#lostghostboyy

Chaos. Antok prodded at the mass of bright colors that passed for Altean food; the large Galra recoiled when it squirmed in response. His stomach churned. It was almost as disquieting as the recent strife among the paladins.

Screeeeech. He pushed back from the table, leaving the ‘food’ for whatever poor soul entered the dining room next. He’ll go another day or two without eating if it means he doesn’t have to try that. But he doesn’t leave quite yet.

The lights in the dining room are dimmed, the halls of the Castle of Lions silent. Antok took a deep breath in, out. This was the first moment of peace he has had in days. He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity by sleeping, not like the others.

Smell was how he knew the battle was over: a whiff of metallic blood, charred debris from laser fire, the overwhelming stink of exertion. The air was thick with such scents; Antok wrinkled his nose.

The rest of his body had not yet gotten the message. Colors blurred and bled together as his eyes twitched in the direction of the smallest movement. A current of electric energy shot through him from tail to head. He shivered, tensed. Antok needed action, movement, something.

‘There will be plenty to do. Find Kolivan,’ he thought. As someone of note in the Blades there was always organization that needed done in the wake of a fight. ‘Kolivan will tell you where you are needed.’

Antok pressed deeper into the Castle of Lions, spotting movement around the corner. Not the purple of Galra fur, and yet he could not stop himself from stiffening. Enemy, ally? Peach. ‘Paladin, perhaps?’ he thought. At the current moment, though, it was one thing in particular: an obstacle.