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+--- Thread: Totoka River so many names i devour (/showthread.php?tid=23220)
so many names i devour - Arturo - September 22, 2017
someday i will spell totoka correctly without needing to look it up. xD
Witchdoctor does not stray too far from Undersea and finds this development to be quite fascinating if not terribly annoying. Hemlock is den-ridden as she nurses his spawn — the last remaining fragments of Arturo Fearghal — but it does not fall out of the Witchdoctor’s notice that he has a unique opportunity because they are his children ( it is his body now, after all ) and they are blank slates. Easily, easily he could have just …left. It probably would have been a lot less messier for him and he’d not exactly signed on to be a father. Witchdoctor’s never particularly wanted children and rather views them as pests of sorts. He’s become invested — ugh — in what is left of Arturo’s little ragtag family. Hemlock is a fierce and bright burning sun that he is intensely interested in, wondering if he got too close if she would burn him or if, by some impossible chance, she might grow to …care for him; but regardless he sticks around mostly because she mutes the voices. Oh, those voices. Beneath the radius of Hemlock’s spell upon them they are loud and demanding. If he focuses enough on something else they become white noise, static of buzzing in his head but even that can be horribly distracting on the best of days.
He roots through the tall grasses along the bank of the Totoka looking for anything of worth. Winter is approaching them at full speed. Herds are lingering, still, but soon they would be migrating and plants would be dying. He collects what he can and preserves it the best way he knows when he isn’t being a greedy magpie adding to his bauble collection. And when he’s not doing those things he does put a surprisingly honest effort into providing for Hemlock. Surprising to even him! Witchdoctor likes her. The doctor likes her! “Shut up!” Witchdoctor snarls at the voices in his head as they slip past the suppressive wall he’s tried to put up and sing-song in a eerie chorus in his head. They do not listen. They giggle out of time, like a dozen echoes and taunt him.
Jykell or Hyde? They repeat the question over and over like a mantra and it is so loud, deafening. “Shut up. I’m trying to work.” Witchdoctor snaps and huffs glad when the voices quiet down to whispers, no longer caring if he looks sane anymore. It’s so very hard to not speak aloud to the voices that no longer appear to answer to his thoughts. He uproots a ragweed plant carefully despite his irritation, placing it delicately upon the ground wondering if it would survive the partial swim back to the Isle.
He roots through the tall grasses along the bank of the Totoka looking for anything of worth. Winter is approaching them at full speed. Herds are lingering, still, but soon they would be migrating and plants would be dying. He collects what he can and preserves it the best way he knows when he isn’t being a greedy magpie adding to his bauble collection. And when he’s not doing those things he does put a surprisingly honest effort into providing for Hemlock. Surprising to even him! Witchdoctor likes her. The doctor likes her! “Shut up!” Witchdoctor snarls at the voices in his head as they slip past the suppressive wall he’s tried to put up and sing-song in a eerie chorus in his head. They do not listen. They giggle out of time, like a dozen echoes and taunt him.
Jykell or Hyde? They repeat the question over and over like a mantra and it is so loud, deafening. “Shut up. I’m trying to work.” Witchdoctor snaps and huffs glad when the voices quiet down to whispers, no longer caring if he looks sane anymore. It’s so very hard to not speak aloud to the voices that no longer appear to answer to his thoughts. He uproots a ragweed plant carefully despite his irritation, placing it delicately upon the ground wondering if it would survive the partial swim back to the Isle.
RE: so many names i devour - Hux - September 24, 2017
hope you don't mind me... and this post is kind of awful.
The temperatures descended as each day passed. Despite the usual anxieties which formed with the approach of winter, Hux was eager to meet the cold season. Why? For the sheer sake of comfort, and for the fun of the snowfall which would appear in a matter of weeks. He did not like hot weather, the stifling heat trapped within his thick white fur, the constant need to walk around with his tongue hanging out. He was a hardy beast and the cold sparked within him a more energetic demeanor. Moreover, this would be his first winter as a Drageda wolf... He planned to prove himself a worthy asset during possible times of scarcity that often piggybacked upon wintertime.
