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Posted: Tue Jul 14, 2015 7:59 am
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They had their blood, their pain, their tears--no screams, impressively enough--but Gir wanted the kill. He had been denied a taste of the monster's Fear during the all-too-brief skirmish, and he wanted more.
Evan was usually inclined to give Gir what he wanted when it came to dealing with their prey, but they had something better than the momentary satisfaction of watching a creature dissipate and knowing that they were the cause of it. They had souvenirs. He tried to convey the importance of that to his weapon as he dismissed it over Gir's outraged and indignant howls.
Whatever, Evan thought at him, far too used to the ruckus to be swayed by it, and bent to pick up the whole and undamaged wing. It was lighter than it looked and sat in his hand much like a kite, just waiting for a strong breeze to pick it up and carry it off.
The other wing, the broken one, crumbled further when he tried to take it, and Evan felt a momentary flash of anger that manifested as a soccer kick to the already beaten monster's ribs. He had hoped for a matched set, but he would have to make do with the one.
Wordlessly, he turned and left the mess he had made of the room and the creature, more than happy to let it bleed out now that he had been denied his trophies but already thinking about what he would do with the one he had. Maybe he would present it to Sasha as a gift, or give it to Ami for whatever spooky Life research she did that he didn't want to know about. Maybe he would pin it on the wall of his room--start a collection. He had never seen the point of collecting insects before, but now he thought he was starting to see the appeal.
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Posted: Wed Jul 15, 2015 6:04 am
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Marosa didn't have the strength to speak, but somehow he had managed to salvage what little of his wings were left, putting them carefully into his belt pouch.
He blacked out for a few moments at a time, terribly glad that nothing else came... but he listened. His heart was pounding and making everything seem louder than it actually was, and with each painstaking moment he thought everything was okay, and safe for the moment, the faerie pulled himself a few feet before collapsing and trying not to make any noise, lest he let something - or someone - else know he was here.
Rinse, repeat. Listen... drag.
The gancanagh somehow managed to find himself at the entrance of the haunted house, half hanging off of the steps and wondering how he'd gotten there so fast, not realizing how much time had actually passed in the moments after the hunter had left him to his pain.
He'd been an utter fool and imbecile. It had been a foolhardy action to try to go after the hunter alone, to attempt to prove himself... hadn't he done that when he was a first year, running headlong into the dragon with Sharra watching the entire time?
He hadn't learned his lesson then, but it was sinking in rather deep now. Shaky hands found his skellyphone, but his vision was too blurred to see who he was calling on his contacts list; the phone slipped from his bloodied fingers, landing on a step below his head. Marosa tried to squint to see who he was calling, and vaguely heard an answer, but he didn't have enough energy to answer.
Just ragged breathing, and then everything went black again.
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