#thread: searching

[cursedsorcerer-blog]

@atherissquamigera |

The night washed over the dense forest, leaving the alchemist in a state of near blindness. His only source of light was the full moon peeking through the openings of the trees.

He had been injured, or rather, his body was injuring him. Curse that Renfred. Ever since he ran into him that day, his regeneration had not been working the same way and every arm he had used simply rotted away. 

Joseph clenched his teeth, why couldn’t the pain just go away? Surely there was something out there that could help it.

“Ah... Why was I out here again?” He brought his hand to his head and squeezed, as if that would make him recall. Of course it didn’t help. For some type of animal, perhaps?

“I suppose I should head back...” Joseph muttered, while beginning to walk. However, he stayed cautious in these woods, especially since he swore he could feel eyes on him.

[theboyinthehoodie-archive]

searching

His dad went missing on a Sunday. They were close to the border, the disputed border, between California and Oregon.

When he decided to go after him they refused. They told him it was stupid. Dangerous. They told him his dad was dead, or captured and soon to be dead. Only Scott had backed him. Which was of course why he'd snuck out of camp and left Scott behind.

Because they were right. Chances were he was going to get caught and killed. That he'd never find his dad. But he had to try.

He was a good scout. Fast, even though he was sometimes clumsy. And there had been a time when quiet wasn't really his thing. But he was better at that now. Better. But obviously off his game because as night fell- and he should have made camp, he knew that, but his dad- he fell right into the trap, head over feet.

Arm aching, ankle twisted, blood on his forehead, he sat at the bottom of the hole and stared up at the sky. Trying to regain his bearings.

[roryalfonso]

searching

When Rory arrived at the party he decided that, rather than immediately approaching any of the other partygoers, he would take his time and look around a bit. He’d often found that sticking to the edges and keeping one’s eyes peeled offered greater benefits than thrusting oneself directly into the tangle of conversation. The club itself was beautiful; though it didn’t quite match Rory’s aesthetic sensibilities, he could easily understand the design and how it would appeal to a specific portion of Chicago’s elite.

That appeal was not restricted to decor, however. The free flow of alcohol and the steady stream of beautiful people circulating through the room spoke of an opulence which was difficult to find in this day and age. Rory had to commend the owner – Sandy, that was his name, right? – on what was clearly going to be a successful business. A server passed him with a tray of sparkling liquids housed in delicate crystal and Rory reached out to take one. He brought the drink to his lips he continued to wind his way through the building, his eyes wide and bright, on the lookout for anything particularly interesting.