He awoke from a nap with a surge of wanderlust, craving movement and work. The chilly autumn wind combing through his coat like the gentle touch of a lover, he loped towards the borders until his large, snowshoe paws carried him beyond Drageda, in the direction of Totoka river. There he would pace the riverbank, scavenging whatever herbs might prove useful in the coming months. Such was his mood that he felt compelled to whistle a jolly tune; and he did so loudly, releasing the charming melody to mingle with the soft rush of running water. Just as Hux drew upon the riverbank, sharp, irritable words cut through his whistling. They urged him to shut up.
Taken aback by the interruption, Hux flinched and halted abruptly, swinging his narrow head around with his stormy gaze darting in search of the voice's source. At last his eyes lit upon the sharp, gangling form of another male (although, the Kru was pleased to notice that the stranger was smaller in physique than himself). A low whine rumbled from his broad chest as the snowy wolf lowered his ears, embarrassed.
"I-Im sorry," he admitted flatly. His shoulders and tail drooped.
RE: so many names i devour - Arturo - September 24, 2017
i don't mind at all! thanks for joining! ♥
Witchdoctor hadn’t even heard the jolly whistling in the chaos of whispers in his head, in the steady beat of his heartbeat that battles the crescendo of whispers turning into screams like shrilling alarm bells in head. Company! Company! We have company…turn around you mad fool! They scream like banshees in his head and he turns around quickly, his movements sharp and concise in time to see the hardy, pallid male all drooping shoulders and tail and wounded puppy expression, a flat, stuttering apology leaving the sturdier man’s lips. Witchdoctor recoils in confusion, struggling to realize what he was apologizing for. Ah. Realization dawns upon the Witchdoctor as he puts together that the male surely heard him speaking to the voices in his head. Fiery gaze of twin burning suns focuses upon the man stoically for a few moments though eagerly he takes him in, studying him. Interesting, Witchdoctor thinks, as he studies the effect of his quiet snarls of commands have upon this stranger.
“For the record,” Witchdoctor was starting to feel uncomfortable with the wounded puppy look. Normally, he’d revel in the power he has, delighted by it ( and he is make no mistake ) but there’s something just… wrong about a man heftier than him looking at him like he was a puppy Witchdoctor’d bitten or something. “You don't need to look at me like a sad, wounded puppy because it wasn't you I was telling to shut up.” Witchdoctor informs matter-of-factly not comprehending that he might, in turn, have to offer an explanation of who ( or more like what ) he was speaking to because the Witchdoctor is obviously alone …or rather, he’d been physically alone, at any rate. His mind, however, was a busy place. A favorite haunt of whatever demons or ghosts of the dead …or whatever they were.
“For the record,” Witchdoctor was starting to feel uncomfortable with the wounded puppy look. Normally, he’d revel in the power he has, delighted by it ( and he is make no mistake ) but there’s something just… wrong about a man heftier than him looking at him like he was a puppy Witchdoctor’d bitten or something. “You don't need to look at me like a sad, wounded puppy because it wasn't you I was telling to shut up.” Witchdoctor informs matter-of-factly not comprehending that he might, in turn, have to offer an explanation of who ( or more like what ) he was speaking to because the Witchdoctor is obviously alone …or rather, he’d been physically alone, at any rate. His mind, however, was a busy place. A favorite haunt of whatever demons or ghosts of the dead …or whatever they were.
RE: so many names i devour - Hux - September 24, 2017
Within the molten gaze of the stranger, Hux found both intelligence and severity, such that he felt almost burned by the studying eyes. Having never been the subject of such a glare, the Kru was intimidated in spite of the man's more slender stature. The silence that followed was an uncomfortable one, Hux finding his embarrassed expression pinned in place by the fiery eyes.
It was not until the other finally spoke that the paler wolf realized just how pathetic he must look, and when this fact dawned upon him, it amplified the shame he felt for whistling like a fool, and he grew almost angry (with himself just as much, if not more, than with the stranger and his unsettling gaze). He hurried to get ahold of himself, slowly sitting back on his haunches and squaring his shoulders, unable to believe that he had allowed hinself to appear so... Weak.
It would have to be forgotten. The stranger's words were unexpected and Hux briefly narrowed his eyes in confusion.
"But there's no one else here," he observed suspiciously. Indeed, the only canine scents in the vicinity were his own and the Witchdoctor's... But perhaps he had been rehearsing a conversation? Hux was distracted from his abashed mood, intrigued.
