12-21-2017, 05:44 PM
WICKED
SOMETIMES ITS MY LIFE I CAN TASTE
Wicked is not familiar with the company of those other than his family. His color is telling enough - his heritage, well. He has all too well gathered the idea of what heritage means. But, unlike his mother, and many of her siblings he has managed to escape the curse that one wrong move ends you up with a brand stamped to your butt and a name that sounds as though it were generated out of a factory. And if his name had ever been anything other than what he knew of himself, he never knew it. All he could hear was Not-Mother hissing at him, over and over again...you wicked little thing.
Born slow. Born with no wings, and no horns, he was the youngest of triplets born in a time when magic was scarce. It was only when the magic dissipated and his horns and wings started to grow in that he had learned - much too late, because Not-Mother had already dumped him by then - that Wicked looked just like his sisters... and that he would end up becoming the largest of the three.
If it seems that he's stuck on his size, its because he can barely believe it himself. He was born the runt. And now he's huge.
And so, he's standing restlessly at the tree line, unsure of how best to proceed, when a blue girl appeared in his view. She seemed to thin - terribly so - and his lip curled visibly at the sight of her. She had wings, not unlike his, but his gaze appreciated the feathers, whereas his hung like big bat wings with large talons that stuck out, clinging to whatever he walked past. And when she said hi to him, he instinctively stepped back - not out of aloofness, although that is what he is sure that is what it will be percieved as - but out of shock.
Nobody spoke to him. Not ever.
Not without a nasty joke behind it, anyway.
He stares, shaking his head with those fine, gnarled horns of his, and he smiles, albeit briefly. "Hello"
pic by kyle thompson html by call