07-01-2016, 09:29 PM
Gamzee didn’t dream that night. Strange, really, all things considering. Hella crazy shit, like that branding process, that usually provokes some biznasty nightmares. Thoughts, all up and bubblin’ and toilin’ till they make a dream. Weird, ain’t it? Lying in a hay bed, staring up at empty, wooden rafters, the clown boy would lick his wrist where the mystical brand now resides. Apparently, this little squiggly thingy held untold reservoirs of sick magicks.
He couldn’t deny it- Gamzee was excited. He always held the magic that some of his friends could weild in a surreal sense of wonder. Magic is simply miracles embodied, after all. It was a miracle in its own right that he managed to fall asleep.
When the sun rose, so did Strazio Rockwell. Gamzee, on the other hand, got out of bed at about the same speed of the rising sun.
“C’mon, loser, get up. The sun says it’s a good day for a hunt.”
“You can’t even SEE the sun Strawso!” The sleeping fool moaned, his face buried in a not-so-soft pillow.
Strazio muttered something and grabbed the alien by his collar, yanking his face away from the deer skin pillow.
“Really, get your lazy ass up. We’ve got a lot of things to do today. Magic is one of them. The mess you got us into is another.”
Through a delirious giggle, the budding mage rolls off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor with a creaking thud. “Mages can’t be lazy, my dude?”
“No, no they cannot. Get ready, we’re about to move out,” commanded the commander.
Complaining about not getting breakfast only got terse rebuttals about how they would ‘find food.’
Funny thing about being tired; time slowly begins to cease existing. One minute, you’re in a stranger’s attic, gathering your senses for your next adventure and the next…
---
The woods are serene, yet solemn. Miraculous, yet dead. The flora and fauna of the Pale Moors all possess a sort of sad, decaying, or grim aura, possibly some combination of the three.
A rabbit darts out of sight into the cover of a hardy stretch of brush, no doubt inspired by the duo’s sudden presence. They walk down a beaten path, nigh impossible to see through all the dead, crispy leaves that had fallen from their twiggy cradles. One, solitary leaf flutters to its excruciating death, impaling itself on Gamzee’s right horn. He and his bestie crunch down the trail. One of them hasn’t the faintest idea of where they are headed. The other, however, doesn’t care where they are going.
He just cares about the motherfucking journey.
"So! What's first on the WereMagegenda, Strawso?"
Strazio Rockwell raises an eyebrow at his unlikely friend.
"Yanno, Werewolf and Mage Agenda. The motherfuckin' plan, my man?"
Riiiiighhhht.
He couldn’t deny it- Gamzee was excited. He always held the magic that some of his friends could weild in a surreal sense of wonder. Magic is simply miracles embodied, after all. It was a miracle in its own right that he managed to fall asleep.
When the sun rose, so did Strazio Rockwell. Gamzee, on the other hand, got out of bed at about the same speed of the rising sun.
“C’mon, loser, get up. The sun says it’s a good day for a hunt.”
“You can’t even SEE the sun Strawso!” The sleeping fool moaned, his face buried in a not-so-soft pillow.
Strazio muttered something and grabbed the alien by his collar, yanking his face away from the deer skin pillow.
“Really, get your lazy ass up. We’ve got a lot of things to do today. Magic is one of them. The mess you got us into is another.”
Through a delirious giggle, the budding mage rolls off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor with a creaking thud. “Mages can’t be lazy, my dude?”
“No, no they cannot. Get ready, we’re about to move out,” commanded the commander.
Complaining about not getting breakfast only got terse rebuttals about how they would ‘find food.’
Funny thing about being tired; time slowly begins to cease existing. One minute, you’re in a stranger’s attic, gathering your senses for your next adventure and the next…
---
The woods are serene, yet solemn. Miraculous, yet dead. The flora and fauna of the Pale Moors all possess a sort of sad, decaying, or grim aura, possibly some combination of the three.
A rabbit darts out of sight into the cover of a hardy stretch of brush, no doubt inspired by the duo’s sudden presence. They walk down a beaten path, nigh impossible to see through all the dead, crispy leaves that had fallen from their twiggy cradles. One, solitary leaf flutters to its excruciating death, impaling itself on Gamzee’s right horn. He and his bestie crunch down the trail. One of them hasn’t the faintest idea of where they are headed. The other, however, doesn’t care where they are going.
He just cares about the motherfucking journey.
"So! What's first on the WereMagegenda, Strawso?"
Strazio Rockwell raises an eyebrow at his unlikely friend.
"Yanno, Werewolf and Mage Agenda. The motherfuckin' plan, my man?"
Riiiiighhhht.
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![[Image: dlpaou6b73f.gif]](http://www.auplod.com/u/dlpaou6b73f.gif)
-by Jade Harley
Never Falter in the Face of Infinity.
-Tearan Wover
-by Jade Harley
Never Falter in the Face of Infinity.
-Tearan Wover