It&#x27;s coming.

Mmm, Chicken

Zenith was amused by the other’s negative reaction. Humans always seem to take things to heart and his human traits came out a lot more than his Demon traits. He barely looked Demon at all but he couldn’t see his face. Zenith wouldn’t demand for that however, knowing how intrusive it is.

The demon began to wonder why this guy was so shaky. It’s not every day that you see a demon, yeah, but there was nothing significant to be afraid of. The worst harm Zenith would do is a cut on the cheek to another demon. “Go?” he questioned. “And where would you go?” Zenith shrugged. Seriously, how could a demon survive for long in a human environment? This guy seems to have done it. Mostly.

They were starting to get some bystanders that Zenith shooed off. And away they went, all quite scared of the clawed hands motioning towards them.

Zenith thought for a moment with a hooked nail on his lip after all of the bystanders wandered off. “It’s not like you can control that you’re half human and half demon, so I’m not going to blame you for that. I blame your parents. Probably incubus like myself. Guess they didn’t know about things like condoms or birth control. ‘S not like I really know which parent was what but you make it all too obvious.” He pointed to himself. “Just don’t be like me and go out in the middle of the blue. But you don’t have dark blue skin so it doesn’t really matter much for you.”

Zenith noticed his ranting and brought his hood up to cover his face again. It was a good idea to conceal his identity after all of that.

Raven remained frozen perfectly in place. He didn't want to be hear listening to this, he didn't want to be anywhere right now, not after those words were dragged up again. Even less when he'd heard his parents blamed. It wasn't as if his father new anything of it; and no matter how cruel his mother had been he'd always loved her. Swallowing once more, his figure had begun to tremble. Even if these words weren't as hard digging as the previous he still hadn't quite recovered from the verbal stab.

There's a strained sob breaking through his lips before a hand can clap over his mouth, covering up a second when his shoulders shook with it. No, he most certainly didn't want to be here. He felt bile climbing in his throat already, while tears that his hand kept silence dripped from hair covered jaw to the ground below.

No, he had to go. He couldn't crumble in front of a stranger, let alone in front of a Demon.

Turning upon his heel, legs somewhat shaken along with the rest of him, Raven had staggered off into a run without so much as a word, coat whipping behind him while hood fell from his head, though he was far too distracted to notice-- It had occurred to him as he'd turned to run, after all, that if he didn't get off the sidewalk soon he'd be vomiting in the middle of the street.

Turning, he'd ducked down the first alley he'd reached, retching the very moment that he'd stopped, doubled over a trashcan with hands clasping and denting into it's edge, a sob choking itself off when stomach had decided to empty itself of it's minuscule contents.

#allofmyocsever

Mmm, Chicken

The male was asking for sympathy? He supposed it was not obvious he was a demon and he didn’t want to make too much of a scene. But there was no fun in that. Zenith walked back and removed his hood. Typically he would be wearing a smile, but right now he was quite serious which would be a bit odd to anyone who truly knew him. His dark skin blended into the darkness of the night. It was only illuminated by city lights and his own eyes. Some thought that they were unbearable to look at.

“You think sorry is enough, mortal?” As he walked closer to the other, the scent of demon became stronger. It was masked by his other half. He was a demi-demon. “Heh, what a dishonor. A half-demon, half-human has no place among the humans or even among demons. No wonder you don’t show your face.”

"I-I..." Again his voice refused to work. His heart that already pounded at thrice the rate of a humans only racing harder when the other neared, Raven automatically glancing up from beneath the bangs that covered his features. Initially he'd found relief in hearing the word 'mortal' in reference to himself. Perhaps he'd actually get away with this. He swallowed, meeting the other's eyes with his own hidden pair for just a few seconds before they were focused upon his feet, hands clenching into fists tight enough to draw a small squeak from the leather that contained them.

Panic first, a stab next that drew his chest tight and left him breathless.

Apparently he would not be getting away with this at all; and if he did, he wasn't sure that he felt like it anymore, even if fear drove him otherwise.

