a single cell on the serpent's tongue

Eris Eternity · 01-20-2011, 08:21 AM

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Word Count :: 1566 YES, YES I DID USE THE WORD LADYPARTS. Also the first three paragraphs = skip, lulz. She touchy him, too, is okay? ;3 I assume yes? Ilu. <3

Economy was one thing the sable-shaded hybrid might have had a firm grasp on -- she had visited the markets of Eterne, the small bazaars and corner stores filled with scavenged goods, food, and anything else she might have wanted. This world was different from the one she was used to, but she had been old enough upon leaving her former homeland to know that Eterne was distinctly different. She had not expected such conveniences upon returning here; indeed, all pretense of convenience had disappeared from her thoughts upon realizing the length and time of her journey. Had she any sense, Eris could have taken a boat from one of the bay coast cities -- but alas, she did not recall stories of such places. Even if she had, a lack of any marketable skill or useful talent would have rendered her into prostitution quickly. From there, it would have been a question as to whether she would have been able to escape such a lifestyle. Psychological and physical strength were not her forte.

Indeed, the sable-shaded coyote had few useful skills and fewer talents; the only thing it would seem she had been graced with a natural gift for was attractiveness, and such a thing was not marketable without some greater expense of herself. Thankfully, the hybrid did not mind these greater expenses -- rather, she enjoyed the hell out of them. She could not recall sex she had disliked, though there were darkened and dimmed months in her brain, things she could not remember if she sought. These things had been actively shoved from her memory, burned and drowned and buried in some dark corner of her mind. No doubt, it would someday surface; she would remember Metetzli and the things he had done to her. Such things could not remain locked away forever, and it was very likely the coal-shaded hybrid would be blindsided one day. Were it not for her fake-aunt and the absence of Mantus, she might have still been locked into that lonely room. Dieriel had saved her life twice over -- the initial escape and the presence of Itzcitla had been the only things to bring Eris from the razor edge of death -- unable to produce an heir (even at the fault of Metetzli) she might have ended up a sacrifice. Non-functioning ladyparts or not, wolf or not, she would have ended up on the stone slab as anyone else.

Dieriel had saved Eris again by providing her with Itzcitla. Scarce as the pickings were on the journey northward, the ocelot had provided for both of them. Though they had both been tired and thin by the time they arrived on the skull-adorned borders, they had survived, thanks to Itzcitla. Try as she might, Eris had not been able to pick up any of her own hunting skills -- to her, it seemed as if her instincts were entirely absent. In truth, she was little more than a clumsy puppy when she attempted to hunt. Unrefined and ineffective as her instincts were, they did exist. She simply required some teaching, and she thought maybe she could find this in Anathema. It seemed more likely here than Inferni, anyway -- she would have been far to embarrassed to admit to this same clan that had ridiculed and rejected her that she was unable to hunt. Eris could not imagine saying such a thing to Halo, anyway -- the red-eyed woman had beaten the sable-shaded hybrid mercilessly, and the Tuyul could not imagine the mockery that would follow an admission of her inability to hunt. At least when she had gotten hungry in Inferni, Itzcitla had been able to bring down rabbits easily enough. They were not his preferred prey, of course, but the adaptive little creature was quite able to take them down.

Here in the caves he continued to provide, and as the sable-shaded woman peered at her color opposite, her eyes were again drawn to the side, to the small and curious felines he brought with him. She barely recognized them as cougars -- a creature she had seen many times over the course of her life, but how different these were! They were paler in coloration than any she had seen, and even at juvenile size it was apparent they would be much larger than the cougars from Eterne. The place where she had once lived (it was not, as she once might have called it, home) had been home to many sorts of strange felines -- the ocelot was just one of them. Cougars and jaguars alike lived in the territory surrounding Eterne, along with several smaller types of cats Eris could not have begun to identify. As if prompted, Ouija answered some of her questions -- their youth was confirmed, and the sable-shaded woman listened in earnest. Their names were received with a slight smile -- indifferent as he seemed to their names, the Tuyul liked them, and she thought they fit, brother and sister or not.

“I did not train Itzcitla, my ocelot,” she admitted, comfortable enough to be bold with this to Ouija. “But I have known him for a long time,” the hybrid added, calculating. The ocelot was tame and had been before she had ever gotten hold of him, but this did not mean she had learned nothing in her time with the cat. She knew what he appreciated and what he did not, and Itzcitla was remarkably smart -- able to understand her carefully enunciated speech despite never being taught high speech, he also seemed to have an innate empathy for his owner, a quality the sable-shaded woman would not have expected in such a feline. She expected no less from these cats, though she expected their size would make things far more difficult in terms of housing. She was not certain if the cougar and ocelot would tolerate one another; it was her only home to keep the cat. As it was, Itzcitla slept in one of the spare rooms. The children would eventually have their own room, Eris suspected, and she did not think she would abandon the family cave when they left unless forced to by the hierarchy. “I would like that,” the hybrid said, responding to the idea of owning one of these cats in general.

“Goddess, the female?” she asked, already fantastical ideas sparking in her mind. Though the cub was young yet, it would grow and it would become mature, able to reproduce -- the possibility of breeding Itzcitla to this feline lingered in her mind. She did not know if it was possible, though it seemed to her, with her own cross-species inheritance, that it would be. “Itzcitla is a male. Do you think they could reproduce?” she asked, watching as they exploded into a sudden tussle from their previous curious yet standoffish state. The color-splashed male's tongue reached her hand, and she shivered -- Larkspur may have provided for her dietary needs, but other needs had gone unfulfilled. She had been afraid, too -- the first time, the last time, she had received the scars on her back, and even now she knew they were there, pale and pinkish down her shoulder blades and still shining with newness. They were as old as her children. Shoving this thought from her mind, her chartreuse eyes turned to the wound on his chest and she shook her head at his words, her fingers lying on the wounds carefully. They were too deep to toy with, but she could not help but run a finger lightly across one of the red stripes on his pallid chest.

“Looks like a little bit of trouble, at least,“ she said, keeping her voice as light and soft as possible. She could not disguise all the desire in her, though, and she tilted her head coyly at the warning, a smile flaring on her sable-shaded muzzle. “When these little ones are grown, we won't have to worry about that.” She was thankful for the warning, of course, and she would share it with her packmates, Larkspur especially. The hybrid nearly bristled at the resurgence of the sable-shaded man in her mind, and she shoved him away, focusing instead on Ouija. She had nearly banished the father of her children from her mind completely when a thought struck her -- rolling around with Ouija anywhere near Anathema would inevitably result in the revelation of this fact. Larkspur and everyone else traversed these areas, and she was certain such a scent could be easily detected -- not knowing of any ways to disguise these scents, the coal-hued woman appeared suddenly faintly disappointed, as if she had expected something between herself and Ouija here and now. There was no shame in having wanted it, however, and such a thing was dangerously worrying.

“Maybe Itzcitla could help them learn,” she said, less enthusiastic about the cougars now, though she attempted to conceal this. “In the springtime, anyway -- it's too cold for him now,” Eris added, knowing the ocelot would easily catch frostbite on his toes. His fur was not built to handle such cold, and she had yet to procure some method of protection for him. It was easy enough to layer him in fabric -- or, better yet, a thick pelt -- but she did not know what to do about his feet.

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