Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb

Nerves string out the feelings of disinterest, the gradual shortening of his attention span as Kid tries to grasp it. There’s something about the other boy, and when he thinks on the subject too long it makes his head hurt and his anger boil. It expresses itself in the same manner as is typical with the night child: a raging, hurricane worthy storm, far out to sea where his mental state is tucked away at, his physical form the shore, accepting the somewhat rough but not aggressive waves that are rushed ashore. His eyes are cold and hard, like stones dug into his skull. Behind, his tail swings back and forth, watching, trying to listen well but only catching fragments that force him to fill in the spaces in between, rehearsing them in the confines of his skull and the brain tucked inside it till he is sure he has figured out what Kid means.
Frankly, Kid is slowly becoming his enemy. The boy’s small body is somewhat muscular, but obviously not being put to the maximum use that Zhu works so diligently to achieve. His words are weak, fruitless, playful, and when he listens, he can feel himself frown in disgust. The stoic look to his face is haunting, broken only for brief seconds to show the twitch of the corners of his lips and the collection of his eyebrows until the thinnest of wrinkles appear atop his eyes. He is not pleased.
His face even goes as far as to remain in this state, staring without much to show when the boy actually does pose. He can hear Hobgoblin’s faintest laughter, a low whispering sound that moves with the tempo commonly known to that display. This form for the Rougarou is one to make him unusually quiet, almost true to the nature it possesses.
When eyes hang on him and his structure, the rising that he does to prove superiority(because he could never see Kid amounting to something as great as himself with such a personality and lack of attention to muscle) slips downwards, releasing it’s grip on his muscles as he fades into his common state, not far from the air of dominance he has attempted to fill their surrounding with. No one would see him in this way, except maybe for Kid, but did it matter? The strongest in front of the lower weaklings can easily hold the facade they carry with every step, every ripple of a muscle bursting at the seams of a hide made dark as night, every second he spends moving and growing the mountain he sees himself becoming. Kid is nothing, never a threat. His intelligence seems subpar and caught up in other things. His muscles don’t scare hi-
Hobgoblin fucking wails, a noise that he’s never heard tear from the Rougarou yet but he can feel all the terror that gathers in his walls and threatens to burst when it flows with an almost ghost-like cry. Jaws are split wide, teeth made for a carnivore and definitely not for a deer which he has so lovingly modeled this monster from are inhabiting the rows that wall the expansion. A tongue is there, but he isn’t sure why. More cries follow, and all he wants to do is run, to hide to his mother, but Hobgoblin is not one to throw random outbursts in this form. If he had wanted to be aggressive, to make noise and slam his weight around in whatever fearsome way he could manage, would he have not shifted for his seal form?
He scans the area, moving along the trail that the Wendigo is making with his spread mouth and deep eyes. Dragons.
They fill him with a delight, tempting him to cry out to them with joy as he sees their beautiful bodies move through the air with grace and agility, listening faintly as their calls burn all the dull emptiness that had once saturated the air. But with them must mean one thing.
Father.
His body lunges into an erect position, head rising once more into an alert state, but not in the fashion of his full frontal assault that had previously occurred. No, this one is one of a military-like pose, trying to show his attention and muscles and all that he has worked so hard to make himself into over the last few months. He wants to make his father proud, regardless of what it will take.
A smile drapes across his lips, mouth opening slightly with happiness that is masked by the appearance that Zhu is trying to show Volterra his teeth and what they are growing into and how useful they’ll be in the future, ears perked and ready for every word. He isn’t sure if he’s missed the man or not.
“Apa.”
Is it embarrassing that he calls the man such an affectionate title in front of another, less worthy being? Would Kid even understand when Zhu’s vocabulary in that language is strung down to the fewest of words? Would the other know that the boy was weak when he loved and admired his father greatly(though he would never admit to it), simply through the usage of one word?
It wouldn’t matter. He believes himself fully capable of overpowering Kid in short time, and even quicker in the presence of their his father.
With lazy eyes does he go to inspect Kid at his father’s question, looking at him, searching for something he isn’t quite sure is. Did he want Kid to look powerful, to make himself worthy in front of his father, to make sure that Zhu wouldn’t have to bear the burden of embarrassment long after this meeting because his only friend proved himself a sad being?
“Kid.”
His voice is dry and lacking emotion as it plays the tune of that one word. Kid. It suits him, because as Zhu’s white eyes hang on the smaller boy momentarily, it’s all he can ever see him be.

OOC:
@ Snow: Kinda guessed that Vol would have taught Zhu maybe a few hungarian words??? I meant to ask earlier but you were off by then. if it's not okay i can easily change it


"Talk."

zhu