"Mh.." His head lowered further not out of fear this time, but to let the few strands of hair that were tucked behind his ear to fall forwards until the entirety of his face had been covered, teeth sinking hard enough to his own lower lips to draw blood while a long-lost sting returned to dampening eyes. He knew all of what the other said already, and he would have much rather not been reminded of it. He'd had enough of the reminders as a boy. "I-I'd like it go if.. if that's.. possible..." So few words it took, but the stranger had hit the nail on the head as far as hurting Raven had gone.

What was it his mother had said to him so often as a boy?

'You've no place here, mongrel.' 'Filthy mistake.' 'You've no idea how ashamed I am of you.''

#allofmyocsever

Mmm, Chicken

The demon was strolling through the city streets, minding his own business. He had a trench coat on that dragged on the ground a little. None of his face was showing but there was a little light coming from his hood. The source of the light was his eyes. They were pure white, very unlike his dark heart.

Zenith thought about his next victim just as he rubbed shoulders with someone. He looked back at the other male. Their skin didn’t touch so it was hard to tell who or even what this guy was. He sensed demon, but it was far too overwhelmed by human scents. It didn’t take long for the demon to form a sentence.

"Watch where you’re going or next time you’ll become Satan’s dinner." It didn’t come off nearly as intimidating as he wanted it to be.

Raven as usual paid very little attention to where he was going-- He never had, and never would, so he wasn't all that surprised when someone met his shoulder. He had intended on simply continuing his aimless walk; at least, until his attention was caught in the most unexpected of ways.

It wasn't the other's words, or appearance that caught it. He was far too used to oddities, so threatening words or dragging trench coats weren't something he'd even look twice at-- That scent however, had him immediately turning upon his heel and freezing in place at a second confirming breath. That scent was undeniably demon; a full one at that. It had to have been years now since he'd last come across a full blooded Demon, and the last few times certainly hadn't been pleasant experiences.

'Please don't notice...'

"I--" He wanted to speak, but his voice didn't seem so happy in being compliant, at least, not for a few moments, not until his head lowered, hiding even that single third of his face that was left on display beneath the rest covered by hair, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you there..."

At least it was better than nothing.

#allofmyocsever

imonmywaytofreedom-archive-blog

{ Open day || Closed AU }

Freedom quickly finished all of the paperwork, used to filling out so many papers. It was practically his job after all. The only hard part was that no one there knew that he didn’t have a last name. So Free just put a line in the last name box.

When he felt the boy hung his leg, Free simply looked down with a smile and pat his head. It would be nice to see the boy outgrow him. Even if it did hurt a little. He would quickly get used to Raven at home and having some other company around. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind that he’d be away for long hours during the day. Work could either be overnight or until noon that day. “You’re gonna have to be back here by tonight, so let’s go quick!” Free headed out and went towards his house.

Having been more used to quite than speech Raven found himself a little glad that the 'angel' didn't leave room for him to reply; he was quite happy to simply follow along, and so that was precisely what he did.

As soon as Free was out of the door, Raven was chasing along after the other figure, reaching up to hold his sleeve just in case he fell behind. He didn't feel like getting lost today. Usually he would already be attempting to vanish from sight if this was just another of the orphanage's outings, but since that wasn't the case, since he was actually somewhat comfortable with Free, he'd been rather excited to see what the other's house was like.

"Papa Free... is your house big?" He'd asked just loud enough to be heard as one small hand pushed up the over sized glasses over his eyes that had slipped somewhat with his quickened pace.

#imonmywaytofreedom

welcometothepetshop

This person right here is awesome. Like rly awesome. I freaking love them and they are just generally amazing. And if you don’t know them, you’re majorly missing out. Just so ya’ll know.

#thats one note

✝ ( I warn you now that I'll probs reply to this. )

Memory: Festé, aged 32 (Almost 2 years ago).

