not of the fold ¦ disappearance

[Grimm]

[align=center][div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11px; width: 60%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]Had he been of a sound mind, permitted the space and necessary framing of time that would allow for proper formulation of a course of action, different may have been the outcome. Yet he lacked such, the very notion of lingering among those who bore the ebony fleece of blackened ungulates grating along frayed nerve endings.

The pale light that seeped between parted curtains would illuminate not the slumbering child in the restless throes of poor sleep but a mused bed, sheets tangled and torn beneath his claws, paper scattered among the folds. In time possibly found the covers hidden beneath, victims of his anger he released in silent fit of unprovoked violence. Those with trained eyes may note the lack of satchel once used to carry various fungi specimen, and from the kitchen taken one of the smaller knives though his jaws ached when it was held.

No signs of struggle, of note to speak of his destination. There was nothing. It was almost as though he were but a ghost, as much as he disagreed with the notion, gone within the dead of night with nothing but the trail of his pawsteps to show where he began.

[selby roux !]

[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]There was nothing Selby cared for more in this world than his children. They were the lights of his life. They were the most important things to him. That was why, when Winston was gone from his bed, panic flooded through him. No note, though paper seemed to be littered all about. No signs of a fight. His bag gone, one previously filled with fungi. He attempted to calm his own nerves, telling himself that perhaps the young kit had simply gone for a walk. So, he headed out into the morn to check for him.

However, no matter how hard he called, how hard he looked, or how many people he asked, there was no sign of his son. Eventually, he returned home, anxious and hoarse. Where could he have gone? The father returned to Winston’s room, looking again for signs of him. Clearly, there had been no struggle, but... Hundreds of horror scenarios flooded through his mind at once, and the sawbones succumbed to his worry, sinking to the ground with a low shuddering cry.

[VIGENERE CIPHER.]

[Ivan]

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pixel by tricky

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[div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.

— Бра́тья Карама́зовы

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There were few people that Ivan thought would be receptive to his strange mind and thoughts. These were the people he felt he could connect with the most. Winston was the closest to this out of all his brothers, though a rift of something like awkwardness kept them apart. Ivan felt cold the entire day when he realized Winston was missing. A hollow in his heart formed, and he breathed audibly through his nostrils, gripping the ground as his mind traveled down dark and twisted paths. He was almost terrified to go looking for him, after just happening upon Feza's death.

A coward, that was what he was, as he paced Winston's room while his father searched. He buried himself under the ripped sheets, hoping to comfort himself. His ears twitched when Selby arrived, entered the room, and wailed. Ivan only revealed himself when he saw Vingere, his black fur ruffled and pricked, a horrible teeth-gritting anger. He slipped away and rushed to Selby's side, pointedly and selfishly ignoring all else to press his forehead to Selby's shoulder, eyes clenched tight.

[wormwood.]

☆ HUNG PICTURES OF PATRON SAINTS UP ON MY WALL TO REMIND ME THAT I AM A FOOL. TELL ME WHERE I CAME FROM, WHAT I WILL ALWAYS BE: JUST A SPOILED LITTLE KID WHO WENT TO CATHOLIC SCHOOL —

Aurum was unsure of what drove him to his sister's house that morning. Truly, if he were asked, he wouldn't have been able to provide a satisfactory answer. Perhaps he had just wanted one of his usual visits with Moth, or perhaps he too could feel the sense of absence that had suddenly struck the house. Either way, the proxy ended up knocking a golden paw against the front door, waiting several moments before he turned and opened it – he had come to learn that Selby hated it when he just barged in, and he'd rather not make his sister's boyfriend mad. When he stepped inside the usual warm and busy home, he was greeted with an odd, and uncomfortable silence. Everything seemed slightly grey, as if the very color had been sucked from the air. With his fur unsettled and his heart roaring in his ears, Aurum opened his mouth to try and call out for someone, anyone, but was swiftly cut off by an anguished, shuddering wail. The sound was enough to make his entire body tense, jaw clenching and releasing as flames lapped gently at the corners of it. Forcing himself to calm down, the angel extinguished the flames bellowing and sparking from inside before he ascended the steps, following the faint scent of others.

When the scent trail eventually led him into Winston's room, he felt a faint sense of confusion. Winston had not been one of his nephews that he was close with, mainly because the boy had always seemed rather closed off, and anxious. He didn't seem the type to cause his parents any trouble, so the sight of the scattered room and a distraught looking Selby was rather disturbing, as well as surprising. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, trying to process the scene before him. A room scattered, although there seemed to be little struggle. Vignere standing there, and Ivan and Selby pressed together, obviously struggling. It didn't take long for him to put two and two together, his large form visibly deflating as he realized that Winston was gone. He opened his muzzle, as if to say something, but realized there was nothing he could say. He knew what it was like to lose a child temporarily, but who knew if this would even be temporary. In addition to that, when he had lost Roy, he had known that the other hadn't left of his own free will. That had been an odd comfort, to know that it hadn't been because of his own failings that he had lost the younger male. Because of all of this, he couldn't think of any words to say that would actually provide any sort of relief for Selby, or Ivan. So instead, he just muttered weakly, "...I'm sorry." Before he turned and headed back down the steps, exiting the house. He doubted his presence would be of any use, and he needed some time with his own family.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #1B1B2F; font-size: 24px;"][color=#44437F]— AURUM

#psychosocial.

[selby roux !]

[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Selby looked up as Vigenere approached, shallowly conscious of his appearance but too deeply disturbed to do much about it. Yellow eyes squinted up at a similarly hued pelt, as if that would help him understand his words better. Find him. Find him. They would have to find him. A promise. “..You promise?” he asked weakly, perfectly aware that his question sounded childish. It didn’t matter. Winston mattered. He hadn’t struggled, wherever he went. The thought was of little comfort.

As Ivan came forward to press into him, Selby was momentarily stunned by the uncharacteristic display of physical affection. Then slowly, gently, he wrapped the opposite paw around his small shoulders and pulled him in closer. Overcome by emotion, he pressed his face into the top on his son’s head, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent. It wasn’t Winston’s, and it only did a little to soothe the hole ripping inside of Selby’s heart, but it was something.

And then Aurum. With the simple apology, again the floodgates opened and terrible thoughts ran through his mind. He spoke as if his child had already been found dead. What if he had eaten a toxic mushroom and was convulsing somewhere unseen, crying out for him? Or what if he had been lured away by someone with bad intentions? Or perhaps he had fallen off some ledge, and his broken body lay crumpled at the bottom? It was too much to bear, and against his own will, he began to sob into Ivan’s fur. Please, please don’t let him be dead...

[VIGENERE CIPHER.]