03-21-2022, 03:35 AM
AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go
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The rain had to be a silent blessing upon the swampland, not that the sun was strong enough to scorch or dry out the boggy foliage. That would be a hot day in hell, and a day that the Grim had no desire to be out and about in, least of all alive to roast in his own fur. As of late, the junkyard had been calling to the traveling merchant, his own crafts and skills inspiring him to see what bits and bobs he could re-use and turn into something new and ... functional. More or less, that was.
The rain had cleared up, leaving the cars of the junkyard, a now common haunt for the small tabby, a cool place to be, literally. His night had been spent within one of the old cages of metal, glass and fabric, curled up to sleep on one of the old bucket chairs, amidst springs he'd been pulling from the other seats. The chill in the air had his fur bushed out in a late rebuttal against the cold fingers of winter finally giving up their grip on the land. Until noon, the Grim had amused himself all too greatly with traversing the cars, avoiding the metal surfaces as much as he could when the sun began to warm them.
The ache in his own paws was a smarting reminder of the spill he'd taken out in the bog recently, the muscles on his right shoulder still aching and smarting at him, the limb itself occasionally shaking it. He was honestly hoping he'd just pulled the muscles, he didn't need an injury on top of everything as of recent. An injury in spring time meant he couldn't prepare himself for a good year's stock of trade goods, or any materials for his crafts let alone the few foods he remembered how to make, from a time long forgotten.
Body curled up on the roof of one car shadowed by another, taking the time to groom the kinks and dirt out of his fur, nibbling at his paws when a sound reached his ears. Ears swiveling in the direction of the chain link fence, pausing mid-bite, his eyes following in the direction at the rattle of the fence, slowly lowering his paw back to the cool metal. Stilling, tail going from the occasional flick to laying still as he trained his senses on the noise. Curiosity killed the cat as the saying went.
Pushing himself to his feet, the tom quietly limped down the length of the car he'd been lounging on and onto the piles of scrap, carefully placing his paws as he stalked the source of the sound as he heard a trail begin through everything. Well that was of interest. Creeping about the side of a pile of junk, his ears angled as he peered around the corner to come across the sight of a husky just about shoulder deep inside of crevices in the piles. What the hell was he looking for? All that was here for food were probably rats and a possibility that they might be mutated too. Studying the intruder a fair bit more, he considered his options.
One, he could stay right here where he was safe and keep watching. Two, he could approach the stranger and encounter the ever awkward I'm mute and I can't talk.conversation, or three, he could go back to grooming himself in relaxation - but then again that didn't feel right to do. Option Two it is, the Tom thought as he rounded the pile fully and ripped his paw against the nearest thing that would make any sort of noise. Now, to back up and see if this husky might be rabid ... or friendly. Highly unlikely considering he was trespassing in a junkyard but what did he know?
The rain had cleared up, leaving the cars of the junkyard, a now common haunt for the small tabby, a cool place to be, literally. His night had been spent within one of the old cages of metal, glass and fabric, curled up to sleep on one of the old bucket chairs, amidst springs he'd been pulling from the other seats. The chill in the air had his fur bushed out in a late rebuttal against the cold fingers of winter finally giving up their grip on the land. Until noon, the Grim had amused himself all too greatly with traversing the cars, avoiding the metal surfaces as much as he could when the sun began to warm them.
The ache in his own paws was a smarting reminder of the spill he'd taken out in the bog recently, the muscles on his right shoulder still aching and smarting at him, the limb itself occasionally shaking it. He was honestly hoping he'd just pulled the muscles, he didn't need an injury on top of everything as of recent. An injury in spring time meant he couldn't prepare himself for a good year's stock of trade goods, or any materials for his crafts let alone the few foods he remembered how to make, from a time long forgotten.
Body curled up on the roof of one car shadowed by another, taking the time to groom the kinks and dirt out of his fur, nibbling at his paws when a sound reached his ears. Ears swiveling in the direction of the chain link fence, pausing mid-bite, his eyes following in the direction at the rattle of the fence, slowly lowering his paw back to the cool metal. Stilling, tail going from the occasional flick to laying still as he trained his senses on the noise. Curiosity killed the cat as the saying went.
Pushing himself to his feet, the tom quietly limped down the length of the car he'd been lounging on and onto the piles of scrap, carefully placing his paws as he stalked the source of the sound as he heard a trail begin through everything. Well that was of interest. Creeping about the side of a pile of junk, his ears angled as he peered around the corner to come across the sight of a husky just about shoulder deep inside of crevices in the piles. What the hell was he looking for? All that was here for food were probably rats and a possibility that they might be mutated too. Studying the intruder a fair bit more, he considered his options.
One, he could stay right here where he was safe and keep watching. Two, he could approach the stranger and encounter the ever awkward I'm mute and I can't talk.conversation, or three, he could go back to grooming himself in relaxation - but then again that didn't feel right to do. Option Two it is, the Tom thought as he rounded the pile fully and ripped his paw against the nearest thing that would make any sort of noise. Now, to back up and see if this husky might be rabid ... or friendly. Highly unlikely considering he was trespassing in a junkyard but what did he know?
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THE FLOWER BURNS