A month ago the household was put out of it’s misery at long last. Though I find it bitterly ironic that being put out of the continuous misery of apprehension has thrown us all into the misery of grief. Alas, the Count hath dearly departed and yet I cannot mourn him. I wish so much to grieve and yet there is no doubt a melancholy fool is naught but contemptuous in the surrounding gaze of my colleagues and those above me. I continue to jest as always, though my wit turns sour in my mouth and my merry songs melt away into ballads on the page. If I cannot openly mourn my dear Master, what more can I do than mourn in my private and seek solace within a glass ?? I received a beating from a foreign Duke the other day after supposedly humiliating him in front of his guests. I was singing for him at a celebratory dinner when my mind inadvertently turned to tender thoughts regarding the loss of my dear Master and thus momentarily lost my composure. It was brief enough to go unnoticed, however, it was enough to loose my place in the song. In between the sharp strikes of a cane, he told me that my recommendation to him was no more than work of fiction. Though that wouldn’t happened if the Count were still here. The dear Count…the world already seems a little more frightening without him in it. My dearest Master, to have and to hold, departed this day, one month ago.

May he rest in peace.

*A smile crept across Festé’s lips, though it was one of warmth as opposed to his usual mischievous grin. This gesture from the other was really quite unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome. He chuckled softly and returned the hug by draping his hands over the arms that embraced him and gave a slight squeeze of his own* You’re too kind, my dear man, especially to the likes of myself, the household fool. I shall keep this most obliging offer in mind, I promise. *Festé was not sure if his pride would allow him to burden another with his grief, especially as he was so used to suppressing it, though he had a sentiment that the offer alone would make for a good coping mechanism. Festé was happy in his life and despite having seen some riff-raff in his time, he had the ability to simply laugh in the face of unpleasant memories and see the best in his hardships, though the death of his Master on the other hand, was the one that seemed to permanently hang over him. He sighed wistfully and turned his head slightly on Raven’s shoulder to cast him a smile* I am most grateful for your sympathy, Raven, I really am, but please…you understand that it is not an issue that needs to become common knowledge ?? My private grief is not a public affair.

"I'd never go spreading someone else's affairs around." He promised with his own half-smile towards the fool. If there was one thing he would never do, it was gossip. "Besides, it's not as if I have anyone to tell even if I did plan on it, so you can relax. You've situation to match my words." Head leaning itself aside he'd almost childishly let his cheek rest against the fool's own, keeping his arms in place for just a few moments more before finally loosening his grip into a simple draping of limbs that would at last allow Festé to move away if he wished to, or remain if he would rather, "It's knowledge that's safe with me, I swear it on my father's grave." He'd muttered with that half-smile fading into a calmer expression, resisting the natural urge to sway with the returned hold.

#thewittyfool

✝ ( I warn you now that I'll probs reply to this. )

Memory: Festé, aged 32 (Almost 2 years ago).

A month ago the household was put out of it’s misery at long last. Though I find it bitterly ironic that being put out of the continuous misery of apprehension has thrown us all into the misery of grief. Alas, the Count hath dearly departed and yet I cannot mourn him. I wish so much to grieve and yet there is no doubt a melancholy fool is naught but contemptuous in the surrounding gaze of my colleagues and those above me. I continue to jest as always, though my wit turns sour in my mouth and my merry songs melt away into ballads on the page. If I cannot openly mourn my dear Master, what more can I do than mourn in my private and seek solace within a glass ?? I received a beating from a foreign Duke the other day after supposedly humiliating him in front of his guests. I was singing for him at a celebratory dinner when my mind inadvertently turned to tender thoughts regarding the loss of my dear Master and thus momentarily lost my composure. It was brief enough to go unnoticed, however, it was enough to loose my place in the song. In between the sharp strikes of a cane, he told me that my recommendation to him was no more than work of fiction. Though that wouldn’t happened if the Count were still here. The dear Count…the world already seems a little more frightening without him in it. My dearest Master, to have and to hold, departed this day, one month ago.

May he rest in peace.

