Unwanted, unneeded
#1
[html]
Less daunting, set at the storage shed.
Word Count ► 421

The sticks had dried before the depth of night and the woman found herself staring at a box with forty some sticks of lavender oil incense in the morning light. The scent permeated through the cracks in the box and Isabella found herself eager to get rid of some of these thin, delicate, slimsy sticks. She pulled out a handful of them and deftly tied them together with twine she had hidden away in her saddle bags. She counted about about fifteen sticks of incense and pulled out a small plastic tube she had found, washed, and dried. Using cloth and more twine, she sealed the only open end of the tube, the incense would move in the tube, since she had not packed it tightly. However, they would be fine, as she would not be tossing them around like a toy.


Isabella felt her desire to keep the sticks for herself, but she figured she would have time to make more or obtain more in the spring when trade was easier and flowers more common. With a terribly set sigh, the gypsy woman donned her red silk sash about her shoulders and left her home in the ruins for the storage shed Salsolans shared.


It was a bit of a walk, but the woman relished the feeling of the air upon her flesh as well as the Mother beneath her feet and fingertips. Life slept in the trees, even the ones bare from winter's chill. Exhaling happily, causing a puffy white cloud of vapor to appear before the woman's lips as she approached the hidden door. Winter rendered the plants brown, making it even harder to spot the doorway as the colors matched more. Smirking, the woman pulled at the door, heaving it as it had become a little tiny bit jammed from autumn and winter debris - or she was just not as strong as her curves might suggest. Inside, dust swirled and the air tasted a bit stale. Eyes adjusted, Isabella set down the tube of incense against some of the ceramics, wedging the tube to prevent rolling.


Satisfied that she had provided a fair share, the woman's eyes suddenly caught sight of the pile of pelts. With eyes that glittered with greed, Isabella reached out and pulled a slightly larger brown pelt. It was thicker and warmed quickly at her touch. Emerging from the shed, the woman stood in the light with the pelt held out in front of her as she inspected it further.


<style type="text/css">
.wheart b {font-weight:normal; color:#526b96; text-shadow:#466baa 0px 0px 3px; }
.wheart .ooc {font-style:italic; padding: 5px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; color:#466baa; text-align:center; text-shadow:#000000 0px 1px 1px;}
.wheart p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 15px 0px 15px; margin:0px;}
.wheart {margin:0 auto; width:500px; background-color:#02070e; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/3P7Kq.png), url(http://i.imgur.com/UyEOs.jpg) ; background-position:bottom center,top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #526b96; padding: 180px 0px 10px 0px; font-family: Palatino Linotype, sans-serif; font-size:14px; color:#1d3256; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;word-spacing:.5px;}
.wheart .wc {color:#466baa; letter-spacing:0px; font-size:10px; font-weight:bold; border-top:1px dotted #466baa; text-align:left; padding:0px 15px; text-transform:uppercase; margin:0px 15px 15px 15px;}
.wheart-b {width:502px; border:1px solid #02070e; margin:0 auto;}
.wheart-b2 {width:504px; border:1px solid #a8a8a8; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#2
[html]

(671)
Oh fuck yeah. |: I read your other post, but I was not entirely sure how to reply, myself. ^^ IT WAS VERY GOOD, THOUGH. Just like that one was!! ... Mine is tl;dr tl;dr. D: Also I feel bad as shit for tl;dring you after you wrote a long post so seriously, skip the first five paragraphs plz, SoSu drivel. Only the rest is important. XD



Tlantli is by me!

Things had changed since Tlantli had gone into hiding. The flaxen-hued coyote had learned, with some astonishment, a valuable tidbit of information from Miqui during their trip to Halifax. Thanks to the horses, it had only been a day trip -- which was good, for Tlantli was eager to return to Salsola and behold the shed where Salsola apparently kept a stock of goods. Though what they'd taken from the city was destined for Odessa's clinic, Tlantli had avowed to visit the shed the very next day, finding herself too tired from a day of scavenging the evening of her return. Her body seemed less resilient than it had been, though the honey-furred woman was certain this was due to disuse rather than deterioration. She was a young woman still.

The tawny coyote was also surprised by the appearance of a dock, boat, and slave to man the boat. She had thought such plans would never come to fruition, in truth, but she herself had crossed the strait of water between the mainland and Isle Haute -- for no other reason than to see the island, of course. Tlantli had never before bothered to swim the channel -- she was not especially fond of swimming, and in such waters as those, it came close to frightening her, however strangely Tlantli experienced fear.

The boat was therefore a welcome addition, and she herself had pilfered of the mushroom supply, finding herself alone on the island with Khirot, easily relegated to the shed. Her catch concealed in the leather purse adorned at her side, Tlantli had returned and squirreled this precious bit in her drawers. She rarely entertained visitors indoors anymore, and it was likely the stink of her other belongings would conceal the faint and earthy scent of the mushrooms. The straw-hued woman did not know, in truth, why she'd taken the mushrooms. She was not as indulgent with this habit as her once sister, nor did she seem to enjoy it. They were Tlantli's, nevertheless -- several lovely button caps.

