Character Profile #00e8f5

Aztek heard the call. He was not far, the howl echoed around him, swirling and catching him up like a hurricane. It carried him toward the source, a wolf he didn't recognize but was clearly a leader. He held himself like one with power. A quick glance around with his single blue eye told him he was the first to arrive. He dipped his head in greeting. "Greetings, sir," he spoke, his voice gruff but full of respect. He wasn't one to say more than was necessary, so with his initial greeting, he turned and found a comfortable place to sit and wait for others to filter in.

Once they had, the Quartermaster began to speak, and Aztek gave him his full attention, soaking up every word. He could think of nothing he wanted to ask. He was still trying to figure out where he fit in the pack, searching and learning before he would decide on what rank to reach for. So silent he remained, contemplating the words the QM spoke. The trial for the young, that was something he had not yet learned of. He looked toward the water; it seemed a fair trial. Not too dangerous, but enough of a challenge to encourage teamwork, as he said. He nodded his agreement, though his opinion likely didn't count for much at this time. As the Quartermaster wrapped up his speech, he would glance around to the others; he was the observant type. He wanted to listen in case anyone stepped forward. How else would he learn about this place?

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired
I will laugh my way through hurricanes and fire
That's why you don't want to bring me down.

When Eremiel was pronounced Quartermaster, Triteia was elated. Perhaps her adoration for her adopted father blinded her to any alternatives, but Triteia truly believed that no one else had contributed more to Tortuga except for, perhaps, Albatross. She feared for him in the war and it was through a stroke of mercy that he was spared from injury; meanwhile, Triteia's companion suffered a grotesque maiming at the hands of Oukoku-Kai fanatics. Take your blessings where you can, she supposed.

Having Eremiel in power made her feel safe. Raikov was trying to mend their relationship. Through her disillusionment, Triteia could see that, though she struggled to accept it. Regardless, there was that lingering concern that one misspoken word could trigger another berserker fit and should that happen, Triteia knew she would find herself right back where she started. As long as assertive voices kept Raikov in check, she could sleep soundly.

Triteia nudged at Solomon's hindquarters, gingerly so she would not knock over the poor old tripod. Even with the new addition of a prosthetic pegleg, he was still not used to walking and his gait was slower than usual. "C'mon, old man," Triteia encouraged him.

She supervised him during every step of the short journey, weaving circles around Solomon to solidify, in her head, that he was on solid footing and would not tumble over the minute she turned her back. She felt dreadful for the geezer but pointedly kept those sympathies to herself, knowing her condescension would not be welcome. They were alike in that sense. All she could do was support him and not judge him. If anyone present stared, she'd stare right back at them until they were forced to turn away. Once Solomon was safely situated, she too took her seat, peering up at Eremiel from his towering podium.

Changing the Voyage was an odd pill to swallow when the legendary pilgrimage had represented a maturation milestone in her own childhood, but there was barely any difference between the previous ceremony and the current, revised tradition except for a change in locale. Triteia mulled the announcement over and acquiesced to it with a nod, rightfully deciding that there was no need to dampen the proceedings with her boo-hiss attitude. She had no legitimate reasons for opposing the change except that it was Different. She did not like Different.

Triteia edged to Solomon's side, trying not to succumb to the same familiar tug of fear, the same song and dance which swept her up every time Baal entered a twenty-mile radius of her person. You know it well, reader: the Kraken arrives like a tsunami of booze-stink and bad luck brewing on the horizon, Triteia tenses in fear like she's back in the Abyss, Triteia relives the amputation of her tail in vivid slow-motion. So very, very predictable in its repetition and Triteia despised it. All things change and yet in some ways, Triteia was trapped in the beginning stages of her recovery. To her credit, she didn't panic, instead placing as much distance between her and her estranged sister as socially possible. Baal once more failed to notice her. By now, Triteia was starting to wonder what was up. She noticed the absence of a taunting smirk -- there was a flicker of shadow falling across Baal's hideous face and a crackle of static as her head jerked spasmodically in place, perhaps she imagined it -- or any acknowledgment of her presence. If it were not for their encounter on the recent excursion into Tjenu's ruins, Triteia would believe that she was invisible to the bitch. Fine - if Baal didn't want to gloat over her handiwork, then Triteia could return the favor.

(Look at me. Look at what you did. / Don't look at me. Please don't look at me.)

Haltingly, Triteia noticed the little figure standing at her paws and how he cowered in response to her admonition. A passing glance was all it took for her to realize who he was and why he was there and her mind reeled. She looked to the chimera boy, reassembling his patchwork parts into a cohesive and recognizable whole. The resemblance was impossible to ignore when he stood beside the woman who birthed him. The other two, one marbled with hues of fire, the second striped teal and crimson.

Oh my God, Triteia thought to herself. She felt sick, suddenly, and chose to look away.

actions - “speech” - thoughts

actions - “speech” - thoughts

E Z E K I E L

- Ezekiel shows up and immediately goes to find Raikov and Hebe
- He's not sure if he's even supposed to be here, but listens to Eremiel anyway
- Nods wordlessly (obviously) to what Eremiel has to say, as he's dissociating halfway through the speech
- Leans against Hebe and Raikov for probably inappropriately timed cuddles

i'll make this much nicer in the morning bun i swear