Kyle Sarea (blunette) wrote in utr_logs, @ 2011-05-30 20:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | kyle sarea, michael |
WHO: Kyle and Michael
WHAT: Spooked shopkeep!
WHERE: Bala, Gwynedd
WHEN: A week or so after Kyle vanished.
WARNINGS: Very unlikely, other than some mild flirting from Kyle.
It wasn't home.
Bala was probably one of the worst choices Kyle could have made of where to go. He used to have one of his eight bodies in the little community in Wales, 'watching over' a demigod of. . . sheep. It was a fun story to tell, but. . . back home, it'd been a safe haven for all sorts of supernatural beings. During war between Heaven and Hell (which he hadn't seen in his lifetime), it was a neutral zone where separated families could visit each other, enforced by both sides. But here. . . it was just a little town in Wales. No feeling of closeness or camaraderie. No Vorath. No sense of belonging there. It wasn't home.
For a week, he'd spent time outside of the community, listening for the bell that meant a stranger was approaching and that supernatural activity should cease. . . but it never came. Of course not. Everyone was out in the open here, there was no need for a community watchdog to keep things away from the prying eyes of humans. And each time it failed to come, it just made him feel more and more alone. This place wasn't his. Just a stupid little town. And each time. . . he simply slunk back off to a wooded area to shoot more arrows into trees. It was all he could think to do, when he was angry. He hadn't even approached for food; he didn't need to eat, and actually visiting the town wouldn't do him any favors.
It wouldn't last, unfortunately. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him as he walked down the narrow road leading to Bala. He had to see what it was like here, had to see with his own eyes how Jeis wasn't there, singing along with his daughter. How Seisen wasn't there to call him a royal brat and give him a loving noogie. How. . . how Vorath wasn't there, jumping around his feet and bleating. Just the thought of it was enough to leave the slightest hint of a berserk in the back of his mind. Not enough to drive him into a slashing fury, but enough to darken his eyes to a deeper blue. His face, though, was more than enough to give away his upset state. Rather unfortunate, really, because his first stop was a little shop that, in his home, was owned by a close friend. The sight of someone else, someone so. . . insignificant to him. . . it was enough to make his lip curl up in a sneer. With his mind in a slight haze, things were beginning to blur between what was and what 'should be'.
. . . Blue-haired boy. Clearly angry. Bow and quiver of arrows on his back. Even the most optimistic of shopkeepers could see that trouble was on the way, and since the rage seemed to be targeted at him. . .
"Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio; contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae Caelestis, satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute in infernum detrude. Amen."