under the chemtrails 
over the country club

@Pompeii

she sits before the smoke stacks, swaying slightly.

the heavy snowfall, that seemed to be coating the whole island even without the correct season, had fallen here too. there's frost all across the ground and a chill in the air, even as it edged closer to summer than spring. but here, at the smoke stacks, the warmth of the fires beneath the ground means that the snow melts quick. it leaves the ground a sloppy, wet mess and the air strangely hazy.

the smoke mixing with the haze of melting ice.

it leaves the landscape painted in a dreamy sort of haze, the very same sort she lives the res tof her life in. there's a desire to stroll through the stacks but that will come later; for now, she's content to sit and watch. ears pricked forward, her tail lashing lazily behind her. a predator poised, but only keen to enjoy instead of prowl.

code by flea, art by irish

Hellbent

lighting up the sky as we burn out

ooc: sorry for the delay!

Pompeii was free to do as he wished now, with no mother haunting his footsteps and no pride mantle across his shoulders weighing him down. Now he was free to explore and find the creepy things in this world that satisifed the greed in his chest. He craved things others often did not, but he was finding that inanimate objects were not as fun to collect like they had been.

Clenched in his jaw was the pelt of a weasel, the meat having been cached away somewhere nearby. The lion carefully moved through the haze, his ivory and ebony pelt doing well to give the illusion of him either being a mirage or walking away from any observer.

What caught his yellow gaze however was a pair of blue eyes amongst the haze, pausing the youth turned his form half way to face it. Jaws were bloody from his mutilation of the corpse and holding the pelt. It needed to be put in the sun soon or he would be wasting effort. Still, curiousty pulled his attention from his task. "When did the smoke produce eyes?";he asked aloud only slightly muffled by the pelt in his jaws.


"talk"
@Lazare ♔

code by corvus

under the chemtrails 
over the country club

she is far too used to seeing eyes in the shadows.

here, the dust and dirt mix together-- the wind whips it all up and it's hard to tell where the smoke ends. she sees @Pompeii but hardly even notices him, assuming him to simply be another shadow. until he speaks, of course. his voice is soft like a whisper, dampened by her own inattentiveness.

feminine muzzle turns towards him curiously, peering through the haze. ça l'a toujours été, it always has, she answers easily, voice a gentle sing-song as she steps closer to him. she cannot smell what he has in his mouth but she can see it, bits of fluff peeking through teeth. but no one ever bothers to look. so, then.... why was this boy so special?

why did he decide to see?

code by flea, art by irish

Hellbent

lighting up the sky as we burn out

ooc:

The girl answered him but what she said he had no idea. Lips wrinkled around the pelt in his jaws in confusion. “What?” he asked voice even and low, while his yellow eyes looked at her. Was she even talking to him in that strange tongue? Pompeii had yet to meet any of the Dieudonne's he knew of them, and to be cautious around them, but that’s as far as his knowledge went.

Then she spoke again in a language he could at least understand. “No one really uses their eyes it seems” he agreed on the statement, Pompeii had mellowed a bit in his first two years of life. And now he enjoyed watching and observing those around him, their petty little squabbles and running around with their hearts practically exposed to twist and contort. Or destroy.

“Too busy running away with their hearts exposed,” he muttered with a snort moving onwards past her. The smoke billowing around him making him hard to see with the conflicting color palette of his pelt and markings.


"talk"
@Lazare ♔

code by corvus

under the chemtrails 
over the country club

he doesn't understand but she doesn't bother to repeat herself-- sometimes, the common tongue did not need to be used. even now it feels clunky and heavy, but fortunately it seems @Pompeii gets the gist.

they do not see, she agrees, feminine voice lofty and glazed. even here she can barely see, and she sees more than anyone else. she'd helped the others with their sight with bringing her father back to life ( she'd seen his chest still rise and fall, when the others had seen only deadly stillness ) but she could not perform miracles.

what he says next, though, makes her still. she pauses, head tilting to the side, peering through the smoke at him. don't they need their hearts? she asks, voice tumbling softly from blackened lips. there's a strange hunger that stirs in the depths of her chest ( non, lower still-- in her stomach ) at the thought, taking him far too literally.

code by flea, art by irish

Hellbent

lighting up the sky as we burn out

ooc:

Watching a landslide take his father from him meant he only believed in the forces of nature. Spirits didn’t bother him, because they couldn’t bring change like the forces of nature could. And neither could bring his father back. With a curl of his tail tuft he was shifting among the smoke, creating trails of where he was once standing. Noting to himself he may need a good bath after this…


Yellow eyes narrowed a bit at her while he turned to face her again, distance between them comfortably. “Hearts like theirs, no” he muttered with a sneer. “Might as well devour them.” He added with a lick of his lips, Pompeii had no use for those whose hearts bled openly. It was a waste of meat in his opinion.


Pompeii watched the woman cautiously, his words and way of speaking like this often xaused upset. Or at most the feeling of disgust. Would she become violent at his nonchalant way of speaking of devouring their own? Or would she be peaked in interest? Unaware of the darker things she already knew.


"talk"
@Lazare ♔

code by corvus