DESPICABLE — joining

Talia feels - feels first, rather than sees - a presence lingering near the far border, although she can't quite tell what it is, exactly. All she knows is that she's drawn to the festering emotions like flies, leaving the small garden she'd been tending to investigate the entity. It's a buzzing in the background, white noise, a reminder that someone or something is breaching the territory that does not belong - is not a Ruiner... for now. For now but their presence lingers instead of dives, stays instead of runs so she figures it couldn't possibly be an intruder, leaving only two options: a visitor, or a joiner.

When running across the slippery dunes take too long, the six-foot hellhound decides to spread her wings instead and rocket into the sky, white feathers catching light as she follows the sense of non-Ruiner prickling at her spine. She's taken it to herself to always, always investigate things that she cannot see from camp because, truthfully, she's afraid and only a small bit hopeful. Afraid, afraid to lose anyone, afraid to sever connections - but hopeful, hopeful that the next visitor is someone that she knows (there are times she still daydreams that one of her daughters could come back to life and pay their mother a visit).

When she sees them, she stops - not family, no, not hers, but their bony structure, the way they hold themselves up tugs at a strand of worry within her, pulling and pulling and it slides like a rock from her gut to the back of her throat. Are they okay? She figures perhaps, perhaps not - she shouldn't judge, should only care, should only understand. Talia concentrates, begins her descent, landing on two fore-paws and two hind-talons only a few inches in front of him. Her wings come together, curl up and fold, until they're settled on either side of her, shimmering gently.

"You've reached the Sanguine Ruins," she says with a dip of her head, still cautious, still tentative - not out of fear, no, just out of curiosity. There's something in the air she can taste but doesn't recognize, and it's sooner answered when she sees the black splatter of something not too far away. For a second, she freezes, and she feels the Darkness bubbling in her chest, reacting with spools of ink writhing on its own, but she holds it down - it couldn't be Darkness, could it? It couldn't. It doesn't act the same way, doesn't - it's not. Still, she's wary of it. "Talia Pendragon, just a second tier here. Anything I can do to help you?"

/my god he seems so interesting already tjkladfa

also cannibal? he and talia can be cannibal friends pls ;^;

She’s dancing on a ground made of lava when she spots him. The heat was particularly insufferable that day, setting even her own fiery fur ablaze, but she was determined to make it to the border for her patrol. Calypso’s glad she pushed through the scolding of her pawpads, too, because there’s someone at the border and he looked like a creature that wouldn’t last long in this heat. But what would she know?

The large auburn feline opens her mouth to muse a ‘Hello,’ as she approaches, but darkness falls over her and she hears a sound from above and she’s thinks, Talia. There’s no other in the clan with the size and flight the Pendragon has, and Calypso has been caught off guard by her many times, still, so she’s learned the signs of the Raptor mother’s approach and filed them away at the back of her mind. She looks up to the sky, eyes familiar, and steps back to let the hound land. Cal knows she’s been here longer; better let the more experienced do the introducing. She watches the boy as Talia speaks, dark gaze warm like burned honey, and speaks a soft hello once the hound has spoken. He’s certainly a peculiar thing, but there’s something that tells her it goes deeper than his malnourished, boney appearance, through his eyes so rich with something Cal can’t quite place. She waits, a ruby red statue, and considers.

somebody?

Somebody could not say that he understood what it was to feel such self hatred as this demon did, not out of any pride or self love, but because it contrasted so harshly with everything that he had been forced into in his relatively short lifespan. In the gang, he was good enough, with raw talent that the leaders admired, something that could have gotten him power if it wasn’t for his mother’s mistakes and others being hellbent on revenge. In his brainwashed state, self hatred was no option, as he did not feel and did not think unless he was told to do so. In his current form, he didn’t have time to wonder if others liked him, or if he was good enough. He only had time to work and avoid his problems, not wanting to face the few that he had. The only thing he ever thought to hate about himself was his failure at being a father, and he understood that that was beyond his control. Somebody had, quite truthfully, never thought so poorly of himself as the other male did outside of fleeting seconds of regret that he brushed off his shoulder in a matter of seconds after thinking them.

The Doberman had heard a voice questioning someone, an obvious sign of either a joiner or a visitor. In either case, he might as well see what was going on. Somebody made his way over, spotting three forms; two familiar, one not so much. The serval was a rather bony creature, he noted, but he wasn’t one to judge, and instead he stood back curiously, waiting to see if the thing would even answer.

tags | plot

(c)trexgirl

hypokrisis knew of gods, oh did he know of gods.

once, they deemed him priest. once, when blasphemy sang through veins and pieces were gathered through parsley lips like a prayer. a title promising divinity stained finger tips and pomegranate seeds stuck within sacred, ivory teeth where prophecy's fell pass honeycomb curve of tongue in a faltered promise to never sing songs of heresy. serving a god stained red and spitting fury.

until religion was abolished.

no more believers, no more control of the mortal plane. the creature forged of pearl and rose could still feel utter hatred seething within too pale skin, cold taste metallic fear upon roof of mouth, could still recall grotesque nature of soul's being grapsed within the void, a wretched god's reach. how was he to know that from that point forward they'd be connected? that deity was worshipped of, a thing of vengeance brim-stone stained and splitting bone. one who'd caught perfect martry's soul upon ending war with plunge deep into chest meant for another. one who'd forced soul to intertwine with own, tainted, cursed, resurrected from once lifeless doll on battle field to some wild, raw, graceless, thing breathing, screaming, wailing. a broken record of thought and mind where contentment must be, looking to skies so blue it broke one's soul for answers. aching, searching, breathless searching with desperate finger tips for purpose, unwound from seems, frayed strings came undone, wounds no longer present ache within chest, pale lashes caress cheek bones, tears roll down lovely face . why am i alive, why am i alive? and he can't rest for even if he did, the agony which tinted heart and soul wouldn't allow for sleep to creep into unknown corners to be awoken in the first place; because when eyelids closed, memories projected across the black. death, blood, gold, a god spitting fire and fury pungent red a war with blood splintered teeth.

