08-09-2009, 02:06 PM
[html]
http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... -table.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:235px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#FDBC43; line-height:16px">-Babbled a lot.- :[
------How, exactly, the foreigners came to live here had always been a perplexing subject for Anselm. Their existence here was proof that their methods worked, obviously, but something about buckling down for a moon-long journey across the choppy seas, completely at the mercy of the weather and your company sounded utterly unappealing. What would happen if projected needs fell short of reality, and there wasn't enough food or fresh water for the entire crew? Surely things would delve into chaos. And though navigation was simple enough, what if dark clouds came to obscure any useful signals, driving one off course? Pah; it'd be a cold day in hell before anyone got him on some creaky wooden boat, that was for damn sure. Either way, her more logical path was greatly appreciated by the bronze hybrid for the "common sense" factor alone. "I've heard coloured fires dance across the sky up there," he reflected quietly. "Was it beautiful?" It was strange for the wolf to use such a word at all, for most of his vocabulary centred around death and deceit. Perhaps it was fitting for this fluke of an encounter, though.
------"I was born a considerable distance west of here on the mainland, at least a week-long journey under ideal circumstances." Ideal circumstances such as: 1) cutting directly through any claimed land, 2) not stopping to hunt, and 3) not stopping to sleep. The actual trip wound up clocking in somewhere in the neighbourhood of a fortnight. "But this is my home--and it has been even since before all of the packs from further north were uprooted and settled here." He wasn't sure if she knew that chapter of history or not, and though he didn't elaborate further he wouldn't mind doing so if she asked. That was far enough in the past that it mattered little now, anyway.
------His gaze dropped momentarily to his left limb, and as it rose again he slowly shook his head. "In a sense, maybe, but it's actually a human symbol. So is this one," he said, as he pivoted gracefully and turned his back on her, lifting up his right foot so she may view the yellow and black mark before placing it gingerly back down and turning once more. "They were both warning symbols. The yellow one means radioactivity, which is a kind of energy that damages the living and can inspire mutations." Our ability to shift, he mused, though he wasn't certain their gift was granted by a mutation rooted in that or something else... it was his best guess, since there obviously wasn't any literature explaining their existence, as the humans had already died. "And this one," he said, gesturing with his muzzle to the red symbol, "means poison." None of us is without crime or sin. His explanations were somewhat vague and the last technically incorrect, but it was the way he understood the books he'd skimmed through before. "What of your own?" he wondered of the carefully placed blue patterns on her fur.
------He nodded silently as he approached to investigate the more pressing mystery--her eyes. Anselm was vaguely uncomfortable being so close to the other's face, even though permission had been granted. It was unnatural for him to be so physically near anybody if they were not family, he wasn't fucking, or engaged in combat. Alas, though, he wound up well within a foot of her face; when a direct approach yielded little information, he turned his head so that he viewed her eyes from an angle. Subtle muscle movements were detected as her eyes focused on slightly varying distances, and as he moved back around to look at them directly he caught a glimmer that reminded him of a puma's. Satisfied with his investigation, he took several steps backwards so that there was a more comfortable distance between them. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, "though I can still detect the small movements everyone else's eyes make. There is definitely some depth to them, for how solid they appear from a distance. The back reminds me of a cat's at night." He shrugged a little; though the pigmentation still didn't make sense, they indeed seemed to operate on the same rules as the rest of Nature in some form or another. For this he was content.
------How, exactly, the foreigners came to live here had always been a perplexing subject for Anselm. Their existence here was proof that their methods worked, obviously, but something about buckling down for a moon-long journey across the choppy seas, completely at the mercy of the weather and your company sounded utterly unappealing. What would happen if projected needs fell short of reality, and there wasn't enough food or fresh water for the entire crew? Surely things would delve into chaos. And though navigation was simple enough, what if dark clouds came to obscure any useful signals, driving one off course? Pah; it'd be a cold day in hell before anyone got him on some creaky wooden boat, that was for damn sure. Either way, her more logical path was greatly appreciated by the bronze hybrid for the "common sense" factor alone. "I've heard coloured fires dance across the sky up there," he reflected quietly. "Was it beautiful?" It was strange for the wolf to use such a word at all, for most of his vocabulary centred around death and deceit. Perhaps it was fitting for this fluke of an encounter, though.
------"I was born a considerable distance west of here on the mainland, at least a week-long journey under ideal circumstances." Ideal circumstances such as: 1) cutting directly through any claimed land, 2) not stopping to hunt, and 3) not stopping to sleep. The actual trip wound up clocking in somewhere in the neighbourhood of a fortnight. "But this is my home--and it has been even since before all of the packs from further north were uprooted and settled here." He wasn't sure if she knew that chapter of history or not, and though he didn't elaborate further he wouldn't mind doing so if she asked. That was far enough in the past that it mattered little now, anyway.
------His gaze dropped momentarily to his left limb, and as it rose again he slowly shook his head. "In a sense, maybe, but it's actually a human symbol. So is this one," he said, as he pivoted gracefully and turned his back on her, lifting up his right foot so she may view the yellow and black mark before placing it gingerly back down and turning once more. "They were both warning symbols. The yellow one means radioactivity, which is a kind of energy that damages the living and can inspire mutations." Our ability to shift, he mused, though he wasn't certain their gift was granted by a mutation rooted in that or something else... it was his best guess, since there obviously wasn't any literature explaining their existence, as the humans had already died. "And this one," he said, gesturing with his muzzle to the red symbol, "means poison." None of us is without crime or sin. His explanations were somewhat vague and the last technically incorrect, but it was the way he understood the books he'd skimmed through before. "What of your own?" he wondered of the carefully placed blue patterns on her fur.
------He nodded silently as he approached to investigate the more pressing mystery--her eyes. Anselm was vaguely uncomfortable being so close to the other's face, even though permission had been granted. It was unnatural for him to be so physically near anybody if they were not family, he wasn't fucking, or engaged in combat. Alas, though, he wound up well within a foot of her face; when a direct approach yielded little information, he turned his head so that he viewed her eyes from an angle. Subtle muscle movements were detected as her eyes focused on slightly varying distances, and as he moved back around to look at them directly he caught a glimmer that reminded him of a puma's. Satisfied with his investigation, he took several steps backwards so that there was a more comfortable distance between them. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, "though I can still detect the small movements everyone else's eyes make. There is definitely some depth to them, for how solid they appear from a distance. The back reminds me of a cat's at night." He shrugged a little; though the pigmentation still didn't make sense, they indeed seemed to operate on the same rules as the rest of Nature in some form or another. For this he was content.