HIDE MY WINGS TONIGHT —★ rejoining, o

[BRENDAN]

Life is confusing—that’s pretty obvious by now, isn’t it? To Brendan it is. When he had first left flintlock, he despised it, called it something that he never wanted to go back to, but now? He isn’t so sure if those feelings are the same these days. Well...maybe they are, but It really perplexes him that he finds himself trekking up some snowy hill with a red wagon trailing behind him.

Truth be told, when he had first heard that flintlock had switched territories, he was pissed; flintlock is his home, the place where he got to meet win and dick and damian, and he’d be damned if someone decided to fuck it all up and throw any past ideologies in the garbage. So yeah, he’s going to give Johannes a piece of his mind, and scoot that wimpy "leader" back up to where he rightfully belonged: in the old flintlock’s jail.

Okay, wait no—that’s a little too harsh.

Eyebrows furrowing, Brendan ceases to a halt in his heavy tracks, panting for breath a little as he drops the handle to the red wagon. Uncomfortably does he shift around the red and black winter coat he wears, sighing as he once again remembers that it’s too short for him now.

"you guys okay?" brendan asks, turning his cranium back to glance at the wagon where all of his chickens are.

He receives a few clucks in response and, now satisfied, the young teenager faces the ski lodge...only for any form of satisfaction to wipe away from his face. Frown tightening and eyebrows furrowing once more, Brendan crosses his arms, shaking his head with a harsh sigh.

"God, this place sucks."

[/div]made by hootowls.

[sharkbeak]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 500px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify;"]That Brendan thinks he has any right to dictate the whereabouts of Flintlock's population is a ridiculous concept, giving his absence - one doesn't get to leave a place they call home and then grow surly and bitter when they find out that said place has been altered somewhat. Ermal feels rather tired of repeating himself already, but the original lodge still very much belongs to Flintlock - he just understands that it's a stagnant place, and the group will never progress if they remain holed up there. This village is very much similar in terms of theme - it's still unfairly cold, walled by mountains and not the easiest to reach, but work on the ski lifts is making travel a little less painful, and they're not so ridiculously far from the other groups that isolation is practically enforced upon them by the territory alone. People complain too much, he often thinks, but at least Flintlock seems to be adjusting, regardless of how gradual that process is; he knows he must be patient, but his blood runs hot, and it isn't always easy for him to steel himself. Externally, yes, he seems the picture of calm - but his internal monologue is a riot, and he doubts that's something he'll learn to control any time soon.

Easier to win over than the people of Flintlock are their animals; the cats were surprisingly easy to round up and transport, the farm beasts followed whoever held the rope, and the dogs required little more than a scratch behind the ears to convince them that traipsing after Ermal was truly their best option. One accompanies him now, a large, lumbering thing that Ermal has very rapidly become fond of, tongue lolling blissfully as though it knows no pain - Ermal hopes that's the case. He's following it more than it's following him, and it takes him towards the outskirts of the village, 'round one of the buildings and out to where a boy is stood with a wagon of... chickens. The boy himself is young - his height does nothing to diminish the prominence of his babyish features - but he looks as though he's worn by hardship. (Ermal cannot help but notice how differently pain seems to have influenced this child in comparison to the way it has ultimately influenced him.)

The dog beside him stiffens and barks, tail thumping against Ermal's thigh, high and excited, though it makes no move to approach Brendan. Regardless, the familiarity is clear, so Ermal steels himself and steps forward, removing his hands from his pockets despite how unpleasant the cold air is on his bare palms. "There are warmer places, you know," he says by way of greeting, words in response to Brendan's displeased utterance. "Are you okay? You must have walked a long way to get here."