another madman done struck again.

Reaper Hallow · 09-25-2011, 04:11 AM

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The pale optime was not certain where he was going. He was still new to these lands, having met Penance outside of them on the true mainland, across the isthmus. He had no time to explore and learn of the packs in the area with two young children. He did not know what to call these lands or where he was -- these things didn't truly matter to him anymore. What mattered was that he was alone, utterly and completely. Only Dusk was his companion now, and she could not even provide him with conversation.

Reaper needed someone to follow, and more precisely, Reaper needed someone to lionize and devote himself to. He was lost without this. While he was not quite so obedient as a slave -- he had been the earliest experimentation of Bastion's, and perhaps a little botched -- he did have a deep and intense need to latch onto someone. It had been Reaper, it had been Twilight, it had been Penance. Now... the man's pale green eyes shifted from left to right, and he released a shaky sigh, reaching down to pat the horse on the neck. It was more of a reassurance to himself than to Dusk, unshakeably calm as she was.

Up ahead, he became aware of two figures. One was tall, and seemed to be impossibly wide. As he drew nearer, he realized this wideness was due to a strange garment. Reaper himself did not wear clothes, but Penance had told him of her liking for pretty dresses. He had wanted to find one for her in the city when she'd told him how to get there. She had known these lands better, though she herself was relatively new to the area. Now, she would never wear a pretty dress, and the man twitched visibly in the saddle at that thought.

He became aware that there were not two figures, but three -- one tiny. Enigma, he thought, knowing at once. Already, however, his attention had shifted back to the third figure, the pale one with the dark green eyes. Recognition dawned on him slowly, and Reaper urged Dusk toward the trio, heedless of the big man with the scars and the small child both. It was Bastion he wanted, Bastion he saw -- the others might have been unseen ghosts, figments of his imagination.

He slid from the horse's back, landing in the grass on unsteady legs. Dusk tottered away slowly, head bending to crop at the vegetation. She was unmindful of the presence of these strange Luperci, and would not wander far. She could have shifted to what passed for a horse's Optime form and started talking to the canines of the group in Latin and Reaper still would not have taken note, for all the attention he paid her. He had eyes only for Bastion, and the shock showed plainly on his face, jaw hanging slightly agape and sage-hued eyes widened.

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