#ic muse

First kick instinct was rightful murder. Fingers tense. Who the fuck this imaginary mortal think he is!? He clean his dishes! ALL OF THE DISHES! He's gonna-!!

Then, the Keeper giggles. "Oh Jaz, that would be just simple..." More diva giggles and chooses to 'just do his dish' after a kick jerk want to write the detailed return note. No...this idiot will drown in his lacking self-care. And if the fool don't clean his dish, he will leave a note and on the third strike of ignorance -

Then kill him.

“That seems... About right honestly.”

Tagged by: @cxb3rxnd​

"Honestly, I made it out of fancy."

Jazz purrs, holding between his claws a pretty ring of platinum rats dancing and interlock noses and claws. Their tails coiled at the cat's eyed sapphire. It radiated of pure adoring love that drew the eyes and stirred the want in its unfortunate unintended onlookers just from the sheer perfectionist's craftsmanship and result. The curse was a mere result of its maker, not even a deliberate one.

The few things he can count on is his beasts to do right and he spoil them fondly. He'll eat a champion for failing, but a fiend?

" If you overgrown whoresons know every godsdamned thing, how'd the thief even make off with it? What were your followers doing--"

" -- Ha! It was probably one of them who stole it."

"Well..." The mutated flesh-coat smacked its lips, hand over hand with the utter presence of 'There was no choice, he had to do it to them'.

"The same way you somehow lose your Name to acolytes that could barely cast a spark, Blood Slave. By mere chance of Kaos." Just saying it caused the boy's body to quiver and grow more. The painful pops of joints growing, carapace crawling and blackening along his arms. The agonizing gift of mutation made Jazz's lips twitch, sharp teeth tight and tongue licked under the point.

Your Result: the anger you have is protecting you.

Anger is a secondary emotion; it comes from other places. we are angry when we are actually hurt, when we are actually scared, when we are actually tired. you have been carrying this white heat with no name for so long - and i understand. there are many horrible things in this world, and you have had to take each of them by yourself. one by one. how many injuries lie in your past? how many times have people told you to be quiet? to be better behaved? to be palatable? they will tell you that you are too much, but, my little warrior - your anger is your soul, telling others that you deserve better. you do deserve better. love that little fire of yours, but do not let it burn you. let it expose what it must, and then regrow tenderly.