mall-caps;text-variantmall-caps;">IT'S ONLY cript;">FOREVER, NOT LONG AT ALL
For Angel, near D'Neville. He's looking at a relic from when Talitha was still around, which would be severely faded by now.
He remembered the cave. As he lingered on the entrance to where he was raised, his eyes fluttered over what remained of his mother's possessions. There was so little, but she had taken nothing but her children when she disappeared. Still, it wasn't his mother's belongings that he cared about, no; after taking note of what was left, his red eyes focused on her final painting, the large image of someone now dead, someone he had never known, except for in the fur of a creature he could barely remember. A brother lamented over. One taken away. He had heard Talitha cry over the bastard Winters child, but he hadn't understood in the past. The face of his father, that was what sat on the far wall. The face of his father, but not of Priest's. No, Priest was the child of something all-together filthy, something Talitha had admitted to during a night of alcohol and misery. Something filthy...but the son of someone equally dead. No, he didn't have to admit his parentage -- he could fall back in the lie that Talitha tried to instill in he and his sister. They were Ulrichs, son and daughter of a German she had bound herself to. Son and daughter of a German who had loved the de le Poer creature when so few others did.
A grunt escaped him, his small body jerking out of the entrance and padding away in disgust. The bitch had left him behind to go find his grandfather, the man who had favored the unknown son, the prodigal child. Priest wasn't jealous, he was glad to have return to Inferni, he was glad to be away from her.
His eyes explored the landscape, and he grinned before breaking out into a run across the earth. This was his home. This was his family. This was where he belonged. When he finally halted, he was in the yard of the manor, staring up at the faded mural that Talitha had plastered against the side -- it depicted the life he had been told of, one of genocide of their cousin species, one of strength of Inferni. It was lovely. Priest, holding no artistic abilities himself, sat before it and simply gazed. "Oh, mother. You were always such a dreamer."
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Angel still mulled over the events of the past few days. He hadn't said anything to Ana though he was sure she suspected something. He'd been careful to wash the scent of off himself but perhaps he had not been through enough. The teeth at his wrist clacked against each other in the wind, a reminder of the lupine life he took some days ago. He'd taken the teeth, claws and skull and discarded the rest, though while he kept a hold of the former object, tied in a bracelet like craft, the latter pair of objects were stored safely in his room. The violence had been comforting, especially the heavy praying session he had taken part in, away from the hub of energy in Inferni. It had been such an adrenaline rush to feel the liquid spurt out of the trespasser's body, but he had repented thoroughly after. The Spaniard wasn't without his morals.
He'd chosen to take a walk today, a short one but a walk none the less. The routine was a habit now, something he indulged in nearly every day, sometimes before sparring and training and sometimes after. Today it was to clear his mind, to disperse any sour thoughts he held in his head for he didn't want to spill his troubles out to strangers. Maybe a conversation with someone would end his mental irritance. He was behind the mansion now, the place he remember purely for the large mural. He'd seen it but once on his arrival, Ana however was a frequent visitor to the art piece. Casting his gaze over to another being, gazing at the mural. 'Hola'he greeted, his voice slightly dull but nevertheless pleasant.
Lyrics are from Green Day, image from here. Table is made by Zero/Barrett. Pure sex. Yes.
<3 Yay, postings!
nooneeverdiedformysins at least the ones i got away with
The footsteps were, for the most part, ignored as they approached, though once the dull voice spoke, the maturing pup had to look up and set his eyes on the face in front of him. Hola. A word he didn't understand, but one he took as greeting due to its place as the first spoken thing. A snort escaped his crucifix-marked nose, eyes peering past the spokes of the Chaos star to study the man present. Hola. He was looking to interaction. He came to study his mother's work. Priest offered a smile, though small and less than pleasant.
You come to see the artwork, I guess, he mused, turning his eyes back to Talitha's piece of art. Woman who made this is gone now, but she made a lot of things. The Aquila has a few. The painted skulls, the ones that are red and blues and covered with faces of people around Inferni? She made a bunch of those too. He shrugged as he explained, not really caring, but wanting to offer his mother the proper respect for her useless talents. She was a dreamer. She always had been, the reason she held on to a brother who was a fighter and a father who didn't want her.
