when all you feel is jaded || joining

[HAWKE]

[align=center][div style="font-size:9.3pt; max-width:420pt; text-align:justify;"]//this is a bit of a mess, apologies!

He loved beating his problems to death as much as the next person (perhaps even more so, truthfully) but when his problem was in itself a death, he couldn't desecrate his sister's body or memory by attempting to throttle either out of his head. Hawke held few things sacred, but Bethany was the closest to a saint he would ever revere. His little brother considerably less so, who was another of Hawke's issues, and one he was sorely tempted to knock the shit out of. That, however, would upset Mother. Granted, that had hardly kept him from clubbing dear Carver in the past (so, so satisfying, little brother), but Bethany's loss had unbalanced their sturdy quad - quadrio? quadro? - quartet arrangement into a wobbling trio. They were, after father's death, a still fairly handsome four-legged oaken table that later lost a leg with Bethany, and a three-legged table was more useless than nipples on a breastplate.

A two legged table even less so, but moping around a hovel had only agreed with Hawke for the first five minutes before he needed to escape the despondent sighs and baleful glares.

Was he running away? Certainly. Was he planning on addressing his predicament? No - the answer to the first question should have made that obvious. So suffice it to say, Hawke would not be beating his issues to death with a hefty stick, unfortunately. Rather, he was plodding across what had to be the longest, shittiest excuse for a bridge he had ever walked in all of his almost two years of existence (and only four months of those were Carver free).

By the time he reached what had to be a gate, Hawke was wholly confident that Carver was old and gray, regaling impossibly conceived grandchildren of what a bastard his older brother was.

The wolf snorted, and his dark eyes roved across the frankly obscene collection of bells, though the "declarations of war" with the painted arrow better harnessed his attention. It was an ominous arrow, but Hawke had ignored worse warning signs, if that was what it served to be. "I'll bite," he murmured, peeking over the nigh imperceptibly quivering basket. Ah. Snakes. Not the garden variety, either, unless the garden happened to be of the wild savanna sort. Carefully slow, Hawke stepped back, content to - just this once - mind his business.

That lasted for all of three seconds, when he moseyed over to the bells, unreservedly slapping one. It was a dead ringer for a certain thick-headed sibling of his, minus the pretty trimmings.

[Evelyn]

Talia has gotten quite comfortable living in the Typhoon. While admittedly having arrived only a few days earlier, it's easy enough to find herself in the deep end of familiarity given the group's likeness to her old home (albeit certainly more chaotic than the land-of-tides had been). In fact, she'd even found herself an abandoned treehouse to busy herself with; renovations do tend to take a lot of her time, and it isn't long until she realizes she's starved of communication.

So she takes whatever excuse she can, and the ringing bell heralding the arrival of a newcomer is right up her alley.

The hellhound launches herself from the raised porch of the treehouse and spreads her wings wide, casting a rippling shadow on the canopy underneath. Beside her flies Boob, her trusted companion, the ferruginous pygmy owl whistling a melodic tune. It's one that Talia matches in kind, singing softly under her breath, broken only by a light chime of laughter.

The duo reach the wall in record time, Talia perching above the wall and Boob landing on an antler on her head. They peer down at the newcomer with curious eyes, one seafoam and another amber, and cock their heads to the side at the same time.

"Pretty little things, aren't they?" Talia flashes the stranger a smile, one wing extending to gesture at the basket of serpents directly underneath her. "They've got a nasty bite, sure, but pretty. They don't like to be kept waiting, though, and neither do I. What brings you to the shore?"

ooc. i see a hawke-based character, i like immediately. welcome to the gayphoon!

[Grey]

Bakugou doesn't run away from his problems, or at least the problems he is aware of. He works to overcome them, to hone his body to become a perfect, weaponised vessel to fight against his struggles. In terms of emotional problems, he almost always lets them overwhelm him to the point that he is blinded by an intoxicating rage, forbidding him from seeing anything clearly. He refuses to run away from his problems but Bakugou is no perfect being. Most of the time, he doesn't realise there is a problem he is running away from, doesn't even realise that it lies within him, brewing and bubbling away within a cauldron of suppressed feelings. Thoughts and fears often evolve and manifest into more fuel to feed the fire that kept him going, the destructive and curling flames of his anger. Sometimes, Bakugou would like to be a different person. It would be nice to change into a force of good, someone who didn't have to work so damn hard to be respected. He was sure that the only reason The Typhoon kept him around was because he contributed to the weapon pool of the island, was considered a capable fighter, pulled his weight. Otherwise, if respect was based on personality alone, he would receive none of it.