It was this morning the woman rose, then, with intent to find and look over this shed, seeing what she might take for herself. Tlantli was not altogether absent-minded of her pack's custom, though the gift she offered was meager in comparison to what she would take, given the chance. A few bottles of weak alcohol, some kind of sparkling wine with a terribly bitter and painfully light taste. Tlantli had spent one bottle during her dim months, but her stomach had revolted against the champagne. She therefore dared not imbibe of the other bottles, certain it would promptly educe the same condition within her.

The coyote meandered south, having gotten only a vague idea of the location from the shed from her brother. The Borgata Coatl seemed dead and entirely unfamiliar in its winter decor (or lack thereof). Tlantli was walking in no particular direction, vexed at the lack of a wooden shed, when an unfamiliar woman, both pale of hue and streaked with darker patches. She had draped a brilliantly carmine sash about her, and her heritage appeared, at least to Tlantli, muddled -- although evidently coyote enough, there was a peculiar bulkiness about her, as well. Tlantli did not think it was wolf, but she could not be certain. The pale coyote strode toward the woman who had appeared from the ground with confidence befitting one of her position -- that is, not very much, and not nearly as much as she had possessed as The Crone.

So, this is the storage shed, she began in her thickly accented voice, taking note of the woman's examination of a pelt. We leave things, she gestured with the bottles, both of which were deftly clutched in one hand by the stems, we take things, yes? The smile she offered Isabella was one of peculiar sharpness, although whether in disapproval of the stranger's actions or mirth at having finally found the shed, one could not say.

<style>
#tlaSiePose {
font-family:'trebuchet ms', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlaSiePose p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlaSiePose p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:left; margin:5px;
}
#tlaSiePose .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlaSiePose .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlaSiePose b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlaSiePose u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlaSiePose b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlaSiePose b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlaSiePose b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]
#3
[html]
539
eeeee it's a Sie! Big Grin I actually read all of your post cx;; I'm afraid my brain says no to rambling so enjoy the lovely excessive descriptions of the pelt.

The winter sunlight made the soft pelt a more chocolate brown than the murky mud color it had seemed in the shed. Draping it over her arm, the woman felt the strange texture of the hide rather than the lusciously soft fur. With delicate fingers, Isabella made little channels through the short threads of fur, watching them part in waves like rolling plains of growing wheat or tall wild grass. After her fingers passed, the two sides cut apart merged back together without a mark of their parting. A serene smile descended upon her features as she ran her hand over the pelt again and again, ruffling it and laying it flat with every opposing pass of her hand.


Slowly, her eyes raised up when she caught the sound and scent of another member of the Thistle Kingdom approaching. It was easy to detect in the cold smell of winter where the only thing to smell was the faint aroma of musky game, wetness, and ice. Her sunflower and sky blue eyes gazed at the golden stranger as she approached. Her coloration was coyote, of beaten gold with hair the color of a murky cup of thick tea. Isabella watched her carefully, taking note of the red eyes. Red eyes, for her family, had always been a warning sign of either evil or magic, and the gypsy woman wondered if it was ether of those options. Though, in this strange kingdom, the lines between evil and good were blurred so much that Isabella was often walking in shades of grey.


This other woman demonstrated an air of authority and confidence that the gypsy woman could not mistake for anything other than a high rank or some level of power. Wary, as always, Isabella nodded her head at the woman. Facing her fully now, the gypsy saw that the stranger held bottles in her hand. Most likely some kind of alcohol, the woman forgot the bottles. Alcohol dulled the senses and the mind lost clarity. Such a dangerous drink had no place near strong women, especially ones with much to lose. Naturally, she had plenty of bottles -- both traded for and received in payment -- to give to customers. Men loosened by drink often had open hands. Sometimes, they even fell asleep before anything could have happened, so naturally Isabella kept a few in store. Though now she had none, she chose to keep her home free of the drug for now.


"I believe so," she said simply, carefully regarding the look on the golden woman's face. There was a bare hint of an accent, come from speaking French though it was faint and more of a flavoring to her tones. It was enigmatic, to say the least. In a retort, Isabella gave the stranger one of her own. She betrayed little emotion other than calm. There was no reason to betray anything to someone with such presence. "Mon Dieu, there isn't very much, though." Isabella shot a glance toward the slightly open doorway of the shed, wondering if people preferred to hoard there things. "What do you bring, if you don't mind my query?" The woman gestured lightly toward the bottles in the other woman's hands.


<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#4
[html]

(578)
<333!



Tlantli is by Nat!

Tlantli, more interested in the storage shed for this moment, peered toward the shaded opening of the door. The light was dim, but her sharp eyes perceived the dark shapes of shelving and other such organizational goodies. Tlantli could smell the dank and earthy scent of the shed's innards, along with the sharp and exotic scent of some spice within the shed. Little else was apparent to her nose save scents similar to the fine pelt clutched in the mottled stranger's hand, and so Tlantli's carnelian eyes appraised the Associate once more, peering toward the woman as she spoke. The flaxen coyote perceived the accent upon her tongue, not quite so pronounced as the one adorning her own, but still discernible in the woman's words. Tlantli did not recognize it and could not identify it, but she supposed it did not matter -- Salsola had quite the collection of exotics and foreigners, it seemed.

