there's no going back
when you cross the line
when you cross the line
In the months since he had come to Novus, the Scarab had become his home, despite how unlikely it had seemed at first. His scarab tattoo had healed over, almost hidden by the tufts of fur on his chest, peeking out just enough for a glimpse to be caught -- generally by those he had just caught breaking the rules of the Scarab, who hadn’t realized he was an employee until he was right beside them and ushering them out. It was enough for the boy -- he hadn’t lost control, even, not enough for it to be noticeable, or at least he hoped his few slip-ups had gone unnoticed.
They’d generally been the drunken patrons he’d escorted outside, anyways -- they likely wouldn’t have noticed, not with the amount of alcohol they’d generally imbibed, and if they noticed the way his markings began to spark and glow whenever his magic came to life, well -- that was easily explained away as part of the Scarab show, wasn’t it?
And if some of those patrons suddenly grew a bit more agreeable in being lead outside, well -- he did tower above most of them, after all, despite the fact he’d prefer not to get into a brawl in the middle of the floor.
Anyways -- the Scarab had become home for the boy, even if the memories of his old home still clung to his mind, even if he still awoke every morning drenched in sweat from the nightmares. Enough so that when he wandered into the kitchens that morning to steal one of the loaves of bread that August had brought back, dark shadows stamped beneath his eyes from another sleepless night, he barely even registered that Vikander was standing there as well.
@Vikander
