Post by Marone on Jul 30, 2010 19:05:22 GMT -8
Marone woke up afraid and among ferns.
Not that being stretched out across the cool mosses forest floor wasn't comfortable, what with it's thin layer of decomposing fallen canopy leaves and stubbornly budding lichens, but Marone was accustomed to his first coherent thought being about the ugliness of the decorum in his room or how he had to make various appointments with persons of importance in the following hours. Waking up to the dim shafts of overcast light and mildew dripping down the bridge of his nose was a unpleasant experience to say the least. The newly made Fae inhaled and blinked the overcast colored light from his vision before rolling over-- into the fungus speckled side of a fallen tree. Swearing, Marone reeled back, sitting up in the same motion, and tried to remember where exactly he was.
Of course he remembered what he was and how he had become that terrible, useless, pathetic something, but the days were beginning to blur into a single endless nightmare of the glowering bark of trees and feeling the pain of said trees if he should happen to lash out at them. He was still in the forest, the dammed placed he'd rushed into so zealously three nights and a day prior to now, and having stumbled through the chaotic tangle in the dark, he was utterly lost in it by light.
At least, Marone attempted to roll the stiffness from his shoulders, no luck, It stopped raining.
He glanced quickly at the small patches of sky viable through the leaves to make sure the downpour had truly ended before, with a martyred sigh, dropping his gaze back to the earth. The bottoms of his feet were bleeding and he plucked a few goat head shaped burs from his toes wile muttering curses upon everything and anyone who was not him. After all, he'd clearly been dealt a low blow by fate,
"And other people," wincing as his feet throbbed and protested being covered in mire, "Should have to enjoy misfortune as well."
The notion sent a shudder through his wings and though he felt violated whenever they moved, seemingly by themselves, Marone resisted the constant urges he had to tear them from his back. Not that he had the mental strength nor constitution to do so, but he liked to believe that, if he truly wanted to be rid of them, he could cast them off as he would a scab. He also refused to fly with them but, then again, he also refused to call himself a "fairy" at this point.
Somewhere in the distance, Marone heard a long roll of thunder and swore to himself again.
Not that being stretched out across the cool mosses forest floor wasn't comfortable, what with it's thin layer of decomposing fallen canopy leaves and stubbornly budding lichens, but Marone was accustomed to his first coherent thought being about the ugliness of the decorum in his room or how he had to make various appointments with persons of importance in the following hours. Waking up to the dim shafts of overcast light and mildew dripping down the bridge of his nose was a unpleasant experience to say the least. The newly made Fae inhaled and blinked the overcast colored light from his vision before rolling over-- into the fungus speckled side of a fallen tree. Swearing, Marone reeled back, sitting up in the same motion, and tried to remember where exactly he was.
Of course he remembered what he was and how he had become that terrible, useless, pathetic something, but the days were beginning to blur into a single endless nightmare of the glowering bark of trees and feeling the pain of said trees if he should happen to lash out at them. He was still in the forest, the dammed placed he'd rushed into so zealously three nights and a day prior to now, and having stumbled through the chaotic tangle in the dark, he was utterly lost in it by light.
At least, Marone attempted to roll the stiffness from his shoulders, no luck, It stopped raining.
He glanced quickly at the small patches of sky viable through the leaves to make sure the downpour had truly ended before, with a martyred sigh, dropping his gaze back to the earth. The bottoms of his feet were bleeding and he plucked a few goat head shaped burs from his toes wile muttering curses upon everything and anyone who was not him. After all, he'd clearly been dealt a low blow by fate,
"And other people," wincing as his feet throbbed and protested being covered in mire, "Should have to enjoy misfortune as well."
The notion sent a shudder through his wings and though he felt violated whenever they moved, seemingly by themselves, Marone resisted the constant urges he had to tear them from his back. Not that he had the mental strength nor constitution to do so, but he liked to believe that, if he truly wanted to be rid of them, he could cast them off as he would a scab. He also refused to fly with them but, then again, he also refused to call himself a "fairy" at this point.
Somewhere in the distance, Marone heard a long roll of thunder and swore to himself again.