It's all in your head

Razekiel Lykoi · 05-28-2010, 06:45 PM

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IT'S NOT OKAY! ... ;D Sorry for the wait, I've been a little low on motivation for Razekiel lately.

She smiled once more, that brilliant shine in the pearls of her grin nearly blinding him. And why would his judgment on her eyes be altered with the clouded tainting of the drugs in his system? What he spoke was the truth; everything that emerged from his lips, high or not, was the truth. He had no reason to lie to people, to outwardly deny the beauty she had before her and Mother Earth both! There was nothing the Great Mother created that wasn't beautiful, though naturally there was some less than others. To he, however, Lucia was the epitome of the Great Mother's best—although Razekiel tended to think most women were.

He giggled some high-pitched noise at the touch of his ribs, the coyote squirming and rolling away and out of her reach. Smiling, Razekiel pushed himself up to sit again, his torso revolving on its funny little axis. She shared her sympathy for his losses, though the removal of Ocean Flower from the picture of his life was his own fault. The way he had been raised, it was inevitable: There was no way Razekiel could have lived under the leadership of wolves much longer, and after their murders—along with the removal of his youngest daughter—there was no facing Ocean Flower or Micah and his other children come the following morning. He had disappeared in the night; it was the only way. "We were young," he said, smile unburdened by the dark memories. She excused herself, but he simply shook his head. "Love is a wonderful thing, man. The best drug of them all!—but one can never allow it to intrude on their life. This vagrant had to keep on walkin' the Great Mother, man; that lovely girl could not come with me." Still, a smile.

She exposed some hesitation and worry then; Razekiel's grin faltered somewhat, and his head tipped to the side. A slow smile spread then, hidden slightly, but all-telling in the coyote's straw-hued eyes. At her words, his ears perked with thrill at her happiness, but flattened soon after at the removal of his own. "We are all perfect, in the Great Mother's eyes," he mumbled, hesitating. He had known those feelings once—but he had pushed them away, locked them away. He had learned to love everything in exchange, but such feelings never replaced that adulation for a single soul. "To love everything is satisfying," he pondered, gaze wandering away, "to love one and only, is irreplaceable."

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