01-13-2011, 12:43 AM
OOC: Word Count: 1010. No worries about the shortness, and sorry for the length! I can't afford anything shorter if I want to keep up with SoSuWriMo, haha. 
IC:
Saraqael stared at him, bewildered. Rarely did she find herself so completely overwhelmed by the mere presence of a canine. He was a center of color and sound, cheerily exuding brightness from his inside and outside. Like a butterfly or an exotic parrot, he was visually fascinating to her. Now that she trusted, for the most part, that he was not intending harm, she would have liked to rove over his person, touching every trinket and bauble, rolling beads between her fingers, stroking the feathers, learning the feel of his clothing and attachments. They were strangers, unknown to one another except for in name so she spared him. Even their names, she found, were strange. He commented on the length of her name and she had no choice but to agree. Four names was a somewhat unusual quantity, three fairly common in comparison and two even more so. Though technically, “Destroying Angel” was a single title, also the name of a deadly white mushroom. She did not tell him this because it was useless, uninteresting, and vain. She wondered if he thought she expected him to call her by her full name when he asked permission to call her by her first, but his question did give her cause to ponder why she greeted everyone with the full length of her title. It was unnecessary, really, especially since it was unlikely that he would remember the whole thing. The first portion of her name was unique enough without the rest of it attached anyway. “You may call me by my first name, yes,” she confirmed, mostly for his benefit. He held out a tawny hand and she arced an eyebrow, not rudely but confused. It was not a tradition she was accustomed to but she did not wish to offend. Her ink dipped paw slid into his, her small, skeletal hand looking dwarfed. Gripping it lightly, she jiggled their clasped digits, a pathetic excuse for a hand shake on her part. Secretly, she enjoyed it quite a bit, feeling the roughness of his pads on hers and the feathery tickle of fuzz, like feathers, in the in between places. The creature was a sucker for textures and sensory experience. She had always been enthralled and sensitive to such things but it was so difficult to find willing participants to engage with her. Saraqael let go of his hand.
“Slickmaw” was appropriate judging by the way words flowed fast and fee from his mouth. It was easy to imagine him as a smooth talker, a professional bamboozler. With his charisma and enthusiasm, she also imagined he had wooed many souls into his bed. More frequently he lured probably passerby into purchasing his wares. He gestured to them with suggestive eye motions and she realized all his flare was more than an elaborate costume – it was the whole display of everything he had to offer. His business really did go with him. From this, she decided that she liked “Bangle” better. The sounds were fuller, richer and more fun in her mouth as she repeated them aloud: “Bangle.” Sharp “b” and twangy “a,” then succinct, weird “g,” though it ended elegantly despite the rest of its harshness in soft “l.” For her there was physical pleasure in language, another quirk of hers that she persisted after with youthful passion, repeating new words and cataloging them in her brain. The name suited him better, anyway. It was musical, like he sounded, and he had real bangles besides. On his arms and legs were striped markings, permanent bracelets, and he also adorned his body with clanking silver hoops. Bangle, jangle, tangle – all the words were him, and they rhymed, which added some extra truth to them. Looking at him again, she shook her head gently. None of his clothing was quite her style, for the girl only adored furs, bright colors, or shiny things, and had little use for beads since she possessed an impressive collection of her own. Plus she barely wore clothes. If she needed feathers, she would have found them or killed a bird, then dyed them herself. Skulls were in no short supply either, and she had small trinkets and other baubles to go along with any of her pieces. What she needed was more complicated, perhaps more rare. He did not look like the man for the job but he might have known the canine who was. Softly, she said, “No thank you, Bangle. I am looking for an empty book. Do you know where I can find one, or a canid who might be able to make me one? In exchange I can make brightly colored fur pieces, like the ones you see on me now, or dye the book maker's fur, or trade supplies.” Normally she would have explicitly offered to trade dye but winter was not a good season for it and honestly, she would hoard the colors she had left for creating wares for those who wished to barter for her product directly.
The girl felt guilty for not being interested in what he was selling. More likely than not, since he had not named a specific person he was looking for, or a task he wanted to complete, he had traveled to Inferni for the sole purpose of trading. If he requested it, she would take him into the lands to find someone else to appeal to about his merchandise. He had the benefit of at least looking like he had a high percentage of coyote in him which would help to earn the trust out of the others who were primarily mixed themselves, and the exchange of goods was always a healthy way of building relationships between packs, though she had no idea where Bangle hailed from since he had not said. Saraqael hoped that he would tell her, and even more so, hoped he could help her find someone skilled in creating and binding pages together to create a book.
IC:
Saraqael stared at him, bewildered. Rarely did she find herself so completely overwhelmed by the mere presence of a canine. He was a center of color and sound, cheerily exuding brightness from his inside and outside. Like a butterfly or an exotic parrot, he was visually fascinating to her. Now that she trusted, for the most part, that he was not intending harm, she would have liked to rove over his person, touching every trinket and bauble, rolling beads between her fingers, stroking the feathers, learning the feel of his clothing and attachments. They were strangers, unknown to one another except for in name so she spared him. Even their names, she found, were strange. He commented on the length of her name and she had no choice but to agree. Four names was a somewhat unusual quantity, three fairly common in comparison and two even more so. Though technically, “Destroying Angel” was a single title, also the name of a deadly white mushroom. She did not tell him this because it was useless, uninteresting, and vain. She wondered if he thought she expected him to call her by her full name when he asked permission to call her by her first, but his question did give her cause to ponder why she greeted everyone with the full length of her title. It was unnecessary, really, especially since it was unlikely that he would remember the whole thing. The first portion of her name was unique enough without the rest of it attached anyway. “You may call me by my first name, yes,” she confirmed, mostly for his benefit. He held out a tawny hand and she arced an eyebrow, not rudely but confused. It was not a tradition she was accustomed to but she did not wish to offend. Her ink dipped paw slid into his, her small, skeletal hand looking dwarfed. Gripping it lightly, she jiggled their clasped digits, a pathetic excuse for a hand shake on her part. Secretly, she enjoyed it quite a bit, feeling the roughness of his pads on hers and the feathery tickle of fuzz, like feathers, in the in between places. The creature was a sucker for textures and sensory experience. She had always been enthralled and sensitive to such things but it was so difficult to find willing participants to engage with her. Saraqael let go of his hand.
“Slickmaw” was appropriate judging by the way words flowed fast and fee from his mouth. It was easy to imagine him as a smooth talker, a professional bamboozler. With his charisma and enthusiasm, she also imagined he had wooed many souls into his bed. More frequently he lured probably passerby into purchasing his wares. He gestured to them with suggestive eye motions and she realized all his flare was more than an elaborate costume – it was the whole display of everything he had to offer. His business really did go with him. From this, she decided that she liked “Bangle” better. The sounds were fuller, richer and more fun in her mouth as she repeated them aloud: “Bangle.” Sharp “b” and twangy “a,” then succinct, weird “g,” though it ended elegantly despite the rest of its harshness in soft “l.” For her there was physical pleasure in language, another quirk of hers that she persisted after with youthful passion, repeating new words and cataloging them in her brain. The name suited him better, anyway. It was musical, like he sounded, and he had real bangles besides. On his arms and legs were striped markings, permanent bracelets, and he also adorned his body with clanking silver hoops. Bangle, jangle, tangle – all the words were him, and they rhymed, which added some extra truth to them. Looking at him again, she shook her head gently. None of his clothing was quite her style, for the girl only adored furs, bright colors, or shiny things, and had little use for beads since she possessed an impressive collection of her own. Plus she barely wore clothes. If she needed feathers, she would have found them or killed a bird, then dyed them herself. Skulls were in no short supply either, and she had small trinkets and other baubles to go along with any of her pieces. What she needed was more complicated, perhaps more rare. He did not look like the man for the job but he might have known the canine who was. Softly, she said, “No thank you, Bangle. I am looking for an empty book. Do you know where I can find one, or a canid who might be able to make me one? In exchange I can make brightly colored fur pieces, like the ones you see on me now, or dye the book maker's fur, or trade supplies.” Normally she would have explicitly offered to trade dye but winter was not a good season for it and honestly, she would hoard the colors she had left for creating wares for those who wished to barter for her product directly.
The girl felt guilty for not being interested in what he was selling. More likely than not, since he had not named a specific person he was looking for, or a task he wanted to complete, he had traveled to Inferni for the sole purpose of trading. If he requested it, she would take him into the lands to find someone else to appeal to about his merchandise. He had the benefit of at least looking like he had a high percentage of coyote in him which would help to earn the trust out of the others who were primarily mixed themselves, and the exchange of goods was always a healthy way of building relationships between packs, though she had no idea where Bangle hailed from since he had not said. Saraqael hoped that he would tell her, and even more so, hoped he could help her find someone skilled in creating and binding pages together to create a book.