[m] [p] little bird, don't stifle your song - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead LASKY (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=52) +--- Thread: [m] [p] little bird, don't stifle your song (/showthread.php?tid=31284) |
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- Marcel Moineau - 09-15-2012 [html]
Lalalala, I don't like how I'm writing Marcel but he'll turn better/creepier/whatever with actual interaction hopefully. ;;
Marcel Moineau was drunk again. Honestly, it was not that rare of an occurrence, and the behavior of the other raiders hardly changed when he swaggered through the street on two clumsy legs. Perhaps they were a little bit quicker to get out of his way, a little bit quicker to offer a smile or bow of greeting, but the moods of the new Chef were volatile even when he was stone cold sober—though, admittedly, few of them could remember a Marcel who wasn’t influenced by some sort of substance or heavy emotion. Tonight, the tall wolf wore a broad smile on his face as he walked through the reasonably crowded streets. Almost the entire population of the pack was outside, most of them circled around a large fire where a wild boar was roasting. The light flickered under the drops of flat on the flesh, and Marcel sniffed the air with another dizzied grin before slapping the back of one wolf he recognized as a hunter. The hunter flinched but allowed himself a smile when Marcel congratulated him, his praise oozing out easily and genuinely. Tonight, so soon after he’d climbed to the top of the pack, had overthrown the old raider king and become their boss, their god—tonight was not a time for him to make enemies. Marcel paused only enough to say a few words, and at one point he stooped to rub his son Brumaire’s ears before sending him off to his half-sibling Dartmouth to make sure he didn’t miss the festivities. It looked like, otherwise, everyone else was here. The few missing had been supporters of the old boss, and he’d given them a clear time frame to get the fuck out of his territory before he made them wish they had. Those were the only individuals not out enjoying the warm night, except— Ember eyes narrowed, and the dark wolf wheeled around, his hand shooting out to grace against a fellow luperci before he got his bearings. No, he couldn’t see her; her sweet scent would be soaked with that of the roasting pig even if she was here. He smiled regretfully; this wouldn’t do at all. The poor, sweet girl was so shy, but she should be out here, with her pack, her family. Another place might have looked down on her for being half-coyote and a non-luperci at that, but Volés Ailes had been non-luperci at heart, once, not so very long ago. He’d find a bowl for his precious little bird to lap wine from, and feed her bits of charred meat by hand, just like a father should in taking care of his unshifted daughter. But first Marcel needed to find her, and so he pushed through the gathered raiders slowly, stumbling and giggling with those he bumped into, most of them very drunk themselves. He swapped a few crude jokes until he reached the edge of the street, his orange eyes landing on the cozy little house where the girl was sure to be. He strutted up to the door, opening it with a creak and letting the meat-scented night air reach out into the main room with gentle fingers. “Sparrow?” the dark wolf called, his eyes tender but none the less wild. “My little songbird, why are you hiding your pretty face away at a wonderful time like this?” He nudged the door shut again, eyes adjusting to the dimness as he sniffed the air. .free-blanktext {font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing:0px; word-spacing:2px; text-align: left; margin:0px 25px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/16PR8.png); background-position:bottom center; padding:10px; background-repeat:no-repeat; border-bottom:1px solid #000000;} .free-blanktext .ooc {font-style:italic; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:justify; } .free-blanktext .divider {border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; margin:5px auto; width:100%;} .free-blanktext p {text-indent:45px; margin:0px; padding:5px;} .free-blanktext b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;} </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 09-15-2012 [html] I rise to meet you as your trust dissolves to shameoh, this innocence has turned and lost its wayretrace the footprints off the path from which I cameI'm the beast in you, the beast in me
- Marcel Moineau - 09-15-2012 [html] Sad sad sad sad sad. D:
Sometimes Marcel wondered how he could have fathered such a scared little scrap of fur such as Sparrow; his sons, after all, were growing into strong men if a bit too soft around the edges yet. He might have been shocked to see that his other daughter, the disowned, the ugly whelp whose face he scarred, had been the one to truly inherent his pride and his violence. He considered her useless, though, out of reach, not as malleable as the brown-furred little girl who’d taken shelter in this tiny house. He had learned that even the weak and the dumb had their uses, though; Renard had taught him that, ushering along Wisp, feeding her, asking her questions that she always answered with the same simple, hollow, stupid smile. She had been more than useless, but she had become his father’s pet, just as he made a pet out of Sparrow. She was little more than a timid little caged bird, but a bird he could train to sing for him and that he could let perch on his finger as he showed her off to the world.
The darkness of the house gave him pause, and his snuffling was nearly audible as he stepped forward. He caught her sweet ’yotish scent in a corner and turned his attention there, seconds before she deflected his question with a soft little excuse. He paused, head tilted after the manner of a dog, and then broke into a tender smile marred by the gruesome scar ravaging his face.