He stood on four paws, wrinkling his nose and studying the painting with earnest, his red eyes scanning the faces. There was the golden man, his uncle Ezekiel, alongside a dark creature with marks like his mother -- he assumed it was his grandfather, but he couldn't remember the man's face. To the side, there was the mottled body of a man he would never meet, but one he had been told of. A man he knew through story, a man his sister was named for. Hybrid Holocaust. A father he would always deny, for he was, in the eyes of the pack who knew him before, an Ulrich. Mother liked to paint, I guess. Even after. She used to paint Sa'adat. He smirked at the memories of the petite jackal with images of the forest and the city on her fur.
Angel cast his icy blue eyes over the artwork, nodding slowly, 'Yes. It's a shame it's faded'. It truly was, while Angel possessed no qualifiable artistic talents (Ana had made the crude tooth bracelet) he wasn't ignorant enough to ignore art when he saw it. His sister was always the one out of the pair with the eye for craft. Still the Spaniard wished he had seen it ins it's former glory, though it was just a pleasing now as he assumed it had been. The boy spoke of the skulls and the elder male nodded, 'Ah, yes. I've seen them' he replied, remembering the objects for the days previously. 'Shame she's not here' he lamented falsely, not knowing this woman for a start an only half wished she was here to make use of that skull. Still he could always leave it at he borders unpainted. He didn't supposed it would deter wolves any less than the others would.
The Spaniard's had fiddled with the crucifix at his chest, glancing down and noting the boy's own cross, except this one was a marking as opposed to a stone and silver one. Angel was tempted to query the boy's name, but figured it to early on in the conversation for that. The relic marking boy spoke again and Angel replied, 'Sa'adat? The woman you arrived with?' He refereed to the former woman as his mother, the one who painted this now faded monument, and Angel did nothing but nod with a slight movement of his head.
Lyrics are from Green Day, image from here. Table is made by Zero/Barrett. Pure sex. Yes.
<3 Yay, postings!
nooneeverdiedformysins at least the ones i got away with
He was sure Talitha wouldn't have believed that anyone came to look at her faded artwork these days; she had always been stubborn and wallowing in low esteem for her de le Poer self, though she knew her talents were good enough to tantalize the eyes. This blue-eyed creature wouldn't have been able to penetrate her disgust in herself, but Priest appreciated that his mother's work went noticed, though he cared little about the woman herself.
Priest's red eyes focused on the crucifix that hung around the man's chest, the corner of one lip twitching upward in approval. The pendant that hung around his own neck was similar, though it depicted a Saint rather than the God's Child himself; the medallion of Saint Christopher had been his mother's most prized possession, a gift given by her father and now given to him. He considered making a mention of the crucifix, but his attention was twisted away by talk of Sa'adat. A grunt escaped him as the question was posed, his lupus shoulders shrugging upwards.
Yeah. Sa'adat, she's a peach. Makes tea, makes things with her hands. Mother took her away with us, but I think she missed it here. A lot. Spent a lot of time babbling about Enkiel. He grimaced at the thought of it, his nursemaid in love with someone he couldn't completely remember. She came back to live with him, I think.
His haunches came down on the ground and he let his eyes close before puffing out, I'm Priest. Priest de le Poer. Who are you? The nature of the question was considerate enough, but Priest lacked a sense of subserviance to others who found themselves unlucky enough to bear his name.
Angel spoke, a small comment that he supposed would mean little to the de le Poer boy, 'My sister got all the talent in my family'. He only spoke of Ana as she was a member of Inferni, mentioning Antoni would have been fruitless as he resided in Barcelona still. Granted he would have never have traded his skill and power for the ability to craft using ones hands, but it didn't mean he didn't hold those who could in regard. It was a skill all the same. Angel glanced down to the boy, noting the chain around his neck with the medallion on it. He frowned softly, moving to caress his own medallion, one that hung next to the crucifix on it's own, similar chain. The Spaniard loosened his hand and gestured to the boy's trinket. 'Your medallion' he said, 'It's for a saint?. A pang of pain flexed through his heart, remembering who from and where he had acquired the Sant Jordi medallion.
