08-02-2020, 10:58 PM
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XVIII - THE MOON
a monument dreams and fantasies come to life, the representation of instincts often left suppressed and a knock into our subconscious. Virgil of the pitt is a study in beauty: a perfect understanding of that which terrifies you, a perfect picturesque of horror and delight
// an : aaaa this took me two days, i'm punting this girl and passing out now. warning between the & symbols is vauge mentions of cannibalism.
The world was still, quiet in a way that was unusual.
The freedom was a bittersweet taste, in comparison to the heat that burned along Virgil’s spine. No longer could she huddle along mother’s pelt for shade-shelter. freedom had come at the cost of certainty, chains exchanged for an open dune sands, and Virgil waited for the other shoe to drop in the way a child of such a beast could:
she feasted. Plucked and strung the only visual for miles beyond dunes and dunes of sands. Even without hunger, without morose the welp stained their face with the blood of the fallen and earned their first title in the wastes: kinslayer- betrayer. the sky was black, silent in the first days of the welp’s birth. VIrgil was flung into the world wailing with open maws upwards, filling that silence with the demand to be acknowledged.
look here- look at me; I am here.
And the milk had to run dry, as it does, and the body under her paws grew stiffer and stiffer and Virgil screamed, cried in a wail of needing to be seen acknowledge by the other, who lay beyond the veil of death, and only silence greeted her. Rage struck her, beyond the need to be seen, there as a need to strike to lash out; to kill-maim; bleed those who bled her of her right her acknowledgement.
She had set the precedent, for her life. Acknowledgement, rebuttal, and violence.
They expected her to die in the desert, and Virgil killed them for it. Strung up the dead and made friends with the carcass eaters brave enough to land; made a meal of friends and livedthrived. it was a cycle of perpetually. As a child, Virgil watched rot take over the body of the first carcas and her befriended corpses and felt only the long awaited satisfaction of a full meal, quiet and solemn as Virgil collected from them their feathers, their bones, precious bundles of scrap often useless. Guts dried out for string, hide shredded for leather strips. Teeth pulled (and some shattered). Virgil had taken it, taken it like she took their life, took it like she took their soul with her, in their remains she made use, under the protection of mother, Virgil grew strong. Wholly so.
Virgil grey strong enough and soon, mother told her so: told her it was time to prepair. The last task vir would ever complete for mother, and the first
it was dusk. the sun's light dying off as darkness made it's feast in the sky, showing it's brilliance in hues as it played with it's prey of the sun's dying light. both shades intermingling into the open canvas of the sky. there was very little that could taint the image of the sky as the sun sets, withers away eastward and fucks off. dusk were the mongrel’s element, and with the setting sun the tinge of rot came to become known to the mix and she exhaled, part excitement and part disgust.
Mother told her of father, of course. It was an eventuality, watching a mother scorpion with it’s hatchlings along it’s back, vir knew the laws- the rule of the land. Two to create a many, but vir was the sole of a pair, the pair of them. Mother and father created her, but to what extent- what reason vir didn’t understand. Couldn’t grasp the want for another.
Even here, alone vir could feel the echo of mother’s presence. A large wing eclipsing over her form, shading her from the sun, even now, in the shadow of the coming night vir could feel mother, maybe not physically, maybe not even mentally, but it was there, spiritually. Like that first corpse Virgil had stumbled upon all alone, wailing into the sky in attempt to reach her-
Now, it was as easy as breathing.
This land, was tainted. vir could sense it, smell it’s rot as easily as anyone can see the bone-wall border. Now the dead stared at her along their perch atop one another, decaying eyes staring out, watching her step and finding the small welp all the less. maybe she was just projecting, mother told her of this place, of many places- but father was here, someone who she could claim and claim she would. Sickly green eyes scanned the horizion beyond the wall as she squeezed, squirmed between rottin bodies and found a lacking amount of living. Only the dead were here to greet her, and she passed the border- the desert: for this claim, this right. no one person could take it from her, and her determination made her prowl turn quickly into a running dash to the awful stech of rot that was coming from the center of the camp.