RE: so many names i devour - Arturo - September 24, 2017
The Witchdoctor watches as the other male settles back upon his haunches and the wounded puppy look departs his expression. It fails to dawn on the Witchdoctor that he’s likely going to be receiving plenty of those looks from his own spawn in the coming months but he lacks the experience with children that the gangster had held and took to the grave with him. The observation is what would become the typical response to him being confronted about talking to himself but it manages to surprise him, nevermind that he should have expected it. In his debut over half a year ago Witchdoctor hadn’t been quite so vocal with the spirits inhabiting his mind, but the gangster’s conscious tucked away had tempered them, kept them in check to an extent. With the gangster’s conscious “death” they rushed to fill the empty space that was left in his wake as Witchdoctor took full and permanent control. There is an …intrigue in the other’s stormy grey eyes that makes Witchdoctor’s lips to curl slightly. This wasn’t a study of him.
The Machiavellian holds his silence for a few seconds more before he gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes. It does not appear as if the pallid stranger has any intention of leaving. Even the intrigue is bizarre to Witchdoctor for the only other time he’d been caught speaking to the voices in his head the girl had looked at him like he was a mad-man with a certain level of uncertainty and fear. The stranger emits none of these things. “No, I suppose there isn’t.” Good job, Sherlock. “My mind is quite …busy.” He is a madman. He’s long since embraced this but the Witchdoctor is out for himself, out to protect himself. It makes him dangerous and deadly but it’s also a weakness and he is smart enough to accept and acknowledge it as such.
The Machiavellian holds his silence for a few seconds more before he gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes. It does not appear as if the pallid stranger has any intention of leaving. Even the intrigue is bizarre to Witchdoctor for the only other time he’d been caught speaking to the voices in his head the girl had looked at him like he was a mad-man with a certain level of uncertainty and fear. The stranger emits none of these things. “No, I suppose there isn’t.” Good job, Sherlock. “My mind is quite …busy.” He is a madman. He’s long since embraced this but the Witchdoctor is out for himself, out to protect himself. It makes him dangerous and deadly but it’s also a weakness and he is smart enough to accept and acknowledge it as such.
RE: so many names i devour - Hux - September 24, 2017
Having never faced madness Hux was not sure what he had stumbled upon. It made him uneasy, but not yet afraid of the instinct that told him something was wrong with the stranger. When he proceeded to explain how "busy" his mind was, Hux gave a slight cant of his head, emitting a simple "Oh. " He attempted to reconcile this information with his own experience; had he not spoken to himself when he was alone, when his mind refused to quiet? It seemed a fairly normal occurance.
"Ragweed?" he asked, gesturing his iron gaze towards the plant that the graying coywolf had picked. Perhaps he could steer their discourse elsewhere. "You a naturalist?"
RE: so many names i devour - Arturo - September 26, 2017
Oh, is how the other man responds to Witchdoctor’s honesty. He supposes this is better handled than others but it’s no consequence to the Witchdoctor what this stranger thinks of him. In the grand scheme of things, this meeting is a small matter and will not change his life in any measurable way. Their conversation switches off of him and his madness ( or well, it hadn’t officially been called that — out loud, at least — but it’s what it is and there is no sense in candy-coating it ) to the ragweed he has set at his paws. Witchdoctor’s fiery gaze flickers down to the unassuming plant he’d carefully uprooted and flash back to the stranger. “Very good,” The doctor purls, mildly impressed. “I will be, soon.” Witchdoctor speaks with the utmost and unwavering confidence in a matter-of-fact tone. “Botanist and Toxicologist.” He states his interests in the naturalist field. “Are you a naturalist?” He supposes that just by holding the knowledge of ragweed doesn’t necessarily make one a naturalist or even an aspiring one. There’s nothing wrong with knowing things about the other trades even if they’re not pursued. Witchdoctor shifts his weight, ears cupping forth atop his skull as he await the stranger's response.
RE: so many names i devour - Hux - September 28, 2017
For the first time since encountering the strange man Hux sports a smile, a small one, the corners of his lips barely twitching upward. He will never admit that he feels underachieving for not having a trade at his age, but it comforts him to learn that this man - who, by the graying of his pelt appears older than himself - is still at a mere aspiring level, as well. Through the madness in the smoldering eyes is intelligence that probably surpasses Hux's own. The snowy male feels that perhaps his whole life isn't a complete failure. Not yet.
