THE KIDS AIN'T ALRIGHT ? intro

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NISHIGUCHI LINGRÉ.
pitt - mercenary | ♀ | maned lioness

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There were rumors going around about this place, words of mouth from travelers who looked over their shoulders in a nervous habit, the shared looks and smell of anxiety was enough for her to know. She needed to go to this place. She needed to figure some shit out and the desert seemed to be the place to go to. That and the desert was in her direct path of wandering anyways. Her latest job lead her out in this direction to begin with, so it wasn't all that far from her path.

Time had found her in the forsaken desert, the burnt husk of the jungle laying long before her even as trees struggled from the floor, new greenery retaking the gray burnt remains of what once would have been something beautiful. It stirred a question in her chest: what had happened and why? Was it war? Was it an accident? She had heard that this group was supposed to have been warbound, at least once upon a time under different leadership.

Breath pushed from aching lungs, the heat of the sun beating down on her fur, enough that she felt she was baking alive. Pausing to tuck the mess of what could be called similar to a mane of fur behind the curl of one of her horns. Two toned eyes swept over the territory, a vast expanse of ... sand. Sighing, Nishiguchi set down her pack and shook her head, feeling her neck crack as she released a low growl. Exhaling through her nose, "Anybody around these parts?", she would call, scenting others nearby. She still didn't know these people but thought it was enough to see if anyone friendly was near.

? ▪︎ ? ▪︎ ?
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°• Olalla G. Semenov •°

Male— Ardent— The Pitt— Bio.— Plot

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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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#psychosocial.