04-18-2020, 11:37 AM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]If Ahab had a family, he would run to them. A mother, a father - these were titles that existed only in dreamscapes, vague visions of running through fields into arms he does not know, of his own unfamiliar paws signing letters home that he would never send. If he had family by blood, he would forgive them for forgetting him. He would forgive them for the arm he lost, for the severed nerves in his skull, for the feeling of grief and loneliness that clung to the far-more-real memories of needles in his skin and scalpels bearing down on on his living corpse. He would forgive them for moving on, wherever they were.
But he never thought of such a thing. He was born on a metal table in a laboratory. He was born when he drew first blood across the floor of a hospital, when he first felt anger and that cold, cold nothing that pulled him so deep. He had no family. Ahab existed only to serve a purpose, and now, without that purpose, there was nothing left but the old and weary fragments.
If he could remember so much, he would wish for a father that could disown him, if only for the closure.
Blood seeps into his nose before he can consider what, or where, the sound of rough sobs is coming from. He is no medic, even though he tried, but it is better, he thinks, to bleed with a familiar face at one's side than to bleed alone. The woods are vine-laden and thick with leaves, but the sharp claws at the peak of his metal paw slash through the undergrowth with the precision of a knife. He had no supplies with which to treat her possible wounds, but he'd made do in the past with the forestry that surrounded him, and he could do so again if need be. The sight of a feline heaving with sharp, horrible cries takes him by surprise. The wound is small. Unless she was a child, such a little scratch should not have elicited such a desperate reaction. The creature stills, tilts his head in question.
"You're hurt." Stating obvious things made for the easiest way to make his presence known, if his massive figure went undetected. It was clear, at this point, that Aphra was hurt in more ways than one. "Do you need... Help?"
But he never thought of such a thing. He was born on a metal table in a laboratory. He was born when he drew first blood across the floor of a hospital, when he first felt anger and that cold, cold nothing that pulled him so deep. He had no family. Ahab existed only to serve a purpose, and now, without that purpose, there was nothing left but the old and weary fragments.
If he could remember so much, he would wish for a father that could disown him, if only for the closure.
Blood seeps into his nose before he can consider what, or where, the sound of rough sobs is coming from. He is no medic, even though he tried, but it is better, he thinks, to bleed with a familiar face at one's side than to bleed alone. The woods are vine-laden and thick with leaves, but the sharp claws at the peak of his metal paw slash through the undergrowth with the precision of a knife. He had no supplies with which to treat her possible wounds, but he'd made do in the past with the forestry that surrounded him, and he could do so again if need be. The sight of a feline heaving with sharp, horrible cries takes him by surprise. The wound is small. Unless she was a child, such a little scratch should not have elicited such a desperate reaction. The creature stills, tilts his head in question.
"You're hurt." Stating obvious things made for the easiest way to make his presence known, if his massive figure went undetected. It was clear, at this point, that Aphra was hurt in more ways than one. "Do you need... Help?"
[align=center][div style="text-align:right;width:59%;font-family:verdana;"][font=verdana][size=11pt][color=transparent][url=https://beastsofbeyond.com/index.php?topic=13462.0][color=black][b][i]LET HIM WHO THINKS HE KNOWS NO FEAR
LOOK WELL UPON MY FACE
LOOK WELL UPON MY FACE