12-24-2010, 09:55 PM
OOC: Preferably, this is for an Inferni member who can show Saraqael around the green house. 
Night has just fallen and she is settling into the mansion. (Word count: 425.)
IC:
The door of the mansion was surprisingly reasonably sized. However, Saraqael was so small it likely would have crushed her if it cared to fall. Judging by the rest of the red-brick house's massive carapace, she had expected the front barrier to be heavy and impossibly large, suited for withstanding the rigors of war. Kaena had left quite the impression on her but she had somewhat expected to be taken aback. Her parents, loving and concerned, tried their best to prepare her to live in a world where wolves dominated space, laws, and prey. The gray lady with her gruff command, draped in a garment of scars and tatters, was likely the result of such bias. She wondered as she pushed into the belly of the coyotes' haven if her time would come to be marred by hatred, by the unquenchable desire of another to score her flesh until she cried out in pain. Vividly, the coy watched her lifeblood freely escaping to the earth, hurrying back where all living things must return. Hand clenched on the handle, the door shut with a muffled thud. In the cool shadow of the mansion, the pale creature shuddered at her conjured image and willed it away.
Two eyes peered into the dim lobby. They glowed green in the lack of light, weird, iridescent night lights. A gently musty smell swirled in her nose, a scent she associated with books and learning. Because she always favored her left, Saraqael veered immediately towards the new, smaller door in that direction. This time, the threshold fell closed without hesitation and she instinctively fled to the uppermost corner. Each door in the hallway had been sealed. She detected neither light nor coy musk in the west wing. Staring down the corridor, irrationally convinced some monster was going to rush her, she got the third and final door open with a whoosh. Dust whirled, little motes rushing forth like stallions fresh out of the gate. Saraqael was eager to be rid of her heavy pack. After setting down the skull and jawbone on the floor near the door, the first thing she did was untie every strap and stash it at the far edge of her quarters, mindful of the fragile glass containers inside.
That done, the petite, ghostly youth turned wonderingly in the open, human space. It had high ceilings, hard wood floors that made her claws clack incessantly, a wardrobe, a writing space, and a bed. She wanted none of that – all she hungered for was the green house.
Night has just fallen and she is settling into the mansion. (Word count: 425.)IC:
The door of the mansion was surprisingly reasonably sized. However, Saraqael was so small it likely would have crushed her if it cared to fall. Judging by the rest of the red-brick house's massive carapace, she had expected the front barrier to be heavy and impossibly large, suited for withstanding the rigors of war. Kaena had left quite the impression on her but she had somewhat expected to be taken aback. Her parents, loving and concerned, tried their best to prepare her to live in a world where wolves dominated space, laws, and prey. The gray lady with her gruff command, draped in a garment of scars and tatters, was likely the result of such bias. She wondered as she pushed into the belly of the coyotes' haven if her time would come to be marred by hatred, by the unquenchable desire of another to score her flesh until she cried out in pain. Vividly, the coy watched her lifeblood freely escaping to the earth, hurrying back where all living things must return. Hand clenched on the handle, the door shut with a muffled thud. In the cool shadow of the mansion, the pale creature shuddered at her conjured image and willed it away.
Two eyes peered into the dim lobby. They glowed green in the lack of light, weird, iridescent night lights. A gently musty smell swirled in her nose, a scent she associated with books and learning. Because she always favored her left, Saraqael veered immediately towards the new, smaller door in that direction. This time, the threshold fell closed without hesitation and she instinctively fled to the uppermost corner. Each door in the hallway had been sealed. She detected neither light nor coy musk in the west wing. Staring down the corridor, irrationally convinced some monster was going to rush her, she got the third and final door open with a whoosh. Dust whirled, little motes rushing forth like stallions fresh out of the gate. Saraqael was eager to be rid of her heavy pack. After setting down the skull and jawbone on the floor near the door, the first thing she did was untie every strap and stash it at the far edge of her quarters, mindful of the fragile glass containers inside.
That done, the petite, ghostly youth turned wonderingly in the open, human space. It had high ceilings, hard wood floors that made her claws clack incessantly, a wardrobe, a writing space, and a bed. She wanted none of that – all she hungered for was the green house.