*Arthur stumbled forward, tripping over himself as he tried to traverse the rough landscape.*
"Arthur! get a fucking hold of yourself, I don't think we're being chased anymore!"
That doesn't mean whatever it was isn't still searching for us, we need to create distance damnit!
"I understand that fully well, but you hurt your ankle on that lip you tumbled down. At least let me get a look at it! To your right, theres some sort of awning, it appears to be made of rock, we can stop there."
Fine. But we're not staying long.
*Arthur started to make his way over, trying not to put too much weight on the one ankle.*
-🎤💛 ( @rp-sideblog-incorporated )
*When John wakes it's to a lot of noise ripping through the silence. He has tucked himself away in bones and rock for months now,only leaving his dreaded,half made structure of remains and dirt for hunts and fits of rage.
But something has wandered its way in and he finds he recognizes the voices that echo. The smell of blood from an injury that tickles his nose. His golden eyes open in the dark,long limbs dragging him out of the alcove he tucks himself away in,dragging his body from the embrace of arm bones and shattered fingers. He's been watching from the dark for a long time. The other is blind and he has the advantage.
He doesn't leave the dark yet,black fur blending into it perfectly,leaving him unclear and hidden to at least the other him. But his voice would no doubt give him away.*
"Arthur Lester"
*When the name leaves his mouth his jaws salivate. His hands grip the dirt. Rage boils in his belly. The bones in this place scream at him to end this man where he stands. But he waits. Because he wants to see him look at him. Wants to hear his voice scream at him. Wants a reason to pounce in this one moment where he's been caught off guard enough to not jump into his bloodlust.*