I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
It’s quiet, the early morning still and hushed. God, he fucking hates quiet. Too much damned time and space and silence to hear your own thoughts. And his thoughts are a dark fucking place to be. Not a place anybody wants to be. When you’ve lived as long as he has, you’ve seen shit. Hell, you’ve done some shit. And it ain’t good shit.
Damnit! He should be sleeping. Counting some goddamned sheep. Not lying stretched out on his side staring up through a hole in the canopy. With a huff, he lifts his head up briefly before allowing to thump back to the leaf-littered earth. Again. Again. Fuuuuuck, this sure as shit isn’t helping.
With a grunt, he jerks himself upright, ruffling his wings as he scowls into the forest. His appearance is twisted into a rather fearsome expression. Hell, he could be a bitch when he’s crabby. They should fear him. Or at least stay the fuck away.
Although, on second thought, maybe he needs a distraction. God, he hasn’t picked a fight in forever. Fucking A, maybe that’s what he needs. Or a good fuck maybe. He’s really not picky.
Stretching his pale legs out before him, he pulls himself to his feet in a surprisingly graceful movement. Grumbling some no doubt unsavory things under his breath, he settles his wings more comfortably against his leanly muscled physique. With a sigh, he leans against the nearest tree, scratching his neck absently against it’s rough bark.
Well fuck. What else is going to do? With a sigh that smooths his expression into something faintly more amicable, he peers into the distance. Towards the meadow. Debating if it’s actually fucking worth it.
@[peregrine jude]