don't be cautious, don't be kind, you committed, i'm your crime
push my button anytime
Ah, the Outskirts. A place he’s only passed through either on his way out or somewhere else. But it looked a mess after LongNight, and he finds himself curious as to if anything had been left behind, hidden away, by the monsters in the night. He’s grateful for the sun on his face, for the chill in the air, and he breathes it deeply until the cold starts to devour his throat, ring in his teeth. Outside. The comfort is immense.
He still wears his furs, still hating the cold with every bit of his being, but at least the snow was gone and the chill seems to feel a bit more like salvation than anything else.
Steel eyes scout the crevices of misshapen rocks for anything of interest, watching as mud forms and settles and reforms again, a dark raise of his brow in quiet interest. He’s not sure whether it has some form of intelligence, quietly cursing himself at the absurdity of it. But he’s also not sure how it seems to move and reshape, flatten, twist and turn without anyone around to make it. And so he nears it, head tilting in quiet question, before he spots something within it’s grasp that it’s trying to form around.
It sort of looks like an egg?
Drawing nearer, he pulls his hands from his pockets and kneels beside the mud, poking at it with a stick that it seems to latch onto. And with his closeness, he realizes it is an egg of sorts, speckled with black among its opal hued shell. He disregards the stick in an attempt to grab onto the egg, feeling it wiggle beneath his fingers, before he tugs on it to loosen it surprisingly from the mud.
Splotches of the mud still remain on its shell, but as it sits in his hands, it continues to wiggle and move ever so slightly, before a slight crack begins to form along the top of it. He cradles it within his hands, sitting back on his legs, quiet interest as it begins to hatch and wondering what the fuck he's going to do with it when it does.
Melita
He still wears his furs, still hating the cold with every bit of his being, but at least the snow was gone and the chill seems to feel a bit more like salvation than anything else.
Steel eyes scout the crevices of misshapen rocks for anything of interest, watching as mud forms and settles and reforms again, a dark raise of his brow in quiet interest. He’s not sure whether it has some form of intelligence, quietly cursing himself at the absurdity of it. But he’s also not sure how it seems to move and reshape, flatten, twist and turn without anyone around to make it. And so he nears it, head tilting in quiet question, before he spots something within it’s grasp that it’s trying to form around.
It sort of looks like an egg?
Drawing nearer, he pulls his hands from his pockets and kneels beside the mud, poking at it with a stick that it seems to latch onto. And with his closeness, he realizes it is an egg of sorts, speckled with black among its opal hued shell. He disregards the stick in an attempt to grab onto the egg, feeling it wiggle beneath his fingers, before he tugs on it to loosen it surprisingly from the mud.
Splotches of the mud still remain on its shell, but as it sits in his hands, it continues to wiggle and move ever so slightly, before a slight crack begins to form along the top of it. He cradles it within his hands, sitting back on his legs, quiet interest as it begins to hatch and wondering what the fuck he's going to do with it when it does.
Melita
you got your finger on the trigger
but your trigger finger's mine
SuNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
