FLASH. Give me attention [Offspring]

[Offspring]

You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.

  Winter. His heart once pined for the frigidity of the tundra he had come to know as his own; for the brotherhood (and eventually, sisterhood) that had been his empire, but no longer. Where the ice had once numbed him, the fire now left him raw and tender, and he had already begun to forget how it felt to settle into complacency, to mope and to languish over what had been and what could never be.

  The fire moved him forward; it kept him steady and grounded as the ice never had. He has become one with the volcanic isle, in every sense of the word (fire and brimstone burned within him, just as it poured from the caldera on the northern shore), but there is and always would be a part of him that would long for days long gone, for the ice and the snow – for what had become only a memory.

  His reverie does not last long, however, as he is halted in his steady pace inland by a sweeping set of finely preened, but bristling feathers – not of gold and ivory, nor of indigo, of those he has become accustomed to interrupting his train of thought. She is altogether unfamiliar – oh, he had seen her from a distance, doting over the bone-plated Smoak and his father, Dahmer. He presumed she was family, and left it that that – he entrusted Dahmer with the island, and he knew that he would not so warmly invite danger or mischief into their territory – thus, he harbored no desire to question him, nor her.

  Perhaps, he had been wrong –
  Mischief she most certainly seemed to be.

  A flicker of fire emerges across the ridge of his spine as his stoicism becomes an expression of disdain, studying the intrusion upon his quiet time of reflection. She is beautiful, he would be wrong to come to any other conclusion, but her beauty is tamed by her arsenic-laced humor – and there is little else but a deeply rooted frown settled upon his dark mouth. He presses past her, encircling her, while his crimson gaze catches her own and steadies upon them – observing quietly for a moment, before speaking at last.

  ”I am, that would be me. And you’re not wrong. My mother was less than fond of me. I can see why yours felt the same about you. When will you be leaving?”

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.

lmfao she got him all sassy; he'll get over it. @[Scyla]