in the slipping of the sun

Tlantli Kimaris · 01-24-2012, 07:17 AM

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(586)
Assumed Imhotep would answer in the positive for the question about him being new; let me know if you need me to edit. Big Grin

Tlantli is by me!

Already, the bite of the plant's thorns was clearly palpable in her arm. Tlantli had infrequently engaged in this ritual while in Eterne and even less frequently in Salsola, but its presence anywhere was unmistakable -- a Luperci did not often mistake liquid red running down the arms, nor its coppery scent upon the wind. This was why Tlantli had employed this ritual, however, rather than others -- blood sacrifice was important across many cultures, and even a place blinded by their own falsity could sense the strength in it. Her blatant display of this ritual might be seen as overearnest by some, certainly, but it would not fail to educe the respect of many.

The straw-colored woman carefully tied the securing not of the thorn in her opposing arm, and was preparing to move away from her low-slung habitat when a voice interrupted her. It was laced with an accent exotic as her own, tinged with the fire and spice of some faraway land. Tlantli turned toward the canine and took him in in a moment, her sharp eye appraising his lithe golden form. She was glad to see more males in Salsola; while something of a feminist and an earnest believer in the superiority of her own sex, Tlantli did not entirely discount the usefulness of the opposite gender, either. Men had their uses where women were not so strong or incapable, after all, however few and far between those lacunas in female skill were.

Her answer was prompt, and the woman regarded him with a broad grin, as she'd noted his deference. Tlantli was not high of rank any longer, and she capitalized on this moment of superiority, her tail lifting a notch to signify her dominance over this Associate, as he'd given signal to his own lowly position. The honey-furred woman was not, however, without a smile; this faint apparition of what might once have been a fierce grin showing just the tips of her filed teeth and their razor points.

It is not to hurt, the woman said, speaking clearly and loudly through her own accent, curious to find out if he would understand her. Although they were from two different ends of the globe, Tlantli could not help but recognize a faint familiarity in the way the golden-hued stranger spoke. Tlantli, well-accustomed to various languages throughout her life, thought it possible they were from familiar areas -- or, perhaps more likely, she was simply gainin a keener ear for the wild variety of languages in the world.

You are new here, yes? she inquired, her usually brusque tone inquiring unabashedly regarding his status, though she full well knew it from his stance. In truth, though, her sand-colored companion might have been a member of Salsola for the past three months, and Tlantli would not know it. She could tell he was not Family, and his scent was only faintly Salsolian -- this latter could mean either a new canine or one who has just spent time outside of the pack, necessitating the loss of Salsolian scent. Well, you do well to listen to me, then -- these plants and their thorns, they are a symbol of the pack. To wrap your arms and wear them is Zacatapayoli -- it shows you are strong, and it shows your loyalty, she said, dabbing a finger through a thin line of red beginning to trace down her forearm, with this.

In one way or another, they all paid with blood.

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