Letting Go [Joining/open]

N/A · 03-26-2013, 01:16 PM

Ifrit was not the man he probably should have been in the world he had entered, and to be honest he had long sense begun to grasp that very concept. He knew that everywhere he went, he was out of place. To look at, he was a monster of incredibly proportion, thew bubbling at every crevice of his firm body, and fiery eyes that seemed to burn on his skull so vibrantly. Though, those things, they were so archaic...they didn't really seem to make him pop as much in these lands as they had in Lithium. It was when his lips parted, it was when words exploded, it was much more than just the shady accent. It was the words he spoke, the lost, indifference. There was something tainted in his heart, something that would never be redeemed, and there was no trial that would merely fix things. He was a damaged soul. A man that had long ago chosen his road and long ago decided it would not be something of light, but something of darkness. Now, only after he had usurped his youth, his prime, had he decided a chance was needed. Inevitable almost. Was the will there? He wanted it to be, but even he could not answer such a trivial question.

Her head was pressed against his head and he had to wonder exactly what he was supposed to do. He didn't understand how to caudal someone when they were upset, he didn't understand sympathy...empathy. Perhaps it made him less of a man than what he thought he was, but to him, it was too different. To him tears were meant only when on the verge of death, and he had no grasp on showing anything for anyone. He was truly, and only, the kind of wolf to walk through hell with a smile. He did things for his pride, and that was it. Yet, here, these lands, this world. It was so different to his eyes. There was a new cause to serve, and while he wasn't sure what it was quite yet. He knew that with time he had to do something to change the things he fought for before. He was a champion for taking lives in Lithium. Now he had to be a champion for those that needed a champion.

Her words would dance across his ears and the older man would look down at her, "I weesh I knew whoot to see, eensomunia, boot, I do not. I aim incapeeable, and I don't theenk eet eese I ye shood be putteeng so mooch troost in," His eyes would dance to the side and he fight to avoid her. He had no way of helping her. No ability to do so, and yet, a small part of his heart felt the need to help her. How could he help so one when there was no way for him to know? What could he have done to better things for her? Nothing. He truly was incapeable.

Speech,

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