the beauty [ open, bloodclanner ] the beast

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    [align=center][fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 300px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; margin-top: -19px]They really did exist for a reason.


    Death, alive, breath, rain, wind. The things the living would say to ease their troubles, the things that'd flow from their minds to their mouths but were never let into the cold. Perhaps they wouldn't survive out there, perhaps they would. But by the deepest reaches of the ocean, the darkest days of the sun, the world was so much more than beauty. Yet beauty was all he ever saw.


    Pain would blossom over the waves of their lives, rolling over the white sand of their conscience, but what was living without a few tears? Their bodies were all like glass, their minds alike the turning of an old dusted clock, and yet they thrived on, feeding off each others' worlds, their visions, their promises.


    Light prints of dark followed the ivory youth as he made his way along the world, the light drumming of his paws against the earth the only indication of his arrival yet it seemed all took notice of it. His presence carried an old, tragically poetic vibe, and his expression with no difference. Amusement, reticence, and what else, who could really know. Stopping at the border, with only a light sweep of his multi-colored oculars spared on the bone trail, Bohemian's eyes lifted their gaze upwards, a gaze of amber stardust and ocean's eternal blue depths. A small flicker of a smirk flashed through his expression. He had come to see the sole creature in the world in which he'd ever cared for.


    "Life is truly a horrorstory," The lovely youth's words came fluently as he sat upon the boarder. "So is the person I'm looking for."



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    [justify]He recognized the voice of Bohemian. Just as poetic and ever so intriguing with every motion and movement, each word so perfected and unique. Honestly, it nerved him of the Bloodclanner's ability to see the good in him - the spark of life that was still there. No matter how well it was hidden away into the depths of a sea of the switches between his calm or angered demanor - he still had that bit of human-like self within. Horrorstory had been going out on a lone border patrol when the familiar voice hit him like a perfected and well-shaped rock. Bohemian.


    Horrorstory had left Bloodclan without a trace. It was still the same there as the first time he ever joined as a younger boy. Horrorstory had no true connections, nothing but faces he'd forget and tiring stupidity that came from their lips. The only one he'd grown close to was Bohemian. Melantha was more so someone to reminisce with. A memento, even. Bohemian had disappeared like a shadow did during the start of night in a dark room. Gradual. He supposed he should have searched for the lion, but he did not. On rough battered pads did the wolf approach, with every muscle slipping beneath his pelt powerful and strong with each strode forward. His body was no longer disgusting, practically rotted with littering scars. He was a rough wolf now. Now all he looked was ferocious, and several of his clanmates were... Intimidated, by him. He supposed he'd always be looked at in the same way. Rough, horrible. The root of his name had been 'horror.'


    "Bohemian." He greeted. His voice was still the same. Roughed up but leaning on a monotone. "I suppose that you found who you're looking for." Horrorstory studied the lion. Bohemian was the opposite of himself. He was wonderfully painted ivory, colored with the same fur of his mother. The two colors of his eye, both suiting the pelt despite their differentiating eye color. Small and petite for a lion. Yet personality bold and daring, ready to take whatever strange risks he desired. Horrorstory was on the other hand, as big as a wolf could get, with strong muscles and fur unusually dappled with orange with pure black, like flames among a burned house - nothing attractive. Eyes as stone like the thickest of brown thorns among a bush, a dead bush, that is. And he acted like a wild animal, his words only saying what needed to be said, or his actions uncalculated and stupified. "I'm glad to see you again." He spoke, albeit flatly.


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    [align=center][fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 300px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; margin-top: -19px]Disappeared? He'd been stolen.


    Bohemian's magic act had occurred due to the interference of an exiler by the namesake of Bandagedmemories. He'd been stolen both as a creature being kidnapped and stolen from in terms of innocence being stripped away due to inhuman amounts of mental torture. When he'd returned on the border, shaking and incapable of ceasing tears from streaming wildly down breathtaking features, it had not been his father's name he'd called for nor that of his mother's long dead corpse; no, it had been Horrorstory's.