The Quartermaster's ears crane towards the ringing sound, indifferent by the clangs of the bell that reverberate across the rainforest grounds. He would likely have kept believing that The Typhoon only wanted his utility had it not been for his recent promotion. It still stuck to his mind in an alarming and unsettling way. He is at least self-aware that he does not get along with others, that his personality was load of bullshit and his temper was strong as a feather. He doesn't know what the Captain sees in him. If the purpose was to induce a silent identity crisis upon him than the Captain had surely achieved it.

Embittered eyes sweep towards the hellhound and the owl flying ahead of him, reaching the gates before him to greet the stranger at the bell. A dark-furred wolf, he notes before stopping close to the three and listening to Talia's comments. She surely knows how to act so calmly around foreigners, civil but different to the charisma to that of Luciferus who held bounties of wisdom or Feliks who had a bite that accompanied his words. While the hellhound had stated that she didn't like waiting, there didn't seem to be any aggression at the expense of the other. He thought it to be interesting, not adding any other words to the canine's presence at the gate because the ragdoll doesn't feel the need to waste his breath. While he doesn't smell like he is a part of any group, it was very much possible that he was here on business terms rather than joining turns. He doesn't want to jump the gun, simply standing and supervising quietly. He needed the distraction.

[adomania]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]Desperado himself was caught between both wanting to destroy his demons, and being unable to do so out of some kind of subtle fear that seemed to prohibit him from it. Perhaps fear wasn't the right word for it, for Des did not feel particularly scared of what plagued him, but the emotions were far from positive regardless. His problems already had a nasty hold on him, something he blamed on the fact that they had been with him all the way back when he was nothing but a young, malleable child, and after such a long time it was impossible to separate himself from them without destroying himself in the process. He could always die, but already having done that and coming back just as sorry as he'd always been proved to him that the afterlife wasn't the answer to his issues.

So instead he was left to wallow in his own misery, and hope that one day that both the revenge and redemption would come. Revenge against those who hurt him, who had beaten him down into the man who had been forced to kill... redemption for those very people who died under his hand because it was the only thing that kept him alive. It was the harsh reality - sometimes to survive you had to do shit, and that shit was rarely nice. You sold your body and your soul to an organization just because it gave about two shits more than everyone else did about your life, even if it still didn't amount to anything great in the end. He was a pawn in the game, had been for some while... shit, even now he didn't feel in control. At least he wasn't being controlled anymore, not by any one person.

Or were the people in the past still so strongly influencing him that even in death he'd be a slave to them all? Even after they were all dead and gone, would he still belong to them?

There were too many questions and not enough time for him to answer all of them. No, actually, the time was there and would always be - that was the hand he had been dealt, a sorry excuse for immortality. It was the motivation that was lacking, for no matter how Des spun it he didn't feel like the effort was worth the result. People hated him, but he hated himself more than them all combined, and it was a struggle to convince himself that the effort was worth it when everyone else just kept proving to him that people like him couldn't change. He wanted to be good, but he had never done it before. He was lost as to where he should start, who he should turn to for help. Gabriel seemed like a good candidate... but he was terrified of the man for the same reasons he was terrified of all other relationships he made along the way. Friends always ended up either abandoning you, dead, or both. Des couldn't trust Gabe wouldn't turn out the same, and that when it happened he'd be even more lost than he had been when he started.

So it was along this self-made path that Desperado walked. It was a rocky, crevice-filled path but one he followed nevertheless, hoping that it would eventually lead to something worthwhile. He wasn't even asking for glory at this point, he wasn't searching for any city of gold. He just wanted rest. He was tired of fighting what he had been told his entire life. He just wanted it all to change already, and the path was as tiresome as the beginning had been. That path took him here, for now, at the foot of the border of the Typhoon's territory (and Sunhaven, actually, but that was simply because he had felt the need to run on occasion even from the place he tentatively called home.)

It seemed that others were also following both the literal and metaphorical train tracks to find something. It seemed to be a reoccurring pattern around these parts.

But as heavy and vast as his problems were, the lion was also uncannily good at hiding it. Everything was masked underneath an easy smile, gaze warm and gait all light as he sauntered over towards the sound of the bell, already trained to respond almost as if upon instinct. All the stress in his shoulders seemed nonexistant unless one knew what to look for, and at one, short glance he'd seem to be doing just fine with his life. It was why Gabriel was still trying to get him to crack, perhaps knowing Des' type enough to know he was hiding years of trauma underneath the lopsided grin.