The woman's response was simple, as was Tlantli's return -- a nod of her head. There was little doubt in the tawny woman's mind this was their shed. She had not even noticed it before going into exile -- it must have been expertly covered by the earth. Miqui had not seemed in the least proud of his accomplishment with the shed, which had vexed Tlantli. He had never been one to have an excess of pride, but he seemed perfectly content to receive no accolade whatsoever for his accomplishment. His honey-furred sister, however, possessed more ambition. Another few words from the mottled woman, starting with a few Tlantli did not understand. They were easy enough to recognize as a noise of exasperation, though, and Tlantli again nodded, a smirk playing across her dark lips. The stranger inquired as to what she delivered to these stores, and Tlantli's gaze darted to her bottles, which she again held up, shrugging wiry shoulders.

I cannot drink it myself. This... flavor, type -- whatever it is, it does not agree with me, she explained, her own accent thick upon her words. I was hoping to find something better, but maybe not, like you say. I am Tlantli Kimaris, also. The introduction was tacked on as nothing of particular import, and Tla was quick to move to other subjects. The amber-furred canine gave half a frown toward her companion, and nodded to the pelt. Maybe I use some of those. These winters are cold, she said, wrinkling her muzzle at the thought of the temperature. Little tested Tlantli's mettle, but it was difficult to function when one could hardly feel one's fingers, to say the least. Her crimson eyes looked over the sash, rivaling her gaze in redness, and Tlantli half-cocked her head. Yourself? Or do you take, and plan to bring later? The straw-colored woman was indifferent, either way -- she would, perhaps, use such information against this stranger if it benefitted her in any way, but otherwise, Tlantli would not blindly tattle to their Colotl ranks -- not unless such a thing proved personally useful for her.

It was not that Tlantli was particularly self-serving: on the contrary, her existence was merely a tool for the furtherance of the Kimaris lineage, and Tlantli lived to serve her name. She had simply seen through the facade of propriety and false spirituality hanging about this place, and she would serve it no further than its interests served her own.

<style>
#tlantliNat {
font-family:'trebuchet ms', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlantliNat p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlantliNat p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:left; margin:5px;
}
#tlantliNat .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlantliNat .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlantliNat b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlantliNat u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlantliNat b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliNat b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliNat b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]
#5
[html]
607
Trying to post stuff without muse is so hard :C Forgive for any blehness

Isabella gave a light roll of the shoulders; she had not thoroughly foraged through the shed, having chosen to simply drop off her small load and then leave, when the fur had caught her eye. Besides that, she had seen and taken in very little in the shed as important. It all seemed to be mundane things that people either could find on their own elsewhere but would rather get it here for proximity. Not worth a lot, but Isabella was sure that no Salsolan worth their salt would bring something truly valuable for pack storage here, when someone else could use it. They would hide it away as was smart and proper. Everyone here had some sort of secret to keep and Isabella was well aware that she was among them. Who didn't have secrets, after all? Everyone had a secret or two to keep from everyone else. Isabella had her fair share of them and had taken a significant amount as payment before.


"Ah, an unfortunately problem," she said, offering the mild condolances for an exceptionally unimportant issue. "I find it easier to avoid such drink than risk it disagreeing with me." She kept private her dislike for the drink itself and the addling it had a habit of doing. Continued use always made the canines she had seen grow dumber and weaker. Their judgement went only so far as to get themselves more of the sauce. Clarity was always a far better blessing than foggy drunkenness. Forgetting might have been a great aspect of hard drinking, though Isabella knew that life was full of lessons and forgetting a single moment was like forgetting a crucial lesson as a child. "Isabella Heiwa," she added in addendum, following the woman's cue in presenting her own name. The accent was not one she knew, and it was slightly tricky to comprehend fully on the first go. Thankfully, the gypsy woman kept her look level and gave no notice to her internal struggle in understanding.


Tlantli gestured to the pelt she held aloft, and Isabella gave a light nod. "Yes, this is not a kind winter to those made for southern climates." Naturally, she was perfectly fine in this place of snow and cold, especially with a winter pelt fully in and her natural thick pelt keeping out the elements rather easily. But some, like this golden woman, were not made in such a way. How unfortunate. "There are plenty more in the shed, or you could take this one. It's rather thick and soft, and the hide seems well tanned." Isabella did not offer the pelt to the woman before her with willing arms, though she herself was not in any desperate need of the pelt. It was merely a prideful love of finery that made her pick up the fur in the first place.


The other woman's gaze flitted to her red sash. The comment had something beneath it, though Tlantli looked indifferent. Careful to keep from narrowing her eyes, Isabella touched the sash with a light hand. "No, this is mine." There was some motive to the question, and Isabella did not doubt that notion in the least. Everyone was out to get their own recognition and she would have done much the same. Regardless, she kept her eye on Tlantli and a pleasantly neutral look in her eyes. "I brought a small bundle of incense sticks for other people's use," she said while gesturing behind her slightly. There was no way that Tlantli could find fault in her actions simply because there was nothing wrong to find in them.


<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#6
[html]

(519)



Tlantli is by Nat!

