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every artist is a cannibal every poet is a thief
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cradle me in your crooked heart
Mother and father, kids, a house with a white picket fence -- the equation seemed so deeply engrained even in this fucked-up society that you could give a kid a murderous whore for a mother and an estranged child-eating cannibal for a father and he'd still believe in marriage. The implied innocence of it made Tsunami want to laugh, and not in a condescending way. Phasma was his friend, probably his best friend. He'd just fucked her once while wallowing in the void of an overwhelming bout of self-pity following the ruin of a mutually abusive and wholly and thoroughly screwed up relationship. If you could call it that. Mate? No, he replied easily, with a slightly wistful smile he didn't notice he was wearing. Not yet. The words spurred a sort of how'd-that-happen?! reaction from various parts of his brain. He had said them before he could think of what he was saying, and he moved on before he could really study the thought process behind it. Phasma was too good for him either way. It's usually much more complicated than that, unfortunately. Move on, he told himself.
Finding yourself is a learning process. It's about getting to know yourself, discovering why you are who you are, finding independence and standing on your feet without anyone's help. Again, vague as all hell. The scarred wolf remembered the days when the world was black and white, literally and figuratively. Sometimes he missed it, most of the time he didn't. It's different for everyone, and everyone goes through it eventually in their own way. Tsunami had spent most of his life finding himself. Lately he had begun to learn who he was. Bane, much like his father, was a wild child who had to find out everything on his own. Like his father, he wanted to change the world. Unlike his father, he was optimistic. He'd come back after conquering some faraway country. Either that, or he'd die in a ditch with a heroin needle sticking out of his arm. Lots of other places to fish. Have you ever seen the Yawrah River? It's to the west, near the wolf packs. Good fishing this time of year. The kid was kinda young -- it'd make sense if he'd never been away from the beach. It was, after all, a big, bad world out there.
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