Then who, fellow ?? Someone you know, a friend perhaps ?? *The fool inquired, looking all the more confused. Though when Raven began to explain, a sneaking suspicion began to loom in the fool’s mind upon the mention of ‘the book’, followed by the use of the word ‘pry’. This suspicion was then confirmed with Raven’s final words and the fool exhaled. Festé had a reputation to uphold as Illyria’s merry jester, thus the darker side of his life was one he wished to expose. Though in a way, he appreciated Raven’s condolences, after all, it was something he craved when in the height of his grief. He sat in a moments silence before chuckling softly* Ah…my Master, you mean. Aye, he left almost two years ago now…well, I guess you know… *He gave a slightly saddened smile as he recalled the memory, leaning back to rest his head on Raven’s shoulder* I really should find a better place to put that thing… But thank you all the same.

Without a thought he moved to tighten his arms once more when Festé's head came to rest against his shoulder. There was a faint lining of regret at mentioning his findings beginning to line his stomach, though more than that he found himself thankful for the reaction. If he could do no more for the man, he was at least relieved he was able to do something he had always wished someone would do for him. Grief going untended was a terrible thing, he knew that well and certainly could never leave a friend to go through it alone-- regardless of the time that had passed for the other, Raven knew just as well that if anything grief only built with time, rather than subduing itself, "You don't need to thank me Festé, I'm here, alright? I know it's been a good while since then, but if you ever want a chance to let it out I'm here. Just promise me that you'll keep that in mind." Gods, he hoped that didn't sound like he was pushing, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

#thewittyfool

✝ ( I warn you now that I'll probs reply to this. )

Memory: Festé, aged 32 (Almost 2 years ago).

A month ago the household was put out of it’s misery at long last. Though I find it bitterly ironic that being put out of the continuous misery of apprehension has thrown us all into the misery of grief. Alas, the Count hath dearly departed and yet I cannot mourn him. I wish so much to grieve and yet there is no doubt a melancholy fool is naught but contemptuous in the surrounding gaze of my colleagues and those above me. I continue to jest as always, though my wit turns sour in my mouth and my merry songs melt away into ballads on the page. If I cannot openly mourn my dear Master, what more can I do than mourn in my private and seek solace within a glass ?? I received a beating from a foreign Duke the other day after supposedly humiliating him in front of his guests. I was singing for him at a celebratory dinner when my mind inadvertently turned to tender thoughts regarding the loss of my dear Master and thus momentarily lost my composure. It was brief enough to go unnoticed, however, it was enough to loose my place in the song. In between the sharp strikes of a cane, he told me that my recommendation to him was no more than work of fiction. Though that wouldn’t happened if the Count were still here. The dear Count…the world already seems a little more frightening without him in it. My dearest Master, to have and to hold, departed this day, one month ago.

May he rest in peace.

*Festé furrowed his eyebrows, his expression becoming all the more quizzical* Oh, is that so ?? Well my good man, I’m very curious to know makes me an exception to this rule ?? If this is by way of coaxing me into offering my services free or making a deduction on the price, then I can tell you now that it won’t work. *He teased, a grin working it’s way across his lips. Though his expression changed slightly as Raven maintained the embrace and proceed to momentarily tighten it, almost as if Raven were trying to comfort him, though he knew not why. Though it was clear that Raven was completely earnest in his actions. He furrowed his eyebrows in mild concern* Are you quite sure there’s nothing bothering you, fellow ?? *He delivered another friendly pat to Raven’s arm* Is there something I can do to assist in easing your pains ??

#thewittyfool #he feels so bad for looking but he feels even worse for festy ugh can i just smoosh them together why is this so adorable

"It isn't me that needs pains easing." He stated quietly in response to the other's words, still refusing to ease out of the hug just yet. Of course, his words probably weren't entirely true. After all, he knew from his own experiences what the other must have gone through, or at least something similar to it. He did, however, raise his head, sighing as he tried to find the words to explain, "I've been learning to read recently, teaching myself how, so whenever I see books I've gotten into the habit of picking them up to read even just a sentence-- And your book, it was in with all the others, I never meant to pry or anything, I promise I didn't, but..." He shook his head. He may be getting better at reading, but his use of language to get his point across was still as terrible as ever. Instead, he settled on a simple apology, or at least, as simple as he could manage to make it, "I'm sorry you had to go through that, when the Count.. passed on."

