01-06-2011, 01:00 AM
OOC: WC: 1025. And no problem!
IC:
She knew she was being followed. In one so young and fearful, it would not have been far fetched to attribute the tingling sensation of warning in the back of her mind to blind suspicion. In one less humbled, it might have been freakish paranoia that led her to believe that she was important enough to trail. The latter was far from the case. For all her oddness, inside and out, she was not quite at that level of crazy. Lacking the proper self esteem (or over inflated ego), no woman could make themselves into an appropriately harassed victim of the world. Without that haughtiness or vanity, she was ill-equipped to perceive any attention as an attack on her virtue. She could never bring herself to believe the universe was out to get her since she was not, obviously, the very center around which everything else revolved, and every atom was not jealous of her eminence. Seeing as she tended to be a creature of reason, Saraqael pinpointed that the feeling resulted from the fact that her pursuer was impossible to miss and was not imaginary but all too real. He could have draped himself in a carefully constructed camouflage blanket of moss and underbrush but the hollow clunk of bone and the jangling noises of metal and beads would have let any being know about his approach from miles away. The girl had not even cautioned a glance behind her, not wishing to draw anymore undesired focus, but she was sure he was thin because no prey had the resolve to refuse their instincts to such a degree as to remain stationary in the wake of that raucousness. Saraqael was a bright distraction but she took care to be inaudible, or at least close to it. Stalking along in her usual way (slinky, quiet, graceful), she had it in her head that if only she could ignore the stranger hard enough, he would simply poof on the next rough, cool breeze. All the noise and stalking set her nerves on fire and no wind, however chilled, could put it out. Only barely above a prey creature herself, in size, mentality, and mannerisms, it was all she could do to reign her pace in at its original slow walk. Running was what felt necessary, her flight reaction having kicked in at the very first rustle. Though he could not see it, a frown ruined her pretty features, marring them with the pinched look of anger. It made her already pointy face impossibly sharp, verging dangerously on the crest of ugliness. Her fey bone structure was already alien – she did not wish for emotion to come along and twist it to further distortion. The rage, which had begun to seethe, was directed inward at herself for having the audacity to dress how she had that morning. It was her visual flare that drew the stranger in, she was sure. It was a good thing if he was interested in her skins for purchase or commission but it was more probable that he just wished to talk or ask empty questions that would leave her grasping for answers she did not have. Inferni, its inhabitants, its land, and its history were all brand new to the half feral female.
Though she had tried her hardest to coerce the fates to snatch him away, protecting her from a possible threat and worse, embarrassment, the black and white ghost was not in their favor that day. Slowly but surely he encroached and in the interest of making himself impossible to ignore further, he called out, his speech loose and strange, curiously unrefined. Finally, Saraqael turned to face her hunter. When she looked, he was not at all what she had expected. Firstly, he did not dwarf her to the extent that she was accustomed to witnessing. From where she was standing, he looked about a foot taller, maybe a few inches shy of it. Either way, his stature marked him as the smallest male she had seen in some time. Secondly, his outfit was otherworldly. Choosing to garb himself in feathers of blue jay sapphire and parrot green, he was equally obnoxious against the field of endless white. Packs, satchels, and pockets striped his chest, containing objects or substances she had not the patience to fathom. Because the skull was portion not visible, the spiky horns of a deer gave the impression of macabre wings jutting haphazardly from his shoulder blades, painted purposefully to match the rest of his style. The beast behind the frills was clearly a hybrid of coyote and wolf. Her eye for species was not good enough to ferret out any other genetic give aways, if there were any. For certain he had been graced (or cursed) with the humongous bat ears and gangly stature of her bloodline. Saraqael's own brand of “long and thin” had somehow manifested in a reedy litheness, specifically in her torso, but her limbs were admittedly awkward at times in their frailty and length.
Not being well versed in humor, she had no clue what to make of his statement. No, she was not hunting – she was wearing too many clothes, and she was in Optime form. The human features of bipedal locomotion and increased height and weight made her far too slow. She was unskilled in using bows or knives as hunting weapons, another deterrent. As a youth becoming acquainted with her least natural form (for she began in Lupus, and Secui was in between), she remembered chasing after rabbits, hoping to match their swiftness, but stumbling over her awkward legs in a bumbling stupor. She wondered how anyone could hunt like that, or why anyone would want to, but she knew that there were those who rarely shifted out of Optime. Despite her inability to comprehend the levity, her sense told her that it had been a statement made in jest. Accordingly, she smiled, partially to avoid conflict and also because he felt friendly enough. “Just going out for a walk. I am Saraqael Destroying Angel Kanga of Inferni. Do you have business here?”
