I try to imagine myself away from here

p. Micah; Belial's house in Treetop Terrace;

POSTED: Mon Jan 06, 2014 12:12 pm

While in the mainlands of Cercatori, he had to remain silent, almost secretive about what he liked to do. Well, he had to remain that way around everyone because what he did was not for everyone’s ears or minds. What he did scared mostly everyone, so he carefully kept all of it to himself. However, what he liked to draw was somewhat less delicate information. He preferred physical models when he drew things – so it wasn’t strange or out of the ordinary when he plucked just the head off some elk and snuck it home with him to draw later.

Under the canopy of the trees, hidden from any soaring bird spies or that of which even some of those who liked to travel up to the bridges above, Belial sat on the icy ground in front of the stag head he stole home with him. He had the thing propped up on a stick, stuck in the frozen ground, turned to the side, while he sketched it in his notebook. He had found a bunch of pencils and charcoal in Halifax when he once lived there full-time, and a bunch of notebooks that were not too weatherworn. The country of Nova Scotia was large, to the many wolves that lived there, so finding some leftover notebooks was not unheard of. He made sure to dig deep – find those that were on the top floors of the shabby buildings – places that Luperci had not dared to venture to in fear that they would either discover a weak spot in the building, or fall to their death. Belial, somehow, had nothing to fear.

He used long strokes, light strokes as he shaped the head, drew the eyes, mapped out the antlers (erasing those a few times before he got them right), and ultimately sketched this head on a pike. He thought about the skulls he had found at Inferni’s borders and how they were perched on stakes. The only different was that his was still meaty – and still furry. His head still had a leathery nose and brown-colored pupils in its eyeballs. The velvet was still hanging off this ones antlers as he seemingly shed for late December. Belial’s drawing was detailed; he even attempted to catch the small hints of rot forming on its face, and of course, the shedding antlers. He assumed, maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could just break one of them off… and use it to scratch his back.

The coyote cracked and smile and chuckled – thinking of himself doing that and how silly and red-neckish he would look. Why don't I throw a piece of wheat in my mouth and start farming then? he thought, leaning back to straighten his spine comfortably while looking over his work from a different perspective. He was never one to really live off the land (even if most of them had no choice). He didn’t partake in unnecessary techniques and just stuck to what he knew and how he knew to survive – and of course, having a pack helped him along greatly. Hunting worked well for him - none of that unnecessary herb stuff ever really interested him.

(530)

Hello! Anyone welcome For Micah! ~ Belial's by his house, sketching outside. He lives in a small cottage-type-shack in the middle of the woods. Not much to look at really. Also, back-dated to December 26th :3


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Sammiie
Luperci
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POSTED: Mon Jan 27, 2014 5:30 pm

In that moment Micah lost all breath, all motion. His satchel fell tumbling to the earth, spilling its innards of cans and sticks and beads, stunned in place with senses locked, like the frozen glimpse of a man before cowardice set in.

The Artist had been en route to the town center on the off-chance he might run into Skye at very long last, but it seemed that would not be. Wary of cold weather, his shortcut led him to the side of a packmate hard at work, sketchbook and instrument in hand and a delighted look dancing about his features. Micah was an artist, of course; he was open-minded, able to appreciate even the furthest ranges of artistic license, but this?

Before the sketching man was the skull of an elk—and one of nature's finest—staked like a trophy on display.

This man could draw that, and with such satisfaction in his grin?

The Artist could nearly hear the disturbed wails of his mother and the earthchildren of Juniper Peace in his ears, mourning the interruption in the circle of life seen there. Even in death prey was to be respected, they said, like the moon and the trees and the flowers, like a beautiful song cut short with the snap of a string. Beheaded and staked like a decoration—Micah would wish that on no soul, prey or otherwise.

"Wh-wh-why would you do this?" he stammered, baffled, too stunned for fear. "C-C-Couldn't you dr-draw one sti-still alive instead of— i-instead of th-this?"


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Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

POSTED: Thu Jan 30, 2014 11:40 am

Belial was in his zone, able to let his mind drift without worrying about being found out and able to draw anything he wanted to. It was why he liked it so much out here – there was barely any traffic, and while there sometimes was, they took to the trees instead of the ground. But his thoughts were interrupted by a clothed thump and a lot of scattering and clanking from behind him, and both his ears shot back in the noise’s direction. Hearing something that sounded like a heart beat, Belial turned to find a coyote that looked like he had just seen the grim reaper.

Close, but unfortunately, it was only Belial.

He eyed the canine for a second, taking in the fact that he was baffled, nervous, and Belial could have sworn he smelt fear. The other stammered stupidly; so stupidly, Belial almost couldn’t understand him. ”Do what?” He said at first as he felt that the other was blaming him for something that he had no recollection of doing, but it soon became clear what he was stammering about. The Massacre turned back to look at the rotting skull on its stake, and then back at the other. ”Us coyotes do worse to corpses when scavenging for food – don’t play that game,” Belial was quick to brush off the others fears and claims. This was stupid - he was really going to come to him talking about that? The scent on him was similar to his – coyote, among other things, though the family scent he carried jogged no memories of Belial’s. ”Alive isn’t my style,” he finally said after a couple of seconds.

(000)

It's alright - what matters is that you're here now :3


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Sammiie
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POSTED: Thu Jan 30, 2014 4:21 pm

His claims were truthful but without excuse. Micah's inner earthchild—suppressed and ignored as it so often was yet the core of his thoughts and feelings no less—screamed and wept and shook all at the same time deep within his head, his chest. It was a reaction he could not simply set aside, not unless he wished for plauging demons long after the fact. That look on the elk's face, now stages into its decomposition, though hindered by cold. Even so, that stench, however faint...

