Common Vani Nari
89th of Summer, 513
Midnight
Too much too soon. This was all happening too fast. It was so fast, he was stuck lingering between fantasy and realty, not sure which to side with. Blood, sweat, and tears smeared his face like cake. Jolts and aches of pain shot through his muscles while memories, terror, and shock attacked his head. He didn't know what to think, only what to feel. Lost, alone, and sorrow.
Gale limped slowly down the alleys of the city. Moans and sobs were confused with each other even to his own ears. Pushing off of walls with one hand, the man made sure to hold tight to the furry mass in his other. He didn't dare let it go. Didn't dare loosen his grip.
The Zeltivan lifted his eyes up from the ground and looked down the streets. His mind took it's time trying to push past the fresh images and pull up the memories of the way home. Back to Ricky's place. Ricky's place... Ricky would be home. Ricky would help him. Ricky would help... "Riiicky." A soft word between his whimpers. The long trail home had depleted his eyes and they were no longer able to form tears. Nevertheless, the blonde mourned as he turned a corner, not sure if it was the right turn. "Ricky." Another soft plea, wishing he would appear. But he didn't. He was still inside. Probably asleep. After all, it was late.
Blue eyes looked up at the dim sky. The moon shined brightly, high in the sky, lighting his path enough to allow the exhausted man see his way, which he was thankful for. Whoever the God was that was in charge of it would be thanked. But now wasn't the time for such things. He needed to get home. Returning his line of sight to the path ahead, the familiar roads told him he was close. Just around the corner.
Gale made the mistake of trying to quicken his pace, which was rewarded with a painful sting around the deep holes in his leg. Gasping in surprise, then whimpering more. There was a long pause before his next step, but bearing through it, the artist continued with gritted teeth. Thankfully, it didn't take long after that for him to reach the door. His forehead and hands made contact first, placed on the wood harshly with a thud. Weary from the travel, the widower remained there for several chimes. Catching his breath if you would.
Looking at the ground for that time, the pessimist's gazed turned to the head in his hand. The jaw lolled open, showing the yellow teeth and pink, rough tongue. Eyes wide open with the pupils dilated. It's dark fur matted with just as much blood as Gale was. Though, it's blood had drained during the walk, and what was left was dried. The man had a mixture of the two. While most of it had dried, the wounds still bleed, though it wasn't entirely serious. At least he hoped. With his eyebrows furrowing, the man muttered through his gritted teeth,"I hate dogs." The door was opened and he stumbled in. "Ricky!" Able to call louder this time.
Fatigue took it's toll and the injured man collapsed to his knees, the mutt head escaping his grasp and rolling a few paces away. He could feel everything. Every bite that dotted his arms and legs. Every scratch that slashed his face and body. Every step he took on his way home. The only response it got was a tired moan and the blonde falling the rest of the way to the floor and on his back. "Help." Another mumble.
Midnight
Too much too soon. This was all happening too fast. It was so fast, he was stuck lingering between fantasy and realty, not sure which to side with. Blood, sweat, and tears smeared his face like cake. Jolts and aches of pain shot through his muscles while memories, terror, and shock attacked his head. He didn't know what to think, only what to feel. Lost, alone, and sorrow.
Gale limped slowly down the alleys of the city. Moans and sobs were confused with each other even to his own ears. Pushing off of walls with one hand, the man made sure to hold tight to the furry mass in his other. He didn't dare let it go. Didn't dare loosen his grip.
The Zeltivan lifted his eyes up from the ground and looked down the streets. His mind took it's time trying to push past the fresh images and pull up the memories of the way home. Back to Ricky's place. Ricky's place... Ricky would be home. Ricky would help him. Ricky would help... "Riiicky." A soft word between his whimpers. The long trail home had depleted his eyes and they were no longer able to form tears. Nevertheless, the blonde mourned as he turned a corner, not sure if it was the right turn. "Ricky." Another soft plea, wishing he would appear. But he didn't. He was still inside. Probably asleep. After all, it was late.
Blue eyes looked up at the dim sky. The moon shined brightly, high in the sky, lighting his path enough to allow the exhausted man see his way, which he was thankful for. Whoever the God was that was in charge of it would be thanked. But now wasn't the time for such things. He needed to get home. Returning his line of sight to the path ahead, the familiar roads told him he was close. Just around the corner.
Gale made the mistake of trying to quicken his pace, which was rewarded with a painful sting around the deep holes in his leg. Gasping in surprise, then whimpering more. There was a long pause before his next step, but bearing through it, the artist continued with gritted teeth. Thankfully, it didn't take long after that for him to reach the door. His forehead and hands made contact first, placed on the wood harshly with a thud. Weary from the travel, the widower remained there for several chimes. Catching his breath if you would.
Looking at the ground for that time, the pessimist's gazed turned to the head in his hand. The jaw lolled open, showing the yellow teeth and pink, rough tongue. Eyes wide open with the pupils dilated. It's dark fur matted with just as much blood as Gale was. Though, it's blood had drained during the walk, and what was left was dried. The man had a mixture of the two. While most of it had dried, the wounds still bleed, though it wasn't entirely serious. At least he hoped. With his eyebrows furrowing, the man muttered through his gritted teeth,"I hate dogs." The door was opened and he stumbled in. "Ricky!" Able to call louder this time.
Fatigue took it's toll and the injured man collapsed to his knees, the mutt head escaping his grasp and rolling a few paces away. He could feel everything. Every bite that dotted his arms and legs. Every scratch that slashed his face and body. Every step he took on his way home. The only response it got was a tired moan and the blonde falling the rest of the way to the floor and on his back. "Help." Another mumble.