Tlantli simply nodded with the mottled woman's admission of temperance. She could see the usefulness in such, and she herself preferred to imbibe intoxicating substances when alone. No matter one's tolerance or experience, it was impossible to avoid overindulgence at all times, and overindulgence frequently led to foolishness, at least when one was in the public eye. On the contrary, within the walls of her home, there was no one to judge her save Nagual, and he slumbered for winter now. The woman's name was received with a cocked ear and a look of interest. Tlantli found the surname strange, but not in a distasteful way. On the contrary, it was exotic and in this land of Kimaris, Lykoi, D'Angelo and Eternity, it lent uniqueness to the Associate. Perhaps she would acquire some more powerful surname in time -- or, even have her mate acquire the Heiwa name. Tlantli had never for an instant considered relinquishing the Kimaris name, and it wouldn't have surprised her if others felt similarly regarding their familial heritage.

The woman's razor teeth were shown in a grin as Isabella spoke of those made for southern climes, and her nod was more earnest this time. Isabella's offer was met with surprised skepticism, and Tlantli's grin grew more mischievous. Come, now -- you would not wish to give this pelt to me! If I wanted it, I could order you to give it to me, but I do not wish for you to dislike me. There was jest in her voice, but truth in her words -- though their difference of rank was not so great, the flaxen hybrid might choose to exercise her status. Your sash -- lovely, yes, and it matches my eyes, but it is too thin to give me warmth, so I do not want it, either. In truth -- I am cold, yes, but I tolerate cold best I can. The explanation was given in simple words and simpler truth. Tlantli did not wish to appear weak by donning anything meant to outfit her -- this was the same reason she did not don armor or bear weapons other than her teeth. She had not directly admitted such to Isabella, but the pieces of the puzzle were there, should the Associate with the strange eyes choose to put them together.

You know how important appearances are here, yes? the coyote inquired, making no mention of the incense sticks. She did not care what Isabella delivered to this storage, and she did not care if the mottled woman took all within it for her personal stash. It was of no consequence to Tlantli. How long are you a Salsolian? I have been away -- in one sense or another, the coyote said, offering this and this alone for her solitude. Perhaps someone would learn the truth, sooner or later, but it certainly was not to be someone with so little connection to the honey-furred Family member. The newcomer seemed suspicious of Tlantli, and the caramel-furred hybrid hoped to conciliate this suspicion. She needed all the allies she could get.

<style>
#tlantliNat {
font-family:'trebuchet ms', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlantliNat p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlantliNat p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:left; margin:5px;
}
#tlantliNat .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlantliNat .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlantliNat b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlantliNat u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlantliNat b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliNat b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliNat b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]
#7
[html]
670


There was a certain level of pride that Isabella held for her name, both first and surname. Naturally, her names meanings were old, but their definitions could be twisted to suit her and her lifestyle. Her first name, Isabella, meant "God is my oath", which was far beyond the truth. There was no god for the woman, there was only the Mother, the Earth. A Goddess, perhaps that was the meaning of her name. She was true to the earth alone and she had always turned to her at times of need. The meaning could easily twist to suit her and she was good at twisting things around. Her surname, Heiwa, meant peace in the language of those distant cherry blossom islands. She believed that it stood for her state of mind; she was at peace with what she was and what she did.


That surname, though, was uncommon in Toronto, despite the mix of cultures. How her father acquired it was unknown to the woman, but she knew that both he and her mother had a similar heritage, coming from similar places with similar backgrounds. He had been a different sort of hybrid, with a much more pale coyote coloring with more white than most. Her mother had been like her, without the prevalent whiteness, however. There was definitely some pride in Isabella for her defining names, though she did not let them truly mean the same as they were intended.


Isabella held back a smirk at the woman. She was clearly attempting to conciliate her favor for something. Tlantli's former importance to the pack was not something she was aware of, though there seemed to be an air of power and manipulation in her. "I have not taken it from the storage shed for my own use. The light is simply better out here. You have every right to take it from it, don't you?" she said, keeping her tone even and light as she carefully watched the golden woman. "I have little need for it other than decoration," she added. Isabella kept the smugness out of her voice, but she was very smug about the fact that she had no need for a warm pelt like this woman here. How thankful she was for her thick pelt and heritage. There was a large portion of coyote blood in her, but the other half of her compensated for that little problem.


Isabella almost frowned at the coyote's other words. Demand to take her sash? That was unimaginably rude. She had earned the sash through work and she would have had to figure out a way to refuse a higher ranking member of the Thistle Kingdom. That might not have gone over terribly well with the better ups, and she certainly did not want to offend a single soul, not just yet. Thankfully, Tlantli saw that the sash was for little more than ornamental and decided to let Isabella keep it. "How generous," she thought, with a little more than a bit of distaste. Thankfully, her years of practice kept her face calm and collected despite her mild anger.


"Of course," she said easily, letting her anger melt away. It would be good to know to avoid this woman, for there were motives Isabella did not like lurking somewhere in her heart. "Everything here is not always as it seems. I also hear they excel at such things, and encourage them," she added, at length. She did not have to reveal everything to this woman, despite her upper rank. At least she had said truth, though she had little else to utter. "I have been here since before the solstice. Perhaps a month or more prior." More truths. Isabella had little to lose and nothing to gain from admitting how long she had been here. "Where did your travels take you?" inquired the gypsy, thinking that Tlantli would, no doubt, ignore her question or tell her to mind her own business. That was fine with her.


