08-09-2016, 09:12 AM
Seemed healthy, only seemed because truly Fart couldn’t have been entirely well. It’s not just the fact that he was a bit peaky, his outsides weren’t the only issue. It were his insides too, Thinking so terribly low of oneself was not at all healthy but he didn’t know any better, didn’t know that that too was a sickness in itself. He was sort of a broken mess as a whole, torn apart, pieced together, then torn apart once more. It was hard for the roan to know which was the right perception, was he a loser or a winner? Was he brave or a cowardly? Everything had been tumbled around one too many times inside his head so he could not wholly be sure of the path that was correct.
“I don’t mean to be so negative, or maybe I do. I’m not sure what I mean most of the time, everything is so topsy turvy lately.” His ears droop while his limey tail half-heartedly sways against his legs. Fart was feeling quite conflicted, never seeming to know what to do or say. It is her laughter and delightful, yet confusing responses that bring his attention again. His bright ears flick forward and his muddy brown eyes display interest in her words. So she wasn’t born like that, hadn’t been given things by fairies either? Fart wasn’t sure what to make of that (surprise) he didn’t understand how these changes had just come to be. It had to be Magic of some sort hadn’t it? These physical changes didn’t just spontaneously come to be. Further more, if they did then that meant she was born with them, harboring them deep inside herself until they emerged.
Or one might speculate.
Then she mentioned a War and Jungle Magic and Fart had a sudden memory flood his conscious. He recalled something so very similar, a War indeed but not with the Jungle at all. This War of memory was personal, terrifying and painful. He too had been made into something he was not for it, things had been pulled from deep inside of him and made corporeal by a maleficent being. Those were the hands that hurt, the creature that brought him pain and it was bright, so very bright in that chamber of torture. Then again he would suffer that pain again because Grumble had been there, had found him and shown him his potential. Still, he shook at the recollection of it, the terrible parts bleeding over the nice ones for a time and when he looked at her again (looked and saw) his flat eyes were pained. “I understand,” he said quietly, gulping away his terrors.
“Indeed they are powerful,” he responded, still slightly trembling, “or they have been at some point, Grumble was once, and he was my friend too.” There was a sadness there in the telling but also a twinkle of fondness under all the layers of misery. “I will show you what he gave me, at his own great cost. I will show you but you must not come close.” It was a warning not because he wanted to sound ominous but because he did not want her to come to harm. With a few paces he distanced himself, stalking away until he thought he was well down wind and would cause her no ailment. Then he looked at her intently, boring his muddy eyes into her own bird-like oculars and bent his hairless head to a cluster of clover. Fart inhaled, his barrel expanding wide and then he exhaled, violently green gas emitted from his split mouth coiling over the greenery like a cloud.
That which it touched promptly curled, decayed and wilted until it was brown. Until it was dead and lifeless.
He looked away from the rotted clover once his demonstration was done, wondering if she would perceive him as some sort of monster now. “Aye, you are not so alone now,” he nodded because how very true that come to be for him, he could not help but to compare the similarity in the receiving of their gifts. “We could find somewhere to be not alone together, we could find a spot for others like ourselves.” The idea had just occurred to him that the world had left them to their own devices one way or another, that the world had left them alone. They didn’t have to be that way though, they could find their own little spot to be, there own little place of not aloneness. Maybe he could find others too, those left to the winds and those that needed to not be alone the most. Those so like himself it was uncanny.
“I don’t mean to be so negative, or maybe I do. I’m not sure what I mean most of the time, everything is so topsy turvy lately.” His ears droop while his limey tail half-heartedly sways against his legs. Fart was feeling quite conflicted, never seeming to know what to do or say. It is her laughter and delightful, yet confusing responses that bring his attention again. His bright ears flick forward and his muddy brown eyes display interest in her words. So she wasn’t born like that, hadn’t been given things by fairies either? Fart wasn’t sure what to make of that (surprise) he didn’t understand how these changes had just come to be. It had to be Magic of some sort hadn’t it? These physical changes didn’t just spontaneously come to be. Further more, if they did then that meant she was born with them, harboring them deep inside herself until they emerged.
Or one might speculate.
Then she mentioned a War and Jungle Magic and Fart had a sudden memory flood his conscious. He recalled something so very similar, a War indeed but not with the Jungle at all. This War of memory was personal, terrifying and painful. He too had been made into something he was not for it, things had been pulled from deep inside of him and made corporeal by a maleficent being. Those were the hands that hurt, the creature that brought him pain and it was bright, so very bright in that chamber of torture. Then again he would suffer that pain again because Grumble had been there, had found him and shown him his potential. Still, he shook at the recollection of it, the terrible parts bleeding over the nice ones for a time and when he looked at her again (looked and saw) his flat eyes were pained. “I understand,” he said quietly, gulping away his terrors.
“Indeed they are powerful,” he responded, still slightly trembling, “or they have been at some point, Grumble was once, and he was my friend too.” There was a sadness there in the telling but also a twinkle of fondness under all the layers of misery. “I will show you what he gave me, at his own great cost. I will show you but you must not come close.” It was a warning not because he wanted to sound ominous but because he did not want her to come to harm. With a few paces he distanced himself, stalking away until he thought he was well down wind and would cause her no ailment. Then he looked at her intently, boring his muddy eyes into her own bird-like oculars and bent his hairless head to a cluster of clover. Fart inhaled, his barrel expanding wide and then he exhaled, violently green gas emitted from his split mouth coiling over the greenery like a cloud.
That which it touched promptly curled, decayed and wilted until it was brown. Until it was dead and lifeless.
He looked away from the rotted clover once his demonstration was done, wondering if she would perceive him as some sort of monster now. “Aye, you are not so alone now,” he nodded because how very true that come to be for him, he could not help but to compare the similarity in the receiving of their gifts. “We could find somewhere to be not alone together, we could find a spot for others like ourselves.” The idea had just occurred to him that the world had left them to their own devices one way or another, that the world had left them alone. They didn’t have to be that way though, they could find their own little spot to be, there own little place of not aloneness. Maybe he could find others too, those left to the winds and those that needed to not be alone the most. Those so like himself it was uncanny.
dont you know that youre toxic?
