AriAriAbabwa
Don't lose Ari~♪ Shine bright Ari~♪
THICKER THAN WATER
"And did you know that 1 in 5,000 north Atlantic lobsters are born bright blue?" Peacock rested her face on her hands, smiling way too calmly for the situation. Her positive reception, though, was short-lived when August continued about their reasons for intruding. That was made notable by her expression's sudden shift into displeasure.
"Ehh!" Imitating a buzzer, Peacock made an X with her arms. "This is our home. We ask the questions, here!" Her hands dropped to her side, eyes glancing to the corner where Sabrina picked an injured Romero from the rubble. "But I've already enough to know that the only way we're making you leave is through force..." She began whistling, and the feathers flew from the ground in vectors. They flew around Peacock in a sphere, increasing in amount until they could no longer see her. The ball jumped into the air, hovering after her friend.
At the spot with Sabrina, Romero was dazed enough that he could not mutter a word. He did not have to wait long in his predicament, however.
Peacock swooped at them both, aiming to grab Romero while a dozen feathers flew behind her to strike Sabrina. Regardless of if the feathers hit their mark, Romero was in her hands. "You promised us we'd hear the end of your story!" she remarked, grinning. They landed a fair distance back and near the door that the now-dwindling reinforcements came through.
Romero returned her smile, raising both his empty hands. "My notebook..."
It was around the fallen shelf, was it not? Peacock glanced over where Romero fell, and it didn't take long for her to spot it. Promptly, she said, "I'll go get it," then had herself encased in swirling feathers again.
It was a short flight that never reached its destination.
Romero watched as the bird was torn from the skies. He watched coldly still; how her body met solid metal and split open like a watermelon. He never thought he'd feel this feeling again: helplessness. The author turned himself, leaning his head against the wall. Again, he failed to keep his promise. Again, he never got to finish his story for a dear friend... This time, he refused to wallow in self-misery like he did with Darcy Morel.
Romero straightened himself, staring into the palm of his hand for a solid while. Then, he opened wide, and bit. Skin stuck to flesh, bound by meaty string tore off. Romero spit out the mess as blood dribbled from his lips.
He planted his hand to the wall, and wrote.
"Ehh!" Imitating a buzzer, Peacock made an X with her arms. "This is our home. We ask the questions, here!" Her hands dropped to her side, eyes glancing to the corner where Sabrina picked an injured Romero from the rubble. "But I've already enough to know that the only way we're making you leave is through force..." She began whistling, and the feathers flew from the ground in vectors. They flew around Peacock in a sphere, increasing in amount until they could no longer see her. The ball jumped into the air, hovering after her friend.
At the spot with Sabrina, Romero was dazed enough that he could not mutter a word. He did not have to wait long in his predicament, however.
Peacock swooped at them both, aiming to grab Romero while a dozen feathers flew behind her to strike Sabrina. Regardless of if the feathers hit their mark, Romero was in her hands. "You promised us we'd hear the end of your story!" she remarked, grinning. They landed a fair distance back and near the door that the now-dwindling reinforcements came through.
Romero returned her smile, raising both his empty hands. "My notebook..."
It was around the fallen shelf, was it not? Peacock glanced over where Romero fell, and it didn't take long for her to spot it. Promptly, she said, "I'll go get it," then had herself encased in swirling feathers again.
It was a short flight that never reached its destination.
Romero watched as the bird was torn from the skies. He watched coldly still; how her body met solid metal and split open like a watermelon. He never thought he'd feel this feeling again: helplessness. The author turned himself, leaning his head against the wall. Again, he failed to keep his promise. Again, he never got to finish his story for a dear friend... This time, he refused to wallow in self-misery like he did with Darcy Morel.
Romero straightened himself, staring into the palm of his hand for a solid while. Then, he opened wide, and bit. Skin stuck to flesh, bound by meaty string tore off. Romero spit out the mess as blood dribbled from his lips.
He planted his hand to the wall, and wrote.
The Monster of the West... was dead. The Enemy proved it wrong; it was no king... it had no power... The author could not help but sympathize. All his life, he felt he was accomplishing everything, only to lose it all to forces far more powerful than himself... His love, Darcy; his career in the film industry; his own life. What good did a second chance do him, he pondered?
The adventure left him as he was in the beginning: broken. A cruel hand was dealt, and in his sorrow he did not realize the Monster's oozing remains flow in veins towards him; following like an obedient pet to its master. The remnants molded and changed to bend to said master's mental form. By the time he realized, he was too shattered to care.
After a bout of silence, at last he observed his new form... and felt an ironic sense of peace. He realized he longer had to live under the reign of his emotions. Nothing more could bind him. He knew the truth: there was no Monster... only himself.
He was in control of his own fate.
The adventure left him as he was in the beginning: broken. A cruel hand was dealt, and in his sorrow he did not realize the Monster's oozing remains flow in veins towards him; following like an obedient pet to its master. The remnants molded and changed to bend to said master's mental form. By the time he realized, he was too shattered to care.
After a bout of silence, at last he observed his new form... and felt an ironic sense of peace. He realized he longer had to live under the reign of his emotions. Nothing more could bind him. He knew the truth: there was no Monster... only himself.
He was in control of his own fate.
Peacock - #0F52BA
Romero - #088B00 / #B8312F
Right now he's only standing there... MENACINGLY!!
Romero - #088B00 / #B8312F
Right now he's only standing there... MENACINGLY!!
simj26 Doctor Llamabean Coyote Hart QuirkyAngel @WhoeverIForgot