almost : returning

[BUBONICPLAGUE]

[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 considerable amount of time since he ventured away from the island. He had since convinced himself it was for the better. The Typhoon was in no need of a monster lurking among them, really only there so he had somewhere to come back to. It was a giant excuse, really; a reach, grasping for straws, so he had some reason to be close to others. After so long a life of loneliness, once he had tasted the sweet honey of having a home, it was hard to let go easily. He and Lirim had ended things, and they returned to the world they had roamed together before. There was no going back for Bub. He was stuck here now, and he could only dream of going home.

There was nowhere on this earth that felt like home to Bubonicplague, but the Typhoon at least had some semblance to it. It was good enough for him, and yet nothing would ever be good enough for the demon. In all honesty, he was unsure of what kept drawing him back to this place. It was a strange, insatiable urge, and so, he came back. By now, the volcano had decimated a large portion of the island. He knew from the smoke in the atmosphere long before he left that the place would be up in flames, but he had not expected to return so soon after the eruption. He breathed in the ash and exhaled a plume of smoke from his blackened lungs, sightless gaze kept on the black earth before him. The dying heat of the cooling lava warmed his decayed flesh. He almost wanted to step into the burning sludge and take a bath. He had always loved the heat, after all. It reminded him of the scorching pits of hell.

...Too edgy?

The demon curled his claws into the sand. He could hear others in the distance; Typhooners, he assumed, returning to their island after fleeing the volcano. Bubonicplague couldn't see the destruction, but his standards weren't particularly high. He could assume it was bad enough to need a considerable amount of rebuilding around the territory. His nose wrinkled slightly, and with a shake of his antlered head, the dire wolf turned and loped along the edge of the beach. Someone would come across him sooner or later. For now, he was content with listening to the waves lap at the shore.

[bubblegum]

[BUBONICPLAGUE]

[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;"]/ no worries ♥

Perhaps once, some time ago, Bubonicplague found a home. In another world, a life somewhat different than this, he had a place that he could always come back to. It wasn't the territory or the residence that was home to him, no; it was the people. For the very first time in his long, long life, the demon had found himself a family. Only when he inevitably outlived that family did he return to the I have no home outlook. It was the same with Lirim. The end of their relationship too was inevitable; time after time they died, returned with no memory of each other, returned to each other's arms only to die or disappear again. Their love was true, but perhaps not meant to be.

The Typhoon did not exactly feel like home, but it was something close. He had convinced himself as such, at least—only time would tell if his beliefs were true. In the meantime he would remain there. The hound's ears twitched lightly at the sound of approaching footsteps, and he inhaled the scent of bitter sea salt upon food (has she eaten salmon recently?) and, faintly, flowers. He wasn't sure until he heard her voice that it was Goldenluxury. Pincher's sweet, naive daughter—the new captain, a voice added—that he couldn't tell whether she liked him or not. It wouldn't be a surprise if she wasn't particularly fond of him, in all honesty. He was not a good man after all.

Bubonicplague paused his steps and raised his head, sightless eyes turning to face the girl. "I just thought it might be nice to see how you all are faring." He rumbled out. "Seems you've had complications concerning the eruption." A nod of his chin to her new body, before he turned his empty gaze to the scorched jungle. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I've not come here to cause you any more trouble. I'm free to help with any renovations you need done."

[elijah]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; border-width:0; width: 70%; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; line-height: 1.5; font-size: 9pt;"]Elijah liked to think his reason for returning to the island was because he couldn't keep running from his memories forever. Sooner or later he would have to return home. And while the boy could have decided to make a new one, his avoidance and fear of The Typhoon would only continue to blossom and grow against him. He did not want to allow his memories to continue to sicken and rot. Then again, hope still existed within his mind. Although he continues to pretend that it is an aspect of him that he has abandoned, part of him still continues to exist in hope - a hope to see at least someone from his family again. Yet, so far, the closest thing he has had to a family reunion was with Goldenluxury but even then he struggles to feel the joy he was expecting when he saw her. He continues to hesitate and fear the frailty of love and mortality. Still, he was home again. He was no longer feeling guilty for eating the food his rats brought him because he knew that his rats had it easier now. They didn't have to worry anymore.

He doesn't think he has ever met Bubonicplague. He probably has never even seen the creature around. Then again, it was difficult to remember anything from so far back. It was only the prominent ones he could remember, the big events that he treasured or became trapped by. As Elijah approaches himself, he is already well aware of the exchange made between the two of them. Or at least aware enough, as Thirteen had already scampered over as quickly as possible. Thirteen's eyes and ears were his eyes an ears. Tail dragging behind him, the boy furrows his soft brows as he catches on the stranger's speech. He knew this male was returning from what Thirteen had heard but he cannot bring himself to recognise him. Complications, his mind echoes. He was not around during the eruption. He had left long before it and it was also during the time his rats no longer wandered around to keep tabs, waiting patiently for any signs of Luca and Junji returning. It was when he had lost hope that he allowed his patrolling rats to return by his side.

The eyes of a blind man makes him mildly uncomfortable. The panaroma his eyes saw meant so much to Elijah that he would not want to imagine a possibility of losing his own vision. It is frightening but the boy does his best not to show his discomfort. Maybe the stranger wasn't actually blind? Maybe it was just his eyes. "Help would be very nice. We're currently replanting trees and trying to restore the Necro Mambas' temple. I think we need most help with the temple," the demiangel mews. Replanting trees with the help of his rats were easy, but anything requiring heavy lifting and reconstructing was out of Elijah's capabilities to do alone with his rats. "And welcome back, sir. My name is Elijah Rosario. Is there anything you need yourself?"