MONTHLY MEETING [ JUNE 2022 ]

[Brutus]

The flowers surrounding the crater had begun to bloom in full summer fashion. Colorful petals dotted the green area leading up to the crater's edge, giving way to the tree within the center of the area. With the blue skies above and weather pleasant, this month's meeting was bound to be well attended by those who enjoyed the nice weather and an opportunity to mingle among peers or strangers.

With no one present yet, the area was quiet. That would change in no time, hopefully.

[aesior]

A. OPHELES

✯ — SOME DAYS I CAN'T EVEN TRUST MYSELF

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The empty serenity of the land would not be left for long, a grand creature of muscle and scar tissue appearing from some direction. There was little thought in the beast's head, deeming it's own presence only necessary as if to watch over the growing crowd of the living. He had no knowledge of what had occured in the lands, he only knew that he'd ran away once again, and the new wounds hurt for it. Only a very few would recognize the servant of death, a gauze-y veil covering his maw and preventing the horrendous scarring of his jaws to be seen. They hurt like hell, but nothing like the leg he knew was broken. Though, he couldn't say how he knew it was. Perhaps whispers of his other self, the tiny body he once held, the medical knowledge that mute Tom had held. Not that it was helpful now, with sanity at its very edges of grasp.

Would the members of the enclave notice his temporary leave? Would they show up here? Would the ghosts of this land appear and drive him mad as did the male who went by the name Corrupttimelines? He couldn't blame him, he didn't know he was  lose in appearance and behavior to the one who had last broken him. He couldn't hold him to a fault, nor could he understand the complexity of feelings and thoughts that each moment near him spread.

Heavy paws of three led the injured beast of death into the crater, the Grim wandering slowly as he watched the different heads of flowers swaying in the breeze. He almost wondered if he left a trail of decay, for no flowers that signaled the small Tom, grew upon his dark pelt. The only thing that would, was yellow roses, yet there was no feeling of Grier or survivor's guilt in him. He was as close to empty as he had been in many years. Now, he would settle off to the side, furthest from the flowers, as if to avoid some part of himself he buried so deep as to never see the light of day again. Here he would sit, a hulking mass of dark pelt and awkwardness. He did not belong in a place this bright or nice. For now, he would wait for company in some form, any form.

// following the trip incident - his scent of tanglewood will be faint and has taken on the enclaves scent //

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✯ — MALE. TANGLE. MED DIFF. CAT. GRIM. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psy.