But Hawke didn't. Or at least Des hoped he didn't. He didn't want more people trying to pry into his shit; his problems were deep, black and ugly, and not even he had started to unpack them all. He wasn't about to let strangers who thought they knew more about himself than he did try and help him.

[FELIKS]

[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; width: 60%; font-family: georgial; font-size: 11pt;"]Since realising that snakes had occupied the borders, the gryphon had been reluctant to go out of his way to greet strangers. Whilst he could not say he was truly petrified of the venomous noodles, the sight of that flickering tongue left him filled with caution from prior experiences with them. Most reptiles were decent creatures, cold-blooded but truthful... serpents were just bastards with a bite. Seeing others approach the deadly area following the unceremonious 'ding' of a bell made Feliks forget quite how little he wanted to be around, pride on the line if he turned tail and hid from his problems. It was just a shame that other problems weren't resolved with his regular bouts of confidence.

His crow perched atop a bobbing cranium, the Privateer wouldn't give the basket a glance, instead focusing his attention solely on the stranger. He jerked his head quickly upwards, Loki getting the message and flying off towards civilisation, leaving Feliks to deal with Hawke alone. His clanmates had stated all that needed to be stated, with the latecomers doing nothing but guarding the interaction. With no familiar scent or no familiar face, he could understand the silence that others offered, no talk was needed, the hybrid did lean towards being excessive however. "Your attempt at making a song was awful," he spoke with a sirk, ear tufts flickering. "Try making a better tune when you hit that thing. Maybe Jingle Bells?". Gesturing towards the old bell, the only thing he could do now was wait.

[HAWKE]

[align=center][div style="font-size:9.3pt; max-width:420pt; text-align:justify;"]They were all full of bullshit, weren't they? Everyone sold or traded theirs for different results - perhaps concealment of personal issues, or for very material gain (Hawke's favorite) - but quite frankly, he was hardly the sort of man to give a damn about how other people lived their lives, unless they kicked puppies and stole from children, and all other deeds equally morally corrupt. He was even less suited to pose as a therapist. Something about his face gave away how utterly fucking disinterested he was after about thirty seconds, but why it couldn't say that before people approached him with their issues completely escaped him.

The only therapy Hawke would willingly involve himself in was booze and booty. Not the worst of poisons to choose. Infinitely better than actually verbalizing any of those Maker-damned emotions bouncing around like kids on candy. Hawke shuddered at the thought - both of them.

There were worse coping mechanisms - the type that didn't get Hawke drunk or laid. Everything else in the world seemed so hackneyed by now that only the meaningless had significance. It was a scant bit difficult to care for the miserable floating ball of self-absorbed lifeforms at times, particularly when it was the miserable floating ball that chewed Bethany to undeserved bits.

But again: running. Not touching that raw memory with even a redwood tree pole.

Fortunately, Hawke had company, if, "staring down critically from atop a wall" counted as guests over for teatime. "Oh, I love snakes," the mixed-canine agreed, "my favorite like to hiss from across the street about how terrible of an influence I am. Or am I thinking of old biddies?" Hawke's head tilted, broad shoulders angling up into a smooth shrug while a sly smile levered one corner of his mouth. "But I'd hate to keep a lady and her toothy worms waiting. I'm here because I have a burning passion for crossing bridges." And setting them ablaze quite judiciously. "You can call me Hawke, by the way. You look like a Victoria, or some sort of 'ia.'"

His dark visionaries pursued new movement, belonging to a kitty cat with just the right grumpass facial vintage that he cursed his lack of opposable thumbs - and fingers as a whole. That was a face Hawke would gleefully pinch into a supreme state of assholery. Helping him transcend to a higher plane of existence and whatnot. "I'd ask what crawled up your ass and died, but it didn't die, did it? Looks unpleasant - I'm sorry."

What did he have here? (Not enough booze or booty - did he mention he loved those?) Hawke supposed it wasn't the worst facade he had ever seen (watching Carver blunder through conversations broke nearly every record possible) but it was considerably noticeable to the mixed-canine. He did spend time in front of a mirror. However, as mentioned earlier, Hawke could only handle giving so many shits at once before he had to ask for refunds. Whatever ailed the lion was his business alone. "If I knew the island had someone so pretty cooped up, I'd have walked faster. Is there a dragon I have to fight?" Hawke made a spectacle glancing around the area. "Or is there a curse I have to break with a kiss?" The canine smirked, eyes sparking, before they found the new figure of a griffon, accompanied by a crow.

