precious fragile little thing / joining?

[emil]

[align=center][div style="width: 600px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 550px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]It had been a long, long time since Sparrow had found himself drawn to civilization. He had always considered himself something of a nomad, ever since he had left home. He'd overcome many things; his body showed that, with the numerous scars that plagued his once lovely form. It had taken time to accept himself. To accept that the being he stared at for hours in the ocean was him and not some beast staring back. It was not easy, but eventually, he came to terms with it.

Still, there was fear that nipped at him each time he passed through villages or towns or stayed with groups. There would always be someone that stared, someone that asked too many questions. He could never stay for long. Their gazes on him, prying eyes, picking him apart piece by piece; his heart thrummed in his ears just at the thought. He didn't consider it a smart decision to want to try again, but he always found himself yearning to be with friends or find a new family. It was wishful thinking, and it always would be, but such thoughts were what kept him going. As much as he hated it, he would always long to be in the company of others.

The Typhoon was not his first choice. An island with the word "paradise" in it certainly sounded pleasant, but word was a band of pirates had claimed it as their own. He had never met a pirate before; only ever heard them in the stories his father used to tell, and in the stories, they were not good creatures. Scurvy. Crude. Vulgar. Not very good people to be associated with.

And yet, no other place quite caught his eye. The nomad had never considered himself a picky being, but when it came to residency, perhaps that was a false statement. No matter the warning signs or the alarms sounding in his head, he felt drawn to the island. A sort of pull he couldn't deny; one he had felt before. Sparrow wouldn't say he was a believer in destiny or fate, things of the such, but it was no coincidence that the pull he felt for some things always led him to a new experience, a new story.

He was hesitant to set foot past the railroad gate. A white paw hovered lightly over the sand and green eyes stared at the damp, mushy ground, softly lapped at by the ocean. This had always been a point of anxiety for him. Determining whether the people would be welcome or not, whether they would stare for long or disregard the gashes that marred his body. He breathed in deeply and held it for a moment, before finally heaving it out. New beginnings. Sparrow slowly set his paw down on the sand and seated himself on the island. Easy enough. Now to just get someone's attention.

"Hello?"

[Grey]

Sometimes Bakugou likes to entertain himself with possibilities. He likes to wonder who he was before, who the owner of this body had been and what happened to them. Had the universe always intended this vessel to manifest powers? If not, then it would explain why it had brought him so much pain. Then he will wonder if the creature is still alive. Perhaps it is living dormant within him, breathing and asleep. The frightening idea is that the spirit is trapped within the confines of this body, forced to watch Bakugou ruin everything, creep and try to break free from the shackles that keep it down. Maybe part of him is slowly beginning to seep out, leaking like a broken pipe, intoxicating his system. Their spirits would mingle, mix and mesh. An awful and hideous brew, bubbling within the cauldron of his body. While the thoughts are entertaining, keeping the young Quartermaster occupied, they are deeply unsettling. The idea that he is not the owner of this body (for no body can simply materialise without a beginning) haunts him like a phantom in the night, sanguine eyes glowing back at him like a distorted reflection. He is the unknowing parasite who has taken over his host, unaware of possible life that dwells within the chasms of a spectral realm, lurking and aware. But, his thoughts intercept, maybe the creature is already dead.

One uncomfortable theory that sticks to him is that the body he has inherited must have been a wanderer - a wanderer who planned on traveling to The Typhoon but, by some mysterious circumstances, was replaced by Bakugou. It would make sense considering how natural walking felt for him, as if he had been doing it his whole life. It even tied in the fact that the ragdoll had not been far off the border of the island. From time to time the male can't help but also wonder what group he would have chosen if he could otherwise. His association to The Typhoon had been by chance. But, amusingly enough, he would have chosen the band of pirates anyway. The Pitt were awful bloodlusting rogues, the Rosebloods were stuck-up bitches, Snowbound had recently been obliterated and, in terms of the other groups, they didn't seem to really exist. While Sunhaven has cast a good impression on him, Bakugou isn't interested in merchants. Ascendants? Apparently they weren't worth his time. Turns out the group he has heard the least from was Tanglewood.

"Yo." The call is sudden but natural. Bakugou has noticed this stranger sitting at the border for some time, not even being present to hear his hello. He notices the bells has been untouched by he pays no mind to it. There will always be someone in The Typhoon who despises the obnoxious sound of the bells, causing black mambas to stir in bitter wait. He's been making walks towards the railroad rather aimlessly, patrolling for any inconsistencies, letting his mind roam and humoring himself. Truthfully, the Quartermaster didn't expect to see anyone sitting there so politely and quietly. The feline approaches, paws sizzling smoke whenever his pads touch the ground. "What do you want here?" He doesn't ask for the name. Normally foreigners come to introduce themselves anyway. He doesn't really care who the other is as long as he knows what they are doing here.

