voodoo child

Icarus Vonecci had not met his children. He had seen glimpses of them when they were whelps, but he had left before they had truly known a real father. Duty had demanded him. It was the lie he told to himself, over and over. The phrase was burned into his mind like a hot iron. It was fleshy, pink, and angry. Every blink of his eyes reminded him of his failings. His failings to everyone that had ever associated with him, everyone that had ever tried to make him into something better. From those lands he had fled, pushing himself further and further away from the family that lay behind. Away from the guilt that dug wicked nails deep into his breast. But Icarus was not strong enough mentally to acknowledge his mistakes. They were no corporeal being that could be challenged in battle. They could not be beaten back with any amount of ferocity.



But as the silver mercenary turned his body to face the one who had been following him all this way, his mind could not be ready for that which faced him. Burning eyes greeted the beast which stood lurking in the underbrush of the woods. Although the boy did not even look like him or his kin, Icarus knew - looking deep in the eys of the boy - that they were related. His facial features were keen and determined. The boy was colored a pale russet, but the eyes screamed with the charm of one who was green and wet behind the ears. They were the eyes of one who was wholeheartedly determined. He could not be returned to whence he came. Icarus felt he was looking into a pool of water. And the words that dropped from the stranger's mouth were even more peculiar. It seems you haven't changed, father. What brings you all the way out here? For the first time in many years, Icarus hadl ost his ability for speech. The realization had left him reeling. The man opened his mouth, but words would not fall from them.



Just sniffing the flowers. That's what old people do, right? His voice was without affect. It contained the same traits as it always did - the smile curving each and every syllable into amusement. But within the man's chest, his guilt seemed to have caught up to him. Deep in him it wailed and screamed. Claws dragged their way across his belly. Icarus was guilt-ridden, but the thought that he was affected by the sight of his son seemed distant on the surface. His eyes burned with an all-seeing gaze, the hint of a smile dancing on his face. So who told you to seek me out? The words came out slightly harsher than the man intended. He wanted to lash out at something, stuck as he was under the thumb of anxiety. He wanted to leave.