<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#8
[html]

(363)



Tlantli is by me!

The coyote nodded in response, and punctuated this agreement with a shrug that seemed to suggest indifference either way. What did she truly care for all the rank, ceremony, and false tradition -- tradition lauded as ancient, but not yet even a yearling -- of this place? If you do not want it, then it should go back for others to take, she said, simply, her smile less broad and more uncertain now. But decoration is important, no? If you want it for that, it should be yours. Decoration was an aspect of appearance, after all -- Tlantli did not ornament herself with scars and snakes simply because they were pretty, after all. Her decor carried with it a deep and resonant meaning.

Yes -- and that is maybe why you should take it, if you want it for decorating. No one will fault you for keeping up appearances, after all, the coyote said, her voice even of tone; her mind, in contrast, roiled at this statement. She had not kept up appearances, and she had paid for it dearly. Tlantli nodded in response to Isabella's answer, though her golden-hued muzzle showed the faintest hints of a frown. A month, and Tlantli was just now meeting her. Who else had snuck into Salsola while she slumbered?

My body did not travel -- my mind, though, the woman admitted, her air now one of indifference. She did not wish the other to think so much of her absence, though it was not something the yellow woman could easily conceal. It did not surprise her none of the others within this pack had spoken of her to Isabella -- why would they, after all? She was but a cog in the machine now, and she held no more import than a screw. Such things could be lost and the machine could still function, and -- sure enough, ere long, she would be replaced by some other little screw without second thought from the Colotl ranks. I think it was illness, the coyote confessed, though this was untrue. She knew the cause of her quiet months; she simply refused to admit them. The mind can grow weary, much like the body.

<style>
#tlaSiePose {
font-family:'trebuchet ms', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlaSiePose p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlaSiePose p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:left; margin:5px;
}
#tlaSiePose .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlaSiePose .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlaSiePose b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlaSiePose u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlaSiePose b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlaSiePose b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlaSiePose b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]
#9
[html]
354
omfg I'm so done with huge posts cx

Isabella sighed as she peered one last time at the fur pelt. It was nice but she had not earned the privilege of taking it from the shed. While she had dropped off the incense, it was not an equal exchange in any way, shape, or form. It would have to be placed back in its place on the shelf and left behind. Perhaps if she brought in something bigger, better, she could meet the value of the pelt. For now, it was not hers to take. She would return it after this little chat with the fallen woman. Isabella nodded at Tlantli, though she added a light roll of the shoulders in a shrug. "It isn't an equal exchange. I will return it." There was little to add, for it was plain that incense was not the worth of a warm, thick pelt. "Perhaps the next time I come I will provide something worthy of it. After all, it is not a necessity that can be overlooked easily." Isabella waved her hand, dismissing the notion lightly.


Curiously, she listened to the vague descriptions that Tlantli offered her of the journey she had undertaken. It was nothing dramatic, nor was it unknown to the woman. She had heard of plenty of spiritual journeys. Rarely, far northern dogs and wolves would come to trade in the derelict city and tell tales of their shamans and spirit journeys. Some of those rare stories told of a journey of the mind. Perhaps they were similar in nature? However, Tlantli said it may have been a disease. Isabella furrowed her forehead slightly at the suggestion, not knowing of any diseases that could cause the mind to shift from the body. She did not pry though, for lies had a reason here in this place. Tlantli preferred not to reveal the truth and Isabella found herself not caring one way or the other. "Of course. A mind that does not relax now and again will break just as fast, if not faster, than a weary mind." That was why the mind was so powerful, but so very weak.


<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#10
[html]


(--)
SAME HERE, brosephalususkisuski. SO done, haha.

The mottled woman seemed displeased with this development. Tlantli pondered whether Isabella thought she truly cared. Tlantli did not mind what Isabella took, and if the flaxen coyote knew her companion's true intent, she might have offered to loot the entirety of the storeroom with her. Tla had no idea of this pied canine's true character, however -- to verbalize such thoughts to the wrong Salsolian would be a costly mistake. The yellow-furred coyote returned Isabella's shrug with one of her own, figuring the subject of the pelt was through. There was the faintest smile accompanying Tlantli's movement, however, and the tawny coyote's razor-sharp teeth glinted aginst the darkness of her lips.

The subject of her absence -- at least, her spiritual absence -- was far more interesting to Tlantli. This subject was more dangerous, as well -- the honey-furred coyote knew this well, and she knew she must be careful with her wording. Isabella's brow wrinkled, and Tlantli listened to her speak, the tingle of apprehension she felt at their current topic slowly disappearing as the brown and white canine continued. Isabella seemed to understand Tlantli's plight, though the honey-furred canine was well-versed enough in the ways of Salsola to avoid taking her companion's words at their absolute face value. None in Salsola were above deception and lies, after all.