[adomania]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"][ its my son ]

The problem with being such a warm, seemingly social creature as he seemed to be was that inevitably Des found his way back to civilization one way or another. There was a price to pay no matter what he chose to do, and regardless of if he stayed alone or among others, his demons would haunt him. It was simply a matter of how long he could allow himself to be surrounded before the fears started to get under his skin, both based on history and not. There was nothing promising him that no one in the places Desperado chose to inhabit wouldn't hurt him, and likewise he could not promise anyone else the same courtesy. His moods were fickle, his demons ugly... and sometimes, when the shadows seemed to hold nothing but monsters, his paws became far too twitchy and blood would spill. It had happened many times already, both to friends and enemies alike, and now there was very little trust left in everything for Des to bother much with staying in places.

He was a self-made wanderer, moving from place to place with the hope that eventually things would get better. He'd been repeating that for the past three years, however, and so far it proved to be an empty mantra. It was to no surprise, then, that sometimes he just needed to run and escape whatever was plaguing him, either by leaving the situation entirely or through one of his many vices. Sometimes it worked, and he inevitably found himself returning to whatever place he could find it in himself to call home. For now it was here, with this ragtag group of pirates who, despite their flaws, stuck together and were the closest thing to a family Desperado could ever hope for (and even then they were hardly a family. Half of them didn't even know his name with how much he tended to disappear.)

Maybe it would have bothered him more if he didn't know that it was for the best. The less people he was attached to, and the less people who were attached to him, the easier it would be to run before things got messy again. A small part of him despised every time he changed his scenario again, but a bigger, louder part made it easy. His demons had one hell of a hold on him, and at this point it seemed like he was becoming more and more like them with each passing day. Tired, volatile, with a penchant for obstinance just for obstinance's sake. 

The easy smile never faded, though. The charm still stayed, a useful skill to weasling his way in and out of situations when the time called for it. It was how he knew so much about others while giving away so little about himself. Most either didn't realize or didn't question him on it, whether it was because they simply didn't care or they didn't want to bother fighting him on it. He wouldn't blame them either way; he was hardly someone worth caring about. As long as he kept his nose in his own business and didn't say the wrong thing at the wrong time, most of the people here were content with letting him do his own thing. He always came back, regardess. Maybe they trusted him because they knew he had nowhere else to go.

Or maybe that was his own head talking again, and he was looking too deep into every little action that everyone presented to him. You didn't survive by being ignorant, though. Small details never failed to escape him because he knew that one day they might help him escape. The more you knew about people without them realizing it, the more you had under your sleeve when the time came to either fight or flee.

Small details such as the stranger sitting on the border, one of not too many to not ring the damn bell the moment he saw it to send everyone's ears ringing and panties in a twist to see who could get to the border the fastest. Maybe he didn't see it, or maybe he detested the sound as much as everyone else here seemed to. That or (if Desperado knew half as much about his own problems as he claimed to) he was nervous, questioning his decision and waiting to see if anyone would notice him before he could slip quietly away like he had never been there. Des had been in that position many times already to pick up a few hints, but, as always, he kept his nose in his own business the same way he hoped everyone else would. He wasn't going to go picking at people's problems, not when he had his own.

He found that, for the first time in a very long time, he wasn't sure what else to say as he padded over to meet Bakugou at the gate. It was easy to retort with a quip when the party responding had said anything to begin with, but all that the tiger had offered to them was a hello that wasn't even directed to anyone in particular. It was that mixed with that constant, tiring ache that forced him into subdued silence, brooding over his own decisions and wondering if there was something he was supposed to say but couldn't find at the moment.

No matter. His maw still held an easy smile, dual colored eyes steadily taking into account the tiger's rather scarred form. There was very little he could judge without sounding like a hypocrite, his own body marred and raised from countless sustained injuries, the newest addition to those being the one on his neck, coincidentally hidden by the jeweled collar he had favored today over the black necklace that reminded him a little too much of his past for that day. He was exhausted with remembering, and even though he never failed to seek out the first thing that could hurt him in a room full of weapons both physical and mental, today he just wanted to rest. 

