10-28-2019, 10:12 PM
<link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Nothing+You+Could+Do" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><center><table border="1" bordercolor="black" width="600" bgcolor="6E6E6E" cellpadding="30" cellspacing="0"> <tbody><tr height="0"><td><div align="left"> <font color="000000" face="Nothing You Could Do" style="font-size: 40pt"><i>a t r o x --</i></font></div><div align="justify"><font color="black" face="times new roman" style="font-size: 9pt"> Atrox has no great desire to go back to the afterlife.
He has spent plenty of time there. Paid his dues. Fought back from it when the veil was thicker, when such a thing was rare, and he paid for it with his very heart. The panther that lives beneath his skin now, a second being, is testament to the price that he has paid for his life—this extended period of time that he has cheated an inevitable second death. Even Twinge, for all of the ways she sunk her mangy paws into him has not been enough to tempt him back. But, then again, Atrox has always been supremely selfish.
So he scowls a little as Rhy speaks because his face so easily falls into such patterns.
He scowls, handsome face pulled into a frown, brow knitting, and feeling an annoying pang of want, of almost need, as he looks past her and into the beyond. A ritual? It sounds like he will be asked to carry the burden of work so that others may enjoy the fruit, which is exactly the opposite of what he enjoys. His scowl deepens but, in a move that surprises even himself, he stays. He remains rooted, watching her.
For a second, he is distracted by Ryatah who slips between himself and Agetta. He winks at her, thinking of a thousand things to say, but keeping it simple. “I don’t know if now is the most appropriate time for a round two, but, by the looks of you, love, you don’t have much time left. May as well make the most of it.” Then, he cranes his neck just in time to catch the hiss of Agetta and his laugh is warm and deep.
He always did enjoy getting a rise out of her.
“Easy, kitten. There’s no Gates for you to protect now. Just you and me and a splendid cat fight.”
A pause and a wink.
“Unless you’d rather spend your time in other ways.”
But this quest isn’t about the three of them and their shared history or the somehow impossible ancient age of some of those who have answered the call (who else but the ancients have lost so deeply?) and even Atrox in his impossible arrogance can only think of himself for so long.
So he sweeps by them, nodding briefly at Rhy, before slipping through the rift.
Perhaps his heart would hammer with fear if he had a heart.
Instead, he makes the choice that was always the only choice available to him, and feels the sand and the saltwater begin to fade as his feline eyes adjust to this familiar world. It is as he has always remembered it and something like fear or panic or annoyance settles into his gut and winds around his throat. He takes a deep breath before he remembers that he doesn’t need to breathe here and laughs under his breath.
The laugh is the only thing that keeps him grounded, he thinks.
When he feels confident that he can move forward, when his head is not swimming with everything that he feels but doesn’t know how to voice, he does. His vision clears and his throat loosens and he realizes that, like before, the place is one of no description and all of them. It is both a blank slate and a brilliantly painted canvas. He can look into the depths and see nothing while also seeing a thousand stars reflected around him, a million oceans washing up his side, a thousand lives being played out in infinite color.
He tips his head back, gathering himself, before dropping it down, yellow eyes nearly glowing as he begins to search. His tail flicks behind him, but he does not shift into his panther form—she wouldn’t know it anyway. He doesn’t call out for her either. She wouldn’t trust a version of him that did.
Instead, he just walks.
For hours, maybe.
Or days.
Or weeks.
It’s difficult to keep track of time in a place where time is meaningless and his body does not grow weary. He has no idea if he’s moving in the right direction—moving at all—but something like a hook in his gut tells him that he’s close. So he keeps moving. Swimming through the endless dark, the endless light.
Until, suddenly, she’s there.
He exhales, he thinks, feeling that nothing in his chest tighten as she begins to form before him. Twinge is shorter than he remembered—uglier, too—but it doesn’t stop the way that he suddenly feels the need to swallow. The need to fall apart and then pull her close. Forget every damned thing but her.
She doesn’t smile or rush to him. Doesn’t weep with joy.
She just tilts that feline head, eyes so impossibly sharp, and whispers.
“Atrox.”
And, suddenly, this void is home.
