06-09-2018, 08:53 AM
we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight All that you have, I have had first. The voice never ceases; it’s always there in his mind, sometimes as soft as a velvet whisper, or as harsh as lightning and thunder. His body is still bruised and sore from being thrown down by the mighty hand of Carnage, his nose rubbed into the dirt to remind him of what he truly is (nothing, nothing, nothing), the pain still evident in the tight clench of his jawline as well as the troubled stormy-sea color of his blue irises. He hadn’t meant to put the warrior Queen in a compromising position - to go to him without Solace’s company. But the moment their eyes met, he knew that Kagerus could see him; could see the diminishing light beneath the fractured and broken pieces that, despite shattering beyond repair, he struggles to keep together with each quivering inhale of his breath. Tangerine could feel it, he knows, and perhaps she has even seen it in her dream - but Sibyl is too young to part from her mother’s side for more than a few moments, and all that tempestuously stirs within him cannot be smoothed before the ocean’s princess would return, bright-eyed and innocent. Warrick would not allow his youngest daughter to see him so weak, so broken. He wouldn’t allow his eldest, either. Kagerus pulls into him, the soft velveteen of her muzzle against the muscled mahogany of his shoulder, and a rumbling sigh spills from his cobalt lips, his gaze focusing on something beyond, whether it be figment or reality. Father. The word - once so delicate and meaningful that gave him the utmost sense of pride and belonging - now causes a shiver to spiral icily down his spine. He tenses, his breath catching in his throat; the word almost seems pointless. Warrick’s jaw tightens, nearly stepping away from Kagerus at the idea of his own lineage now being forced not only on his flesh and blood. But he somehow remains beside her, rigid and stoic, and though warmth radiates from his skin, it is lost in his eyes. What is wrong? He couldn’t fathom on where to even begin. Warrick’s mind grapples for eloquent words, but is only given images of Wound (missing, her scent lost on the wind and into the night) and his revelation of his true family (from the loins of a murderer, a torture artist, a dark god). She is gone; he swore to protect her. Burning rage, deep despair, the need to avenge in blood. How long before he becomes (even if only half) of what Carnage was? Is. “There is a darkness in me.” His voice does not tremble with the confession; it is eerily even and deep, haunting. warrick |
credit to vel of adoxography.
@[Kagerus]