✝ ( I warn you now that I'll probs reply to this. )

Memory: Festé, aged 32 (Almost 2 years ago).

A month ago the household was put out of it’s misery at long last. Though I find it bitterly ironic that being put out of the continuous misery of apprehension has thrown us all into the misery of grief. Alas, the Count hath dearly departed and yet I cannot mourn him. I wish so much to grieve and yet there is no doubt a melancholy fool is naught but contemptuous in the surrounding gaze of my colleagues and those above me. I continue to jest as always, though my wit turns sour in my mouth and my merry songs melt away into ballads on the page. If I cannot openly mourn my dear Master, what more can I do than mourn in my private and seek solace within a glass ?? I received a beating from a foreign Duke the other day after supposedly humiliating him in front of his guests. I was singing for him at a celebratory dinner when my mind inadvertently turned to tender thoughts regarding the loss of my dear Master and thus momentarily lost my composure. It was brief enough to go unnoticed, however, it was enough to loose my place in the song. In between the sharp strikes of a cane, he told me that my recommendation to him was no more than work of fiction. Though that wouldn’t happened if the Count were still here. The dear Count…the world already seems a little more frightening without him in it. My dearest Master, to have and to hold, departed this day, one month ago.

May he rest in peace.

*Festé blinked as he felt a pair of arms wrap around him in a comfortable embrace. He looked up from the sheet music he was presently composing and turned his head -as much as the embrace would allow him- to discover the identity of the other presence behind him, giving a slightly quizzical smile* Oh…hello there. Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Do you always go around giving people phantom hugs ?? *He chuckled and set down his quill to pat Raven’s arm in return, completely oblivious to what the other had just found* Is something the matter, dear fellow ??

#thewittyfool #raven is just lkfdjhgkjhcmereletmeloveyouitsokayshhh

In response to the latter of the two questions Raven gave a shake of his head, though looping backwards as he so often did to the former question next, "No, actually I don't hug. Only a few people get to be an exception to that rule." He'd muttered while keeping his arms around the fool, his head lowering to rest on the other's shoulder. He'd very much wished in that moment that he was actually good with words, but unfortunately that was not the case. He'd very much wished he had any way to explain, really. Instead, he simply sighed and remained in place, his arms giving a slight squeeze.

vederlicht

I clearly need to practice drawing both of these characters…

#reblogging for kevin because oh my gOD YES MY BBY #wtnv

✝ ( I warn you now that I'll probs reply to this. )

Memory: Festé, aged 32 (Almost 2 years ago).

A month ago the household was put out of it’s misery at long last. Though I find it bitterly ironic that being put out of the continuous misery of apprehension has thrown us all into the misery of grief. Alas, the Count hath dearly departed and yet I cannot mourn him. I wish so much to grieve and yet there is no doubt a melancholy fool is naught but contemptuous in the surrounding gaze of my colleagues and those above me. I continue to jest as always, though my wit turns sour in my mouth and my merry songs melt away into ballads on the page. If I cannot openly mourn my dear Master, what more can I do than mourn in my private and seek solace within a glass ?? I received a beating from a foreign Duke the other day after supposedly humiliating him in front of his guests. I was singing for him at a celebratory dinner when my mind inadvertently turned to tender thoughts regarding the loss of my dear Master and thus momentarily lost my composure. It was brief enough to go unnoticed, however, it was enough to loose my place in the song. In between the sharp strikes of a cane, he told me that my recommendation to him was no more than work of fiction. Though that wouldn’t happened if the Count were still here. The dear Count…the world already seems a little more frightening without him in it. My dearest Master, to have and to hold, departed this day, one month ago.

May he rest in peace.