[Is it strange to feel a sense of nostalgia for something that isn't real? It's a question that Deucalion has found himself thinking far too many times, the concrete of the rooftop settling under his feet once again, the wind whipping around his face. The temptation is to walk to the edge, as it always is, and he follows it, looking down on distant tarmac that he could almost call familiar for how many times he'd hit it.
If it was real.]
No one can tell you how, I'm afraid. Your limitations are your own to break.
[His voice is smooth, calm, invoking certainty even if his words lack anything as overt as encouragement. Training - guiding - is a role he'd fallen into reluctantly, all the mistakes in his past, but it still fits easily.]
It's time to jump.
reality
[The dancing doesn't appeal to him. He stays long enough to watch, the impressive visual of the cavern filled to the brim, just how many bodies make up the population of this city. But the heat and the beat drive him away, as if could still imagine how it might be, the scent of so many people pressed so close together, the drums deadening sensitive ears.
He works his way back, through the tunnels, up level after level to the dock. It's not unmanned, not even now, on a day of celebration. But there's something quieter in looking out, knowing most are deep under his feet. Looking up, the high dome of the cavern's ceiling.
Sight still feels like a gift, the short amount of time he'd had it restored before being pulled free meaning nearly nothing to all the years before. But there's no sky to see here, no rain, no green left alive. He must be mad to still think there's anything wolf under his skin, but it claws at him sometimes, an itch like an instinct choked and caged.]
DEUCALION | teen wolf
[Is it strange to feel a sense of nostalgia for something that isn't real? It's a question that Deucalion has found himself thinking far too many times, the concrete of the rooftop settling under his feet once again, the wind whipping around his face. The temptation is to walk to the edge, as it always is, and he follows it, looking down on distant tarmac that he could almost call familiar for how many times he'd hit it.
If it was real.]
No one can tell you how, I'm afraid. Your limitations are your own to break.
[His voice is smooth, calm, invoking certainty even if his words lack anything as overt as encouragement. Training - guiding - is a role he'd fallen into reluctantly, all the mistakes in his past, but it still fits easily.]
It's time to jump.
reality
[The dancing doesn't appeal to him. He stays long enough to watch, the impressive visual of the cavern filled to the brim, just how many bodies make up the population of this city. But the heat and the beat drive him away, as if could still imagine how it might be, the scent of so many people pressed so close together, the drums deadening sensitive ears.
He works his way back, through the tunnels, up level after level to the dock. It's not unmanned, not even now, on a day of celebration. But there's something quieter in looking out, knowing most are deep under his feet. Looking up, the high dome of the cavern's ceiling.
Sight still feels like a gift, the short amount of time he'd had it restored before being pulled free meaning nearly nothing to all the years before. But there's no sky to see here, no rain, no green left alive. He must be mad to still think there's anything wolf under his skin, but it claws at him sometimes, an itch like an instinct choked and caged.]