Lightning never strikes twice; any/Offspring

[Offspring]

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

 The warmth is stifling, and the air is thick with fallen ash – a haze is lingering heavily between the swaying vegetation and the bright, vivid sky, encapsulating all beneath it in its tepid clutch. He has grown used to it – perhaps, because of the stirring, flickering flame that is burning so brightly within him; the heat and fire are as much a part of him as his wild and powerful heart, churning within the thick of his chest. A thin sheen of perspiration causes the otherwise dreary and dull blackness of his skin to shine, while unshaken beads of sweat line the gentle slope of his spine. He is still – quiet, watchful, waiting.

 The sun lay just beyond the horizon, but it is far from fallen, bathing the rich soil in its light, and reflecting over the ravenous but unbroken sea. He is nearest to the shoreline, cheek turned towards the shadow of the looming volcano in the distance (and he can almost feel it rumbling, almost) – with thick, luscious plumes of smoke rising from the top, darkening the atmosphere. He is content, with the updraft of the ocean breeze raking over the scalding heat of his skin – he is content, if only for a moment.

  An uneasiness stirs within the hearth of his chest – his gaze is cast toward the southern border, and there, an unfamiliar face – still and motionless. His gaze is narrowed, honing on the minute details of his stoic features and rigid posture, and there is something amiss. As his legs carry him closer, there is the scent of pine and maple – a scent he had only ever noticed in the presence of Djinni, an enigmatic creature he had come across by happenstance alone. (Later, he would learn she was the Queen of Sylva – she had said nothing to allude to it during their encounter, and he had been none the wiser at the time).

  He is quiet, listening to Scyla and her rambling (she seemed to have a knack for it – or an inability to contain herself; he had yet to decide which). Her excitement is not contagious – there is a darkness in his own gaze at the mere mention of Gryffen; of Sylva being under new rule. Leadership was oftentimes unpredictable, and if he had learned nothing else from his many years as a King and as an Overseer, he knew that change was often accompanied by disorder. His uneasiness is no secret; a shadow of doubt lingering within the darkness of his features as his fiery gaze studies the stranger with suspicion.

  The memory of Gryffen faltering in his attempt at feigning concern for the well-being of those he sought was not lost on him, and perhaps, Voltage would sense his reservations – perhaps he would see the image of Gryffen, lying through his crooked, yellowed teeth, planting a seed of wary doubt within him so long ago.

  ”I am Offspring, the Overseer of Tephra,” he begins, glancing to Scyla with a glimmer of disapproval within his scarlet stare. ”Gryffen, you said? Did Djinni relinquish her crown, or he did take it?” he muses softly, the inner-workings of his mind exposed for all to hear and know – Voltage would not need to filter through his thoughts to know that he did not care for the idea. ”What is the purpose of this "celebration"?”

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.

@[Scyla] @[Voltage]