futile devices // p / lav

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  • Weeks had passed by now since he had joined the ranks of the Renegades; They felt like years. Every second a minute, minute a hour, every hour a day. Raphael was in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Watching time pass through the shadows and lights gleaming from his slit of a window. The basement was warm, and his pile of canvas and ripped couch cushions felt like a queen mattress. The bed he used to own was a grand mattress, with drapes hanging all over the frame. He snapped his eyes closed, held his breath, ignoring the woody dustiness of the room he dwelled in. He needed to remember the scent of home, the smell of carpets and moss, not cement. He needed to see his painted walls, the scene of sunsets and skies painted in his massive room.

    Raphael opened his eyes again, turning to face his new mural, a replicate of his first piece. This one had browns and greys, one dripping sun of mustard gas hung in the sky like a pendulum. It looked like a dust bowl era painting, depicting hopelessness and hot blazing skies. It made his room seem so empty of feeling, he hated it. Raphael wanted to slather the walls with baby blue and hot pinks, red flowers and a bright yellow sun. He couldn’t find the pigments, they were hidden somewhere he knew it, but he was so scared to explore alone.

    When he was young, he would drag Icenine out to look around with him, sniffing every corner of the territory until he uncovered every secret. Then when he was less afraid, he would explore alone, in caves and places he never dared to go before. All that shattered, his limp made him afraid of not being able to defend himself, while the new territory he resided in made him incomparably scared. What was out there, watching him as he walked in between trees and rocks. When it got dark what would be there to eat him the second he decided to take a rest. A shiver passed through his pelt.

    He wished his friends were here, he could drag them along like rag dolls. No choice in the matter or they would be faced with a very dissapointed Raphael. He didn’t yet have friends here, or anyone he considered close enough. He had plenty of aqquantances but no true friendships, he was sure even the leaders of their clan felt disdainful towards him. He was staring off into space again, racking his brain for anyone who would be willing to babysit him while he scurried around searching for any sort of dried flowers or rocks that would give him the bold shades he needed.

    No one cares.’ Raphael grit his teeth, dragging himself out of his nesting. Taking a few moments to groom himself, and a few seconds to stretch out whatever limbs were stuck in folded positions. ‘No one cares about the person that doesn’t care about others.

    He was wandering the hallways, his daily routine of thinking and smiling at the few people he passed. That’s when he saw it, Lavender’s cell. No use in trying? The saying didn’t seem remotely like himself, the original Raphael would be eager to make a new friend. This pretender was fearful of talking, though he longed for conversation, affection, praise. A knot in his stomach was growing by the second, but his paws were dragging him to the entrance. A fight between his instinct and his common sense, and currently the former was winning.

    He stood at the front, shifting paw to paw, glancing to see if the other was even residing there currently. After Lav’s recent injury, he wouldn’t be surprised if they moved the feline to a medical ward of some kind. This elicited even more guilt, wanting to drag a weakened party into the wilderness with him.

    Lavender?” Was it too soon to use a nickname? So many questions unanswered.





  • and you're kissing to cut through the gloom

    with a cough-drop-colored tongue tags & plot

    his sense of time wasn't apparent in anything he did, and this wasn't as surprising as anything else, considering it was clear he was in his head most of the time anyway. time, to him, meant nothing- he had plenty of it left, and his species aged painfully slow, if at all. his biggest fear was simply never aging at all, after a time, or just winking out of existence randomly. actually, he had a lot of fears and doubts- what if he ran out of junk food, and had to eat meat? what if someone discovered his origins and hated him for it? what if his third eye became visible and he just didn't know in time, to cover it up? what if something spooky came from the darkness, and merely went after him? these thoughts plagued his mind whenever he was alone, but the worse ones came whenever zagon truly left him. he wondered, then, if the snake knew what truly went on behind the scenes, and if for some reason, he was simply keeping them from the serval. the idea of lies and betrayal didn't sit well on him, in fact, they didn't sit at all. he didn't understand the idea of anything that wasn't honesty, didn't understand emotions that were not pure, although he ironically didn't understand the meaning of love, either. such things scared him, which was why he chose to remain ignorant. maybe that's why the serpent kept secrets, and maybe that's why he didn't mind as much as he should. the call of his name went unnoticed by the male himself, as he was currently doing something that looked like odd finger painting. he had gotten bored of his thoughts, and of trying to talk to the serpent that wasn't interested in responding, so he was currently decorating a small part of his wall, lazily. like raph, he painted, but his was limited to landscapes. if he tried faces, they twisted for him; and he didn't like it, either, as he didn't understand the point of trying to immortalize faces. if the person meant something to him, he wouldn't need to paint them down to remember everything about them- every little detail, every little wrinkle of skin, or how they pursed their lips or perhaps wrinkled their nose when nobody was looking. that was beside the point, if there ever was one. the door opened, and croaked, and groaned, but he wasn't the one to do so. a strange looking creature met raph, one oddly black colored, and perhaps canine looking. the only telltale sign of familiarity was the crimson gaze that glared back briefly, before said creature was a snake once more, slipping indignantly back under the bed he had been lurking from. if the demon hated anything, it was mortals and shapeshifting, although angels was perhaps his number one hate, despite always preaching tolerance at lav, like the hypocrite he was. z didn't have to tell lav he had a visitor, as he was already looking up, paw caught hovering beside the wall he had plastered in unconscious play. he looked guilty, not hurt, casting blind but widened orbs around his room in an almost semi conscious motion. his room, by normal standards, was messy, not dirty. there were careless wrappers here and there, but most of the room either held painting supplies, or oddly shaped bundles that had labels on them, and some raph could perhaps read. some of them said 'junkfood', 'bows', 'meds', 'candy', etc. he didn't have time to hide them, just like he didn't really care too, cause he was lazy. hello, raph, whatcha doin'? he'd titter, accidentally wiping paint on his cheek as he absentmindedly rubbed it. his eyes would flicker upwards, realizing something kinda important- the ceiling painting he was still doing, the one of the stars and moon. ya like it? he'd idly question, remembering the other painted, too. although still a work in progress, the painting was rather intricate, but the moon appeared to have a blood red tint to it, and he appeared to be following a star constellation, not that he would realize that himself. he wasn't the smartest, at times.