ice on the runway. - 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 Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: ice on the runway. (/showthread.php?tid=9164) |
- Anselm de le Poer - 01-03-2010 [html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... s/truc.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-top:187px; background-position:top center; background-color:#F8BB4D; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#AB360D; line-height:15px;padding-bottom:10px;">i know we didn't talk about this, but these two have never really had a thread together if you don't want it, shoot me a PM and i'll change it ^^
@&$As night turned to dawn, the white blanket of snow dumped the previous night began to glow warm orange. So dramatic was the effect that it nearly masked the bronze coloured hybrid that ploughed along through it. Unlike his unfortunate companion Alacrity, the cold weather was not enough to send him diving under cover or keep him huddled around the fire, otherwise too miserable from the stinging numbness. Anselm truthfully loved snow, as was all too evident by the way he moved through it: he went in leaps and bounds, burying his snout in it as he dove in, then rising and shaking so that it settled upon his back. By the time he'd cleared the breadth of their territory, he was as much white as gold. @&$The lupus moved with no particular direction, his convoluted path through the snow indicative that he was having his own private party. Although he was usually militant and structured in his processions, sometimes it was necessarily to cut loose and live a little. He could always do his rounds later--for now he just wanted to run and release some pent up energy that felt too random to channel. These moods were rare for him, but when they struck he refused to resist; Anselm was always a sucker for temptation. As time wore on and the sun cleared the horizon, however, he supposed it might be time to get on to real work. His romp had brought him to the fringes of Inferni's forest and he decided he could go to the Mansion to do his exercises. @&$He wove his way through the icy forest, which seemed largely devoid of sound other than those generated by him crashing along. The snow cover seemed thinner here, but on top of the fallen leaves it made for some slippery situations. More than once he skidded to a halt just in time to narrowly miss a head-on collision a tree trunk, and once while leaping over a fallen bough, he managed to do a complete 360 upon landing. By the time he reached the mansion's gate, he could hardly contain himself. He went full throttle through the opening, literally laughing aloud as he slammed on the brakes and went skidding a full two yards... three yards... four... what the hell?! @&$The patch of ice was unexpected to say the least, and here his toes flared out wildly as his dark nails grasped ineffectively at the ice. He hit the edge of the pond and the sudden increase in friction caused his body to lurch forward, causing him to land face first in a pile of drifted snow with a soft oof! He rose quickly to his feet and cast a quick glance around before casually striding along the frozen pond's perimeter. "Screw you, pond, I dare you to try that twice!" he exclaimed before dashing at it again. He wasn't really sure what anyone who saw him might think--so far as he knew he was alone, but he hadn't exactly been paying much attention, either. mall-caps;font-weight:bold;text-align:right; border-top:1px solid #AB360D">SoSuWriMo +510 - Mason Alexandre Hesiod - 01-03-2010 [html] Anselm frolicking is truthfully one of the cutest things ever. WC: 400
- Anselm de le Poer - 01-04-2010 [html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... s/truc.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-top:187px; background-position:top center; background-color:#F8BB4D; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#AB360D; line-height:15px;padding-bottom:10px;">Shhh, don't tell anyone, he's secretly just a big kid. XD
@&$He caught a smudge of gold-brown in his peripheral, just in time to hear it inquire, somewhat incredulously, as to the purpose behind this task. Anselm swung his rear end around, and the transfer of linear to angular momentum caused his body to swing about in a large arc until come to a halt on the ice. Ah; Mason! As for what he was doing he felt it should be obvious, but he forgot not all were so strongly in touch with their baser instincts. To play was built into their blood--it was good for morale, bonding, exercise, and in most cases training. When puppies pounced on each other or played tug of war with a pelt, they were honing their future hunting skills all the while. These forms of play had obvious applications in adult life, but if he was creative enough, he'd think up something for this, too. "So whatcya gonna do," he wondered, "when the big bad wolf backs you right on up to a frozen lake or river?" @&$Judging by the Halloween party, Mason was one of those more serious youths--he'd present his case in the context of survival skills and just hope that the poor kid could learn to be a pup along the way. So far as he knew, all work and no play turned