Argus has been alive too long for them to keep count anymore. In their life they had outlived so many, had watched clans turn to ruins and families rot into bones. Living so long made life dull, pointless. It made their small anchors – connections with others, friends, allies, enemies, family - more precious. Clans will sink, will fall away from the world and slowly erase from the memories of the living; but Argus still remembers. The families they held onto between their teeth, dragged closer with bloody claws. Luciferus becoming a father they never had as a child, Pincher and his merry band of children becoming an extension of something Argus once had, something they once craved. Pincher – like a brother, Goldie – a niece. They never voiced it; things like that were instinctual. they didn’t think it needed to be voiced. How many died under their foot until lucifer came and told them they weren’t to blame for their first love’s death? How many children did they kill until willow came to smile at them and call them mom? Too many, too many great horrible things Argus has done. They could not be justified by the small amount of good in their lives, they could not justify their horrible deeds by these small memories. Could not force down anyone’s throat that they were good, that they were just trying to live. Living was a struggle, was a fight for survival and sometimes that meant fighting other’s and winning – killing others.
They were not good, no. They were raised in a place where prisoners of war were nothing but objects. Animals objectified as tools to further the clans goals: prisoners to ransome, test subjects, amusement, venting, running – running away. Argus grew in a place so alike the Pitt that coming here was only steps away from coming home. It was like walking in the past with full knowledge of what was going to happen. knowing that they were going to die, repeatedly, protecting the ruins of a place that would do nothing but to hurt them. Even when their own home was nothing but a grave yard now, it was so alike the Pitt that it hurt; being in the desert hurt in a way that they never knew was still a wound until it started to heal.
Because who they were before- ( never innocent, but childish – stumbling with bloody paws and bright fever grins wanting to please someone – anyone ) is not who they are anymore, never again could they go through that. They know where it brought them, know too much for the same pains to hurt themselves again ( they became apathetic to the cries of children long ago, learned as a child to ignore the insults of monster, freak, beast. Argus was a watcher – they named themselves after a legend of a great beast who was apathetic to a world, who craved nothing and took nothing but stories from the lands. An apathetic god - a Shinigami with no preference for the living or dead and stuck in between.
Argus was not that. They were partial, they were living, breathing amalgamation of hurt and trauma that only wanted to protect other’s from the horrors that they’ve seen, that they have wrought on the world. They wanted revenge, wanted to burn the world for the betrayal for hurting their family, for continuing to hurt them.
What they needed was an out. The Pitt was where they stumbled too many moons ago, hurt and bleeding and raw. Despite the politics argus never claimed to be good at, despite all the strife the place has given the Typhoon, argus found herself healing under the heats of the desert inside the territory of the Pitt, snarking with the people who called it home. Watching the place, at a distance, engaging with it’s members. Despite logic, they remained.
Home was something that they hadn’t had in a long time. TO return to something akin to what they lost felt fitting. Only more so, when Goldie came to find them there, hurt and uncaring of anything but the betrayal of their presence here. The hurt in goldie’s eyes did not stop them from keeping the mantle as a member to this clan, The roux’s denoucement of them did not halt their stay, did not even make them want to leave anymore than the thought of their old friends, their old crewmates coming to hunt them down. Argus has done worse; argus has grown apathetic to old friends betraying them, to not wanting a reason beside the one they gave.
It was a dangerous thing, to stop caring, but caring for it was so much worse. All the damage, all the horrible things they did; was because they cared too much. Cared too much to let anything slide, cared too much to let it contenue. So they burned a once peaceful clan to the ground for hurting their child. They killed their sister because they couldn’t stand the mockery of who they used to be. They would denounce the Typhoon because they disowned Argus. Argus refused to care; argus buried the hurt; and lived in the desert, for a while. Surviving, listening, watching the Pitt for a while, before they came to their own decision.
They stayed.
They lied, lied to themselves about how much it hurt, they tricked themselves into believing they didn’t care. They pretended it didn’t matter; because it doesn’t in the end. GOldilock’s reign over the typhoon will end, the next leader will forget their name as an enemy, and sooner or later, Argus may return to the typhoon, maybe they will remain within the Pitt, maybe they will stay the enemy of their once home. It does not matter
All that matters is that Argus will live, to tell the stories. To remember them, Argus will survive, because there is nothing left for them to do.
