man and sin love each other || joining

[sebastian]

[align=center][div style="font-size:9pt; width:420pt; text-align:justify; padding:7px; line-height:12.2pt;"]//there's no need to match post length! all you need to know is that Sebastian is at the gate and bleeding slightly from small wounds in his neck. the last two paragraphs are all that are important

There was a time when Sebastian hated his family. His father did nothing but impress upon him as ceaselessly as the tide that he, the third son, was unnecessary. He was a hindrance to his brothers' studies in preparation for the day that they would inherit the lands and lord over them as their father had. His mother never wished to look at him, moving his room to the other side of their residence, and yet she never failed to force him into meticulous grooming; she refused to gaze upon his shameful being, but others would, and they needn't be further disgusted than they already were with his presence. As for his brothers, they angered him through the mere act of breathing, be it the slow ins and outs of sleep in a quarters placed beside their parents', or the harsh pants brought by the aftermath of raucous laughter as they found camaraderie within one another. Sebastian had squandered much of his life simultaneously battling his brothers' shadows and disguising himself in them, and when he had learned that diligence would not earn his parents' attention, he turned to debauchery.

Perhaps if he posed a threat to their family name they might have - he could not say what he wanted beyond their care.

In hindsight, it all seemed rather trite and foolish of him, but the memories were not antiquated scars. Neither, clearly, were their deaths, and for his many oaths committed to the chantry, to those who hadn't hesitated to accept Sebastian, he could not merely allow his family's murderers to live free of punishment. Such was the flaw Her Grace had seen in him from the start: wrath. Among many others, certainly, but a great number had been kindled by its heat.

Restlessness was one such smaller blaze, and he did not waste a moment pursuing the trail himself, collecting what information he could. It was a strenuous process he had little patience for, and had nearly reached his wit's end when, instead of bread crumbs, he found a loaf. An oaf more specifically, but a potentially useful one who might direct Sebastian to a more fruitful harvest.

"I will ask you again: who hired you to murder the Vaels?" The other canine continued backtracking along the rails, the ocean at their paws now as it steadily rose. Sebastian did not falter as his own stride forced the mercenary farther, and he was not certain where these tracks led, but the ending destination and the conclusion of this questioning would likely be one and the same. "Tell me."

"I've said a thousand times already I can't just tell you that. It's bad for business." The auburn collie snarled, spooking the bravado from the terrier's façade, who responded automatically with pinned ears and hurried steps backward. "Look, it's a [i]job. We all have to do something."

"I'm not here for your justifications. Give me a name."

"Piss off." The terrier fell with a splash, pinned beneath Sebastian, head partially submerged in the water. As he lowered down to speak, the other canine snapped his jaws upward, teeth embedding briefly in the fur of his throat. His pelt was too thick for a severe injury, though skin was punctured, and the white bands of fur did little to mask the crimson rivulets. Sebastian retaliated by slamming the terrier's head into the tracks to daze him, baring his fangs in another deep-chested growl. "Son of a-"

"This is your last chance. Is a name worth dying for?" There was a pregnant silence between them, broken by a defeated exhale Sebastian took as a sign of cooperation - or capitulation, but the time to regret his decisions was for later.

"Some older lady. Hammond? Harri- something."

"Harimann." Turquoise eyes shut, though he did not relinquish his pressure on the terrier. Could this be true? A long-time family friend turned murderer? It had to be a deception, a desperate grasping at straws by a threatened man, but even as his doubts of this rose, so did others - doubts of a friendship. The Lady Harimann had always been envious of his parents and their positions, but did that warrant assassination? Could that possibly excuse the deaths of four people? Sebastian wished he could not visualize it so smoothly.

"Yes, that. Now will you let me go?" Sebastian stared back at an impatient expression of someone presuming victory, and he arrived at an impasse. One of many crossroads he had encountered and would still arrive to. This man had still participated in the deaths of his family, but he was no more than a tool. He sought a simple solution to his family's murder, and instead found a moral dilemma, a conflict of justice. Was it justice or vengeance? Who would bear the weight of the crime in its entirety, if possible?

