TELL ME WHY ⋆⋆⋆ Open + One Shot + Character Development and... Injury?

[fancypost bgcolor=# borderwidth=0px; height: NUMBERpx; width: 425px;][justify]ooc. I felt as if I had him too similar to who he was before as Angel, I fear, so here's a small little thing. If you didn't read the whole thing, here's the essentials of what you need to know:
Beowolf has not slept in days, only catching small amounts. He has started to hallucinate.
Beowolf has not been eating properly- his ribs are starting to become visible.
There is a high chance he will probably pick up smoking now.
He has had ( is having ) a mental breakdown.
To 'stop' the whistling, he has dug his claws into his good ear, it is bleeding and hurt.
He is currently to be found near the cliff, cigarette thrown over, laughing/crying in desperate need of sleep.
He may or may not be coherent.
There is a slight personality change to help me with muse, and to get him more... Beau, I guess

⋆⋆⋆ The moon hung low in the sky as night crept over the world. Stars that were once dim or invisible finding their light in the sky, a sky that was slowly turning inky black. The sounds of the night were starting to vanish, and while most creatures would have gone off to bed, there was one who was slinking through the shadowy night. Its silence was of a comfort when a rattling cough passed through, cutting easily into the silent darkness that started to cover over the land. Paws that were worn down from a long trek, from being active for far too long having come to a stop at the edge of a cliff. The creature being Beowolf as he looked over with irritable eyes, ears that were alert, his fur matted and his ribs just starting to be visible underneath his skin. The young male hadn't slept, not in a long time- the whistling came back when he slept, he was too nervous to eat and whatever he had eaten had the tendency to... not stay down, so to speak. He was tired, visibly shaking as he stood near the edge. Not with the thought process of jumping- no, he was not willing enough to take his own life, but to certainly contemplate his current lifestyle. He had been working himself to the visible bone, he had been fine mere days ago, he had been eating, happy, young-

He had simply been Beowolf, a young pup of Windclan with a purpose and perhaps a future. Now he was only 8 months old, lived through a war, had gained PTSD and had a weight upon his shoulders that he wasn't all too certain on how to get rid of. He shook, he needed an outlet- he could hear the whistling. It wasn't there, he knew that, but it made his heart rate accelerate nonetheless as he took a step back from the cliff. His paws bumped against something behind him, an old, rain worn down packet. Looking behind him, he stopped, an aggressive growl plastered to his face until he realized it was nothing but a small cardboard box... worn down from the days it had been out here. Yet... there was something inside of it still, a small, round tube that still seemed usable. He stuck his nose close to the box, sniffing, retreating with a gag. It smelled horrid- one of those cigarette things that the humans must have had with them when they occupied their home. It relieved stress, didn't it? That was why the humans used it, placed it between their lips or something. It was disgusting- he didn't need such a drug, there were plenty of other things he could have turned too.

There were healthier things he could turn too.

But Beowolf wasn't thinking straight, he heard the whistling again, dull, faint, from his one good ear, and violently he clapped a paw to it, cowering down on the earth near the small worn down box. He had to think of happy things, to hear Alaska's voice in his head- bubbly, filled with love just for him. He had to think of the smell of rosemary, of thyme- of the others. No, he was not to let them down. A laugh escaped past his lips, followed by another cough. Gods above, what's happening to you, Beowolf? the inky black male questioned himself, feeling more nervous bouts of laughter escape past thin lips, followed by another rattling cough. Tears welled in his eyes, and he was grateful he had the cover of the night as hysterical laughter bubbled out of him, tears still following suit. He stopped suddenly, getting to his paws, teetering near the edge of the cliff to take a look. No, no not to fall, to fall would be bad... but to look. Hadn't he done that already? He wasn't sure. The ghost of him stood next to him, and Beowolf idly turned to look at himself, faded, tired, wondering as he watched the opaque version of him step over the ledge and tumble down. The ebony wolf screamed, jumping back, ending up near the box. Ah yes, the stress reliever, perhaps it couldn't be that bad?

"Don't do it, ah, but do! No one cares. You love her, don't you? Calm down." he said, starting to speak aloud now as he pawed the cigarette out of the box. He had no lighter, he could not set it aflame to get the desired effect, but he could chew on it's tip and gag at the taste it left on his tongue, howl at how it burned when he swallowed some. Carefully, he continued to chew, spitting some out whenever he finished. "What am I doing?" he asked himself, feeling mortified at realizing what he had done in the first place. But despite the terrible taste he wanted more, and horrified the ebony male threw the remainders off of the edge of the cliff where he had watched the ghostly version of him tumble over mere moments ago. He looked around, violently, rubbing at tired eyes. Was that Alaska over there? He felt his heart skip a beat, out of guilt for her seeing him like this, out of wanting her so badly. Padding over, weary, Beowolf went in for the hug she was offering, to fall through nothing and end up on the ground.

There was the whistling again, and once more hysterical sobs racked through him, his cough only worsening. Why wont it stop? he wondered, pawing at his ear, not minding the slightest when he tore through it for but a moment. Feeling blood drip down his cheek. it wasn't his blood, it couldn't have been. No, no no no. He laid there, tired, hungry, coughing, unsure of what was going on with his life at this very moment. Had the stars forsaken him? Had God? This was all a possibility, perhaps he had put his faith in too many things, perhaps the war had taken away why childish nature he had left. He was irritable now, sure, he was... plenty of things now. Was unfaithful to become another?

Getting to his paws he went back to the cliff, to look over its edge. He felt like crying, his eyes were swollen. Stumbling back he coughed, landing near the old box, and Beau pushed it away. There, he stayed until morning, phasing in and out of a nightmarish sleep as he coughed and shallowly breathing, his sun-kissed eyes glazed over as many a thoughts ran through his head. Tired revelations if you would, and steadily he simply stayed, unaware if anyone was to approach. [/justify]

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⋆⋆⋆ Lavakit. No, was it not Lavapaw now? He had not been present for he apprenticeship. He had not been there for many things in his life. He felt abandoned... and yet, had he not been the abandoner at the same time? He had known the ginger apprentice since she had been born and since then she had been a part of his life, like many of the other Windclanners that were thrown about. It felt odd to hear her speak up then, and slowly the Adviser shifted his eyes over to her, his brows knitted together, his eyes far too tired to comprehend much. Was that three versions of her, standing before him? Or was it one? Either way his vision was shaky, and he looked away, ashamed of himself and whatever on earth he had become.

"I've let myself go." he mumbled, partially in response to the female and partially in response to his own emotions. He was unsure of where he was ever going, felt robbed of many a thing, the last he wanted was to admit defeat in a way he never wanted. To speak a truth to himself was something different, and the truth he had come to realize was a disgusting one all the same. As dull sunlight filtered over him, as his pelt felt the early morning dawn, the male could only shake his head, trying to bury himself underneath his own paws. There was dried blood from his ear, a new notch located near the tip, the base- he was a bloody mess, and as the ebony cloaked male coughed it rattled in his chest coming from used lungs. "I've let myself go, and it's humiliating." he mumbled again, tightly closing his eyes as he only curled further into himself, silently praying to the stars that they'd either kill him swiftly or at least grant him sleep- only they knew he needed the rest, and tiredly Beowolf had come to the conclusion that they either didn't care, or perhaps he had believed in false prophets his whole life. [/justify]

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