KASSANDRA,
Oculos had no time to dwell on the awkward nature of his companion’s fit. He could not think of oh, how embarrassing, oh, how freaky, oh, get a load of this fool; they were trains of thought he did not have the luxury to board. His entire mind has to be focused on Kassandra, though his paws are tied and there is little more he can do but wait. She could come out of the fit in a number of different ways: she could wake up and bolt, and he would half to follow as close to her as possible as she careened madly through the wild, untraversed jungle; she could fall into a deep slumber, as close to death as she possibly could tread without truly dying, and he would have to sit at her side and defend her; she could come to, disoriented and confused, with little to no memory of her visions or where she had the misfortune of falling victim to them, and he would have to do the gentle but firm job of explaining their situation back to her.
As the otherworldly voice grates from the mouth of his best friend, Oculos imagines claws dragging down the inside of her throat, serrating the flesh and leaving her raw and exhausted. His heart hurts for her, and it makes him long for the repetitive, slow slog of them trekking through the jungle on the heels of some unknown quarry. Remember, he thinks, how they were, five minutes ago? Bored and hot and lost and confused? Yeah, that was significantly nicer than now.
Above all, he wishes they were alone, as another form comes into view. They look like a dappled golden shadow come to life, and at first Oculos fears he, too, is having a vision; then he sees the question in the eyes, the perturbed unease bordering on fear, and he relaxes a bit, because any rational, flesh-and-blood creature stumbling upon such a sight would wear that selfsame expression.
Kassandra’s eyes open weakly just as the second stranger— this one silver, Oculos notes, with a petulant grumble in his throat, why can’t these people be normal colors, as though his companion isn’t night blue and speckled with stars— comes over and greets the first. Her eyelids are heavy and her throat is dry as bone. She feels a familiar weight on her head and upper neck, warm breath on the side of her muzzle.
Her companion’s neck and head are tight to her flesh and she can feel the tension in his jaw, his discomfort at being under such scrutiny; and so her first sensation is shame. Her second, as her breathing levels and she mentally takes stock of all her facilities— body, limbs, senses, no pain— is a voice, saying something about a tree…
…a tree.
“The tree!” Kassandra lifts her head up in such a hurry that Oculos is nearly thrown from the velocity. He makes a somewhat comical yelp-gasp-whine and sinks down by her haunches, crouched on his claws and ready to bolt if necessary. After her outburst, Kassandra blinks, confused, eyes adjusting to the relative darkness of the jungle shade; she swivels her head to the two strangers, then makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a grumble, and rubs her right eye sleepily on the inside of her foreleg.
“‘m sorry,” she says, fighting off a yawn. “I hope I didn’t frighten anyone. Too much, anyhow.” She reaches out her muzzle and lips gently at the fur of her companion. “I’m sorry, Ocky,” she says, quieter, with more feeling.
(‘You don’t have to be sorry,) Oculos says, his growl affectionate, as he curves his long spine downward and comes to a sit, relaxing slightly, (‘I’m just glad you didn’t fall on me.’)
She gives him a small smile and then winces, shifting her heavy, bruised bulk in the dirt. “I’m sorry, again,” she says to those gathered, looking from gold to silver, from silver to gold, “that happens, at times, and I’m afraid I have no control over it. I know I must seem deranged.”
She shakes her head and neck as she prepares to stand, and then pauses: “Pardon my question, as I probably am just confused: but did you say… the tree moves?” she asked Locust, her eyes landing on the trunk in question. It’s visage made a horrible feeling crawl through her gut.
kassandra oculos | 743 | @LOCUST @AUGUST | wakey waking eggs and baking. sorry for the wait! this is a whole night crew meet up isnt it
As the otherworldly voice grates from the mouth of his best friend, Oculos imagines claws dragging down the inside of her throat, serrating the flesh and leaving her raw and exhausted. His heart hurts for her, and it makes him long for the repetitive, slow slog of them trekking through the jungle on the heels of some unknown quarry. Remember, he thinks, how they were, five minutes ago? Bored and hot and lost and confused? Yeah, that was significantly nicer than now.
Above all, he wishes they were alone, as another form comes into view. They look like a dappled golden shadow come to life, and at first Oculos fears he, too, is having a vision; then he sees the question in the eyes, the perturbed unease bordering on fear, and he relaxes a bit, because any rational, flesh-and-blood creature stumbling upon such a sight would wear that selfsame expression.
Kassandra’s eyes open weakly just as the second stranger— this one silver, Oculos notes, with a petulant grumble in his throat, why can’t these people be normal colors, as though his companion isn’t night blue and speckled with stars— comes over and greets the first. Her eyelids are heavy and her throat is dry as bone. She feels a familiar weight on her head and upper neck, warm breath on the side of her muzzle.
Her companion’s neck and head are tight to her flesh and she can feel the tension in his jaw, his discomfort at being under such scrutiny; and so her first sensation is shame. Her second, as her breathing levels and she mentally takes stock of all her facilities— body, limbs, senses, no pain— is a voice, saying something about a tree…
…a tree.
“The tree!” Kassandra lifts her head up in such a hurry that Oculos is nearly thrown from the velocity. He makes a somewhat comical yelp-gasp-whine and sinks down by her haunches, crouched on his claws and ready to bolt if necessary. After her outburst, Kassandra blinks, confused, eyes adjusting to the relative darkness of the jungle shade; she swivels her head to the two strangers, then makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a grumble, and rubs her right eye sleepily on the inside of her foreleg.
“‘m sorry,” she says, fighting off a yawn. “I hope I didn’t frighten anyone. Too much, anyhow.” She reaches out her muzzle and lips gently at the fur of her companion. “I’m sorry, Ocky,” she says, quieter, with more feeling.
(‘You don’t have to be sorry,) Oculos says, his growl affectionate, as he curves his long spine downward and comes to a sit, relaxing slightly, (‘I’m just glad you didn’t fall on me.’)
She gives him a small smile and then winces, shifting her heavy, bruised bulk in the dirt. “I’m sorry, again,” she says to those gathered, looking from gold to silver, from silver to gold, “that happens, at times, and I’m afraid I have no control over it. I know I must seem deranged.”
She shakes her head and neck as she prepares to stand, and then pauses: “Pardon my question, as I probably am just confused: but did you say… the tree moves?” she asked Locust, her eyes landing on the trunk in question. It’s visage made a horrible feeling crawl through her gut.
kassandra oculos | 743 | @LOCUST @AUGUST | wakey waking eggs and baking. sorry for the wait! this is a whole night crew meet up isnt it
I DON'T WANT A GARDEN OF EDEN, I JUST WANT TO BRING YOU TO LIFE