[emil]

[align=center][div style="width: 600px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 550px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Identity was something that he struggled with for a long time. He was far different now than how he had been since he was in his youth; a playboy of sorts, popular among the creatures of his homeland, now a solemn nomad with little friends or connections to the outer world. At times, he thought that maybe, he had never been the boy he remembered himself to be. False memories, or perhaps leaks from the mind of who had owned this body before. Dissociation, that's what it was called. Sometimes he felt as though he was watching his life pass by like a movie. He had always owned this body. He wished he didn't own it anymore.

Sparrow still retained the skills of socialization from what his life used to be. A bit rusty, perhaps, but when he spoke to others it came easy. And yet, today, he wasn't quite sure what to do. Two others had approached. One spoke to him, the other kept quiet. He met the lion's gaze for a brief moment, allowing his eyes to draw over the other's own scars, and for a moment he felt almost comforted. He was not nearly scarred as Sparrow, but several still striped his body, and he seemed rather at peace with it. The tiger hoped he would be in the same place eventually.

The traveling had not been much of a choice for him so much as it was a requirement to stay alive. Chased out of what had once been his home, hunted by those who wanted to erase his existence entirely, with no family to ever go back to. It hurt. The pain of living plagued him for the years he spent away, moving despite his aching paws and aching body. There were days that he thought maybe it would be best to let them catch up and finish the job, end his misery. The truth was that Sparrow did not want to die. Not yet. Not until he found peace.

After some time had passed, green eyes snapped from their trance, and he wondered how long he had left the two in empty silence. He breathed in as if he had forgotten how to, took a moment, and finally dropped his gaze to Bakugou. He'd asked him something. What was it? Sparrow stared blankly before slowly croaking out,"My name is Sparrow." The scarred creature dipped his head after an awkward pause. "I'm looking to stay here, if you will have me."

He raised his gaze again, this time letting it land on Desperado. The other was still quiet, and the longer he stared, the more uncertain he felt. He cleared his throat lightly and offered a light smile. "Yo," The tiger gave a soft rumble; might as well greet the guy he was staring at. He fell silent then, somewhat unsure of what to say next. Seemed his anxiety was getting to him rather badly this time. Some moments passed, before he finally spoke up again, eyes looking between the two. "This is the Typhoon, correct? Are you pirates?" Better than nothing.

/ shit post :pensive:

[OWEN.]

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"You've got it right, man. We're a buncha pirates." Owen chuckled as he arrived, leaning against the side of the gate, creaks being heard as the gate seemed to complain with his heavy weight. The indominus rex had his talons over the side of the gate, his spiked tail seemingly wagging with excitement behind him. He didn't mind greeting newcomers.

"Welcome to the Typhoon, my name's Owen!" He greeted the other, a toothy grin on his face as he did so. Really, compared to his intimidating appearance, Owen really did have a heart in his chest- he wasn't a dick. Well, sometimes. He was a dick to Bakugou sometimes, but that was playful banter, in his opinion.

TAGS • THE TYPHOON • STRIKER • 27 M/O • GERMAN SHEPHERD | INDOMINUS REX • #RAPTORFAM

© LEXASPERATED

[adomania]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]It seemed that the tiger was as keen to get lost in his own thoughts as Des was, although he was far worse at disguising it under a whole lot of talk. The man didn't expect others to master that skill, though, as he knew it required a lot of practice to keep talking bullshit even if you were deep somewhere inside. No matter. He let the guy have his time, taking that moment to analyze his presence more. He seemed calm, albeit a bit mellow, but he didn't miss the way that his eyes seemed to graze over Des' own scars, as if taking them into account and comparing them to his own. He didn't see half of the worst ones, though. Those were in his head and were nasty things that had yet to fully heal over. The ones on his body he was at peace with (it made him look cooler, actually, and more intimidating when he wanted to be) but the ones in his head still kept him up at night.

Not that he would let that show. Instead, when Sparrow decided that he was ready to talk, Des offered him a charming grin and nodded, ready to deflect all questions with comments of his own if need be. "We take in anyone as long as they don't cause much trouble. We ain't very picky around these parts," as long as he didn't murder anyone the first second into his initiation, he would be fine. Besides, he didn't strike Desperado as a particularly violent creature, and he prided himself on being able to read people more than they often times could read themselves.

If only he could actually read and help himself.

The next comment didn't catch him off guard either, and he answered almost soon after the man was finished asking. "You could call us that, yes," he mused, making a show of thinking the question over before the seriousness dissolved into a low, rumbling chuckle that preceded his next words. "Like to think of us as more of a... rough yet tight-knit family, though." They were all rough around the edges and most cursed as much as you expected a pirate to, but in the same beat it was the closest thing that Des could have called a family. It was why he returned so many times to this very gate, waiting to be accepted back (if with a little bit of scrutiny and sighs that obviously meant 'not again.' He didn't let them bother him much, though.)

