#stranded-mik

He’s been watching because - of course he has.  That’s what he does.  He’s watched the chaos ensue after the boom of thunder.  Felt the static in the air - the disruption... 

He’d initially gone to the tree, gazed into the flame ( prepared with his own attunement should the parasite reemerge ), but none seemed forthcoming.  So he had turned his attention to the - people.  Trotting about causing their very own brand of chaos in light of the latest unknown.  And from what he’d managed to overhear, or discern from their scurrying, was that physical contact was - invasive.

And invasion is something he would not allow. ( Or could not afford.  Three decades of that carefully crafted persona, the tale of his past, the truth tailored in such a way, with enough ommissions that it was plausible, believable... As much of a truth as anything on this island could be ).

No one.  NO ONE. Will be invading his memories.  Not now.  Not ever.

So the vigilant remains ever so.  And, as is their way, one of the fuck-knuckles from the group comes wandering.  Blissfully unaware of the dangers of the Island ( blissfully unaware of the danger of Gabriel ) - out for a goddamn stroll. Seriously, how some of them survived beyond a day was dumb luck or a miracle. 

Perhaps he’ll pass.  Gabriel nestled in a raised cove, mostly shrouded by branches and vines.  Perhaps not...

...Apparently not.

So before those footsteps draw ever closer, there’s a single quick movement - a six foot spear suddenly protruding from the shrubbery - at the other end of which was Gabriel, stepping forward with a deceptively calm demeanour and the air of something that might just tear your throat out should you breathe too heavily in his general direction...

...Speaking of throats, that’s exactly where the spear is pointed - a few inches away.  Nothing that the guy would imminently impale himself on.  At least... If he heeded the warning.  Words barked out as a command - not a fucking request.