these demon days

[Jefferson Soul]

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     Ty had integrated himself into Phoenix Valley well; he was a socialite at heart, probably taking such a trait from his mother rather than his sarcastic, steely father. The Patriarch's one-eyed gaze only saw DaVinci when it fell upon Tyrone, however. The boy was growing fast, aging into a handsome and energetic yearling though his maturity seemed to be trailing a bit behind, though the cyclops had no complaint. The slower Ty took to growing up the better -- Jefferson hated to see that boyish naivete leave for good and just become yet another memory of what once was in the back of his dark, spinning mind. "I've seen people do worse at getting used to pack life," he shrugged. "You two are social enough. Looks like you're doing fine to me."

     The brute couldn't help but feel a bit overprotective as the uncle-that-wasn't for Ty, but any spark of possible romance between the boy and Asariel was instantly judged and determined in a steady silence by the older man. Asariel didn't mirror any of the youthful excitement that the hybrid boy bore for her; perhaps the cyclops had overlooked something or jumped to conclusions. In the end, he found himself caring less and less. They were young, but they could manage themselves. If something came up, well, he'd find out about it eventually. Live and learn, after all. The idiot zoned back into reality just in time to hear Ty's query, at which he rushed a subtly stupefied answer. "Not so much," the cyclops shrugged. "My arm aches when storms are on the way, so I usually just avoid them." His arm, scarred and useless (and the reason for his limp when four-legged), rested comfortably in its rain-soaked cloth sling across his chest. It wasn't good for much, but at least it put itself to some use.

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