spent outside of work and writing is typically done in Creatures of Sonaria. FULZANIN is also in a happy relationship, and is aegosexual/asexual herself.
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