04-03-2008, 12:46 AM
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Herrre I am, at last. :O
___________
Although sleep had not been hard to come by since reaching Bleeding Souls, it seemed that "good sleep" was a matter in and of itself. Z often found himself slipping into cat naps or lazy dazes, but snapping out of them usually came with the urgency of some sordid nightmare or another. Most were variations on the theme of his adoptive father seething, sometimes foaming ridiculously with rage upon discovering that Zacor had left Wales, and other times speaking to him in his dream, demanding that he kill Anathra and return to the pack like any proper prince would. It was all right to throw adolescent temper tantrums in boyish flights of fancy, but now it was time to dispose of that wench and assume the throne of Eidolon. Well, Zacor was no proper prince, and he had no intentions of following through on Zephyrin's whiny pleads that were thinly veiled as fatherly demands. The man was getting old and couldn't keep Eidolon up by himself; no, he needed a younger heir to uphold his (lack of) family values and keep him in good standing as he aged. He had spent so much time rearing Zacor to be that heir, but Zacor just wasn't biting, despite the vibrant color of the hook. And now, time was dwindling away, and Zephryin didn't have enough left to find anyone else.
Just as Zephryin was giving his "Becoming King for Dummies" lecture for the zillionth time in almost a week, the heavy fog of smoke settling over Thunder Island finally struck Z. His eyes fluttered open slowly at first as his father's monologue faded out and the carbon monoxide pushed in, but within a few live-saving seconds, he realized that this wasn't just an elk burnt over a fire back in Wales: NOVA SCOTIA WAS ON FIRE. Adrenaline released itself almost immediately and the tall and awkward Luperci rolled into action, making his way out of the ship by the memory of its inner-workings he had gained from careful study during the last several days. It was a difficult feat, but he eventually made it over the skinny, pebbled land-bridge that separated S.S. Queen Anne's Revenge from the Soul's mainland. Not at all accustomed to the feral life of Canada, he didn't think to shift down to ease his plight. Instead, he forged forwards, calling out into the blur of gray, "Ana? Ana?" Despite his usual apathy, today his voice was ravenous with the want to find her: this was not their dying day.
Herrre I am, at last. :O
Although sleep had not been hard to come by since reaching Bleeding Souls, it seemed that "good sleep" was a matter in and of itself. Z often found himself slipping into cat naps or lazy dazes, but snapping out of them usually came with the urgency of some sordid nightmare or another. Most were variations on the theme of his adoptive father seething, sometimes foaming ridiculously with rage upon discovering that Zacor had left Wales, and other times speaking to him in his dream, demanding that he kill Anathra and return to the pack like any proper prince would. It was all right to throw adolescent temper tantrums in boyish flights of fancy, but now it was time to dispose of that wench and assume the throne of Eidolon. Well, Zacor was no proper prince, and he had no intentions of following through on Zephyrin's whiny pleads that were thinly veiled as fatherly demands. The man was getting old and couldn't keep Eidolon up by himself; no, he needed a younger heir to uphold his (lack of) family values and keep him in good standing as he aged. He had spent so much time rearing Zacor to be that heir, but Zacor just wasn't biting, despite the vibrant color of the hook. And now, time was dwindling away, and Zephryin didn't have enough left to find anyone else.
Just as Zephryin was giving his "Becoming King for Dummies" lecture for the zillionth time in almost a week, the heavy fog of smoke settling over Thunder Island finally struck Z. His eyes fluttered open slowly at first as his father's monologue faded out and the carbon monoxide pushed in, but within a few live-saving seconds, he realized that this wasn't just an elk burnt over a fire back in Wales: NOVA SCOTIA WAS ON FIRE. Adrenaline released itself almost immediately and the tall and awkward Luperci rolled into action, making his way out of the ship by the memory of its inner-workings he had gained from careful study during the last several days. It was a difficult feat, but he eventually made it over the skinny, pebbled land-bridge that separated S.S. Queen Anne's Revenge from the Soul's mainland. Not at all accustomed to the feral life of Canada, he didn't think to shift down to ease his plight. Instead, he forged forwards, calling out into the blur of gray, "Ana? Ana?" Despite his usual apathy, today his voice was ravenous with the want to find her: this was not their dying day.