he's raised on the edge of the devil's backbone
630 Posts
Ooc — Phi
Master Guardian
—
Offline
September 11, 2017, 04:05 AM
Memories are ….murky at best and some have followed the gangster to the grave within his own mind; and the mind is no longer shared as it first was. Even then, they had not shared memories, both wholly independent entities. There is a massive gap of missing information in Riptiide’s memory: the last thing he remembers is being apart of Skellige’s pack in Stavanger Bay. For a second, the witch doctor is disoriented and it is enough to cause a rise, a hitch of fear in him and lets out a hollow gasp as he tries to re-orient himself. Where is he? What has happened? What has the gangster been up to while he slumbered? A lot, evidently. There is a sound from behind him and the witch doctor spins to find a boy lashing out viciously at the nearest tree and remembers that it had been undiluted wrath that had tore down the last remaining walls of the gangster’s sanity that had allowed Riptiide to seize what he’s wanted. There is awed fascination as he studies the child: quickly noting how much the boy looks like him but no recognition in the fierce sun storm of the witch doctor’s eyes. It is easy enough to discern that the boy is Arturo’s …or well his …in a sense. He is Arturo. Arturo is him. They are and are not.
There was something about this scent — a girl’s Riptiide deduces, laden heavy with scents that are all unfamiliar to him — that has upset both Arturo and his protégé. The Witch Doctor turns back to it and investigates it some more though it sparks …nothing. No anger, no pain. Because Arturo is dead and Riptiide misses a little more than half of a year of information. He recognizes the Hinterlands from his trip here once to find medicines but why is here? It is so very far from the coast and last that Riptiide had known Arturo’d had no talent for medicines and poisons.
Arturo sat on a wall,
Arturo had a great fall,
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Arturo back together again
There is a rise of a giggle in the witch doctor’s throat but he bites it back, remembering that he has company. And though sooner rather than later the child is bound to realize that something is amiss he tries not to let the magical side slip through just yet. But, it isn’t as if the witch doctor can imitate the gangster. There is nothing remotely similar between the two; and without the vital knowledge Riptiide is over half a year in the past; but it is easy to deduce that the gangster has not been idle during that time. Skellige’s scent is no longer present anywhere, and the scent that both of them carry is heavy with sweet mother’s milk. Very busy, indeed. Riptiide turns back to the boy studying the scars the tree now bears before his gaze goes back to the “mini-me”. Not quite so mini now, he corrects himself. “Impressive.” The witch doctor admires in a voice that is smoky but lacks the lilting accent of the gangster. Different personalities, different interest, different voices.
There was something about this scent — a girl’s Riptiide deduces, laden heavy with scents that are all unfamiliar to him — that has upset both Arturo and his protégé. The Witch Doctor turns back to it and investigates it some more though it sparks …nothing. No anger, no pain. Because Arturo is dead and Riptiide misses a little more than half of a year of information. He recognizes the Hinterlands from his trip here once to find medicines but why is here? It is so very far from the coast and last that Riptiide had known Arturo’d had no talent for medicines and poisons.
Arturo sat on a wall,
Arturo had a great fall,
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Arturo back together again
There is a rise of a giggle in the witch doctor’s throat but he bites it back, remembering that he has company. And though sooner rather than later the child is bound to realize that something is amiss he tries not to let the magical side slip through just yet. But, it isn’t as if the witch doctor can imitate the gangster. There is nothing remotely similar between the two; and without the vital knowledge Riptiide is over half a year in the past; but it is easy to deduce that the gangster has not been idle during that time. Skellige’s scent is no longer present anywhere, and the scent that both of them carry is heavy with sweet mother’s milk. Very busy, indeed. Riptiide turns back to the boy studying the scars the tree now bears before his gaze goes back to the “mini-me”. Not quite so mini now, he corrects himself. “Impressive.” The witch doctor admires in a voice that is smoky but lacks the lilting accent of the gangster. Different personalities, different interest, different voices.
wreathed in iron and in fire
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
i bare my bloody teeth
and only pity makes my strike so clean
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Messages In This Thread
i was everywhere, like a god, like a virus - by Arturo - September 10, 2017, 01:03 PM
RE: i was everywhere, like a god, like a virus - by Ceallach - September 10, 2017, 01:34 PM
RE: i was everywhere, like a god, like a virus - by Arturo - September 11, 2017, 04:05 AM
RE: i was everywhere, like a god, like a virus - by Ceallach - September 11, 2017, 04:59 PM
RE: i was everywhere, like a god, like a virus - by Arturo - September 23, 2017, 03:17 AM
RE: i was everywhere, like a god, like a virus - by Ceallach - October 05, 2017, 02:37 PM
RE: i was everywhere, like a god, like a virus - by Arturo - October 07, 2017, 06:38 PM
RE: i was everywhere, like a god, like a virus - by Ceallach - October 18, 2017, 01:15 AM