[m] in your padded cell

Ángel Fàbregas i Reus · 01-04-2012, 02:32 PM

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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

ooc: no need to match length XD 1000+

Angel's leg had repaired itself. Perhaps more slowly than usual, but then again he hadn't got to Enkiel for his medical opinion. Call it preserving his pride. He was a warrior, but even warrior found themselves injured from time to time. This situation had been akin to the long ago human athletes. Neither of them were invincible. And of course there was the question of age. He wouldn't admit it but he was ageing. Gracefully, there was no doubt about that. He was doing well for his age, still spry and athletic as someone half his age. That was where he held his pride. Ana was a year his junior and had done less with her life than him. She was lazy, spoilt, crass and an unforgivable flirt. Granted he still protected her from any harsh word against her. After all she was his sister, one of the very few people he'd risk his life for, not to mention lay it down knowingly.

The city was rather bland. Sharp, unforgiving triangles of concrete stuck up from the roof line, like the jagged teeth of a apex predator. Just like me, Angel considered, a small smirk playing on the corners of his mouth. It was a wasteland, lacking the care and respect Catalan canines had for their environment. Tangles of greenery hung from window ledges, door frames, roofs, just about anyway they could stick their rooting and feed of of the common rain and occasional sun. The street he paced up was a small one, and when the wind caught the buildings at one end the chill rattled down it's length, hitting Angel and sending his fur ruffling. Of course this was something he was accustomed to, something he didn't particularly mind what with his thick coat. Something he owed to his thick pelted, domestic forefathers many, many years ago.

The Spaniard gazed around one last time, planning to get in out of the cold and perhaps find something useful. The idea was, however, discarded quickly, as he found he was without means to transport them back to the clan. He let out a small 'hmph', it didn't effect him much. He could away's hunt the rats, couldn't he. He paced over to the fractured shop window, just as another wind hissed down the narrow street. Due to Angel's height, even in secui form, the wall below the broken window posed little of an obstacle. Thick black paws hovered over the jagged, transparent teeth, before stretching over and securing themselves to the ground. The Spaniard's other three limbs followed suite, all three avoiding the sharp instruments below. It was a trivial task to such a man.

The building was, in fact, a quaint little cafe. Broken chairs were strew over the place, most of the rusted with limbs missing. The tables however, were screwed down to the floor. Some of the screws and rusted and broken away and some had just rusted altogether and efficiently glueing themselves to both the table legs and the lino flooring. Large, room length lights litter the ceiling, broken and grubby, as result of time. The seemed as if they had been bright a long time ago, the type that mirrored the sun when one open their eyes first thing in the morning. A large glass fronted counted sat at the far end, with a cash till sitting to the side of it and the door arch behind it. The cash register, from what Angel could see from his position by the window, was that it had been smashed open a while ago. Old yellow water filled the inside tray, and it was evident it had been there for some time. The black and white, or at least that what Angel suspected it should have been had it weren't for the layering of scum and dirt that caked it, patterned linoleum was peeling at the edges. It was a rather dull, stereotypical little place. Though it was that commonness found practically all over the world than Angel found relaxing and friendly about this place. Even through the layers of dirt an scum Angel could see that this place held memories.

Angel large secui form wiggled through the space between two tables, his tail smacking of the edge as his tail flickered aimlessly. It was a wondrous place to the Spaniard, who favoured the simple life. If he had been a loner, he would have perhaps considered swiping this place and calling it his own home. Angel considered the fact that he would have never found himself accustomed to a loners life. He'd spent so many years at someone's beck and call the idea of being 'free' in a sense was alien to him. He chuckled at himself. He was like a slave and yet he wouldn't have it any other way. He paused for a moment taking in the sight before something disrupted his train of thought. A rat. A small, greyish brown rodent swept past him to his right. Quick as a flash, Angel pounced after it. It wasn't as if he needed the meat, nor that he particularly fancied rat today. But it was the thrill of the chase wasn't it?

The Spaniard jumped upon the table, the rusted nails finally gave up and the table toppled under his weight and the force of his movement. In an effortless leap, Angel moved from the tipping table top, through the maw like window and down onto the cracked, plant pot concrete. The rat was still a full length in front of him, but this measurement was solved in a single, additional bound. Capturing the rodent with his fore paws, he held onto the thing. He let his body fall to the floor and his head move to brush against the rat. The game was over. But it was a game after all, Angel was not hungry, not even a small amount. He had won and there was no need for irrelevant bloodshed. His paws shifted open and the rat scurried away. The Spaniard stood, shaking himself down and smirking.

He still had it.

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