Angel nodded along, 'I know Enkiel he replied, albeit not very well, more that he knew of him than anything else. 'The medic...' Yes, he had been very helpful with patching up Ana, although Angel had been the one more thankful by then end of it. She'd given him an earful by time she'd slept off the drugs. Perhaps it wasn't to early to exchange titles, but either way Angel prefer his conversation counterpart set the pace of there speech, he'd be as bold or as shy as they were. 'Angel. Angel Fabregas i Reus'. It maybe have seemed a long and pompous title to most in this country, but to Angel it was simply a title.
Lyrics are from Green Day, image from here. Table is made by Zero/Barrett. Pure sex. Yes.
<3 Yay, postings!
nooneeverdiedformysins at least the ones i got away with
He could sympathize, if he cared to, that someone else in his family held the talent for artistic works, but he lacked the care to do so. He didn't want some fancy skill if it meant he lacked in useful ones. Talitha was no warrior, she was barely even capable of surviving. Priest refused to be the same; he would be a fighter, he would have skill in something that could fuel his life. Not something that fueled his lacking soul.
The medallion was mentioned briefly, the question of its place as a Saint weighing on the mind of the de le Poer. Talitha had told him of Saint Christopher, but he hadn't paid much attention. "Saint Christopher. I think he protects traveling people. I don't know why mother didn't take it with her, she was leaving," he mumbled, pawing at the dirt beneath one coffee-colored foot and shaking his head; his ears flopped to the side with the gesture, a bit foolishly.
Enkiel. This man knew Enkiel, when Priest did not, and the boy was somewhat jealous. Sa'adat had spoken of the jackal, the one she was so fond of. Enkiel. A healer. Another one of the people who couldn't be useful killing things, but at least he was useful in other ways. He protected the coyotes from death. Enkiel was a prized possession to the pack, something that Priest knew Talitha never could be, nor Sa'adat.
"What a name. Does it mean anything? Mine means I'm part of Inferni." It wasn't really true, but he didn't know any better; de le Poer was a name that rang out within the skull-lined borders, and he was proud to hold it, even if he would never know many of the ancestors who gave the name a reason to shine.
'Si' he replied, nodding softly, 'Travelling, Amongst other things' he noted, still regarding the mural behind the D'Neville house. Angel wondered about this woman, though only going as far as to wonder about her artistic talents and what else she had planted around the territory. He hadn't paid particular interest in the skulls before hand but now he knew a little something about their history maybe he would give them a second glance. Angel had more to think about them now, a pinch more insight into their decoration and beginnings. To him the knowledge of something made it all the more interesting. 'Did she give it to you? he asked, not wishing to pry too much but making conversation merely.
Knowing Enkiel was merely a social benefit from living in a pack to Angel. He'd tended to his sister's wrist with care and efficiency, and from that performance was where the respect for him and his profession came from. Angel could do basic first aid, taking care of cuts and bruises, not to mention mild illnesses, but what he knew could never rival what skills Enkiel had. After all it was likely that the jackal had a high interest in the subject which Angel did not.
'Ángel means messenger, angel. Fabregas is a habitual name, means anyone from Fàbregues. And Reus is from the place of the same name, my mother's family were from there. the 'i' just means and' Angel paused, finished retelling the useless snippet of information he knew, he simply knew it because it was personal to him, and due to the comment his mother always made to him as a child. 'They call you Angel, but far from angelic you are!' He continued, 'Where I come from you use both of you parents names in your own'. And then your children would use their fathers father's title and their mother's father's title. It may have seemed complex to many outsiders but if was fairly straightforward.
mall-caps;">IT'S ONLY cript;">FOREVER, NOT LONG AT ALL
