#tortureisims

“Leon taught Coyote how to draw blood today... I was the practice.” 

“Ugh so vulgar, do you ever grow tired of being so juvenile?”

“Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuffiiiiiiiiiiin!”

@tortureisims​

“I don’t feel very good. Throat’s sore.... Take care of meeeeeeee.”

[SEND]

Muffin.

It’s a name located somewhere, deep inside of him. It’s buried in the furthest crevasses of his gray matter, nuzzled within the pockets of his damaged brain and skimmed over by electricity as one cluster of neurons communicates with another: sending a message that his mind is incapable of deciphering and therefore it is discarded, forever unnoticed and ignored. 

It wasn’t something that anyone had expected -- at least, not after this long. An accident as traumatic as the one the lupine had sustained was something no singular person had anticipated after the one-eyed wolf had learned to pilot around his disability... And besides, where Star Wolf’s leader was no longer capable, the on-board computer system of the beloved Wolfen always seemed to act as the safety net, promising to catch him should he accidentally fall off the tightrope he’d balanced on by insisting on piloting his spacecraft despite lacking, well, depth perception.

It was something that all parties involved have been concerned about at one point or another; even the mad doctor found himself second-guessing the lupine’s own tenacity when it regarded keeping him soaring above the heavens, and yet the capability he maintained by building skill within his newly weakened areas had lulled those around him into a false sense of security. How long had it been since Wolf climbed into the cockpit for the first time since his blinding?... And how many times had he truly fucked up since that day?

None. Even when he’d been shot down by his dramatically-proclaimed rival, Wolf always seemed to know how to crash without taking too much physical damage to his person. Often being the only one on Star Wolf to sustain injuries that only a simple pair of band-aids was required to mend, Wolf O’Donnell, in his one-eyed-and-practically-permanent state of inebriation always seemed to skirt around true consequence by the skin of his teeth: even when it came to serving as his Wolfen’s personal crash dummy. 

Which is why, when his luck finally ran out, the unruly ruffians of Sargasso Space Zone were all forced into a solemn and frankly confused silence. 

The man that occupied Lord O’Donnell’s familiar pelt wasn’t the same man whose laugh had ricocheted off of the space station’s metallic walls just days ago. Even the way the lupine talked around those stained, yellow teeth didn’t quite seem similar to the way that Wolf used to before his accident. The normally confident O’Donnell--or at least, the confident liar--is practically a hollow ghost of the wolf he once was.

And it’s evident by the blank way he beholds the chameleon. Eye witnessing the reptile in an unattached way, looking at the man as though he is not indeed betrothed to him; there is no familiarity in the way that he sees Leon, it is as though the duo had not actually spent the past decade-and-a-half practically inseparable from one another. All memory and value of the long partnership between Leon Powalski and Wolf O’Donnell is lost on the canine -- and it is uncertain if it will, if ever, be recovered.