THE MAN IN BLACK // VISITOR

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]He hadn't been gone so long as he'd expected he might have been, and he realized that maybe he'd been a bit overzealous roping Lazarus into one of his plans the way he did. A simple argument might've sufficed- it wasn't as though anyone knew the pair of them better to know that their arguments were rarely serious and they forgave each other pretty quickly. Most of the time. Instead, he'd...yeah, he'd gone a little overboard, and while the broken wing hurt like a bitch and his forehead gash was gonna leave a scar, thinking that Laz might feel guilty was worse, and spending all that time knowing his son was alone had made him antsy. He kept an eye on him as best he could all things considered, so the news was a bit late in coming when he learned that Laz had flown the temporary nest for this place. However much he complained about the grass, he preferred the plains to the desert. 

It was pretty, but he'd rather look at it in a painting, or a picture, rather than stand in the sand while the sun gave him no mercy. For once, he wished he was in a neon color scheme, or something at least somewhat lighter than black. He preferred warm over cold, but this was ridiculous.

"Lazarus! Get your ugly mug over here before I melt."
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[LAZARUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Gabe's sure not the only one melting here. Why he stayed in a place that burnt his paw pads and scorched his back was beyond him. At least Gabe had the advantage of wings and talons, though — well, he had a broken wing and all. His fault. He figured that he'd manage just fine, 'cause it's not like there were a whole lot of people he'd regretted hurting in the past. Nobody, really. But even though he'd gotten permission, waited for the hybrid to tell him to do it, something had still twisted and burned. It was the first time he'd felt sorry for the pain he caused, finally realizing that sometimes people didn't deserve it — sometimes he should stop himself. A strange lesson to learn in the strangest of places and times, but every part of his life had been strange in some way, and he couldn't really expect an exception, now could he? At least it's not to say that life here was entirely awful; he seems to be doing alright.

One of the first things he did was find a stick. Not people or a place to sleep, just something to chew as he thought. The canine found a relatively cool place and bit at it until it snapped. Splinters bit into the hard corners of his mouth, but it didn't hurt. The motion manages to lull him into a quiet, comfortable emptiness. No more thinking, just the hard wood against his teeth and tongue. It was easier to feel things snap than feel.

The canine is jolted out of his haze by a familiar carrying over the desert. Immediately the Cane Corso is alert, cropped ears perked and short tail pointed high to shot off his underside. Not alarm, though. Not fear. Forgetting about the stick he still carries (it's long and sun-bleached and one end has been chewed to splinters — it's covered in slobber), he listens effortlessly. There's no wariness, and the built that tries to rise up in his throat is summarily swallowed again and again. Because Gabe wouldn't be here if he was mad, he wouldn't be telling him to get over there. Laz only remembers the stick once he's standing over the hybrid again, just because he tries to say something and finds his mouth full of wood. Oops. He sets it down but doesn't quite find his words again yet. He'd never been one to understand what it felt like to have his heart in his throat, but Lazarus might be learning.

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]If he'd known Laz considered it his fault for Gabe's broken wing, he'd give him a good smack upside the head. Laz did break it, but at Gabe's behest, not of his own accord like so many believed; that was the part of a staged event, and with Gabe as the orchestrator, he was adamant in recognizing himself as the responsible one, not Lazarus, who'd just participated. It was...unfair of the hybrid, in all honesty, to rope his son into that plan. Gabriel didn't want him to struggle with any kind of moral dilemma or guilt, but it was difficult to avoid eliciting those when he'd convinced Lazarus to, in simple terms, fuck him up. Not his brightest moment, or his proudest one, but it'd seemed necessary, and looking back from where he stood now, he couldn't say if it'd assuaged suspicion any. His skin had crawled the entire time, and still was, for reasons he couldn't find.

It didn't matter, not when he saw Lazarus approach, ears perked and entire demeanor alert, responsive. He had a big stick in his mouth, one Gabe was confident he'd been gnawing on for too long- long enough he'd forgotten he'd had it, by the way he seemed surprised he couldn't speak. Setting it down must not have helped any, though, considering he was still silent. Unsurprising, all things considered. Lazarus was a smartass, but a quiet one, not prone to talking as much as Gabe could. It was probably for the best Gabe started anyway, to clear up any remaining worries the kid might have. "Lo siento, mijo. Dame un abrazo." Okay, he hadn't explained much yet, but a hug could say more than words could, so the hybrid stretched up on his hind legs, cradling his face with gentle talons and nipping the canine's brow. "Te extrañé. ¿Me extrañaste?"

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