Shine down on me

POSTED: Tue Jun 07, 2011 10:40 pm

[html]ooc: Hope you don't mind this! I couldn't think of anything else. ^^;
<p>
The sun hurt. Even under his heavy cloak, wrapped in all his bandages and behind his thickest mask, the sun hurt. This was perhaps because, even with all that coverage, his mask still needed eyes cut out so he could see--but he didn't think about that. All he could think about was how much he hurt, and then wonder why he thought about it at all. He wondered why he was out in the sun. He didn't rightly know; all he remembered was that the wagon was gone, and so was the Boy; Fion had disappeared with it. Daemon had the vague idea he was meant to follow them, and the set of hoof prints and wheel grooves leading away from him strengthened that idea. But Daemon didn't wander after them; he stood in the sun, under his cloak and bandages and behind his mask, and burned.
<p>
He remembered what it was like to burn. It wasn't as gentle as this, as slow and aching in warmth; it hit like a tidal wave, ripped through him and left him an empty, aching husk, nothing but a shadow of before. Daemon wondered if, without his lairs of protection, he might feel it again. Maybe it could work in reverse; maybe, under the rays of the sun, he might turn back into who he used to be. Without Fion around to stop him, and with the fear of pain far in the back of his mind, Daemon deemed it worth the risk to try.
<p>
Slowly, he parted the cloak, and undid the ties holding it on his shoulders. Then he took off the mask, the burning getting steadily worse, until his face was bare, his hands beginning to unwind the bandages. He managed to bare his head to the sun before it hit one of his welts, the one across his face, and the open wound itched and burned even worse than before. It was sensitive enough that even the soft rays of morning made it begin oozing blood, and he only managed to unwind his neck, as well, before it got in his eye and he began panicking.
<p>
He was dying. He was in the fire again; his howl came out very much like a scream, and he dropped to the ground and began shaking and convulsing, as though he were having a seizure. He made half-remembered gurgling sounds, ones he'd made when his throat and tongue had been burned, and relived his two days of hell in those minutes, so horrified he wasn't even able to cry.
<p>
Daemon hadn't even realized he'd done this to himself.
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POSTED: Sat Jun 11, 2011 6:28 pm

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<div class="micahsunriseooc"><p>Daemon's scar over his eye is the same as Jefferson's. o_O Connected over the muzzle and everything, weird.</p>
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<p>Despite his arguments against the hippies of his birthpack and the ways of his sisters and father, Micah had a respect and adoration for nature birthed in him from the start nonetheless. Perhaps such a thing could be weaved within genetics, as if it was inevitable for him to bask in the sunlight and enjoy it, or contentedly stare at his own reflection in the water for hours without realizing it had been so long. Even if he refused to be a peace-loving, treehugging hippie like his family and friends back home in Juniper Peace, Micah was nonetheless a nature lover with an artistic outlet like all the rest; he enjoyed music, he loved the sunlight and the rain, he lived for breathing in vivid colors and splashing them onto a canvas. However troubled he was internally, plagued with disorders and whatnot, he made himself out to be a rather happy individual when left to his own devices, whether or not he disagreed with his activities due to the similarities of they and the hippies'.</p>

<p>Perhaps if he <i>had</i> taken up marijuana and all the other nonsense, he might have been a calmer individual, able to take his the common panic and stress he experienced with stride. However, he did not, and when the salt-and-pepper male came across the convulsing, twitching stranger on the ground, he froze in step and dropped everything in his hands to the ground with unbelievable noise.</p>

<p><b>"Oh God,"</b> he gasped, looking frantically left and right for assistance. The stranger was bleeding, convulsing — dying?! Surely Micah could not <i>touch</i> him, his blood could have <i>diseases</i>, and Micah could not let himself get sick — no, Micah didn't want to die, so he could not get sick from touching someone else's blood, especially if they were on the ground twitching and shaking and bleeding and... <b>"Oh God, oh God, oh God,"</b> the boy panicked, his own frame beginning to tremor with horrible panic, stomach twisting with the sudden onset of nausea. A horrible time for a panic attack.</p>