    Upon his return the 5 moon old, at the time, vulnerable and weak all's the child could utter was the same repetive phrase. Where's Horrorstory? And he was met with a feeling of utter emptiness at the responses of hollow, indifferent I don't knows. Bohemian then closed himself off completely, pretending the mental damage had not occurred in hopes of showing no sign weakness. Weakness, after all, got one dead very swiftly in this cold world.


    There he was. As Bohemian's clever eyes fell upon the wolf's form, he did not at first recognize his dearest companion. It only took the other's tone, however, to make any traces of uneasiness vanish completely. A sigh fell from thin lips and a smile, one of true devotion and happiness, replaced a smirk. "It seems I've found who I've been looking for, now it's a matter of finding what." Ever cryptic that boy was, ever perplexing.


    They were, in fact, two creatures of completely opposite persona and form. Horrorstory was ripped at every edge but still a masterpiece, he was protective and true never speaking in lies or tongues. Bohemian, however, was horribly selfish and he knew this. So let the other imagine Bohemain as a creature of beauty; captivating, daring, and unattainable as though he were a protagonist straight from a romance novel, Bohemian did not want to tarnish Horrorstory's opinion of him no matter what the cost. He could not risk losing him.


    It took every fiber of the darling's being to not begin to cry; to spill his heart out to his long lost companion in an embrace, but he managed. After all, he wished not to tarnish Horrorstory's opinion of him. "As am I." He responded, tone as gentle as summer rain and eyes filled with the mischief of children who played within it's puddles. "We're both quite the adept magicians, disappearing into thin air." Bohemian continued, "So what boiled down to making you finally leave?" It was a personal inquiry, but he felt he had a right to know, a frown spoiling delicate features. He wanted to know, in essence, what made him leave the darling boy utterly alone.




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    [justify]If Horrorstory had known this, Bandagedmemories would be no more. He just assumed Bohemian had died into all the other happy faces he once knew and cared for, they all did. It seemed not, that he let it happen - he left him behind in a time of possible need, forgotten and alone. But that would be his downfall. Guilt that he hadn't been there, the intense feeling of self-disappointment once again settling into his mind. The quietest had the loudest minds, or so this applied to Horrorstory, anyways.


    There was nothing he could do now. He couldn't go back to support the growing lion cub, to save him or see what happened. Horrorstory was not a time-traveler. It was a disgusted feeling he'd swing into himself, with the already powerful self-hatred he felt becoming like that of lava, bubbling and boiling over the volcano's peak. Feelings most didn't know about him. Emotions only he knew of. Horrorstory cared for Bohemian, and it would disturb him at his own forsaking works, leaving him behind.


    Horrorstory studied the lion before him. Growing, but older then before. His gaze always seemed to travel though, didn't it? To make sure all was fine. But it never was, there was never peace or time for euphoric feelings to bloom. His ears flicked briefly, studying the words. An ominous feeling came over him. What had happened when he left? Horrorstory wasn't sure if he wanted to hear what the lion cub's words were, but he supposed knowledge was a beautiful thing. Bohemian's words were just as mystifying and puzzling as usual. The thing to put someone to their seat, listening closely in curiosity.


    Horrorstory's opinion wasn't able to change easily. It took a lot to push his opinion about once it was formed. However, it was easier to turn into the enemy then to turn into the friend, this was true. Perhaps he was imaginative, that Bohemian was ever-so perfected and innocent despite the fact he may not be. Horrorstory could easily look past faults. Perhaps the optimistic piece of him, if there was any left.


    He was an observant creature, but perhaps not enough. Bohemian acted as he usually did. He didn't seem detached, lost, nor faltering. How wrong he was. Horrorstory however, noticed the frown near the end. He saw something, that Bohemian was bothered by the silent departing. The tormenting feeling of suspense and wonder eased into his stomach, but his expression stated otherwise. Just as dead as before. "There was no reason to stay. It's just as it was before, but with vulgar immaturity. I did not know where you were, but I suppose I should've at least left a note." No hints of regret rested within. Vulgar immaturity was not a reference to Bohemian. Commonly, he was the one to question, but he wanted to seek the questions Bohemian had.[/justify]