NO AUDIENCE COULD EVER WANT YOU! // Open

[Ares]

A R E S

They said "Be strong," they said, "Never be weak."
So I cut everyone off and isolated myself. I will never be weak.

Though she did take time to rest every now and then, she didn't try to get closer to anyone. In times where she almost broke into tears from the emotional turmoil, she reasoned that it was weak to cry, and she had to be strong. So she never cried. Always seemed strong for a child. She isolated herself, refused to talk to others and simply read or draw or wander. Simple words spoken to inquiries, sufficing their concerns and worries with a gentle affirmation of good health. But she never told them she was lonely, never told them how she had to hold herself together at night, never told them the thoughts she would have by the ocean. Never telling them she was aching and wanting comfort.

She got what she wanted, she got stronger. But she needed love and affirmation and comfort and she never searched those out. She got solitude but needed company. Tired paws lead the child to the ocean once more. A monster had formed in her mind, urging her to do things and she resisted but the whisper was always there. She was scared and she was alone now and she would be forever alone unless she threw herself into the ocean for her soul to be swept up... no. No that was weak and she was strong and she needed to be better and...

Her black form stood resolute with the ocean, swamp becoming a nice blue horizon. The beast kept whispering for her to go, to swim until she was tired and even then swim more until the ocean swallowed her. The thoughts terrified her and she found herself backing up until she fell onto her haunches and her shoulders hunched up and she shook with an oncoming deluge of tears. She bit her lip and tongue until the metallic taste hit her. When she released she seemed to crumple in on herself like an imploding star, fighting back silver tears as they broke her defenses and trickled down her cheeks and onto the ground beneath her. She would not cry. She had to be strong. She had to be strong. She had to be.

"Speech"

— Reggan

[arrow]

CAUSE EVEN BLOOD WILL RUN, LIKE THE TEARS OF A SAINT !
"Fan of wrestling with some demons by the ocean, huh?"

Forcing yourself to just pipe down and not want help was a double edged sword was it not? On one hand, you looked tougher than you were, and people could come to respect that. Might even rely on you to be the stronger person. On the other, you never did get the resolution to your own problems that you desperately needed. Arrow sort of got it, she didn't really strive to seem strong or anything, but she was really, really bad at expressing her inner thoughts and feelings. Even as far as to not bring up things that wouldn't even seem like a burden, say...illness? She laughed now that the damage was done, and she never spoke a word of the thing that had inevitably killed her. Not that anyone else should have to suffer a similar fate, whether it be physical or mental. Surely it was at least her duty as the public servant she was to offset the harmful path.

The ghost's lanky form twisted about on the surface of the water as if it was not water at all, but solid ground beneath. The waves against the shoreline made no difference, pretty as they were. Arrow kicked her legs up in the air, a casual reaction to the current display, which at first glance might have been taken as her just not caring, but hold your concerns, all it was came down to not wanting to make the situation more awkward with a sudden intervention. Surely, if the girl had crawled all the way out to the ocean, she didn't want everyone to give her a nice cuddle and group therapy session, no? "You'll be set for busting a blood vessel with all that tension. Blood in the eye is a lot harder to clean up than some tears. No shame in cryin', I won't look."

[wormwood.]

[Grimm]

[div style="margin: auto; max-width: 475px; padding: 5%; min-height: 20px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; text-align: justify; line-height: 17px;"]Ever persistent the perplexion and anguish, misunderstood the unknown, poor the definition of that harboured in breast. Reality seeped in the corporeal, known how chambers are linked and spread, branching those delicate veins, life bestow with thrumming beat. The supposed presence within — essence some called it others partial to soul — disputable for how may one touch, and thus understand, the incorporeal. Fickle it, as the mind housed in thick bone, combination incapable of offering explanation.

Misguided the unaided speculation he may conduct where concerned the plight that necessitated such withdraw, part of him understood, however, he simply lacked the words to express such. Clumsy the tongue that harbours incorrect sentiments, false comfort ringing with hope soothed an ache that may be stemmed with just flowery poetry, a child of war is not built for such things. Different they, about brow carried the crown of the one she was named for, soul ignited with his rage and prowess, made a warrior before her time. And he was but a fool who wore silver thorns, felt the brush of the angelic that hunted him as though he a mangy mutt without purpose, crying as his own blood dripped down his brow.

They were both children shaped and broken by conflict, sought a way to strengthen a heart so fragile in such a tiny breast that wanted only what a child should have, but he was better off and thus could not understand in full.

Never before had he tread upon the land ringing raging seas, rage incarnate always those high peaks that crashed into ceaseless whirlpool hidden beneath the surface, a cacophony that drove him back as his cranium rung with too much sound. Yet he needed it that day, shallow and strained each breath, dulled the buzz of his thoughts as it overwhelmed. Attention caught, thoughts of retreat arising, words snatched and that allowed warped beyond recognition. Something kept Salvia rooted in place, among the grains toes curling, claws grinding, hidden stone scraped against as he pondered the assistance he may give. Finally closer did he step, though tight lipped as he, thin the line mouth pressed into. No words may bypass, empty each would be, momentum halting next to the other child.

Chin dipping, about tufted tip curling, a gentle brush to side. All he may offer, support silent as he kept his vision lowered but averted, to make spectacle her tears wrong. Correct that spoken by father, much she had experienced in a time all too short, taken the innocence of her youth, and vein his hope she knew he felt partially the same.

[Ares]

A R E S

They said "Be strong," they said, "Never be weak."
So I cut everyone off and isolated myself. I will never be weak.

The world became a blur between silver tears as she slumped, hurting shoulders hunched as she tried, oh how she tried, to keep the tears at bay.

It only became worse as Aurum approached. She wanted to scream, to yell, to let out her frustrations but all she could muster was a choked sob. If she was going to cry, she was scared that she wouldn't be able to stop. The tears fell like mercury with their soft, silvery look.

She seemed to relax to Salvia's touch, though brief and gentle it was. She tried to search for words but could not, this once seemingly mighty child brought down by the overwhelming sense of pain and sorrow.

"Speech"

— Reggan