06-09-2009, 11:54 PM
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Excuse the crap, OnO
The Dahlian thing growled. It was a strange sound, as if something were wrong with its body. Such a thing would not have surprised the Korean brute—these creatures were so weak it was a wonder that they survived at all. But viruses had a way of doing that, of surviving, reproducing, and spreading their imminent weakness. And the thing was livid, as if his words were false. Did it dare doubt the words of a god? He was as close to a god as the Dahlian would ever get. Perhaps he could enlighten her. Perhaps she needed to be shown the weakness within her and the strength within him. The brute exhaled sharply in mockery. "You greatly underestimate my abilities," the tenor sound sneered, "And grossly overestimate the ability of yourself." The pied brute’s black tail flickered behind him like a hungry snake sensing that a meal was nearby.
The brute’s black lips twitched with that incomplete sneer, as dangerous as and incomplete combustion reaction. It would call the pack, it said, because the pups would be in danger while an adult could easily take him. "What are you wait for, whelp?" the tenor sound sneered, smearing the air with that blackness. "I won’t waste my time with you all day—you’re simply not worth it. Call the pack while they can still come to save you," that tenor soothes with those cold, assuaging tones. His voice was like the coo of a dove—or perhaps of a raven. The brute simply lay there, allowing the illusion of vulnerability to sit over his still form. Of course, his muscles had silently prepared themselves for abrupt and immediate action. And if the howl that hung on the edge of its throat sounded in the air, he could simply silence her—not kill, perhaps, but silence. And like the diamond wolf, this thing would easily fall to the mercy of the crow wolf’s cruel jaws.
Excuse the crap, OnO
The Dahlian thing growled. It was a strange sound, as if something were wrong with its body. Such a thing would not have surprised the Korean brute—these creatures were so weak it was a wonder that they survived at all. But viruses had a way of doing that, of surviving, reproducing, and spreading their imminent weakness. And the thing was livid, as if his words were false. Did it dare doubt the words of a god? He was as close to a god as the Dahlian would ever get. Perhaps he could enlighten her. Perhaps she needed to be shown the weakness within her and the strength within him. The brute exhaled sharply in mockery. "You greatly underestimate my abilities," the tenor sound sneered, "And grossly overestimate the ability of yourself." The pied brute’s black tail flickered behind him like a hungry snake sensing that a meal was nearby.
The brute’s black lips twitched with that incomplete sneer, as dangerous as and incomplete combustion reaction. It would call the pack, it said, because the pups would be in danger while an adult could easily take him. "What are you wait for, whelp?" the tenor sound sneered, smearing the air with that blackness. "I won’t waste my time with you all day—you’re simply not worth it. Call the pack while they can still come to save you," that tenor soothes with those cold, assuaging tones. His voice was like the coo of a dove—or perhaps of a raven. The brute simply lay there, allowing the illusion of vulnerability to sit over his still form. Of course, his muscles had silently prepared themselves for abrupt and immediate action. And if the howl that hung on the edge of its throat sounded in the air, he could simply silence her—not kill, perhaps, but silence. And like the diamond wolf, this thing would easily fall to the mercy of the crow wolf’s cruel jaws.