"I will be soon, too," he answers. "I used to want to be a geologist, but I changed my mind. I'm going for botany and toxicology, too." somehow, Hux didn't take Witchdoctor for a naturalistic individual, but it is never wise to make assumptions. He falls silent, unsure of what else to say, but then he remembers that formal introductions have not been made yet. "Uh, I'm Hux... " He gives his coat a shake, waiting to hear the stranger's name.
RE: so many names i devour - Arturo - September 29, 2017
Though Witchdoctor knows he must have things in common with other wolves for some reason it does not occur to him that he would. Perhaps it’s because he sees himself on a superior plane of existence ( because truly his conception is untraditional! ) or because it’s the preconceived notion that normal wolves should not have things in common with madmen. Witchdoctor knows that Hemlock shares a passion for botany as well but he wonders what the chances are that a stranger would come across him that shares in his own passions of poisons and plants. His fascination could easily be brushed as nefarious intent. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is not. In his unpredictability, in the easy flux of moods like the flick of a light switch on and off it is near impossible to tell. “Hm.” The doctor muses aloud — a quieted hum at his own personal acknowledgement of the information. “Perhaps I could show you my poison collection some time.” Witchdoctor didn’t really do friends …but then again he didn’t do wife and kids either and look at him now ( though Hemlock, Droman, Reed and the gangster’s kids were sort of …unexpected inheritances ). However, Witchdoctor isn’t above learning ( or bragging, evidently ). “It’s a bit small now. Just moved and all. The Wife and kids wanted a change of scenery.” The madman’s shoulders rise and fall in a ‘what are you going to do’ fashion as if he is truly governed by Hemlock and the suckling babes at her breast. He might as well be. He’s not left and if Hemlock wants control of the …relationship he won’t protest. It’s not as if he minds. Unlike his deceased gangster counterpart Witchdoctor is not a control freak.
“Witchdoctor.” He offers the younger male — Hux, as he introduced himself — his own introduction. The epithet works well for a name and title. The Witchdoctor. Riptide worked as a name during his initial debut and, at the time, had served his purposes at the time. He’s changed a lot since that first time: grown during his time spent dormant.
“Witchdoctor.” He offers the younger male — Hux, as he introduced himself — his own introduction. The epithet works well for a name and title. The Witchdoctor. Riptide worked as a name during his initial debut and, at the time, had served his purposes at the time. He’s changed a lot since that first time: grown during his time spent dormant.
RE: so many names i devour - Hux - September 29, 2017
Poison? Hux feels a hint of unease. Healing is his main motivation. He bares knowledge of poisonous plants for the sheer assurance that they will not be accidentally misused, or eaten by youths, or any number of circumstances... Except for the purpose of actually and intentionally poisoning others. Perhaps it is a naive point of view. Drageda surely had enemies just as any pack did, and in the event of war, toxic substances would likely prove useful. Witchdoctor has given him another point to ponder, another direction in which to develop his own skills. Admittedly, though, he dislikes the idea of poisoning someone else.
But Hux nods his head, giving a bland, "Sounds interesting," and the smokey beast continues on with the mention of his mate ( his "wife,"as he put it ). This information does not surprise him, however; the other is certainly of age to have a mate. But Hux isn't interested in her. Or the children.
The name seems strange, unlike any he has heard before. He ponders what a "witchdoctor" could be, but eventually brings the topic back around to the bit that interests him. "You, eh, you poisoned anyone before?" The ivory Kru asks, adopting the same flat tone to obscure his eagerness.