Was it some variety of a fashion statement to have a feathered friend? "Jingle Bells?" He pressed a paw to his chest, feigning affront, although the poorly concealed grin betrayed that attempt. "Give it another few weeks - then I'll start cramming the spirit of Christmas into every hole I have. That will be a performance to look forward to, I swear it."

//aaa, thank you!! is this the talia from ff, by any chance? :0

[Evelyn]

Talia is... surprisingly refreshed after witnessing the wolf's attitude firsthand. With chaos weaving tales of tragedy both told and untold in the mortal realm, it's far too easy for one to lose their sense of humor, but the newcomer seems to have a firm grasp of his--a strangle, one might even say, although how one holds onto the joys of life is of no concern to the hellhound. It's only the delivery that counts, and this Hawke person has certainly left a steaming pile of it at the Typhoon's doorstep.

"You and I share the same tastes, friend. I like my snakes aware that I am a terrible, terrible creature. Being called a vile beast of temptation gives me much pleasure in life." Statement flying proud in the air like a flag, the hellhound flashes the other Typhooners a wink before jumping off the top of the wall and landing on the other side. As she straightens up to her full five-foot height, the near fox-like creature gives her thick neck fur a mighty shake, bells jingling (almost coincidentally given the "Jingle Bells" joke), and then flashes the canine a beaming smile that seems to hold all the wily wickedness one might only be able to muster after having lived several sinful lives.

"Lady's quite a stretch; ladies need even the slightest modicum of decorum, the kind I don't have." She extends one wing and folds it in front of her chest before bowing. How easy it is, to say one thing and act another, but she does like keeping the people around her guessing. What fun can be wrought from the same old droll, after all? "Quite pleased to meet you, Hawke; you seem to be on the right track already. Natalia Rhodes-Pendragon, fellow newcomer, here to officially welcome you to the Typhoon."

Ah, what is life without a little dramatic flair?

ooc. ooogh, it is!! i'm surprised someone still recognizes this old gal!

[Grey]

His feelings are isolated and contained within himself. They are always swarming and bubbling, brewing into something worse than they could have been. Anger is contained for only short moments, his mind is invaded and overwhelmed by other feelings that he is too ignorant and blind to understand. He does not want to think that his emotions are an issue but failing to see and address them only leaves the sensations to rise like a storm. Clouds become grey, the paradise of his mind morphing into a battlefront. All his thoughts mesh and become anew, metamorphosing into a rage. It is his fault he cannot control how he feels, his fault that they are left to rot and become anger, destructive of everything in its path. He liked to think part of the blame was being around others. They were simply intolerable, only fueling the fire that crackles and burns within his body. He cannot stand the way they act. He can be irritated by the smallest of things and most of the time, they have done nothing to deserve his aggression. He is petty, he is bitter, he is insufferable to watch. Beneath his need to defend his pride, he is simply a child who doesn't understand what to do. Venting would be nice but it makes him feel vulnerable.

It was another smart ass. To be honest, he's starting to get sick of them. While he has initially been amused by Feliks, he finds that they all get irritating. He would rather those comments were directed towards the enemy, the male scrunching his nose. He would rather the other had ignored him. "You can go kiss one of the ferals on the island," he grumbles bitterly, ears beginning to feel hot. It was Bakugou's way of saying 'go kill yourself' but he knows it won't phase the other and his humour. He will likely make some kind of infuriating comeback. He's come to expect this from personalities such as his and it's too tedious trying to talk back. He's not worth his time. The ragdoll has an uneasy feeling that the other will go out of his way to piss him off. Well, if it ever comes to a point he can't handle the other's bullshit, he will probably burn him. "Since you're handling housekeeping so well, I'm just going to go do something useful," Bakugou finally says, looking towards Talia. He doesn't want to stay around for any longer. He was only present in the case it were politics or some idiot happened to be mute in answering questions. The ragdoll doesn't like standing around for no reason and Hawke had successfully managed to irk the easily annoyed Bakugou.