I'm glad you agree. Why should the mind be of perfect health forever? It is not always so with the body. Tlantli smiled, albeit more uncertainly. Thank you, she added. Some pretend they are above weakness -- I think they mistake their false appearances for the truth.



Tlantli is by Kitty!

<style>
#tlaKitty {
font-family:'times new roman', times, serif;
font-size:14px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlaKitty p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlaKitty p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
}
#tlaKitty .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif;
text-transform:none;
font-style:italic;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlaKitty .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlaKitty b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlaKitty u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlaKitty b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlaKitty b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlaKitty b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>
[/html]
#11
[html]

i have no clue what the heck you said

Isabella gave a slightly exaggerated nod of the head to the other woman, keeping a light grin on the corners of her eyes. It did not necessarily extend out to your eyes, though, which were still fairly blank and devoid of much expression. "Of course, I've seen many come and go with something wrong. A mind tired of life, and of seeing suffering, can be easy to break. Mother knows what they may do when their mind snaps." Minds were like branches. If bent too far they would snap and crack. And just like any branch, they could lose their green cores with age and with drought. Isabella had once seen a mummer running around the streets of Montreal, screaming her head off about something bizarre. The only bizarre thing was how long it took a pair of men to catch her and silence her. Who knew where she went, but no one seemed to care, and Isabella was among their number.


A slightly sly glint entered her odd eyes as the woman lowered the arm holding the pelt. "People seem to think they have to act strong all the time. But it's silly," Isabella rolled her shoulders delicately, making her scarf ripple with her. "When you crack wearing that facade, everyone can see you're really weak inside." She waved a hand, her look full of knowing. "But if you seem weak to all, they'll never suspect there is something powerful hiding inside." Tightening her scarf about her shoulders, the woman deftly folded up the pelt with a hand. "Wouldn't you agree? An unknown danger is more dangerous than one in plain sight."


<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#12
[html]

(--)
That is fine, neither do I. 8D 8D 8D <3



Tlantli is by Alaine!

The coyote considered her companion gravely, nodding her continued agreement. I am thankful every day my mind was only... what do you say, sprained, maybe? The flaxen canine struggled to find the correct words, shrugging and continuing when she figured her meaning was made. Some are not so lucky and their mind breaks, just like bones. But I am stronger now, I think, the hybrid said, listening with piqued interest as her mottled companion spoke on something that had occurred to Tlantli. Her maw showed a broad grin, and the hybrid nodded, pleased with this one's cleverness. No wonder Salsola had taken her on; one with a mind sharp as this certainly provided an asset to the pack.

You speak truth, the coyote said, bowing her head to show her understanding of the concept. I think it is this principle on which Salsola operates -- at least, it was, she said, her voice and face growing ponderous. We do not attack, we do not seek to make trouble, and for many months, there was quiet. None knew of us, and so none saw us as a threat. The rest of it, unsaid -- Salsola was indeed now seen as a threat. This was apparent in the treatment they'd received with the first few days of the new year and the attacks they'd suffered. There was more than one pack scent amongst the attackers' smell.

<style>
#tlantliAlaine {
font-family:'trebuchet ms', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlantliAlaine p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlantliAlaine p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:left; margin:5px;
}
#tlantliAlaine .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlantliAlaine .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlantliAlaine b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlantliAlaine u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlantliAlaine b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliAlaine b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliAlaine b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]
#13
[html]

hehehe good to know no one understand you xD

Isabella gave a single curt nod of the head at Tlantli. "What does not kill us makes us stronger." It was a common cliche, but it was one well suited to the situation. Isabella firmly believed in it herself. She had killed a man with her own hands and was the stronger for it. Men would not dare bother her nor would they dare think themselves her masters. Few deserved that title. Sirius was one of few, but he truly held the noose over her head if she was not terribly careful. But, at this point, she was sure she could act the way she wanted to, to a degree, and find herself not looking over her shoulder in fear.


The woman shook her head slightly at the woman's unspoken assumption. "I was not here before Salsola, though I'm sure it was always a threat. But I think now more people see the threat. After all, petit poisson deviendra grand. Small things grow to be bigger." The proverb may have been in French, but it's meaning existed in all languages. Salsola had grown larger and the pack's presence had increased. Ergo, the threat of the pack rose with it as it grew. "Salsola can not go back into nonexistence." Isabella paused here though, thinking slightly for a moment. Before the silence could drag on, she gave a crooked smile to the other woman. "Perhaps it can be a snake? But one unknown to all on whether or not it is lethally venomous. Salsola can either be a king snake or a coral snake." Either way, no one would touch the pack for fear of a deadly bite.


<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#14
[html]

(369)



Tlantli is by me!

The honey-furred coyote gave a razor-toothed smile and nod of agreement, finding the old adage appropriate. Cliche as it was, there were truth to these words. Tlantli's body might have suffered somewhat with the months of darkness, but already her muscles were returning to their former strength, and her mind -- well, she had renewed her purpose on this earth. Its song heated her blood, evoking memories of the desert sand and her too-short time in Eterne.

When the woman spoke again, her words included a phrase Tlantli did not understand. The strange tongue did not sound entirely unfamiliar, though; perhaps it shared some ancient ancestor with her own mother tongue. This brought another grin to Tlantli's face, for though she had not understood the woman's words, her translation sufficed perfectly, and the Family member could only smile in agreement. She remained quiet so the mottled woman might expound fully upon her thoughts, and was not disappointed with the mention of snakes.