<p>He knelt at the stranger's side, breathing in the horrid mixture of blood and Cercatori scent, recognizing this creature as a packmate in need. Trembling fingers hovered over the shaking frame a moment, teeth chattering as he called out to the wolf the loudest he could, though the sound was hardly more than a broken whisper. <b>"St-st-stop sha-sha-shaking,"</b> he mumbled, <b>"st-stop, st-stop it, please, I-I-I can't touch you, I'll get si-sick, umm... St-stop shaking, okay? Um... stop... please..."</b></p>

<p>Rather unsurprisingly, that didn't work. Sinking into his curls and shoulders, Micah swallowed a great lump in his throat and resorted to whatever instincts hit him next — which happened to be smacking the stranger across the face in sheer panic. <b>"St-stop it!!"</b></p>
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<div class="micahsunrisecred"><a href="http://soulsrpg.com/ipb/viewtopic.php?t=17855">table by lin</a></div></div>
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POSTED: Mon Jun 13, 2011 10:37 pm

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<p class="ooc">O~o Weird.</p>
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<p>

Daemon didn't really notice the other wolf passing by, too caught up in his memories of the fire--though, really, if he paid a bit more attention and panicked a bit less, it was not so bad as all that. It burned, yes; it hurt, yes. But it didn't burn as much as the fire, and it didn't hurt more than an ache or a sting--more than sunlight on sunburn, really. It was the memory that incapacitated him, and he had no way of leaving it behind, anymore than he could gain his old life back. He knew, without that memory, that he would be the man he used to be.
<p>
He saw a vague figure above him, and choked slightly, the shape not fitting in with his memory. Nor did the frantic whispers; he'd heard his parents shouting, and his siblings crying and screaming, but no one had been in the room with him. He opened his mouth, attempting to ask who the stranger was with a mouth that no longer spoke, and instead let out a half-whimpering sound, confused but slowly calming down. This didn't fit; he wasn't in the fire. He was...in the sun.
<p>
The slap and the following words snapped him out of it completely, and he looked up through the blood and the tears, still shaking slightly but more in control of himself than he had been before. He reached out shakily and grasped for his cloak, making soft grumbling sounds in his throat. He used the edge of a bandage to wipe the blood from his face, holding it there to stem the flow and huddling under his heavy cloak, ashamed of himself.
<p>
He lifted the edge of the hood enough to look at the packmate he'd scared, and tried to convey with his eyes how sorry he was--though in truth he wasn't very effective at that, either. He pulled the cloak tight around himself and hunched together again, burying his face in his knees and becoming a formless black lump as he tried to make himself stop shaking. Even the memory was enough to scare him; he knew better than to come out in the sun. He wondered what Fion had been thinking, letting him stay out here on his own, before he stopped wondering about everything, and tried simply to <i>feel.</i>

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<p class="template-credit">Image courtesy of <a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/watchsmart/2059056240/' target='_blank'>Watchsmart@Flickr</a>; table by <a href="?viewtopic.php?t=17301">the Mentors!</a></p>
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POSTED: Wed Jun 22, 2011 8:52 pm

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<p>Seeing that the individual finally awoke from whatever had been possessing him — a demon?! — Micah managed to heave a sigh of great relief, even crack a small, worried smile. From behind, Storm Lily hissed something bitter about leaving dead men to die and hunting down <i>those</i> who needed their deaths pushed a little early; her words hardly penetrated his ears, blocked out by the quick rushing of blood brought upon by the peaking of anxiety and the like.</p>

<p>His hands and body still shaking, Micah swallowed a lump in his throat, watching with worried eyes as blood was wiped from the stranger's face. The incapacitated boy had chosen to remain silent, instead adopting a shameful look, and at this Micah could only wonder if he himself had ever looked that pitiful. Surely he had.</p>

<p><b>"Umm, umm,"</b> he stammered, <b>"I-I'm sorry I had to hit you, b-b-but I didn't know what else to do... Y-Y-You're from here, right? I-I mean, Cersa— C-Cerki— <i>C-Cercat-t-t-tori</i> d'Arte..."</b> A moment to catch his breath. <b>"M-My name's M-Micah. A-Are you okay?"</b></p>
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<div class="micahsunrisecred"><a href="http://soulsrpg.com/ipb/viewtopic.php?t=17855">table by lin</a></div></div>
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