LIGHT THAT FIRE / O. RETURN? SICK?

[LAZARUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]/ i had no idea what to title this tbh he didn't technically leave but he did and. he's back for now but he's sick.

Everything is on fire. From the pads of his paws to his teeth, Lazarus feels as if he's burning from the inside out. Fevers were nothing new to him. From infected wounds to bad food, the boy had spent his whole life with this regular heat. Only rarely has it gotten this bad, though. Just when it happened without a reason, like this. When he thought that he would combust at any moment. The Cane Corso shivers constantly, his heart pounding at his chest until it seems that might pass out. There's never enough air in his lungs, the fire swallowing up all of it. At the moment, as the canine sways on his paws, there was nothing he wouldn't give for a peaceful, cold place to sleep. What led him here, though, he couldn't say. The grass feels uncomfortable under and around hot paws, little razor blades with every step. Even the air feels like it's hurting him, prickling on sweaty skin. Yet he presses on, maybe just for the hope that someone, anyone, would recognize him. Know him. Probably not, but —

But there's some kind of desperation, helpless and terrified, that presses him forwards. Lazarus doesn't stop at the border. Once again, he's drawn to the strange pool that he had stood by before, and here the boy collapses silently, one paw resting in the water but the rest of him curled up. Despite the scars, the torn ears and snapped antler, his mass, he seems almost vulnerable here. At least for the moment.

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]It's funny that when Moon sees Lazarus again, its while he's staring into the depths of Starpool looking for answers, just as he'd found the cane corso, weeks ago. Back then, he'd been cynical -- the only thing you'll find in the glistening surface is your own reflection -- but he gets it now. There's something about the place. And maybe it's the movies that taught him this, or maybe it's just universally known that going somewhere dramatic, poetic, like this makes you feel that bit less reckless, but he knows, now; this is where you go when you're feeling a little lost.


And Lazarus looks a little lost. Actually, he looks a little fucked. "Lazarus?" Moon calls, a frown sitting steady on his scarred face. He's not exactly tentative in his approach -- Moon never is -- but he stops a foot or two away, because he knows the canine enough to understand all he'll get is jaws wrapped around his neck if he goes any further. "You look like fucking shit." says the medic boy, already reaching for the ugly bag he's gotten used to carrying around with him. He lays it on the ground, spills out all its contents and roots through them in hopes of finding something he can offer. "I'm not gonna' touch you, okay, but I've got some stuff on me if you want it." He grabs for borage leaves and some poppy seeds, merely a guess, and pauses to wait for a response. He's not entirely sure he'll get one. He tries, anyway. "What's going on?"

— TAGS

[LAZARUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]There was something calming about this place. The cold water, the flat surface. Watching the world move in a silvery reflection kept him at peace with everything. And he's never been one for the movies and he's sure as hell not poetic, so it's not just Moon's fault. It would have made him frown to hear it, but Moon's right, as he usually seems to be. Laz feels out of place in the world, as if he's standing at a crossroads and finds himself unsure of where to turn. Here, at least, he can collect his thoughts. Even with a fever leaving him delirious, it's not too difficult to think. So he thinks about where he's been, where he's going, what his life and every life means. He thinks about the regret that bit into him as soon as he harmed Gabriel, and the flooding relief when the hybrid came to meet him. Whatever's going on his still complicated, still messy, but he's realized enough to understand that, for now, this is where he belongs.

Maybe this time he would actually try to make friends. He'd promised he would the first time, but it took losing everything that he'd known to accept that he needed more.

Now wasn't the time for those sort of thoughts, though. Laz is still burning. All he does is twitch slightly when Moon calls his name, one hind foot kicking out before settling back in where it was. Bright green eyes remain closed, and — maybe usually he'd be right. Any other day, people even speaking to him grates on his nerves. Today, though, the fight has been thoroughly kicked out of him. He offers only a low, nearly whining growl at what the lion says, but he sighs and gingerly turns his head to look at him instead of snapping back. "Hace calor," he mumbles, then winces as he shifts to sit. "Creo que tengo fiebre y me duele todo el cuerpo." It dawns on him, then, that speaking Spanish may not have been the best choice. Not when Moon was trying to help and he was trying to not start anything new. Fresh start. Try again.