Eyes hardened, the collie stepped off of the terrier, recognizing faintly that the water had risen higher. "Get out of my sight." He did not need to watch the canine leave, the splashing sufficient enough, and his shoulders lifted in a heavy inhale before drooping on the exhale. He followed the tracks mindlessly, paying little mind to the sharp sting in his neck while he pathetically brooded, until his paws brushed dry land, and Sebastian raised his head to find a gate.

Whether he was right or wrong in releasing the mercenary could wait for another time, as could the rest of his turmoil. A weary curiosity cajoled him away from darker thoughts, though he was wary, as well. There could be no telling what this gate represented - or who, he should say. Perhaps a friendly people, who might not mind a fatigued wanderer? He entertained the possibility of an aggressive gathering as well, and supposed he had no means of knowing until an arrival, so with a careful paw, he rang the bell.

"Maker only knows what you've gotten yourself into," Sebastian murmured, collecting the tatters of his composure. Whoever greeted him, he did not want to appear an absolutely pitiful wreck, and he took to smoothing out the wet areas of his fur while he waited. He just needed time, perhaps more than he could have.

[CAESAR CIPHER.]

ALL ALONE HE TURNS TO STONE !

CAESAR CIPHER. MALE. THE TYPHOON. OFFICER.

Ah, yes, family. Caesar knew the struggles of being in a family that didn't seem to like you, although he brought that upon himself. The demon actually had a good family back in Dimension FiveX, until his crave for fame made him be disowned by his brother and sister. His parents didn't have any time to react to his plans on destroying the Dimension, since they had been trapped and killed whenever he set it on fire. He was sure they felt betrayed and hurt as well, but they never listened to his words and heeded his warnings, so they had to suffer.

Unfortunately, Caesar was holding his emotions back. The Officer didn't truly believe that, and he had to keep lying to himself - and everybody - that he was happy about murdering his parents by burning them alive. It hurt knowing that he did that, and every night his past came to haunt him. But Caesar learned to push his memories back and force himself to pretend he was happy. It was life, and it was what he had to do to be feared. And that's all the demon wanted to be: feared.

"Name and business with The Typhoon." The mongoose grunted upon arriving at the border, looking up at Sebastian. He absolutely fucking hated being stuck in this damn body, but what happened happened, he supposed, and he had to deal with it for now.

#psychosocial.

[Luca]

Luca had never outgrown his hatred for his family. In fact, like a wound left to fester he only seemed to grow angrier over time. his father was no lord, although he sure held himself like one. He wanted all of his sons to become strong and honorable, people that could bring pride to their lowly poor family. Luca had always felt like the least favourite. He was weaker than his siblings, frail and feminine. His father only ever gave him looks of disapproval, although he supposed that those were common to even the strongest of his brothers. Nothing could please Santiago other than himself. Elias came pretty close though. Luca had always looked up to the eldest of the group. He enjoyed the protection that Elias offered from the harsh words of their father, the fact that he could cower away in the larger boy's shadow while words were spoken in his defence. It was a shame that a figure who once offered so much comfort was now a source of constant fear.

It was unfair how quickly his family turned on him once he made the deal and his soul was converted into a demon's flame. He was still himself, but anything he tried to say to convey that fell on deaf ears. He tried to explain to him that he was the same, although everyone involved knew that his words weren't entirely true. His time away from the family had changed him for the worse, and that was the only reason he was able to end up doing what he did. Much like Caesar, he set fire to his parents. They weren't his main targets, merely caught in the spreading flames from when he burned down the place that was holding him captive, although he would by lying if he said he wasn't hoping for that. As far as he knew, his mother died that night, but his father had managed to live. His brothers... they were a mystery to the coffee coloured canine. Elias was still around for sure; he was reminded almost constantly that he was being hunted by his oldest brother.