It didn’t take too long, to find the place that smelled of maggots and covered in bodies, they were alike in a way. Her mother had noted, and vir felt repulsed by the comparison. Vir would never allow such open carnage, such waste and she would rectify it, amend her father’s sins with as simply as you please. Pulling a small satchel along her wais, she uncorked a small jar and went to work. Plucking the vermin she found squirming and dropping them inside. Slowly, vergil gathered her materials…
It was only a few minutes, a handful of time to gather grub, gather bones, and fur, and tender skin to stretch and tan. A satisfied smile grew along her maw as she retreated away from the rotting den and made her way back to the border, back to home but- something called her.
.
It was a sense, mother called it. A knack for spying the hidden things. Virgil at first, clled it a curse. Watching the mesma float idly beyond them, the glow to mother’s blade in the dim of the night, of mother’s eyes switching from red to blue and green… mother called it a gift, and soon- virgil learned in turn what it were, a sense for the strange and hidden. A game of hide and seek, except they weren’t ever really hiding, it was just that no one really paid attention.
It turned in to a game, eventually. A game of hide and seek, of lost and found. Mother taught them to tan hide, to dust grub into a paint for remedies. Mother taught virgil a few things, disguised them all as games, and told Virgil that, eventually, she’d learn enough to make her own recipes. Her own little magiks, but
.
“and when you’re done, don’t forget to return home,” mother’s voice was always gruff, a rasp. As if she had been screaming, sometimes Virgil wondered what happened to mother, other times she didn’t want to imagine what could cause such a large and imposing figure nightmares, the kind to leave your throat raw. And now she heard it, in her mind
time to return home
something stopped her, stilled her departure and it tugged at her skin like a ghost, like a maggot festering under her pelt. for a moment, she faltered, and when the sun rose in the sky there was a small little pup, smelling of rot and pitt already- waiting at the border, with a smile along her maw.
The world was still, quiet in a way that was unusual.
The freedom was a bittersweet taste, in comparison to the heat that burned along Virgil’s spine. No longer could she huddle along mother’s pelt for shade-shelter. freedom had come at the cost of certainty, chains exchanged for an open dune sands, and Virgil waited for the other shoe to drop in the way a child of such a beast could:
[glow=grey,2,300]&&&[/glow]
she feasted. Plucked and strung the only visual for miles beyond dunes and dunes of sands. Even without hunger, without morose the welp stained their face with the blood of the fallen and earned their first title in the wastes: kinslayer- betrayer. the sky was black, silent in the first days of the welp’s birth. VIrgil was flung into the world wailing with open maws upwards, filling that silence with the demand to be acknowledged.
look here- look at me; I am here.
And the milk had to run dry, as it does, and the body under her paws grew stiffer and stiffer and Virgil screamed, cried in a wail of needing to be seen acknowledge by the other, who lay beyond the veil of death, and only silence greeted her. Rage struck her, beyond the need to be seen, there as a need to strike to lash out; to kill-maim; bleed those who bled her of her right her acknowledgement.
She had set the precedent, for her life. Acknowledgement, rebuttal, and violence.
They expected her to die in the desert, and Virgil killed them for it. Strung up the dead and made friends with the carcass eaters brave enough to land; made a meal of friends and livedthrived. it was a cycle of perpetually. As a child, Virgil watched rot take over the body of the first carcas and her befriended corpses and felt only the long awaited satisfaction of a full meal, quiet and solemn as Virgil collected from them their feathers, their bones, precious bundles of scrap often useless. Guts dried out for string, hide shredded for leather strips. Teeth pulled (and some shattered). Virgil had taken it, taken it like she took their life, took it like she took their soul with her, in their remains she made use, under the protection of mother, Virgil grew strong. Wholly so.