[Luciferr]

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L U C I F E R . G R I M M

"The endless Void, The gazing abyss, The bottomless ocean of horror...It coiled itself around your tender heart"

"Is there a dragon I have to fight"

"ah you may rest easy, there is a dragon - or two - but you won't have to fight them" ah speak of the devil and he shall appear no? bringing up the back of the group comes the familiar vantablack form - a glint of humour in the one eye that displays it aside from the brilliant red that simply stares from its marred side.

his gaze flicks to Bakugou as the quatermaster leaves inwardly sighing - well aware that the newcomer's personality probably massively clashed with the ragdoll's normal cantankerous persona, he still remembers Bakugou's own words to him way back when but Lucifer often paid them no mind, long used to all sorts of personalities - and much worse than his, the Ragdoll might be ill tempered but he's a hard worker and he cares in his own ways.

though he watches Hawke's flirting and banter with the others with some small amusement - he inclines his head "Luciferus - Lucifer if you prefer" polite enough t give his name since Hawke seems to be joining them after all - certainly quite the character.

/oo hey dragon age

tags — [color=maroon]large dragon — hellion [5ft] — typhoon / officer — extreme

© LEXASPERATED

[adomania]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]The first thing that caught Des' eye was the fact that the man seemed almost impossible easy going, much like himself in nearly every situation. It brought up a healthy dose of suspicion, his curiosity piqued and subtly seeking the answer to his newfound question: was he running too? Maybe he was just like that, but the similarities were too many to ignore, and it was the surest way to get his attention. That's how Gabe had managed - he had hell of a lot of problems of his own, and Des was too good for his own good, trying to help solve them before he could even solve his own only to realize that the old man's goal was the same as his and they eventually met at an impasse. He couldn't get anything out of Gabriel, and Gabriel still hadn't gotten anything useful out of him. He wasn't sure if he wanted the same with Hawke, so he didn't pry, his gaze telling nothing of his silent turmoil.

But they did tell of minute shock at the flirtatious quip, shoulders involuntarily stiffening and mind on guard. His smile didn't drop, but it was suddenly more like he was baring his teeth than actually grinning, with far too much teeth and none of the warmth reaching his eyes anymore. There was nothing but wariness, his past coming back to chase him in one, Hawke-shaped box. "I'd appreciate it if you found someone more worthwhile to flirt with." Not to say the man wasn't handsome and someone who had inadvertently caught Des' eye, but it was back to the whole idea of problems. A lot of Des' were sexual, and not because of sexual repression or questioning sexuality like others. They were far more severe, sending his nerves alight and reactivating that primal urge to either run or fight. But he wouldn't. He'd stand his ground, smile easy, but a subtle warning in his gaze.

Trust him to still be polite even in the face of trauma. He wasn't here to hurt anybody, and he had a lot of patience, but even the slightest signal of any advances sent the pots and pans banging inside of his head, warning him that nothing good would come out of it. Hawke hadn't crossed any lines yet, and although Des was warier of the flirtatious type he was far from someone that he wished to ignore... he just hoped the man got the message and didn't press. There was being a sly smartass, and then there was pushing limits. Des was accustomed to the former (he was one of them), but the latter would get no mercy from him.

Thankfully he didn't have to think of himself for too much longer. A sharp laugh left him at Bakugou's response, eyes glimmering with even sharper amusement as they shifted from the man back to the newcomer (Hawke - he had to stop looking at everyone and being unable to address them by name, although it was hard when you had a habit of running and not looking back. It was easier when you didn't know anyone, regardless if they knew you or not.) There was having something up your ass, dead or alive, and then there was him, and although Des had half a mind to warn Hawke that no matter what he said other than strictly business matters would be taken badly, he felt like the man already knew that and it'd be a waste of breath. He seemed the type to enjoy shoving a strong personality wherever it wasn't wanted.

Luckily for him, those like Bakugou were rare around these parts, and Des wasn't one of them. He took the comments in stride, grin still easy but the strain of his muscles disappearing minutely upon realizing that he was more in his element. Friendly banter was what he thrived on. It could deflect all the attention from off of his problems, and allowed others to do the same. Who could ask for a better distraction?

"Don't mind him, there's plenty of things you can kiss that aren't the ferals... unless, of course, you're into that thing, in which case I ain't stopping you," he mused, tilting his head back with an easy chuckle. "As for dragons... yeah, we've got one -" his voice was caught off by devil himself, grinning up at Lucifer at his perfect timing. "- right there. And, right here" with a few seconds of pause he shifted, bones changing and morphing, his skin turning far more scaled until in the span of a maximum of ten seconds he, too, matched Lucifer (if only a bit smaller.) "Not a curse, though, I promise. No need to kiss this out of me."