07-17-2017, 08:49 PM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
The scent of sulfur and the salty brine of the sea are lost on him; he is fully immersed into the land of volcanic matter and ash – no longer does he shy away from the stillness of the summer heat, nor does he grimace as his own movement stirs the beading of sweat along the slope of his broad spine. There are only three seasons on the volcanic island – tolerable, hot, and hotter – and he has become accustomed to them all, despite his towering height and thick girth.
It, too, had become his home – long gone were the pillars of ice and stone of his memory, the frigidity of winter, the brutality of polarizing gusts of wind traversing through the winding and jagged rock formations – the tundra had fallen, and with it, it had taken a piece of him with it. Yet, it was the volcano that now held a part of him; a larger part, which he never thought possible. It was with his plea, with his heart open and bare, that the land had been birthed – it was a part of him, and he, a part of it.
He was hardly taken aback by the protest that accompanied his rise to power, as he had long ago anticipated it. While he had once been content to settle, to become one with the island, and as quiet and as still as the dormant volcano itself, he would not stand by to have what had been given to him taken away. He would not stand by to have what had been given to all of them taken away. Not again. He had to act, and if he bruised an ego or two along the way, so be it, if it meant protecting the island and everything that it stood for.
He did not see Dahmer’s ferocious and sudden leave as a weakness; he saw it as a strength. Though his temper had been sharp and abrupt, his heart had been in the right place – he, too, loved Tephra, and though his emotions had been rife with tension, Offspring knew that is was more complicated than he knew. He would not fault him. He knew, in time, he would return – the volcano would call to him, with its rising plume of smoke, its sulfuric ash, its winding rivulets of lava.
He belonged to the island as much as he did.
Thus, he is not surprised when he sees the starkness of his physique against the wavering, golden grain, and quietly, but swiftly, his muscular legs carry him across the pockets of bubbling lava, and through the dense vegetation – the heft of his weight leaving deep impressions in the moist and fertile soil.
Yet, he is different – harnessed upon his shoulders are broad, inky black wings, folded tightly against his barrel, bristling beneath the bold and bright sunlight. He does not question him – he knew how giving the fairies could be (and just as ruthless; the fire within him stirs at the thought) and he felt no need to pry. With his dark gaze settled upon him, and a sheen of sweat glimmering across the surface of his marred flesh, his voice rises – rough, but audible.
”Dahmer. You’ve returned.” he murmurs, observing the hardened ridges of his features – piercing ice meeting with burning fire. ”Welcome home.”
It, too, had become his home – long gone were the pillars of ice and stone of his memory, the frigidity of winter, the brutality of polarizing gusts of wind traversing through the winding and jagged rock formations – the tundra had fallen, and with it, it had taken a piece of him with it. Yet, it was the volcano that now held a part of him; a larger part, which he never thought possible. It was with his plea, with his heart open and bare, that the land had been birthed – it was a part of him, and he, a part of it.
He was hardly taken aback by the protest that accompanied his rise to power, as he had long ago anticipated it. While he had once been content to settle, to become one with the island, and as quiet and as still as the dormant volcano itself, he would not stand by to have what had been given to him taken away. He would not stand by to have what had been given to all of them taken away. Not again. He had to act, and if he bruised an ego or two along the way, so be it, if it meant protecting the island and everything that it stood for.
He did not see Dahmer’s ferocious and sudden leave as a weakness; he saw it as a strength. Though his temper had been sharp and abrupt, his heart had been in the right place – he, too, loved Tephra, and though his emotions had been rife with tension, Offspring knew that is was more complicated than he knew. He would not fault him. He knew, in time, he would return – the volcano would call to him, with its rising plume of smoke, its sulfuric ash, its winding rivulets of lava.
He belonged to the island as much as he did.
Thus, he is not surprised when he sees the starkness of his physique against the wavering, golden grain, and quietly, but swiftly, his muscular legs carry him across the pockets of bubbling lava, and through the dense vegetation – the heft of his weight leaving deep impressions in the moist and fertile soil.
Yet, he is different – harnessed upon his shoulders are broad, inky black wings, folded tightly against his barrel, bristling beneath the bold and bright sunlight. He does not question him – he knew how giving the fairies could be (and just as ruthless; the fire within him stirs at the thought) and he felt no need to pry. With his dark gaze settled upon him, and a sheen of sweat glimmering across the surface of his marred flesh, his voice rises – rough, but audible.
”Dahmer. You’ve returned.” he murmurs, observing the hardened ridges of his features – piercing ice meeting with burning fire. ”Welcome home.”
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING
@[Dahmer]