Both the coral snake and the kingsnake were known to her, and she nodded enthusiastically with the woman's analogy. Such good words, she declared. Only those who know the pattern of the snake's scales will be able to walk without fear of us, she said, laughing animatedly with the thought. The rest -- they will wonder. It felt good to engage in camaraderie again, and the flaxen-haired coyote was surprised by the ease with which she'd fallen back into it.

I do not see why any should hate us, though, the woman said, grimacing now. What harm did we commit in taking this unwanted corner of the bay? We want nothing to do with them, so when we are... what is the word? Aloof? she said, brows furrowing as she wondered whether this was the thing she'd meant to say. When we are this thing, they hate us for it. Jealous, maybe. It would not have surprised Tlantli to find all the world jealous of what Salsola had crafted here. Though she no longer viewed the current Colotl ranks in a positive light, Salsola itself would strong -- perhaps it would survive the folly of its leadership, after all.

<style>
#tlantliSie {
font-family:'trebuchet ms', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlantliSie p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlantliSie p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:left; margin:5px;
}
#tlantliSie .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlantliSie .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlantliSie b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlantliSie u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlantliSie b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliSie b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliSie b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]
#15
[html]
333


Isabella gave a nod of appreciation to the woman for her praise of her words. She was glad that something made the cold fade slightly from the other woman, even though the gypsy had no idea exactly what was lurking behind those cunning eyes. "Not so bad a thing, I think," she added to her words, with a glittering smile. There was more than enough venom in this pairing of women to kill a mongoose. Though when the woman's words turned to the discussion of the others fearing them, Isabella gave a light shrug here and there in response. She let Tlantli finish her words, and she had to agree with them. Hostilities always seemed to arise when people were jealous or afraid. Jealousy of prosperity were some of the worst, when people coveted what others had. Greed. No one was spared that feeling, honestly.


"Jealous? Then we are doing things correctly. They should be jealous, shouldn't they? If the pack is great, then things are good." Isabella eyed the storage facility slightly, then turned back to the golden woman. One wouldn't think they were too powerful judging by the state of their pack, especially in the winter. But Isabella knew that beneath the thistles were the snakes waiting to strike anyone brave enough to push past the thorns.


"We may not be as unknown, but we are just as mysterious." A coy look passed over her features as the gypsy woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Everyone must have some amount of mystery in them, especially the women. We are born with a sort of power, to be as mysterious and dangerous as we please." She waved her hand dismissively, as though tossing the thoughts away. "Men are usually so obvious. Often, all they want is on the surface." Sirius was different, ever so slightly. His lust had been as plain as the day, but there was more behind his eyes than Isabella dared imagine.


<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#16
[html]

(--)



Tlantli is by Nat!

The flaxen-haired coyote nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. Jealousy was a good reason to hate, and if all were jealous of them here -- let them hate, Tlantli thought. They would try to emulate and fail miserably, or they would defect and come to Salsola -- perhaps only to be told Salsola did not want them. She found herself grinning as Isabella continued to the subject of men and women, though it faded and she nodded solemnly with the mottled canine's final proclamation.

It is too true. Men are simple creatures of simple wants, and they wear them too plainly, she complained, shaking her head. Not Salsola's men, though there are too few of them these days, the hybrid said, still complaining -- not that it mattered much to her, in any case. Miqui's seed was all she could carry back to Eterne -- anything less was a disservice to the Kimaris line. All other men she had seen in this wide land were inferior; none deserved to share blood with her family.

Though maybe -- maybe, that says something of women in general, and their rightness for Salsola? the coyote suggested. Still, she was not one to vilipend a good man for the entirety of mankind -- to do so would be folly on her part. Tlantli would not altogether discard men -- some had their uses, after all, and she herself preferred a male partner -- but she did not mind the gender imbalance within the pack, if only because it had no effect on her.

<style>
#tlantliNat {
font-family:'trebuchet ms', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlantliNat p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlantliNat p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:left; margin:5px;
}
#tlantliNat .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlantliNat .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlantliNat b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlantliNat u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlantliNat b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliNat b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliNat b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]
#17
[html]
307


Isabella gave a light laugh as she shrugged. "Perhaps we should go en masse to find men of a suitable nature. It would make things easier, especially for those who are actually interested in finding an 'other'." The gypsy had no desire to do such a thing, especially since mates weighed down a woman with a business mind. And in her business, a mate would only stop her work and weaken the trades she could make. A few had tried to make her theirs, and one of them ended up dead on her floor with knives stuck into his spine. Thankfully, no one bothered to pursue her and some lucky bastard got her old rooms with the things she could not take with her. "But we are still alright regardless of how many men are here."