Virgil grey strong enough and soon, mother told her so: told her it was time to prepair. The last task vir would ever complete for mother, and the first
[glow=white,2,300]&&&[/glow]
it was dusk. the sun's light dying off as darkness made it's feast in the sky, showing it's brilliance in hues as it played with it's prey of the sun's dying light. both shades intermingling into the open canvas of the sky. there was very little that could taint the image of the sky as the sun sets, withers away eastward and fucks off. dusk were the mongrel’s element, and with the setting sun the tinge of rot came to become known to the mix and she exhaled, part excitement and part disgust.
Mother told her of father, of course. It was an eventuality, watching a mother scorpion with it’s hatchlings along it’s back, vir knew the laws- the rule of the land. Two to create a many, but vir was the sole of a pair, the pair of them. Mother and father created her, but to what extent- what reason vir didn’t understand. Couldn’t grasp the want for another.
Even here, alone vir could feel the echo of mother’s presence. A large wing eclipsing over her form, shading her from the sun, even now, in the shadow of the coming night vir could feel mother, maybe not physically, maybe not even mentally, but it was there, spiritually. Like that first corpse Virgil had stumbled upon all alone, wailing into the sky in attempt to reach her-
Now, it was as easy as breathing.
This land, was tainted. vir could sense it, smell it’s rot as easily as anyone can see the bone-wall border. Now the dead stared at her along their perch atop one another, decaying eyes staring out, watching her step and finding the small welp all the less. maybe she was just projecting, mother told her of this place, of many places- but father was here, someone who she could claim and claim she would. Sickly green eyes scanned the horizion beyond the wall as she squeezed, squirmed between rottin bodies and found a lacking amount of living. Only the dead were here to greet her, and she passed the border- the desert: for this claim, this right. no one person could take it from her, and her determination made her prowl turn quickly into a running dash to the awful stech of rot that was coming from the center of the camp.
It didn’t take too long, to find the place that smelled of maggots and covered in bodies, they were alike in a way. Her mother had noted, and vir felt repulsed by the comparison. Vir would never allow such open carnage, such waste and she would rectify it, amend her father’s sins with as simply as you please. Pulling a small satchel along her wais, she uncorked a small jar and went to work. Plucking the vermin she found squirming and dropping them inside. Slowly, vergil gathered her materials…
It was only a few minutes, a handful of time to gather grub, gather bones, and fur, and tender skin to stretch and tan. A satisfied smile grew along her maw as she retreated away from the rotting den and made her way back to the border, back to home but- something called her.
.
It was a sense, mother called it. A knack for spying the hidden things. Virgil at first, clled it a curse. Watching the mesma float idly beyond them, the glow to mother’s blade in the dim of the night, of mother’s eyes switching from red to blue and green… mother called it a gift, and soon- virgil learned in turn what it were, a sense for the strange and hidden. A game of hide and seek, except they weren’t ever really hiding, it was just that no one really paid attention.
It turned in to a game, eventually. A game of hide and seek, of lost and found. Mother taught them to tan hide, to dust grub into a paint for remedies. Mother taught virgil a few things, disguised them all as games, and told Virgil that, eventually, she’d learn enough to make her own recipes. Her own little magiks, but
.
“and when you’re done, don’t forget to return home,” mother’s voice was always gruff, a rasp. As if she had been screaming, sometimes Virgil wondered what happened to mother, other times she didn’t want to imagine what could cause such a large and imposing figure nightmares, the kind to leave your throat raw. And now she heard it, in her mind
time to return home
[glow=#BF5FFF,2,300]s o c o m e h o m e[/glow]
something stopped her, stilled her departure and it tugged at her skin like a ghost, like a maggot festering under her pelt. for a moment, she faltered, and when the sun rose in the sky there was a small little pup, smelling of rot and pitt already- waiting at the border, with a smile along her maw.
![[Image: VIR.png]](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/737677757525262357/737796325369839656/VIR.png)
[glow=#212121,2,300] Yeah i got some fuckin' problems[/glow]
[glow=white,2,20] were always fucked in the end [b]—[/glow]
[glow=white,2,20] were always fucked in the end [b]—[/glow]
hyena & wolf mix . bio . dm for plotting