RE: so many names i devour - Arturo - September 30, 2017
The other did not sound as enthused about the mentions of poisons so casually as if they are discussing types of tea and Witchdoctor, studious by nature, picks up upon this. It sends a signal flag to his head where the voices snicker and giggle: this time at him for misunderstanding. He automatically defaulted to the assumption that one pursuing the toxicologist specialty would, too, be interested in poisons. In fact, it doesn’t even occur to him that it would be used for anything else aside from potential nefarious purposes. ’Madman, madman, madman.’ the voices singsong in his mind causing him to clench his teeth with a sharp snap of bone grating against bone. He almost does not catch Hux’s question so focused upon the voices but luckily zeroes in on the right time catching most of the inquiry. Has he poisoned anyone before? No, but that was only because he, technically, hadn’t been alive or in control long enough to see it through. Besides, there wasn’t anyone in particular he wished to off at the moment. Currently: it was just an obsession. Like his baubles, although unlike his treasures his poison collection ( and garden he intends to grow come spring ) might very well come in handy should he need it to. “I have not.” The Witchdoctor speaks honesty with a little grin tugging at his maw because what is a little bit of honesty without a little bit of mischief? Witchdoctor doesn't bother returning the question: the lack of enthusiasm had told him all he needed to know about Hux. That he's miscalculated their common interests and that he was wrong.
RE: so many names i devour - Hux - October 02, 2017
Hux thinks he senses the man's mind wander; but perhaps this is his own mind playing tricks on him, a prejudice against those crazy fire-orange eyes that Hux hates so much. The thoughts pass without Witchdoctor missing a beat, answering innocently enough. Hux doubts the honesty in the response however, and it is all he can do not to narrow his gray eyes.
Being a chronic worrier, Hux begins to dislike the man's proximity to Drageda. This fear must be unfounded, but nevertheless, he decides to attempt gleaning more information, to soothe his anxiety, if nothing else. But first, he gets to his feet and swings his head around, observing the location of additional ragweed plants. "Need anymore of that ragweed? I'm gonna gather a little." it is an invitation for Witchdoctor to work alongside him, if he pleases. There is another weed a few yards to the left of where the males stand and Hux wanders over to it, asking his most pressing question first. "Uh, where you coming from? What pack, I mean?"
Honestly, Hux does not want to prolong this encounter much longer. He simply feels that knowing a bit more about the possible-madman will make him feel that he, and his pack, are safer.
He takes the weed close to the root and plucks it from the earth.
RE: so many names i devour - Arturo - October 06, 2017
As it stands, Witchdoctor’s interests are strictly local. There is no grand scheme of world ( or Teekon ) domination as often associated with villainy. There isn’t even a desire to overthrow the little sheepdog that leads Undersea because the truth was he’s no desire to be a leader. Though there is temptation in the possibility of being an authority figure it’s a conflict of interest and doubts that it any realistic situation he’d be on the throne for long. There’s too much good ( thought with disdain ) in the world for the powers that be to allow that to happen. Tyrants will always fall: it was only ever a question of when. When one was brave enough to stand up and say ‘no more’. No, he’s rather happy with his little bubble: his spawn and his fiery wife and his obsessions. They keep him contentedly occupied. “A few more.” Witchdoctor agrees as his fiery gaze watches the male tug the weed out of the earth. The doctor goes to another patch and tears it from the solid earth that has kept it rooted. He doesn’t want too much, though, because he does have to partially swim back to Undersea and it already presents the possibility that the ragweed may get ruined as is. “A bit off the coast.” Witchdoctor’s answer is extremely vague: because he’s suspicious of the question. There’s really no need to get that personal, in his opinion. He doesn’t much care where his companion is from and expects the same lack of concern in return. Besides, the Witchdoctor has infants — little bundles of life that he was obligated to protect aggressively since the moment Hemlock popped them out and he will, of that there was no mistake. He might not be a great father, or even a good one but he is still a father.
RE: so many names i devour - Hux - October 11, 2017
The doctor replies vaguely, though Hux is not especially surprised about this. The snowy wolf blinks, perhaps stupidly, unsure of how to respond. He does not know of any other pack along the sea; he only hopes it is a peaceful one, although the fact that they harbor a strange man with a collection of poisons gives Hux a touch of unease. But it's nothing to get worked up about, he tells himself as he gathers as much ragweed as he can carry.
He settles the last of the plants on his little pile, leaving his jaws free to speak. I better go, he informs the other, hesitating a moment before adding, Maybe we'll meet again. And, uh, you can show me those poisons. A wry smile follows. He doesn't expect this thing to happen, the graying man escorting him to... wherever he stores his collection, and allowing Hux to inspect it. It would be an interesting venture, but it isn't going to happen.
The tall Kru nods politely before grasping the impressively large bundle of ragweed in his fangs and departs the area.