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02-11-2017, 09:12 PM
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SIKEAX the sea soul — She finds it empty, and god, if that isn’t the worst, the punch to the face that makes tears well up, then she isn’t sure what is. But something tells her she should be happy that they’re all gone, but why is she can’t feel that way now that this place no longer has any meaning? Here, she has hated what is left of the Foothills for the largest portion of life for what they did to her, and now that reality hands her what she has been looking for for so long, why does it have to feel so wrong? Hobgoblin shuffles uncomfortably beside her. The feeling of her is suddenly so foreign and the lack of wild, vibrant woman, of pure Sikeax is gut wrenching. She caves in, and takes his breath away like he was never allowed to own it. “I hate them.” “Why? Who? There is a lot of things that he can think of hating in this very second. He hates the hunger in his belly, the meal that got away that he was chasing when Sikeax had to come across this place, the confusion drowning him and the agony of all of this with no obvious reason in sight, the cicadas that aren’t shutting up despite the loathe he pours into the environment, the combination of end-of-the-day heat and stiff humidity that makes him so damp that he debates throwing himself into any of these pools and groaning his discomfort away. But none of those options are making their ways into the hate-shaped hole in Sikeax’s emotional wall. No matter how many of them he pushes into it, none budge, and that just succeeds in angering him more. “The Grey.” The colour splats against her mind and a frown crawls over her lips before distorting like a monster in a horror movie. Anger roars up, and neither of them are sure which one it is coming from and what the real reason for it is. Hobgoblin is made because he cannot understand and because Sikeax is, because he is forced by some sort of stupid, needless living law that he must share so much of himself with her. Sikeax is just, whatever. He recoils with his own disgust to hit her with a snarling frown of his own. ‘Fuck you, bitch,’ it seems to say. She catches it in time to return a glare. “Get over it.” She demands before walking away, fading into the trees and out of the pool that they had been standing in, away from the dying warmth of the sunset. OOC: meh. Hobgobin is in his leopard seal form, chilling out in the pond next to sia. "Talk." can you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be? |
you were angels,
so much more than everything
:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed
