Look, Zephyr's minding his own business. He does that quite a lot. He's very good at it.
On this occasion he's just out at the markets -- errands, the many minutia that pile up when you have your own place -- and oh, all right, the neighbors needed something and he was going to be out anyway, and he's keeping an eye out for that ball the kid down the way lost, or a near facsimile... this is minding his own business, really.
He doesn't notice what's wrong at first, only that his right arm is a little stiff. And that's normal enough, sure, he holds it wrong all the time. But then his offhanded grin feels weird, and he catches sight of himself in an ornamented mirror and his right eye is wrong, and scales, scales--
Zephyr drops his grocery basket and bolts.
(He doesn't realize this, either, that his impulse to flee isn't entirely his own; and why would he? This is straight up terrifying. Away. Away from the bonds he's made, away from-- everything.)
[ooc; for clarity's sake, by all means feel free to try to stop him! his ultimate goal is away; friendly intervention wouldn't go amiss. may need to trip him, though.]
the X part;
So after all this, Zephyr gets home and-- he finds his mind a little cloudy. Even if there had been a good conversation, the sense that he needs to get away still looms, layered over and through his own quite frankly justified fears. He's got just enough presence of mind to snag his pack and start folding a few things into it. He's careless about the mess he makes while doing so -- speed is of the essence. He has to go before he hurts anyone.
Whoops a curse | Zephyr | open
Look, Zephyr's minding his own business. He does that quite a lot. He's very good at it.
On this occasion he's just out at the markets -- errands, the many minutia that pile up when you have your own place -- and oh, all right, the neighbors needed something and he was going to be out anyway, and he's keeping an eye out for that ball the kid down the way lost, or a near facsimile... this is minding his own business, really.
He doesn't notice what's wrong at first, only that his right arm is a little stiff. And that's normal enough, sure, he holds it wrong all the time. But then his offhanded grin feels weird, and he catches sight of himself in an ornamented mirror and his right eye is wrong, and scales, scales--
Zephyr drops his grocery basket and bolts.
(He doesn't realize this, either, that his impulse to flee isn't entirely his own; and why would he? This is straight up terrifying. Away. Away from the bonds he's made, away from-- everything.)
[ooc; for clarity's sake, by all means feel free to try to stop him! his ultimate goal is away; friendly intervention wouldn't go amiss. may need to trip him, though.]
the X part;
So after all this, Zephyr gets home and-- he finds his mind a little cloudy. Even if there had been a good conversation, the sense that he needs to get away still looms, layered over and through his own quite frankly justified fears. He's got just enough presence of mind to snag his pack and start folding a few things into it. He's careless about the mess he makes while doing so -- speed is of the essence. He has to go before he hurts anyone.