Sebastian didn't have to worry too much about appearing composed. Anyone would look like they had things together when compared to the bloody and beaten Luca. The incubus appeared shortly after Caesar, his eyes alight with curiosity as the drew closer to the pair. The sound of the bell at the clan's entrance almost always meant a joiner, and they were pretty interesting more often that not. New faces were good. They meant new chances, new opportunities to trick people into thinking he could be pleasant to be around. That last thought stung him a little, but he shook it off and distracted himself by examining the collie on the rails. He appeared to be injured- blood was always easy to spot against white. "Do you need medical attention?" He said, speaking up a little suddenly after quite a few beats of silence. The smell of blood seemed to hang around him lately. He scratched idly at one of his many forming scars, waiting for an answer to see if he had to run off and fetch someone with medical experience. Someone other than himself, that is.

[Grey]

Bakugou was still healing from his wounds – wounds that still ached and stung, terribly reminding him of his sorry encounter. She was predictable, but the point still stood that she was simply better than him, far more gifted and capable that he suffered a humiliating defeat. He nearly died in the Typhoon’s own territory, had to be saved by another pirate who was no more ‘gifted’ than he was. It frustrates him more than anything, more than the way he died in the other world, his world. He was covered in bandages, like alabaster pythons coiling and constricting against his skin. They were all over his legs, around his neck, his tail, his body; they were physical reminders of his failure and inability. Truthfully, it hurts to walk. Walking sends shockwaves to his spine and he can still feel left over toxins circling his bloodstream, making it harder to breathe every time he pushes himself a little too far. It’s exhausted him to the point that Bakugou stopped his training completely, putting a halt to his objective of mastering his fire elementals and physical combat. He doesn’t fully appreciate this yet, the same way he never quite appreciated his mother's tough love in the other world, but his injuries have proved beneficial for his development and adjustment into his new life and body. He spent more time wandering the bay, recognizing incongruities that materialized every so often. He paid more attention, took more notes and was able to put face to reputation.

Despite that, he still loathed being out of combat. He wants more in life than socialization and politics and so, desperate to escape the usual time-repeating days, he slips out of camp and has a walk. Naturally, Bakugou’s injuries have only allowed him to go so far as to walk down the beach and back again but in this moment of time, he felt an adventurous spirit possess his tired legs. He wants to go a little further this time, see if anything has changed in the forests. Maybe the birds will be different, or maybe the earth will have shifted just a millimeter. His ribs shudder when a breeze screams past, spectral in its very nature, whilst the ragdoll looks to the sky. He scrunches his nose and squints his eyes at the harsh light which creaked through the leaves. The world looked a little grey. Perhaps it was going to rain, and he briefly considers going back to shelter when he hears the reverberations of a bell from the railroad gate. Loud, discomforting to his ears – but it also makes him wonder if this is the first time he has ever heard a stranger use them. He was aware that they were there, but it was only after he had joined. He almost thought they were for decoration until he saw the wind swinging the golden beauties.

There were two reasons those bells could be ringing, Bakugou considers to himself. The first was that there was a stranger at the border who had business with The Typhoon. They either planned to join or it was something political maybe. The second could be that someone was testing the bells, seeing if they worked…or maybe they were ringing the ones that woke the slumber of angry, slithering mambas. Although he hopes it is the second, he assumes the first reason was most likely. It was for that deduction that Bakugou began to move towards the sound of the bell, his motivations resembling similarly to that of a moth fluttering too closely to the crackle of a hearth. He was walking as fast as he could be bothered. To be frank, joinings mean very little to him. It meant more faces for him to learn and more background characters he had to at least mildly care about. As he learnt very quickly, he couldn’t go around declaring that everyone was disposable. Some Typhooners didn’t like that kind of thinking and such words always hindered his ability to integrate smoothly into the island-dwelling life.