The woman gave a slow rolling shrug, unsure of what it would mean for the pack. "Perhaps. Salsola doesn't seem to suffer for lack of men, that is for sure." Isabella had no issue with men who knew their place or who were more like women in mystique and slyness. Though the ones who wore their lives on their sleeves were certainly still a major portion of her business. Well, they once were. Now it was more for providing for the pack, since that was the focus here was. She had more important things to do, and the lack of customers was not nearly as harsh on her as she had thought. "Men will come along in due time. After all, pups are born every day," she said shrewdly, though she knew she had to have been exaggerating. There could not have been litters every day. That was far too many children in her mind's eye. "If we don't suffer, I don't see anything to worry about."

<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#18
[html]

The honey-furred hybrid considered her companion's word with a tilt of her head. Seek a man in the outlands? Tlantli was not averse to traveling outside of Salsola, at least now that she had left her funk behind. Still, could any of the tramontane outsiders prove worthy? Her endorsement did not mean as much as it once had to Salsolian hopefuls. No man of these parts of the world could satisfy her, of course -- the yellow-haired woman would entertain thoughts of only a farce mateship. She would no more love this foreigner man than she would forsake her surname.

No doubt, the woman said, though her thoughts were faraway and her voice was accordingly distant. She spoke again, this time with more formulation behind her words. Still -- Salsola values mateship. Woman and woman or man and man can come together here, but without children -- stolen ones, or ones from a donor -- what meaning do they have? Tlantli was not so certain she would have acted as their Auxiliary had in granting legitimacy to Bastion and Janos. Then again, they had provided a child, it seemed. She sighed and drew her arms to her chest, shaking her head.

But yes, yes -- we should not stoop to take worthless men, she said. Nor women. Lucky for us, we have our uses, the sandy canine said, her teeth baring in another grin.



Tlantli is by Kitty!

<style>
#tlaKitty {
font-family:'times new roman', times, serif;
font-size:14px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlaKitty p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlaKitty p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
}
#tlaKitty .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif;
text-transform:none;
font-style:italic;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlaKitty .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlaKitty b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlaKitty u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlaKitty b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlaKitty b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlaKitty b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]
#19
[html]
274


Men could join with men? Women with women? It was logical and the gypsy woman had nothing against it in the least. But it was not something she could comprehend on a personal level. So, Isabella could only truly offer a shrug to the woman's question. "I don't know. It's not something that I understand. I don't think I'll experience anything of the like." Isabella was realistic. She understood love to a certain extent, though it was often only toward family, toward blood relatives. Love toward an unrelated soul was something she did not understand, having never experienced. The only thing other than herself and her family that she had ever loved was the horse she now called her own. "Perhaps they offer each other a slew of things, though I don't quite know what." Again, she rolled her shoulders.


Returning the sly smile, Isabella thought herself fortunate to receive that verdict from the other woman. "How would we live if we weren't useful?" she countered, though she was certainly glad to have Tlantli decide she was useful. "Life must be very dull for those too stupid to find something valuable to do with themselves." Perhaps that was why Salsola kept slaves; creatures too stupid, or low in value, that could be put to some serviceable work for the greater good. A slave would be a good thing to have, especially when one could not worry about more mundane things. "I believe worthy members will come as they have before. If the unworthy come.. well, I think we have an institution as a solution for their unworthiness."

<style>
.isa-txt {font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height:17px; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:1px; margin:0px 25px auto; padding:0px 75px 0px 75px; margin:5px auto; text-align:justify;}
.isa-txt .ooc {font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto; width:500px;}
.isa-txt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px;}
.isa-txt b {letter-spacing:1px; letter-spacing:-.05em;text-shadow:#fff 0px 0px 1px;font-family:verdana, garamond, serif; font-size:12px;}
.isa-txt .line {width:450px; border-bottom:1px dashed #000; margin:0 auto;}
</style>
[/html]
#20
[html]

This is a bad post. :| I SORRY.



Tlantli is by Alaine!

The pale coyote nodded earnestly. She did not understand it either; while Tlantli could envision herself with a woman and had taken their custom while in Barbados, she did not think she wanted anything less than a man for her life partner -- if she had such a thing as a life partner in her future. The flaxen coyote did not think Miqui would travel south with her. He would remain here, with his new family -- he had forgotten the ways of his ancestry. No matter -- all the glory would be hers, then. She would bring children back home to Metetzili and Dieriel, and she would bring dignity and greatness back to the Kimaris family.

None of this for me, I think. If I have need of children -- all some men are good for -- I will find a willing and suitable man, and he will give them to me -- my children, she asserted, knowing this to be the truth of her plan -- though, phrased as it was, it sounded more like a future aspiration than current underaking. The honey-furred coyote grinned broadly at her companion's suggestion of enslaving the weak, but she made a noise of slight disapproval, all the same. Even slaves must have some worth, though -- but maybe we will do those foul creatures too worthless to perform even a slave's duties a favor, too, she said, drawing a line across her throat with one finger to indicate their special treatment.

<style>
#tlantliAlaine {
font-family:'trebuchet ms', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#tlantliAlaine p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#tlantliAlaine p.sieImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:left; margin:5px;
}
#tlantliAlaine .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:12px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#tlantliAlaine .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#tlantliAlaine b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#tlantliAlaine u { text-decoration: underline; }
#tlantliAlaine b:before { content: open-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliAlaine b:after { content: close-quote; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; }
#tlantliAlaine b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]


Forum Jump: