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09-01-2015, 11:48 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
The world was not safe anymore.
And it didn't have anything to do with anyone in particular; it was a fault in how things operated. A flaw, so glaring and obvious, so blinding, so.. so.. crippling, a cold claw around your heart, squeezing, chunks of ice floating through your veins—
It is fear.
It is mortality.
It is the pure, simple fact that his owls are fragile birds, fragile creatures, and that his love for them is so great that the mere idea of losing them could send him crashing to his knees.
He was walking on both eggshells and daggers, cut glass underneath the soles of his feet, some kind of.. near-constant fear rippling through his veins.
Like, what if, what if, what if. And here he was, walking back into danger with them—painstakingly worming his way along the face of Helovia, following the celestial pull of Mother Moon, the Greatest Bitch There Ever Was. Because, he couldn't very well put his owls up on a shelf in the Edge and leave them there.
Shit could happen while he was gone.
So, if they rode on his back, they'd get crushed if he was flopped over by a shockwave again. Thing is, the exact same thing would happen if they were in the air—rinse and repeat, and maybe a part of his heart would threaten to die again.
If the stress of it didn't kill him first.
The end result? Diego was circling, Irma resting upon his back, and they were determined to hang back. Their magic worked well enough at a range anyway, if something bad was to happen.
Because shit, when didn't bad things happen around the Lady Bitch?
(And as an aside, he was not in a state fit to fight either—his joints plagued by sores and boils, weeping red onto the fine porcelain white of his hide.)
[ Mau stands at the outskirts like a grumpy loser. @Random Event because blood falls herpes. ]
And it didn't have anything to do with anyone in particular; it was a fault in how things operated. A flaw, so glaring and obvious, so blinding, so.. so.. crippling, a cold claw around your heart, squeezing, chunks of ice floating through your veins—
It is fear.
It is mortality.
It is the pure, simple fact that his owls are fragile birds, fragile creatures, and that his love for them is so great that the mere idea of losing them could send him crashing to his knees.
He was walking on both eggshells and daggers, cut glass underneath the soles of his feet, some kind of.. near-constant fear rippling through his veins.
Like, what if, what if, what if. And here he was, walking back into danger with them—painstakingly worming his way along the face of Helovia, following the celestial pull of Mother Moon, the Greatest Bitch There Ever Was. Because, he couldn't very well put his owls up on a shelf in the Edge and leave them there.
Shit could happen while he was gone.
So, if they rode on his back, they'd get crushed if he was flopped over by a shockwave again. Thing is, the exact same thing would happen if they were in the air—rinse and repeat, and maybe a part of his heart would threaten to die again.
If the stress of it didn't kill him first.
The end result? Diego was circling, Irma resting upon his back, and they were determined to hang back. Their magic worked well enough at a range anyway, if something bad was to happen.
Because shit, when didn't bad things happen around the Lady Bitch?
(And as an aside, he was not in a state fit to fight either—his joints plagued by sores and boils, weeping red onto the fine porcelain white of his hide.)
[ Mau stands at the outskirts like a grumpy loser. @Random Event because blood falls herpes. ]