It was after losing count of the number of tracks he had counted, Bakugou arrives to see the canine waiting at the entrance. He didn’t have to travel far so he comes in time to see the collie attempt to groom out his features, adjust his aesthetic so that he doesn’t look like an utter disgrace to have walked the earth. Of course, the tabby is not so impressed, cocking a figurative brow towards the male figure. He is about to go through his usual 'the fuck do you want' speech but he clamps his maw shut upon recognising two other Typhooners, noting that they had beat him to it. Hah, well, it wasn't as if he was in any rush to get here. He was just here because he heard the bell and walked over. ”Oi, shithead,” he calls out, walking towards him with a daring stance. Bakugou, of course, doesn’t look intimidating at all. He’s like an Egyptian mummy, covered in bandages and walking stiffly from the stings of his bites and scratches. Still, the male continues without any attempt to adjust his attitude. ”Since y’like ringin’ bells – go ring the other bell.” He points to the one near the basket containing black mambas, a sickening grin upon his amused face, daring him. Of course, it was pretty obvious that to do so was to face serious repercussions. It pretty much said so by the conspicuous nature of his words and the aura of malice that laces his expression. If he were to be honest, he doesn’t expect the stranger to be stupid enough to do it. He was almost…indirectly congratulating the male for having at least half a brain to not ringing the other bell.

[VANDAL R.]

[CELESTE G.M.]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-size:8pt;font-family:verdana;border-bottom: 1px white solid;padding-BOTTOM: 3px;"]Temulin has nothing but her traditions. She was nothing but what she is, a spiritcaller who cannot call the spirits of the Typhoon and a shaman that cannot guide the people of the Plains since she is not there. So simply put - Temulin is pretty much useless, but her assignment to working as a sage gave her some much needed purpose until she could find a way home. Little did she know that she was now destined for another fate, one that she would accept whatever hand it dealt her with as much grace as she had.

Oh, but what she would do for her family to return to her? She would forsake every God, break every law that has ever bound her, blacken her soul and cast off her ablution just for a chance to see Khasar again, breathing and alive. To see her sisters happy and to take them back from the husbands that stole them from Temulin. For that, she would rattle the very heavens themselves - but there is no reward in doing such things. There is nothing left for her but to continue and try and serve as best she can until the gods bless her with their purpose once again.

[b]"You look tired." Temulin notes that about the stranger offhandedly, arranging her six small feathered wings on her back with a ruffle of gold and white. They are nuisance she has decided, at least the antlers on her head give her something to defend herself with, and the increase in size leaves her feeling a little less daunted amongst the bigger animals that run the Typhoon. [b]"If you need any assistance medically, I would be happy to assist."

[sebastian]

[align=center][div style="font-size:9pt; width:420pt; text-align:justify; padding:7px; line-height:12.2pt;"]// i am terribly late please forgive me ;-;
there's no need to reply to this since i've taken so long

Sebastian was not singular in his familial troubles, this he knew. It seemed for all the fanciful bounty a close-knit bond between relatives offered, few had the luxury of indulging and instead found refuge in vice or woe. He would wager some stitched together a patch-work family of choice rather than blood, and his own position resembled that careful threading of tattered cloth until the whole represented something far greater than the individual squares. In the chantry, the Maker and His Bride formed a bridge across canyons of dissimilarities. Who they were before was of little significance, overshadowed by their shared servitude both to Andraste and her children. The chantry supplied Sebastian with a stability he hadn't recognized a need for, an opportunity that opened him to a perspective free of childish desperation and the void of envy.

They had wooed him into a blanketing sense of security, and as soon as the deaths of his flesh-and-blood tore it away, his complacency ended, his tranquil chapter in the chantry closing. The page he turned was both backward and forward - he could not bring justice to his parents' killers without reopening old wounds connected with their memory. Sebastian understood far greater than he had before that particular double-edged sword, but, for better or for worse - often the latter - they were his family. He hadn't taken a life in their name before, nor at their behest, though the road his paws traveled might very well enter that realm of death.

Sebastian would not be the first to kill for his family. He imagined there were individuals who had committed far worse deeds for their kin, and even those who caused their end themselves, but it did not lessen the burden the collie wore strapped to every ridge of his spine.

He could pray for forgiveness later, as soon as their souls might rest easily in their graves - a resolution complicated by the enlightenment of his family's murderer. Sebastian had never predicted he might have to go beyond taking the life of a stranger to snuff the light of a friend, and for that, he would never comprehend an individual's capacity to harm family, regardless of treatment. Here he struggled with the possibility of killing a murderer when she herself hadn't allowed room for sentimentality to stay her hand - he should act no differently than she for their sake. The chantry had unequivocally softened his disposition.

Perhaps he might master that emotional suppression partaken by others, though in experience, Sebastian's closest attempts involved drowning them beneath pleasant sensations and debauchery. It was not a preferable alternative to facing his struggles.

Rest, on the other hand, might lend him a dearly-needed respite, and the collie dipped his head to the mongoose who arrived to promptly greet him. People could offer a strange, inexplicable solace in moments like these. "Sebastian Vael. Would you - The Typhoon, that is - mind a guest? I haven't much to offer but my services, I'm afraid." His level turquoise gaze slipped smoothly from the mongoose to a canine creature, effeminately shaped with peculiar pupils that drew Sebastian's curiosity. Privately, he made a jest regarding a whole new definition of heart eyes.

"Thank you, serah, but it's only a scratch. No need to waste any supplies on it." He smiled warmly, before a jarring call drew his focus from the young hellhound. Shithead? Another in his place might find themselves offended, but Sebastian struggled to rein back a chuckle, and the mirth made an appearance in his eyes, which brightened. He had been the recipient of many colorful monikers in his lifetime, of several degrading shades, and shithead was rather impersonal in comparison. Furthermore, the feline was merely a boy, and any ire Sebastian may have harbored left with the breeze.

Continuing to struggle with veiling a smile, the collie answered lightly, "Sebastian, not shithead, but I can see how you might confuse them." He followed the bandaged boy's gesture to the bell, situated above a basket rather conspicuously, eliciting a partial tilt of his heavily furred cranium. It would require a simpleton to remain oblivious to the transparent mischief on the smaller creature's features, as well as the hazardous nature of the basket. "Ah, I'm afraid my faith permits me to ring only a single bell a month," he replied, mock-serious, a teasing glint in his eyes entirely in opposition to the somber quality of his voice. "Remind me in a month's time."

In the moment following, a hybridized being arrived, both avian and canine. Sebastian did not intend to stare, but it was, quite honestly, fascinating to see the binding of creatures one would assume were wholly dissimilar. However, she did not seem restricted to two, as he noted gills, though he then elected it was best to answer so as to prevent any discomfort on her part. "Yes, I suppose I am a bit wet," he laughed very briefly, and when his eyes opened from it, she had seated herself beside the other winged wolf. Sebastian very nearly chuckled once more at her lack of recall for her position - he imagined that was a common occurrence. It did not seem something restricted to a single encounter. "Perhaps you could have it written on your leg. You're lucky you wouldn't have to shave it in." At her question, he gave a slight shake of his head, the sting hardly noticeable. "Does it look worse than it is? It's a bit of a nick, that's all."

Another winged individual. Was there a correlation, or was it merely a coincidence? Perhaps some of them were related, or the environments here and nearby encouraged that sort of mutation, though hers seemed a bit too small for flight capability. Bees spat on that logic, however. "Unfortunately, I feel it as well." Subconsciously, he smoothed down the fur on his chest. "You have my thanks, serah, though that won't be necessary."

[CAESAR CIPHER.]

ALL ALONE HE TURNS TO STONE !

CAESAR CIPHER. MALE. THE TYPHOON. OFFICER.

Why everyone was bothering this guy about medical aid, Caesar didn't know. The demon looked irritated as most of the Crewmates that came over voiced their concerns, before he finally grunted a reply to Sebastian, "Regardless if you can offer anything or not, you can stay." He gave a shrug. Whether or not the guy had things to offer didn't matter, though Caesar would have liked something. "So yeah, welcome or whatever. I'm Officer Caesar Cipher."

#psychosocial.