IC:
She knew she was being followed. In one so young and fearful, it would not have been far fetched to attribute the tingling sensation of warning in the back of her mind to blind suspicion. In one less humbled, it might have been freakish paranoia that led her to believe that she was important enough to trail. The latter was far from the case. For all her oddness, inside and out, she was not quite at that level of crazy. Lacking the proper self esteem (or over inflated ego), no woman could make themselves into an appropriately harassed victim of the world. Without that haughtiness or vanity, she was ill-equipped to perceive any attention as an attack on her virtue. She could never bring herself to believe the universe was out to get her since she was not, obviously, the very center around which everything else revolved, and every atom was not jealous of her eminence. Seeing as she tended to be a creature of reason, Saraqael pinpointed that the feeling resulted from the fact that her pursuer was impossible to miss and was not imaginary but all too real. He could have draped himself in a carefully constructed camouflage blanket of moss and underbrush but the hollow clunk of bone and the jangling noises of metal and beads would have let any being know about his approach from miles away. The girl had not even cautioned a glance behind her, not wishing to draw anymore undesired focus, but she was sure he was thin because no prey had the resolve to refuse their instincts to such a degree as to remain stationary in the wake of that raucousness. Saraqael was a bright distraction but she took care to be inaudible, or at least close to it. Stalking along in her usual way (slinky, quiet, graceful), she had it in her head that if only she could ignore the stranger hard enough, he would simply poof on the next rough, cool breeze. All the noise and stalking set her nerves on fire and no wind, however chilled, could put it out. Only barely above a prey creature herself, in size, mentality, and mannerisms, it was all she could do to reign her pace in at its original slow walk. Running was what felt necessary, her flight reaction having kicked in at the very first rustle. Though he could not see it, a frown ruined her pretty features, marring them with the pinched look of anger. It made her already pointy face impossibly sharp, verging dangerously on the crest of ugliness. Her fey bone structure was already alien – she did not wish for emotion to come along and twist it to further distortion. The rage, which had begun to seethe, was directed inward at herself for having the audacity to dress how she had that morning. It was her visual flare that drew the stranger in, she was sure. It was a good thing if he was interested in her skins for purchase or commission but it was more probable that he just wished to talk or ask empty questions that would leave her grasping for answers she did not have. Inferni, its inhabitants, its land, and its history were all brand new to the half feral female.
Though she had tried her hardest to coerce the fates to snatch him away, protecting her from a possible threat and worse, embarrassment, the black and white ghost was not in their favor that day. Slowly but surely he encroached and in the interest of making himself impossible to ignore further, he called out, his speech loose and strange, curiously unrefined. Finally, Saraqael turned to face her hunter. When she looked, he was not at all what she had expected. Firstly, he did not dwarf her to the extent that she was accustomed to witnessing. From where she was standing, he looked about a foot taller, maybe a few inches shy of it. Either way, his stature marked him as the smallest male she had seen in some time. Secondly, his outfit was otherworldly. Choosing to garb himself in feathers of blue jay sapphire and parrot green, he was equally obnoxious against the field of endless white. Packs, satchels, and pockets striped his chest, containing objects or substances she had not the patience to fathom. Because the skull was portion not visible, the spiky horns of a deer gave the impression of macabre wings jutting haphazardly from his shoulder blades, painted purposefully to match the rest of his style. The beast behind the frills was clearly a hybrid of coyote and wolf. Her eye for species was not good enough to ferret out any other genetic give aways, if there were any. For certain he had been graced (or cursed) with the humongous bat ears and gangly stature of her bloodline. Saraqael's own brand of “long and thin” had somehow manifested in a reedy litheness, specifically in her torso, but her limbs were admittedly awkward at times in their frailty and length.
Not being well versed in humor, she had no clue what to make of his statement. No, she was not hunting – she was wearing too many clothes, and she was in Optime form. The human features of bipedal locomotion and increased height and weight made her far too slow. She was unskilled in using bows or knives as hunting weapons, another deterrent. As a youth becoming acquainted with her least natural form (for she began in Lupus, and Secui was in between), she remembered chasing after rabbits, hoping to match their swiftness, but stumbling over her awkward legs in a bumbling stupor. She wondered how anyone could hunt like that, or why anyone would want to, but she knew that there were those who rarely shifted out of Optime. Despite her inability to comprehend the levity, her sense told her that it had been a statement made in jest. Accordingly, she smiled, partially to avoid conflict and also because he felt friendly enough. “Just going out for a walk. I am Saraqael Destroying Angel Kanga of Inferni. Do you have business here?”