Author Topic: Body of a Good Man [Open][TW: Infanticide]  (Read 55 times)

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Offline Dusty Forgotten

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Body of a Good Man [Open][TW: Infanticide]
« on: August 08, 2017, 03:47:53 PM »
{Hey yo; this sumbitch killed his kid. Maybe avoid if that's not your thing?}

He is much better suited to the rainforest.

It is what jaguars evolved for; of course Lucien would have an easier time crossing a forest where the branches of each tree intertwined, where humidity hung heavy in the air around him like poison. He could remain forever shielded from the sun by a thick canopy, hunt in broad daylight with no eye for the shadows, no concern for those larger than he. He is the most formidable thing in his biome.

Perhaps that is why the LaCroixs abandoned such forests generations ago; it didn't pose enough challenge. Here, in the highest branches of this redwood, he can touch the sky. He is a phantom of the ancient grove, unchanged for as long as his ancestors have resided here. The trees are the same-- if not a bit taller. Sometimes he likes to imagine the paths they took through this same canopy, so many years ago.

Blue-yellow eyes snap open with a sharp inhale. He twitches a whisker to rid the fly that had landed there, jolting him from his communion. He smothers the incense between two pads on one paw, long since seared to scar tissue. Part of his testing as a cub, that. If Lucien couldn't stand the licking of flame, he had no place carrying the name LaCroix. Dear father would have culled him long before he was old enough to challenge for domain of this very den.

His father's skull sits sun-bleached on the altar, his father's before him, and the remnants of other offspring and siblings that had failed in their trials. Lucien turns instead to the opening of a window-- what used to be the door too wedged in to serve as a portal any longer. The window is large enough he would still fit through, should he ever gain the most weight he could stand before considering himself obese, and of little difficultly to maneuver out of, and rest on one of the many branches of the redwood his home is built into.

Draping himself over the branch, he appreciates the sun on his dark pelt, high up as he is that is can reach. That's something you can't get in a rainforest.

Below him swings an undersized skull of his own kind, flesh still dripping off the vine before it's ready to be brought inside with its kin. His kin.