M - daydream milk and genocide.

Eris Eternity · 05-08-2010, 07:13 AM

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460. tralalalala.

The sable-furred hybrid knew this was far beyond playing with fire—touching him was like running through a nuclear test site. Flame didn't do the danger justice here—there was nothing misleading about the chocolate-furred man. He was not a deceiver; there was no question that he was fatal, that something beautiful was rearing steadily back from the spoiled mess of his rotten innards. Demons glinted and flashed and ran through his brilliantly colored eyes, hardly even changing at she had moved and returned to her original pose. There was no warning and no sound as he attacked, an explosion of pain in her stomach, knocking the air from her. The sable-furred canine had sustained blows before; she was not unaccustomed to being hit, but there was no way she could stand such a blow without reaction, and a muffled yip of pain escaped her sable-colored muzzle, her pearly white fangs glinting against her shadowy coat.

Before she could straighten up, the backhand smack to her face sent her sprawling backwards and over the corpse, a cool wetness spreading over her lower back where she made contact with what was left of Noir. All warmth had already evaporated the corpse, and Eris remained there dazed, her own hot blood leaking from her nose. It had been weakened by the piercing there, and it bled more easily than anywhere else on her body. There were no more noises, though, and aside from the soft squeak at the first strike, there was no further verbal indication from Eris that she'd even been struck. After a few moments, she moved, drawing herself back up and away from the corpse, slowly turning herself around so she was straddling the dead girl, her hands once again pawing through the woman's opened chest cavity. This time, her hands traveled further upwards, almost to her elbow in the remnants of the dead wolf.

This prize was more historically valued, and Eris pulled it from its seat in the corpse's chest, drawing it back and out, holding it in both hands for a moment, chartreuse eyes focused on the thing. It did not beat, it did not twitch—the only indication life had ever flowed through this thing in her hands was the steady ooze of already thickening blood from it where it had been separated from thick arteries by sharp claws. It was this thing she held out to the monster with both hands, offering it in silent apology for her offense. Blood still leaked slowly from her nose, coating the very front of her muzzle, running over her lips and chin, where it dripped steadily to the ground, brilliant crimson and still alive, very much unlike the thing the sable hybrid held in her cupped hands.

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