I know you wanted to change

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@Nyra, and perhaps @Satan if you’d like!

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“If I get angry, I'm goin' to start up a riot like people on Capitol Hill”

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All he saw was red.

Blinding, intoxicating, bittersweet, and yet… painful.

Eyes, slowly stabbed and pricked with the guilt that he felt, though he couldn’t put a name to it. Why? He wasn’t sure. Though, as if he were listening to someone, his ears slowly perked. “You, you, you,” But he didn’t want to listen.

“Go away,” He snarled, lips curled back and ears flattened. Scared, angry, violent. The boy was a horrible mixture; a powder keg about to explode; a pup who needed someone to lighten the load. Yet, he’d never get that, at least, not yet.

“All your fault…” The voice was awfully sing-songy, and Skrímslið thought that he may begin spinning in circles. He felt dizzy, he felt like he was going to gag… He felt… disgusting.

With a cry, another snarl erupted from his maw; “It’s not my fault! It’s not!” His tone was insisting; sorrowful, a beg for help…

help.

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Nyra heard the cries from where she was on patrol, the sound of a child in need...
It tugged her heart just slightly.
She herself had yet to become so stone-cold.

The Warqueen came prowling to the boy, as old as the six pups she just barely adopted...
Nyra wondered privately at the russet boy, expression warm, motherly, but otherwise impassive.

"Are you lost, young one?" She asked calmly, like a mother would to her own terrified, trembling babes.
She felt lucky in a way and yet still oh so concerned for the pup before her.
She would hold out a foreleg as if inviting him closer, for an embrace as protective as all mothers can be of their whelps.
"You are safe now." She would say, regardless of if the boy chose to come huddle in her embrace or not.
She would raise him alongside all the others either way.
But she would lighten his load, protect him, care for him, teach him, as all mothers are bound to do.
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Though, it seemed there was one voice. One person, someone there to help him. Help. Their tone… unlike the thorns that spiked his memories. A blossoming rose, more like.

"Are you lost, young one?" She asked, and the boy nodded, eyes screwed shut as tears threatened to well. The voices were loud, terrible, terrifying, and Skrímslið wanted to scream. The angel continued; "You are safe now." She said after holding a leg out towards him, and Skrímslið felt himself stumble towards her.

Yet… the voice returned. “She’s using you, dumb boy. No one could ever want you, so why would she?” He hesitated in continuing, and looked up at the pale woman with wide, accusatory eyes, though shook his head quickly. Gaze training back towards the ground, he’d snarl, low, quiet, and cold.

“You.” He insisted, claws digging in to the ground as if it were… no, the boy felt himself wretch, dry and sore. No, no, no. His eyes threatened to bestow a festivity of emotion to this woman who treated him so dearly, yet didn’t even know his name…

Was he even deserving of a title, though? Not of his previous, at least.

So, looking up at the angel once more, the boy… no longer Skrímslið… would take a gasp of air. “Monster.” He determined. “Me.”

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Nyra watched with gentleness as the boy nodded, eyes screwed shut tightly.
She would smile soft as he stumbled toward her embrace, yet he stopped, looking up at her with wide almost angry eyes.
Then he shook his head, as if shaking away bad thoughts.

Though she did not know he heard voices, she understood he was troubled in some way.

Monster. Me.
She would take that as his name, for now at least.
"Monster, I am Nyra. I will be your mother from now on. And you, a child of Warcrest by extension." She deemed in warm tones, with a molten-fire gaze filled to the brim with comfort and love.
She knew in her heart of hearts, wicked as it was, that she loved the boy, as she loved all her children.

The white titan extended her foreleg again to him, an invitation both to embrace and to begin leading him to his new home.
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"Monster, I am Nyra. I will be your mother from now on. And you, a child of Warcrest by extension." The boy nodded, ears flattened to his head as they tried to pull him back into the realm of sorrow and guilt.

But, as móðir — mother Nyra lent out a paw, Monster felt himself begin the journey… not a journey of recovery, nor healing, or change, but coping. Curious, he looked up at Nyra. “Móðir… Monster have… faðir..? — father..?”

Maybe… maybe having a father would be nice. At least… this time.

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Móðir… Monster have… faðir..? The boy asked.
She recognized the tongue he spoke her name in, it was one of her own, but she didn't yet pass this knowledge to him.
"Yes, my darling. He is named Satan, but, he is not as gentle as I am." She warned in her gentle tones.
In a way, she felt like @Andraste, once the Divine Mother of Sanatorium, long gone by now.
She felt the desire to protect and teach her Children, as Andraste likely did before her demise, and Exalted's rise to the role.
It was all so long ago and yet not long at all...

Her heart saddened some with these thoughts.
To ease the potential anxieties of her newest son though, she added;
"Though he is a hardass, he will help me protect you and the other pups as long as you listen to him as well as myself. Okay?" 
His agreement to obey them both was paramount to things at least starting out as smoothly as possible.
The other kids would have to meet him too, and both parties needed to understand that he was family to them now as well. 

She would not tolerate anything less.
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Monster took a nervous gulp, brows quirking anxiously. Though, if Móðir Nyra loved him… maybe Faðir Satan could be… okay.. at least. "Though he is a hardass, he will help me protect you and the other pups as long as you listen to him as well as myself. Okay?"

Others? The boy let out a small whine, yet otherwise continued walking alongside the rose. His rose. Monster would protect his new mother… and his new siblings, if he must. “I’ll listen to foreldrar. — parents.” The young boy promised with a determined nod.

And… now… Monster was off to his new home.

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fade?

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