"I think I'm sick."

[imperia]

[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; width: 55%; font-family: georgia; font-size: 9pt; letter-spacing: 0px;"]"I believe we all can agree that you are ill," chimes Imperia in a soft voice.

She always seems to be nearby when someone requires her particular set of skills, though there is no logical explanation for it. All she can say is that sometimes there is a sort of...impression. Almost like a someone tied a string around her neck and gently tugs her in the direction of wherever she needs to be. It is not always perfect, for she oftentimes arrives too late or in the wrong place, but it has occurred enough times to convince the former cleric that the Maker is guiding her towards people in need.

A tender smile tugs at the corner of her lips as the gentle creature approaches. There is a moment of contact between the she-wolf and Moonmade and she taps her tail against his side in a silent greeting, though her touch seems to linger for a millisecond or two before she focuses on the cane corso before her.

Luminous eyes the color of moonlight flicker over the young male's frame, making a mental note of all his physical symptoms before dancing over to observe the herbs Moon already prepared. "I do not think we need poppy seeds just yet, though I know they're you're preferred method of healing." Is she...teasing Moon? It is possible from the subtle smirk on her visage, but she does not look at him. Instead, her focus remains locked upon Lazarus. "You are experiencing a fever and body aches, am I correct?" Yes, she understands the male's Spanish. Peri is not quite sure where she picked it up, but languages have always been an easy study for her. Plus, it is useful when in the presence of Gabriel and Lazarus.

She retrieves some feverfew from her own medic bag in addition to Moon's borage leaves. "Are there any other symptoms? Sore throat? Nausea?" Just to be sure. It will be best to administer the feverfew and borage leaves here, but she needs to know what else she might need to prepare upon bringing Lazarus to the cleric's hide, should he allow them to do so.

[MOONMADE]

[size=9pt]Sometimes, he really wishes he spoke Spanish. It's proving to be essential when interacting with Lazarus, because, most of the time, Moon hasn't a fucking clue what he's saying. In the past, it's only been slightly annoying -- probably only insults purposefully spoken in another language -- but now, what he's saying is important. It may as well be a matter of life and death, and if he's trying to tell him something important and Moon can't understand, what the hell are they going to do? Track down Gabriel and get him to play messenger? Good luck with that.

But then comes Imperia, and the day is saved. As usual. Though, Moon's ego takes a slight blow-- he frowns at her comment, picking the poppy seeds from the ground and tucking them back into his bag. It's not like he speaks Spanish; how the hell was he supposed to know what Lazarus needed? He rolls his eyes to the sky and walks to the wolf's side, shoving his shoulder against hers, gently. Leave it to Imperia to make him look like a rookie.

"You good to walk back to the Cleric's Hide?" he asks, once Imperia's question has been answered. "I'd offer to carry you, but I'm not too keen on getting any new scars."

— TAGS

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]"Hrmph, I'll take the fella," resonated the voice of the male. Curiosity had gotten the best of him, as usual. As such he would not-quite-promptly make an appearance, casting an inquisitive glance at the Cane Corso that stumbled into the Ascendants' territory. They knew him as Lazarus, perhaps as some sort of former member that once made his residence in this group. No matter, he was in dire need of assistance, and Zjarr didn't have many better things to do at the time.

His form was not at its strongest, and it was evident that he had lost a bit of his muscle and support in time, though he had a vague idea to restore his former power from then on. As such, he felt that it would be a slightly greater hassle to lug the other canine about upon his shoulders, though perhaps it was a barely noticeable difference. But the demon wouldn't take any chances if he had a choice here. "If ya can't make it back by yourself, that is. You can, uh, lean on me if ya want. Just don't, y'know, cough or sneeze on me or whatever. Man, you're sicker than a do—" Abruptly the wolf's jaws clamped shut before he could finish the phrase. Okay, that sounded better in my head. Maybe not the best idea to say that now, to this specific fellow.

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]how'd it get so scandalous?[/glow] — ☼