a coyote into Hybrid or Samael; clearly that wasn't good for anybody. "Are you going to let him corner you? Are you gonna run out here, flail around, and become a sittin' duck?" As if to drive the point home, he began to trot forward as if on land, scrambled a bit, and barely managed to keep himself from sprawling out on the ice. "You gonna walk so slow that he can catch up to you anyway? Or, you gonna skate away and laugh your ass off when he falls on his?" he asked somewhat mystically, before smoothly shifting his weight from one paw to the next, never actually lifting any of them but still managing to make his way back over to the snowy bank. @&$He shrugged a little bit, hardly expecting a response to any of these highly rhetorical questions. He backed up several paces through the snow, shot Mason an impish wink, and took off again, rocketing quickly across the glassy surface. As he reached the other side he lifted his front legs up first, using these paws to hoist himself up onto the opposite side's shore. He continued to dash a little further on before whirling about in the snow and falling to his front limbs in a characteristic play bow: butt high in the air, tail waving, ears pressed forward on a dare. Catch me if you can! Try as he might, he couldn't deny the pure fun of this nonsense any longer. With that he pivoted and began to run along the bank to the right. If Mason just tried to walk around to catch him, he'd either keep changing direction to keep an equal distance between them or he'd wait then fly across the ice himself. mall-caps;font-weight:bold;text-align:right; border-top:1px solid #AB360D">SoSuWriMo +515 - Mason Alexandre Hesiod - 01-11-2010 [html]
Table by Jenny. Sorry for the wait! I am back for keeps. WC 383. Yaaay Mason the grump. It became very clear to the hybrid boy that Anselm had lost his mind. There was no other explanation that Mason could come up with; he had never seen an adult act in this manner before. He understood that Anselm was playing, scrambling about on the ice and plowing through the snow, but the Tirones Minor could not find a reason that would make him do such a thing. He wondered why as he studied the male critically, his yellow-gold eyes speculative as they followed his figure across the ice. Mason was not daft; he knew that Anselm was playing, for whatever reason. But what in the world could have possessed him to do such a thing? Weren’t there other things to be done at this point?
- Anselm de le Poer - 01-12-2010 [html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... s/truc.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-top:187px; background-position:top center; background-color:#F8BB4D; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#AB360D; line-height:15px;padding-bottom:10px;">
@&$That anyone might value Samael's opinion frankly horrified him. The wolfish hybrid had less respect for that man than he had for a rock. Both could be effective weapons when used properly, but at least the rock wouldn't fuck up his day by raping the then subleader's prisoner of war. That single deed placed him roughly on par with Haku; he just didn't get half as worked up over it. It all came down to the level of relative risk. Samael was putty in Kaena's paws and he would generally cave under pressure from Gabriel, too. Just because Samael was not a threat to him or the clan as much as the Dahlian leader, it did not make him any more worthy of emulation. (Granted, if he'd known of the atrocious crime Samael committed against his own niece, he'd probably go berserk and demand his expulsion--or at least castration.) @&$If he stopped to consider it long enough, he might see why someone like Samael (or god forbid Hybrid) seemed respectable to a younger member of the clan. They were both militant and fearsome soldiers who came off as unwaveringly confident in their madness. That was all fine and dandy (maybe), but Anselm's preference in warriors ran more along the lines of canines like Snake (or even Cwmfen, wherever she was). Snake was equally confident, capable, and obedient (so far as he could tell from their limited interaction), but he went about it in a calm, judicious manner. He couldn't see the olive-eyed Hasati mistakenly (much less intentionally) attacking someone who didn't deserve it, thereby jeopardising the clan's political standing with neighbouring packs. @&$Needless to say, there was a lot more to life than just fighting. While Samael or Hybrid might excel in that one area, he considered them failures everywhere else. (So far as he knew, Hybrid didn't even have sex down right.) As Mason voiced his concerns, Anselm couldn't help but roll his eyes and offer a chiding: "Mason, speed up! You're gonna turn into a grumpy old man!" The tan youth stepped uncertainly onto the ice and Anselm grinned like a madman. He paused briefly where he was, giving the younger boy time to close in before taking off once more. Anselm was certainly a bit nuts in his own right, but there was a legitimate purpose somewhere in this game, regardless of whether the golden-eyed boy could see it or not. mall-caps;font-weight:bold;text-align:right; border-top:1px solid #AB360D">SoSuWriMo +403 |