<div align="right"><font color="000000" face="times new roman" style="font-size: 9pt"><b>panther-stallion | ex-king | forever chamber guardian</b></font></div></font></div></td></tr></tbody></table></center>
He has spent plenty of time there. Paid his dues. Fought back from it when the veil was thicker, when such a thing was rare, and he paid for it with his very heart. The panther that lives beneath his skin now, a second being, is testament to the price that he has paid for his life—this extended period of time that he has cheated an inevitable second death. Even Twinge, for all of the ways she sunk her mangy paws into him has not been enough to tempt him back. But, then again, Atrox has always been supremely selfish.
So he scowls a little as Rhy speaks because his face so easily falls into such patterns.
He scowls, handsome face pulled into a frown, brow knitting, and feeling an annoying pang of want, of almost need, as he looks past her and into the beyond. A ritual? It sounds like he will be asked to carry the burden of work so that others may enjoy the fruit, which is exactly the opposite of what he enjoys. His scowl deepens but, in a move that surprises even himself, he stays. He remains rooted, watching her.
For a second, he is distracted by Ryatah who slips between himself and Agetta. He winks at her, thinking of a thousand things to say, but keeping it simple. “I don’t know if now is the most appropriate time for a round two, but, by the looks of you, love, you don’t have much time left. May as well make the most of it.” Then, he cranes his neck just in time to catch the hiss of Agetta and his laugh is warm and deep.
He always did enjoy getting a rise out of her.
“Easy, kitten. There’s no Gates for you to protect now. Just you and me and a splendid cat fight.”
A pause and a wink.
“Unless you’d rather spend your time in other ways.”
But this quest isn’t about the three of them and their shared history or the somehow impossible ancient age of some of those who have answered the call (who else but the ancients have lost so deeply?) and even Atrox in his impossible arrogance can only think of himself for so long.
So he sweeps by them, nodding briefly at Rhy, before slipping through the rift.
Perhaps his heart would hammer with fear if he had a heart.
Instead, he makes the choice that was always the only choice available to him, and feels the sand and the saltwater begin to fade as his feline eyes adjust to this familiar world. It is as he has always remembered it and something like fear or panic or annoyance settles into his gut and winds around his throat. He takes a deep breath before he remembers that he doesn’t need to breathe here and laughs under his breath.
The laugh is the only thing that keeps him grounded, he thinks.
When he feels confident that he can move forward, when his head is not swimming with everything that he feels but doesn’t know how to voice, he does. His vision clears and his throat loosens and he realizes that, like before, the place is one of no description and all of them. It is both a blank slate and a brilliantly painted canvas. He can look into the depths and see nothing while also seeing a thousand stars reflected around him, a million oceans washing up his side, a thousand lives being played out in infinite color.
He tips his head back, gathering himself, before dropping it down, yellow eyes nearly glowing as he begins to search. His tail flicks behind him, but he does not shift into his panther form—she wouldn’t know it anyway. He doesn’t call out for her either. She wouldn’t trust a version of him that did.
Instead, he just walks.
For hours, maybe.
Or days.
Or weeks.
It’s difficult to keep track of time in a place where time is meaningless and his body does not grow weary. He has no idea if he’s moving in the right direction—moving at all—but something like a hook in his gut tells him that he’s close. So he keeps moving. Swimming through the endless dark, the endless light.
Until, suddenly, she’s there.
He exhales, he thinks, feeling that nothing in his chest tighten as she begins to form before him. Twinge is shorter than he remembered—uglier, too—but it doesn’t stop the way that he suddenly feels the need to swallow. The need to fall apart and then pull her close. Forget every damned thing but her.
She doesn’t smile or rush to him. Doesn’t weep with joy.
She just tilts that feline head, eyes so impossibly sharp, and whispers.
“Atrox.”
And, suddenly, this void is home.
<div align="right"><font color="000000" face="times new roman" style="font-size: 9pt"><b>panther-stallion | ex-king | forever chamber guardian</b></font></div></font></div></td></tr></tbody></table></center>
![[Image: atrox.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/XBppy9VY/atrox.png)
now be defiant, the lion, give them the fight that will open their eyes