but he'd found purpose in his clan, found reason for carrying on and spit black and white and gray into face of gods. and that was the tale of a failed martyr who's endless devotion spilled gold into role of king. its no so different, truly, wisps and dreams and death and cracked porcelain hope. but the end results, the end results, the rotting away of good intentions as choice of either side grew blurred and he became the coin, were no different. the road to hell was paved by more than good intentions.

creature forged of moonflesh and honeycomb stepped forth. divine intervention and divine punishment alike infectious within movement of fluidity, a shard of moon midst gore and blood, a shred of thunder untrembling upon mother earth. he comes to stand along somebody, but star dipped gaze is intent upon newcomer. a deep contemplation presents itself upon marbled face of tragedy, tenderness touching corners of his eyes. he notes the way skeleton where warmth perhaps once flourished clenched jaw in subtle movement, pulled back at tailia's appearance, a silent madness, sad and dear, holding darkness to his eyes. hypokrisis remains silent,he does not speak, as he does not need to. for there is an unspoken kinship in joint misery.

Talia holds her ground, but barely, when things start to take a different turn, and the calm she'd imagined before unravels to reveal a building chaos underneath the gossamer surface. Perhaps she'd been right to stare at the puddle before because now, now she understands that it's something to keep away from. She's careful not to come too close to the ink-black mess, careful not to let her own Darkness writhe in the back of her throat; there's a loud trilling in her ears when his reactions begin to shift, and she's clutching onto her bond with Malkyn, unconsciously calling, beckoning, asking - but also pushing, tugging, twirling, shifting, a mess of reactions too difficult to decipher, as if she wants her mate to come closer and stay away at the same time.

Her wings shift, twitch, agitated as she listens to - what was his name, ah, he's said it - Deadboy. She glances towards Hypo, towards the other Ruiners gathered, and the triskelion on her chest threatens to come to life, to overpower the soothing calm of the vegvisi, but she latches onto a thread of her unspooling blanket of control, keeps it close, prays that it won't break - she doesn't have as much control as Malkyn, she's only been a hellhound for a few months but she tries, anyway, because the blackness he's spilling doesn't look so good and the Darkness in her throat doesn't feel so good either and suddenly she's flashing back to Tidalclan, to the mall, to Cainsmark, to his Dream Realm reacting so violently to Malkyn's Darkness -

She knows, she knows his and hers would not mix well, so she takes a step back, two, three, four, until she's confident that what they have writhing in their bodies cannot possibly mix. The Darkness and the Dream Realm clashed, collided, and suddenly Tidalclan had to relocate because they couldn't - they couldn't live in the mall anymore where both entities, realm and parasite, fought for control (and Talia believes, with all her heart, that they're still there - that they're still fighting, to this very day, somewhere in the forgotten territory of the Rift).

Talia takes a deep breath through her mouth, forcing the Darkness back and swallowing it whole, before speaking in rushed tones, "Whew, that's... uh..." She doesn't know what it is, wouldn't even dare try to consider what it could possibly be but instead she moves on, like she's always made herself do, knowing that if the stranger wanted to talk about it, he would - but she wouldn't force him, no. She had no right. The hellhound schools herself, forces her fur to lay flat with all of the strength that she could muster, and straightens her head because keeping it bowed makes her feel sick to her gut.

It's hard, but she wrenches her lips free from its tight line, still managing a genuine smile because it's not the serval's fault, it's hers. "Welcome to the Ruins, then," she offers, and though her breathing is labored, she feels herself beginning to calm from the additional distance she'd put between them. Still, however, she refuses to breathe through her nose, not knowing how her body, her - it - would react to such foreign objects, and continues to lightly pant instead like the dog she is. A part of her, deep and desperate, snarls but she yeets kicks it back and holds it down - no escaping, she won't let it get the better of her.

"Anything we could get you?" She starts her familiar spiel. Routine... routine is good, routine is - it's safe, it does not deviate, and it allows her resolve to come back, slowly. "Some water, some food? Whatever your tastes, we have it here. A tour if you'd like, or some place to rest in without interruptions -" Her eyes flash, but whatever might've lit them up disappears as soon as it came, hiding again behind her silver-pink eyes. "Whatever you need, we likely already have it or can get it for you - and if you think we don't, we'll prove ya wrong."

/talia is patient, she can wait until deadboy's ready and then she'll be serving up meals : ^)

"alright but i've been meaning to know what manticores taste like, wanna hunt one down and eat it?"

TAGS ✦ ✧ ✦ —The son of Always came over on soft paws. Taking shelter under the legs of Somebody. The female in a males body would crouch there and watch the stranger. This was another joiner, right? The child had not a clue. Thus, she was a bit fearful.

This was not a surprise, really. The child was almost always scared without her mother. That was why she hung close to people with the scent of her mother. Ruiners like herself. Staying small, innocent. Trying to remain hidden and safe, while still learning how to do simple tasks.

So, of course the safest place to be was near Somebody for her. If mom wasn’t there, or Yuu, or Mike. Somebody was someone that her mother trusted. So, that was where the child would go if given a choice. Everyone was second choice to mom, but eh.

That was all kids, right? Settling back, she would watch in silence now. Curious of this stranger here.

"speaking"