[SÉAMUS]

☠

Depends on your definition of family.  The scarlet endfield flicked his ear as he next arrived on scene.  Sharp sea-green optics rested lightly on the newcomer, glinting with cold indifference.  Once, he'd come over to the border with something of a swagger but... Well, there was family matters on his mind.  The family of blood kind.  Perhaps it was good he found himself way out here, not within the confines of the bay or ship where he'd like run into his twin, his eldest brother or even Keona.  She's not happy with us.  Any of them, he thinks and for that he began giving her space without even thinking about it.

Séamus had never been a popular figure.  Where he came from he made a few close friends, but they were always made due to a potential gain.  The irishman had always been rather talented at making the right friends, though his twin was like to disagree.  When war barreled through their home at the murder of their parents, Séamus made quite an impact with his chosen friends and nearly tipped the tide within the first days.  They became the gang of pirates he first set out with when it became apparent true freedom existed on the open seas.

They'd never been family, though.

The vulpine quirks a brow towards Des, absent frown on his maw.  The Typhoon was quite different from the band of pirates he'd gathered in those days.  All of the angry, fae-blooded sort.  Looking for revenge mostly.  Looking for freedom too.  The Typhoon was indeed a buncha pirates, as Owen elegantly put it, and perhaps 'tight-knit' like a family, but Séamus felt wary of ever looking at it that way.  A danger in growing too attached, too connected.  Rough certainly fit the whole lot of them though, so he nodded towards the tiger, seemingly in agreement.

"Well, a little trouble can't do any of us harm," he smirked.  So long as no one ended up dead.

"word of mouth there's a snake in the garden" —-- Séamus Ó Faolán

[bubblegum]

[Grey]

Bakugou was becoming his own. He notices himself changing but there is no resistance. Part of him wonders if it is the result of a possible other being living within his vessel, another part of him wonders if it is triggered through his own accord. He will metamorphose - become a better him. The island provides him a foundation to change, to evolve. If he had been younger, he might have been afraid to take it, to grasp the future that bends against his will and morphs into forms unwanted by him. The young Quartermaster feels no agitation when the stranger takes his time to answer. He too is distracted. He would rather be somewhere else but at the same time he is happy to let time rot as he stands here. Bakugou bites his tongue, a smokey breath escapes him when he hears the foreigner finally speak. No drama. There is no calamity that can interrupt the peace of this moment, sanguine gaze reflecting the other's image like a mirror. He doesn't say anything to welcome the other just yet, listens to the creature's comment before flicking his ear, expecting the voice of another to speak up before him. To be honest, he was only expecting Owen rather than the appearance of two more.

He huffs in amusement to Goldenluxury's warning to Seamus, grinning in a conceited fashion. "Just 'cause Caesar's gone doesn't mean you're special enough to start fights," Bakugou muses to the faerie, waving his tail behind him. Seamus would always be a nobody to him. Even then, it wasn't to say that he was willing to see a second Caesar. The demon gave him enough of a headache. He doesn't want to think of him for any longer than he should. Troubles should remain in the past - buried, locked, cremated...maybe even drowned for good measure. Bakugou flickers his eyes towards Sparrow, giving the male a nod: "Name's Bakugou. Don't come to me for questions or help unless you're dying and if you're not clearly dying, then I'll make sure you fit the criteria before I reply to you." He leaves.

[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"

"Please, we really don't need another Ceasar" a long suffering rumble comes from behind the group and newcomer as what seemes to be a pained expression briefly crosses over the half of the non-marred face of the vantablack god.

"I think the island would sink alone under the weight of another such self inflated ego" Caesar had so liked to think himself the big cheese so to speak - blind to the think layers of mould that meant no one was taking any bites of that bullshit.

he inclines his head to Bakugou, Goldie, Seamus, Owen and Desperado in turn - though he rumbles an ascent to Des' words "Certainly a colourful band of misfits I'd say we are" he shrugs with an easy smile at the thought - pirates was the label sure, but that was more the theme, in truth they really were that strange family group.

like the very eccentric neighbours of the more well-to-do to outright degenerate local areas - an ironic firm middle ground given they were warbound - save they weren't cowardly slave owners nor had they gone off the deep end into madness, so hey, they were the well adjusted 'bad' group, one supposes.

he brings himself back to the present and dips his head "Lucifer Grimm"

//retro his current arc/instability

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

© LEXASPERATED