Redhawk Caldera in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy
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#7
There is a part of Baal’s mind that tells him that Lagan has noticed his discomfort as the other male’s chuckles cease and words of apology spill from the other boy’s mouth. Lagan, to his credit, speaks calmly which is more than Baal can say for himself. He’s anything but calm as his anxiety goes from one extreme as the next as humiliation bleeds into guilt. “Please.” Baal responds to Lagan’s words. Just please. Nothing more, nothing specific. He hopes that Lagan understands what his ‘please’ actually means: ‘please call me Baal. Just Baal’. Try as hard as he might but Baal can’t make his tongue, suddenly as heavy as lead and twisted like a sailor’s knot speak all those words. It is pitiful but it is all he can muster, though he does not doubt that the guilt that eats away at him for making the guardian apologize to him merely aids in his struggle to articulate.

Baal swallows thickly, bobbing his head to Lagan’s sympathy, feeling guilty for that in turn. He doesn’t deserve sympathy; not really. He has done terrible things to ensure his survival during that time where death was a constant companion: previous to his eventual surrender to the terrible actions taken to fill his belly every breath was like a prayer to the eternal void. A shiver of death that lingered, ready to claim him. He envisioned death, can conjure the image even now: the morphing beast, skeletal with eroded flesh. A product of his imagination, no doubt, but it torments Baal to remember and he slams that door within his mind without grace, zoning out on Lagan until their mostly one sided conversation shifts to something else. Something safe. “Maybe,” Baal’s ears twitch into attention. “Maybe you could tell me about this place …your home.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself, reassuring himself over and over that this is alright. That it’s not bad. Well, it’s bad but not nearly as bad as he initially imagined. It might not be a bad idea to hear what the pack was all about after all though he is already here and in the end it will be the Caldera’s leaders that will bring about judgement and ultimately decide his fate.
your mouth is like a pomegranate
cut with a knife of ivory.

oscar wilde; salomé
Messages In This Thread
in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Baal - November 22, 2017, 04:09 PM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Lagan - November 23, 2017, 08:28 AM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Baal - November 23, 2017, 08:49 AM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Lagan - November 23, 2017, 10:26 AM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Baal - November 23, 2017, 10:59 AM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Lagan - November 24, 2017, 07:55 AM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Baal - November 24, 2017, 03:58 PM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Lagan - November 24, 2017, 04:22 PM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Baal - November 25, 2017, 05:36 AM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Lagan - November 25, 2017, 07:09 AM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Elwood - November 27, 2017, 09:28 PM
RE: in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy - by Baal - November 28, 2017, 05:42 AM