12-20-2023, 07:10 PM
°• Olalla G. Semenov •°
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Wake up. Walk. Rot. An endless cycle that seemed to encase Olalla within its cold confines. Oh how he wished for something, anything, to break or falter enough for him to slip away. To return to his health, his wellness. To life. To escape this zombie state. Oh how he wished.
But wishing got you no where, and now Olalla stood here, toes dipped in sand and slick foam pooling at his lips. Dragging from his mouth and dotting the ground as he went. Vision becoming limited as his eyes crusted over, desperately pawing at the grossness that surrounded his optics; flies buzzing eagerly around his face. Gods, how he wished. It seemed, now more than ever, the Pitt's medic was nowhere to be found - nor his acolytes and apprentices - and all would continue to suffer. He needed to act quick before death befell the Pitt; befell him.
As a voice carried within the desert - not many sounds presented themselves here - his attention was partially snapped back, and he slowly turned his crown to face the voice. Melodic, despite weaponized body that it sounded from. Feline. A grumble of displeasure left dark, saliva-slicked lips as a paw loosened away from its resting stance; moving to step forward. "We are around," Olalla responded hoarsely, straining to speak. "I am Olalla."
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[member=23700]nishiguchi[/member]
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