you'll go backwards, but then

Micah Sunrise Lykoi · 04-19-2011, 01:43 PM

[html]Character Birthdate (including year): 19 AUG 2009

Species: About 75% coy, 25% wolf, I think.

Luperci: Yessah.

Gender: Male.

Preferred Ark Rank: Painter/Dito Pittore

A Secondary Form of Contact: AIM; see profile.

Currently Played Characters: Asserson Soul :I

Herro! I have wanted to join CdA for a while, so here I am! ^^

He could not join Inferni. No, he could not dwell in the same lands as his father, even if his triplet sisters resided there. He could not make that exception.

But Micah knew he could not wander alone forever, either. The salt-and-pepper male was hardly a loner; he couldn't for shit and he knew it, nor could he craft a makeshift den for the life of him. He'd been chased by bears and moose and resorted to eating bugs to, well, kind of sustain himself, for it was all he could really manage to catch. The male had been raised by peace-loving, pot-smoking hippies; he'd been raised on a semi-vegetarian diet he'd always hated. His hunting skills lacked, his social skills lacked, his mental skills lacked; he was a disaster moving on four legs, and each day his stomach sunk in more and growled its complaints at him all the louder.

But he could not join Inferni with his sisters; it was a land of blood and death, if only for his father's supposed residence there. Micah had no plans to make nice with Razekiel; in fact, what lurked in his mind was just the opposite, but his sisters would never know that until it was too late. Storm Lily had told him to, endless times. She followed behind him, a wisp, a little small thing never given a chance to live; he held his ears back to listen to her typical whines and complaints for the mortals she still dwelt with like and unlike he, but Micah said nothing. He had a mission: to find a place he could survive, one near enough to his sisters but far enough from his father. The Lykoi had heard of the pack of artisans and craftsmen through passerby rumors; surely they would see his talent and hobby as the artistic expression it was and less the rebellious attack it risked.

Cercatori D'Arte, they were called. He could barely even pronounce the name.

Micah moved to its borders, chocolate eyes scouring the land; in he breathed the fresh air, mixed with the increasingly green spring, and exhaled once more. He turned, raising a finger to Storm Lily to silence her, and in a huff she vanished from his presence. At the prospect of being left alone in such a place, anxiety surged through his veins; he shifted the bag at his hip uncomfortably, the old, tin cans of spray paint inside clanking disapprovingly. His hands began to shake, but quietly raised a dark finger to pull some of his long, onyx curls from his face. He thought to howl, to stupidly command someone's presence, but he hesitated — instead, the male stared at a stray branch from a tree beside him, and though he resisted a long time, the need to touch it prevailed. Hand tapped quickly, shamefully at the branch's tip, then withdrew quickly to his side as if it never had happened. Why did he feel such urges? Why did he obsess over such small, insignificant things until he did them to splay them from his mind?

If he dwelt there in silence too long, such anxieties would drive him away. The male raised his nose and sent out a small, weak, shaking sound into the air — then promptly ducked behind the tree, suddenly fearful anyone had heard.

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