sucker for pain | open

[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10pt]Going to unimaginable lengths to protect friends and family was something Duskmire could understand, but not relate to. All his life he'd been a loner, an outcast. He had drifted from one Clan to the next, never really finding his place. So often he loved and cared about others that cared much less for him than he did for them - so his affections had hardly ever been worth it. His family had, at this point, walked out on him besides Feverbreak, bless his heart. He still had friends that he adored, both in SunClan, SkyClan, and BloodClan, but there were some he had left behind that it hurt to think about. Zarya would have died for her people, no? Dusk was not sure he could say he would do the same. After all - he could not think of a single person who would do the same for him.

The loss bit, he did understand. Almost everything Dusk had ever had was at some point ripped from him. His first home, his family, Fleecewing, Felix, BloodClan. Even his first body had been robbed from him - murdered by Cosmicknight. He knew less about losing family, however - though his mother was dead, he hadn't been there when it happened, and his father was still alive, though missing. Life got messy sometimes - loss, confusion, people growing apart. Duskmire preferred to not think about such things if he could manage it.

Noticing the normally stoic Zarya crying alone, Dusk immediately flocked to her side. He did not want to crowd her or intrude on something that wasn't his business, but he could hardly ignore someone that might be in trouble. "Zarya?" the cream tabby asked gently, keeping his distance until he knew whether she minded company or not. "Is something, um, wrong?"

[justify][fancypost borderwidth=0pt]screams at the title of the thread

Loss was not something everyone could avoid, and Santana had experienced it at too young of an age. His parents were nowhere to be seen, or even heard of. He was certain at least one person knew his parents, or perhaps even their names. He could recall their names, but he often disregarded them, as it only stirred sorrow and caused his chest to ache with longing. A family was something he always wanted, but did not entirely get. As far as he knew, he had no siblings, and his parents were obviously not around to be there for him. He was on his own. Santana did have a group, a gang, that he could consider his family, but they did not quite grasp the title. They were close friends, people he considered to be more influential on his life than anyone else. And yet, he had even left them behind. Life had carried him from his pond further down the stream to an even larger body of water. Of course, it was metaphorical, but it still made sense in the aspects of his life. He was still young, though, and had so much time to fully grow and develop. Other people did not have that chance. Santana would be sure to take it, and not fuck it over. Little did he know, his future would alter his fate completely, and for the worst.

The sound of crying was what carried him through the territory, along with Duskmire's scent, which was growing more familiar the longer San lingered around him. He did not recognize Zarya, though he had seen her around on occasion. She was hard to miss, what with her tremendous size and coat color. Bright pink was a bit hard on the eyes, but Santana found it to be rather unique, as well as badass. Pink was a feminine color, but it didn't mean she was girly, or feeble. However, her soft cries made her appear more vulnerable. The lilac kitten didn't know why she was crying, and when he spotted Duskmire flocking to her side, he hesitated to approach the scene. He was sure someone would arrive to ruin the comfort Dusk was attempting to provide. Many within the clan were rather...blank and emotionless. They made it seem that way, at least. San was hesitant to approach, but he did so, however his pace was rather slow and leisurely.

Crying was not an act he had experience with. Negative emotions in general were not things he knew well enough to handle. He could not recall a time where he had cried, to himself or in front of others. He had felt sorrow, but it was kept internal, along with any other negative emotion. Despite calling others out on their facades, even if it was technically in his head, he was being rather hypocritical. He put on his own mask, and was better at hiding it than others. "You doin' okay, esa?" Santana eventually inquired, chocolate gaze observing the femme. His expression was rather relaxed despite the obvious tension in the air.