go to hell [o, back]

[OCTANE.]

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OCTANE

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OCTAVIO SILVA
High-Speed Daredevil
AFRICAN CHEETAH
TYPHOON
"Ooh, sick death, dude!"

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Octane groans the more he's badgered, taking a few clomping steps in the sand and lifting up some of the broken boards of his hut with a paw. "Least I wasn't inside. Probable would've gotten a few cool scars." did he even have anything inside? Octane glances to his backpack, thrown to the side.

Octane's hackles raise and his tail puffs up as Michael is talking about him again, "I said shut the fuck up about him, Michael." He rolls his shoulders- he needs to take it easy. He shouldn't get mad, Michael didn't do anything. "A lot of shit's happened man," seemed like it. He ponders over it- how many people got hurt?

His jaw drops in a lazy face as he thinks about it, how Caustic looked before he left, kicking the cheetah out and throwing his shit out with him too. Cuatsic was still... hurting, from the ramifications of the explosions.  "A lot of people are hurting, huh," Octane's drugged brain doesn't wanna think about it too hard. They couldn't fucking leave, ever.

"Not his fault, more of mine I guess." Octane's the one that brought the device in the first place, and Caustic didn't even mean to ever get here in the first place.

Octane's fur is still raising as Michael is telling him what to do, lips raising behind his mask in a scowl. He feels like Michael is trying to guilt trip him- for not being here when he didn't have any control over it.

Man, when did Michael start caring about other people?
   

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Original code by lexasperated / artwork by @R_HillPrime