<center><table width=398 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r9/shrapnelserpent/atttbl11.jpg" height=100></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><fon, t color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f><div align=left><font color= "#abcce4">[ooc.] i wish i was like you</font></div> private for yossi. dyo 23rd, 81381. :D <div align=left><font color= "#abcce4">[ic.]easily amused sunburn freezerburn</font></div> God made his followers suffer. It was proof enough he wasn't there, or that if he really did exist, that he didn’t care. Or maybe it was that he cared, but only enough to test his chosen ones. He had never attended a freaking mass, or a funeral, or something deeply moving that made him get all teary-eyed when a hundred voices rose as one. Atti didn’t believe in a god. And the reason why wasn't out of spite. He carried the inverse cross on his flesh only because it showed he was a pretender. It made him understand that religion was only a means of control, and the way to enlightenment was through philosophy. Except that wasn’t enlightenment, either. It was the tip of the iceberg in understanding. It was the pathway to nirvana. He emerged from a marble mausoleum in the corner of the cemetery, the gates locked shut and guarded with a slender, dark-eyed arden, the area around it drowned in roses and flowers and letters and albums and instruments and memorabilia and stuffed animals. There had been a great deal of controversy and emotional struggling in the legal agreement for his half-sibling's burial. He'd made a compromise of sorts – both Aese and Prazen had wanted to be cremated, their ashes scattered over the sea – but Crail had wanted to be buried near them. So half of his nephew and half-sister's ashes had been placed here with Crail's body, and the rest on the sea. So 'Rius cursed the sky, swore and gave God the finger, daring him to return it. He fucking wanted him to. The half-Yki was angry and full of rage he couldn’t capture; couldn’t focus. It just lingered like a stormcloud, not yet breaking but showing signs of the coming destruction. But it hadn’t come yet. It just stayed there, keeping his mood sour and his heart heavy in sudden spurts of depression. And it hurt. <br ></div></td></tr></table><center>
<span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>out-of-character:</span> <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>sorry it's kinda plain. if it needs to be something else i can whip something up. again i'm so sorry this took so long. my grandmother died recently and it's just hectic over here. D:</span> <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>in-character:</span> <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>A soft and gentle breeze wistfully swayed through the cemetery, ruffling the tattered and aged mane of a mourner. He stood stoic, eyes unwavering from a granite tombstone that read "Kro Schubalz: Ralybép Nyshaj ump Feva." The more he came to visit her grave, the less saddened he felt. She had been gone now for nearly two decades, but he was deeply attached to her and she had always been there for him. Unfortunately, even such a pure and selfless being as she was afflicted with a terminal illness that claimed her life far too soon. Such an act caused Ziluk to question his faith, and he eventually stopped believing. Any life he saves is because of his own adroitness and knowledge of medicine; there are no such things as miracles. A rumbling of thunder stole his attention, and then he noticed the incoming squall. He slowly made his way over to the mausoleum, not really caring if he got there before the rain started.</span>
When Att was young, and he saw a cemetery, he’d stare and marvel at the homes of the dead unbelievingly. Especially the big ones, the crowded ones, obscene places, with so few trees – everything umbra-pigmented, like some huge ashtray. It was so primitive – the hole, and the box, and the rock on the grass. But the Medhsjyta’s graves were fitting and dramatic, beautiful, and he’d felt that feeling while standing there by the mausoleum as they put in the coffins. Three of them. Three beautiful, beautiful souls, all who had died too young. "Hey!" cried the guard, watching as the burly male edged closer to the temple-like granite structure. "Damnit, Claif - let him in. It's raining," said Att, scanning the other 'dragon with his strange, ice-blue eyes.
