Blowing-Haze

Digging for sapphires

I know you’ve been looking for sapphires
In the concrete
And in the dirt
I know your doing a lot but everything still hurts
I know your swallowing glass and it’s melting to bubbles in your throat
I know the mirrors don’t reflect and that leaves you feeling all alone

We’ve got to get out of this smoke and blow away the haze
We’ve got to look for nickels for the rainest of days
We’ve got to find a way out of here because they aren’t like us
We’ve got to do it because I see us starting to rust

Our times almost up

flightoffury asked:

How about 27 for Juno and/or Barnabas?

((ooc: Oh, I’ve been sitting on this one for a while…)

27 - Loneliness

Somewhere in Whitevale

Savage winds swept across the tundra, blowing a white haze of snow into the air. The cold could be felt down to a person’s very bones, and a lesser man wouldn’t be able to survive past a few minutes.

This was no ordinary man.

He trudged along through the snow drifts, moving with effort to keep his footing but without any particular worry. He was born of this, molded by it. This harshness greeted him not as a danger, but like an old friend,

The figure was tall, but walked with a hunch and a slump of his shoulders. He was bundled up in pelts draped over a found coat. A Marauder’s duster coat, taken from it’s previous owner. His head was covered by a heavy hood, his face wrapped in cloth.

He looked around at the stark whiteness of the landscape with ice-blue eyes. This place reminded him of home. The Twilight, back on Mikros. Just as frigid, just as unforgiving. 

This place wasn’t home, he thought. There was no clan hall here, no family. Only the snows.

Barnabas of the clan Dreadfrost sighed, the faintest hint of his breath working it’s way past his face-wrap and into the cold air.

This place would do. For now.

He made his way down the hill with careful footing, his every move with a great deal of purpose. He had been tracking his quarry for several kilometers now, and was getting closer. He was on the hunt. There was little else worth doing in this place.

Barnabas crouched down, looking at the tracks in the snow. The paw prints were massive, their indentation deep. He grinned a wicked grin. He would have a challenge after all.

It wasn’t much longer before he had found the creature, hunched over a recent kill in a nearby clearing. The girrok’s mouth and chest were stained in the blood of it’s kill as it turned to look at the draken, The creature barred it’s teeth as he approached.

The draken was undeterred. He unsheathed his sword- a wicked looking thing made of metal and sharpened bone- and stabbed it into the snow in front of him. Barnabas pulled off his coverings  from his face and let his various pelts fall to the ground. He unbuckled the clasps of his coat and stood there in the snow, stripped from the waist up.

The girrok turned away from it’s meal and looked at the draken. It stood on it’s haunches and let out a feral roar. It warned the draken that it was a predator and was not to be trifled with.

Barnabas beat his bare chest and bellowed back louder. No, he thought, I am the predator here. You are the prey.

He grabbed his sword by the hilt and charged forward.

He would test his strength against this creature, as he had so many others.

Thus was the Dreadfrost way.

Lane switch, I’m a blow haze ‘till I can’t think
Shrink told me I should learn how to pace this
Big homie told me, “Nah, nigga, take this.”
Shots ‘till my damn liver hates me