"Thi-thi-this is not a game! Th-th-that is not a game, that is just c-cruel," Micah said, straightening as if a spine had suddenly become tangible within him. His finger pointed accusingly, accompanied by a stuttering "I-I-I-I— I-I don't— y-y-you—" before the coyote filled his lungs with air and started anew.

"I-I-I ap-p-preciate art i-in every form," Micah said, fingers fidgeting only long enough for him to notice and vehemently fist them at his sides. "I-I appreciate this, i-in a way, but..."

He took another breath, and voice emerged with greater strength: "B-But it's just not respectful. I-I mean, he died for your purposes and y-you'd immortalize him—like this?!"

An arm was thrown in motion to the staked elk head, rotting and lolling and unceremonious, and Micah scarcely heard himself whisper, "Wh-What is wrong with you?"


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Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

POSTED: Wed Feb 12, 2014 7:51 pm

Alive wasn’t his style. Belial didn’t take pride in drawing still-lifes of things that moved, he enjoyed drawing the still life of something dead already. He enjoyed and took pride in the way he drew the gnarled, rotting flesh of an elk or the dirty, exposing bones that had some spots of skin and muscle still clinging to it. He painted with blood, not flowers, not berry juice. The canine that stood, stammering before him made accusations that Belial already knew were true. Yes, he dismantled this beast’s corpse to collect its head and bring it back here to draw it. Yes, it smelled a little. Yes, it was disturbing – but it was nothing out of the ordinary, except for it being on a stake suspended off the ground.

Belial’s expression grew impatient as he listened to the other stammer. He wished he would just spit it the hell out already. The Massacre’s eyes followed the direction of the finger pointed and his eyes fell momentarily upon the skull. Then they shot back up to Micah as he took a breath and all was silent for a moment or two. Belial could no longer hold back an impatient growl, and he straightened, turning his head and large ears onto the other coyote. ”I didn’t kill it – it was already a rotting corpse left off the side of Halifax. Its head was dismantled already,” he lied. He had not killed it – that was true – but the head had been attached to the rest of its decomposing body; and while Belial would have gladly taken the whole thing, he couldn’t. So, he just took the head. ”Get your facts straight before you point fingers,” he said calmly, vengefully.

The other continued to make comments like there was something Belial did that was incredibly wrong, but Belial hadn’t let it get to him - that much. He hated being accused of disrespect, whatever it was; he didn’t do it. His orange eyes burned into the other as he waited for him to say something else to throw the situation into the blame-game. He couldn’t wait to see what he had to say this time, even with the word that the beast wasn’t killed by Belial’s hand.

(300+)

Sorry for the shitty long wait - won't happen again!


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Sammiie
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POSTED: Fri Feb 14, 2014 3:40 pm

"I-I-It doesn't matter how he died," Micah said, covering his tracks; no, he could not have verified whether this man took down his prey for this purpose alone or if it was someone else. The Lykoi could have jumped to conclusions, but the fact of the matter was far from the reason this creatured took to the next life. The elk was dead. There was no reversing that now.

"Y-You're disrespecting him still," Micah continued, though his courage quickly waning. "Even if y-y-you just fo-found him like that, you're, umm, you're d-d-desecrating him."

But the coyote's ears flipped back under pressure of golden eyes, challenging and awaiting and preparing a response. Micah should have run, should have at least passed by without a word, but the earthchild within him demanded voicing. Had he placed himself in trouble's path?

"Who— who are you?" He could say no more.


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Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

POSTED: Sat Feb 15, 2014 10:27 pm

Even though the Lykoi boy kept talking, there was some kind of air floating around the two that told him he had won. He spoke saying it didn’t matter how the elk’s body died, but from what he had asked earlier, it apparently did. Belial caught onto this and became further annoyed. What did he really want, honestly? He wanted to come here and make accusations? Fine. He was doing that, in a very non-confident way if Belial might add. The Massacre sighed impatiently, his eyes still lingering on the boy.

He had calmly brushed off the man’s earlier accusing question of what was wrong with him, but the statements were getting harder to ignore especially with his rising temper. Belial stretched his legs out before him, and calmly answered, ”Whatever, boy. He was desecrated already – but you can think what you want to.” And then he turned and went back to sketching the skull on the stick. He no longer wanted to hear anything the other had to say as it was just his nerves talking. He kept repeating the original idea he wanted out, and now that he no longer knew what he wanted to say, he kept repeating the first in different ways. He was wasting his and Belial’s time – and the mottled coyote wished he would just go away.

Hearing a final question, however condescending it sounded, Belial’s craned an ear in the direction. He did not turn towards the other again, and spoke into his notebook, ”Belial Massacre.”

(000)

Despite what we spoke about in our PM, we could probably end it with your reply if you want to?


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Sammiie
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POSTED: Wed Feb 19, 2014 12:23 pm

In present state Micah was powerless to stop his packmate, though what right had he to attempt a thing? What the tawny coyote was doing was art, something Cercatori d'Arte embraced even if Micah so drastically frowned upon the subject matter. Something told him Skye would similarly disapprove; the pack had children, though few. They could not shield the youth's eyes from the reality of the world for long, but neither would Micah have allowed Mistral to gaze upon such work as this and think for a moment that it was okay.

Belial Massacre. The name was given, and suiting in sound and subject for what the granite coy witnessed. Micah would take it as truth, as he would not exchange anything further with this corrupt coyote. Without a farewell or further caustic words, the Artist departed at once. What Cercatori d'Arte embodied was not this, not exactly. Not this kind of art. The shiver in his hands and nervous glances over his shoulder confirmed someone else needed to know, that something wasn't quite right.

Micah would warn Mistral that night to steer clear of the area. The child would interpret the danger only as another glance into the neurotic terrors of her guardian, just any other could have been wise to do.


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Lin
Luperci
passion, hope
& resistance

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