09-24-2009, 04:42 AM
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http://digital-bonsai.com/katew/rp/kae/kae_rain.gif); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:bottom center; border:1px solid #FFFFFF; text-align:justify;"> I am having LULZfits at Razeface. <3
He was not so different. The hybrid woman had only known her son until about his first year, but he was almost fully grown then. His coat was darker than she'd remembered, and it seemed that age had stolen the lightness from his fur. There was russet on his face as well to break up the relative monochrome of his coat, and the hybrid could not help but openly stare with her single yellow eye, taking him in. He did not look so different, but now there was a guitar on his hand and an achingly familiar scent on the wind, the tell-tale glaze of Razekiel's straw-colored eyes. The hybrid woman's gaze shifted to Anselm, surprised as if noticing him for the first time. His hand extended out to her, his fingers clutching the source of that smell.
Though Kae hadn't tasted any since she'd been living out and on the far coast, she shook her head, denying the itch to inhale that abrasive smoke. Razekiel was here; she had not seen him in longer and he was infinitely more important to her than getting twisted. So she smiled at Anselm, liking this new discovery—she hadn't known the hybrid was one to partake, and she would have taken him up on the offer sooner if she had known. "In a minute, sure," the coyote said quietly, her attention turning back to Razekiel. The shine of her eye told all, and only the fact that Anselm was in good with the hybrid matron had kept her cordial. Anyone else she might have just growled at for trying to take even a second of her attention away from Razekiel.
He spoke, his voice drawling and good-tempered, the softer side of Razekiel showing foremost before anything now. He had his rough patches, no doubt—they all did—but it seemed he tried to put his best foot forward. He lived up to his name, indeed. He pushed the instrument behind him, the melody that had drawn her closer to him ceasing, and came forward, bending to pick something and stick it behind her ear. When his fingers had left her own touched it lightly, feeling the tiny, withering flower stuck there. The gesture was entirely endearing, and the hybrid woman seemed to melt, the most genuine smile she could muster oozing across her scarred features, her ears half-mast. An outsider to the scene would have certainly thought she had indeed taken a pull of the joint, so elated and sickly-sweet was her smile.
He spoke again, words that would have been a dead lie from any but her children. Only they could call her pretty like that and mean it, and the smile remained plastered to the hybrid woman's face. His hands fell to her shoulders and his touch was wonderful; until that moment the hybrid had half-expected him to disappear and leave her alone with Anselm and the faint memory of a wonderful dellusion wandering through her head. "Oh no, no apologies... I was afraid I wouldn't see you again," she murmured, pressing forward to wrap her arms around his ribs and encase him in a hug.
He was not so different. The hybrid woman had only known her son until about his first year, but he was almost fully grown then. His coat was darker than she'd remembered, and it seemed that age had stolen the lightness from his fur. There was russet on his face as well to break up the relative monochrome of his coat, and the hybrid could not help but openly stare with her single yellow eye, taking him in. He did not look so different, but now there was a guitar on his hand and an achingly familiar scent on the wind, the tell-tale glaze of Razekiel's straw-colored eyes. The hybrid woman's gaze shifted to Anselm, surprised as if noticing him for the first time. His hand extended out to her, his fingers clutching the source of that smell.
Though Kae hadn't tasted any since she'd been living out and on the far coast, she shook her head, denying the itch to inhale that abrasive smoke. Razekiel was here; she had not seen him in longer and he was infinitely more important to her than getting twisted. So she smiled at Anselm, liking this new discovery—she hadn't known the hybrid was one to partake, and she would have taken him up on the offer sooner if she had known. "In a minute, sure," the coyote said quietly, her attention turning back to Razekiel. The shine of her eye told all, and only the fact that Anselm was in good with the hybrid matron had kept her cordial. Anyone else she might have just growled at for trying to take even a second of her attention away from Razekiel.
He spoke, his voice drawling and good-tempered, the softer side of Razekiel showing foremost before anything now. He had his rough patches, no doubt—they all did—but it seemed he tried to put his best foot forward. He lived up to his name, indeed. He pushed the instrument behind him, the melody that had drawn her closer to him ceasing, and came forward, bending to pick something and stick it behind her ear. When his fingers had left her own touched it lightly, feeling the tiny, withering flower stuck there. The gesture was entirely endearing, and the hybrid woman seemed to melt, the most genuine smile she could muster oozing across her scarred features, her ears half-mast. An outsider to the scene would have certainly thought she had indeed taken a pull of the joint, so elated and sickly-sweet was her smile.
He spoke again, words that would have been a dead lie from any but her children. Only they could call her pretty like that and mean it, and the smile remained plastered to the hybrid woman's face. His hands fell to her shoulders and his touch was wonderful; until that moment the hybrid had half-expected him to disappear and leave her alone with Anselm and the faint memory of a wonderful dellusion wandering through her head. "Oh no, no apologies... I was afraid I wouldn't see you again," she murmured, pressing forward to wrap her arms around his ribs and encase him in a hug.