04-20-2020, 12:42 AM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Fire is the crack of foundations crumbling and stench of burning skin and the bright, bright light that blinds him like the sun. Born of fire, he was, crawling out from the wreckage like a stray in a storm; even on the beach, he feels it now, the ache of stone on his back and the pressing heat of a body on fire stumbling ever-closer.
Tonight, it smells of sweetness, of ocean mist. Ahab can force himself to ignore the memory as he's done over and over before; it is easy, he thinks, to ignore rather than to confront it. Only for that reason will he allow himself to approach. That, maybe, and the scent of warm sugar. He hasn't allowed himself the luxury of an indulgence like this since - a time he cannot recall, likely far before he was put to sleep. If he was the kind of old and gentle thing Roxanne lauded him on, or anything like the clumsy bears he saw in scribbled cartoons, he must have pillaged picnic baskets and stuck his paws in beehives at one point or another. With a demon's horn growing like a curved claw from the break in his skull, and lines of age and anger carving deeper into his features by the day, though, he wasn't sure he fit the bill.
There are faces here that he's never seen before, and some that he had not crossed in a long while. The unsettling mixture of unfamiliarity encircling the blaze kept Ahab from coming too close, instead making a careful beeline to the source of the food - Gamelia, who seemed happy to pass around s'mores to anyone who asked. He's uneasy, though it's difficult to read the discomfort in his voice when he aims to grab the dragon by the shoulder and urge her, brusquely, "I'll take one."
Tonight, it smells of sweetness, of ocean mist. Ahab can force himself to ignore the memory as he's done over and over before; it is easy, he thinks, to ignore rather than to confront it. Only for that reason will he allow himself to approach. That, maybe, and the scent of warm sugar. He hasn't allowed himself the luxury of an indulgence like this since - a time he cannot recall, likely far before he was put to sleep. If he was the kind of old and gentle thing Roxanne lauded him on, or anything like the clumsy bears he saw in scribbled cartoons, he must have pillaged picnic baskets and stuck his paws in beehives at one point or another. With a demon's horn growing like a curved claw from the break in his skull, and lines of age and anger carving deeper into his features by the day, though, he wasn't sure he fit the bill.
There are faces here that he's never seen before, and some that he had not crossed in a long while. The unsettling mixture of unfamiliarity encircling the blaze kept Ahab from coming too close, instead making a careful beeline to the source of the food - Gamelia, who seemed happy to pass around s'mores to anyone who asked. He's uneasy, though it's difficult to read the discomfort in his voice when he aims to grab the dragon by the shoulder and urge her, brusquely, "I'll take one."
[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