“Oh, come now, girl,” Marcel crooned, kneeling down where she was. “Even if you don’t want to eat, you can at least come outside and celebrate with the others.” His orange gaze darted to different points of her face: a wolfish muzzle and soft cheekbones, the subtle mottling and the round, broom-yellow eyes. “And what of this sweet face, hidden in shadow?” he asked, reaching out with a hand to trace her jawline with his finger, affectionate, even gentle. “I want to show my daughter off to the world, you know.” Not that the raiders knew he was her daughter, of course; the looks he passed her crossed over into something far from paternal, and he was not too stupid as to think they’d turn a blind eye to something like that.
A crooked grey finger ran back against her cheek, and he fondled one of Sparrow’s oversized ears in a manner reminiscent of a human stroking their pet. The difference between their forms—or, rather, her lack of an upright body like he carried himself in presently—only strengthened that illusion. His smile faded away thoughtfully, and he withdrew his hand for a moment, still kneeling close. Born non-luperci himself, he hadn’t minded that the girl lived on four legs—but it was getting a bit burdensome, now. He wanted to see what she looked like in optime, although he could imagine it and had imagined it well enough before.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out?” Marcel asked, his voice falling quieter than ever—although his grin, if an auditory adjective could suit a facial expression, was very loud. .free-blanktext {font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing:0px; word-spacing:2px; text-align: left; margin:0px 25px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/16PR8.png); background-position:bottom center; padding:10px; background-repeat:no-repeat; border-bottom:1px solid #000000;} .free-blanktext .ooc {font-style:italic; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:justify; } .free-blanktext .divider {border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; margin:5px auto; width:100%;} .free-blanktext p {text-indent:45px; margin:0px; padding:5px;} .free-blanktext b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;} </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 09-15-2012 [html] I rise to meet you as your trust dissolves to shameoh, this innocence has turned and lost its wayretrace the footprints off the path from which I cameI'm the beast in you, the beast in me
- Marcel Moineau - 09-15-2012 [html]
The timid little thing was really trembling, and though they were far from the cooking fires he doubted that it was wholly because of the cold of early autumn nights. He wanted to tsk softly and call her out on it, but instead he allowed himself a moment of reflection, gazing upon her face, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. Once upon a time she had worshipped him like the others—and why wouldn’t she? He was her daddy, and he fed her where once meals had been hard to come by, if he understood the wilderness right. She’d been compliant and sweet, everything a little girl should be, but he knew now that things were changing. They saw each other differently, though he could not fathom who had begun the transformation. She was growing into a young woman, while he was fully aware of that fact, and Marcel almost thought she feared him.
Pah, he guessed she should. He was like a god, and you feared gods as terribly as you loved them. So long as the two went hand-in-hand, he wouldn’t mind a touch of fear; it made him feel all the more powerful, an omnipotent presence that loomed over his raiders and his blood. No, the day she did not fear him was the day that he lost all control over her, and then he’d have to hurt her, and that always made him terribly sad. He tried to be kind to her, he really did, but he had a heavy hand; that was how he raised his sons and his daughter was no exception, though perhaps he was quicker to comfort her and kiss wherever his hand or teeth fell.
Sparrow confirmed that she wanted to say, and his smile broadened. “Just as well,” he said as he settled down on the floor before her. The bloodbeat of the party outside sent a burning longing through him, but he had to ignore it. There would be other celebrations, made for any excuse possible even if it was just to celebrate particularly pleasant weather; and sometimes the alcohol and drugs and instruments were broken out without any pretense of reason. He listened for a moment, hearing here a cacophony of barking and snarling, there a howl that shivered with something much different than anger.
Marcel frowned momentarily, his ember eyes falling onto his daughter’s yellow ones. “You do know that I love you,” he half-stated half-questioned, brows lifting. “I love you very much, Sparrow, and all I want is for you to be warm and fed and happy. You’d be much happier outside with the others, I think, but if you don’t want to bother with those morons, just as well.” His words slurred as he repeated them, reaching back to scratch behind one of his own ears for a moment. He let a silence fall, his expression contemplative, though there was a dangerous current under the smooth surface.
The man stretched lazily, his long limbs falling sloppily where they may. He shot her a drowsy smile, though it flashed with the strength of any of his grins. “You are okay here, right? Much better than where I found you. You were skin and bones then, my little bird.” .free-blanktext {font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing:0px; word-spacing:2px; text-align: left; margin:0px 25px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/16PR8.png); background-position:bottom center; padding:10px; background-repeat:no-repeat; border-bottom:1px solid #000000;} .free-blanktext .ooc {font-style:italic; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:justify; } .free-blanktext .divider {border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; margin:5px auto; width:100%;} .free-blanktext p {text-indent:45px; margin:0px; padding:5px;} .free-blanktext b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;} </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 10-06-2012 [html] I rise to meet you as your trust dissolves to shameoh, this innocence has turned and lost its wayretrace the footprints off the path from which I cameI'm the beast in you, the beast in me
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