A plesant stroll

Ykesha of Lynn · 03-27-2011, 06:29 PM

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If the post is unclear I’ll just let you know that all of the images of her choking him are in her head. I’m not power playing, I swear! ^_^ Word count 449 - 3 points

If rage had been the tyrant of Ykesha’s face before, the expression which now befell it was the hand of a martinet; the woman felt compelled to hurt this little beast. She imagined her hands around his throat, her thumbs placed on either side of the delicate tubes which created the core of his throat. The fae’s mind enhanced the image--how tender and supple the throat was! In Ykesha’s head, the man was laying on the ground, his face alive with terror as the stripped lass straddled his heaving torso. His tongue lulled to the side, dripping with weariness and saliva. The pair were covered in sweat - for their battle had been a fierce one - yet Ykesha had prevailed. The wolf’s eyes confirmed her victory. He was afraid. She had delivered her promise despite her broken self, and now this mighty creature was humbled by the awe that was her prowess in combat.

‘Bow before the might of Inferni!’ onlookers called. ‘Behold the Lass of Lynn! See how she glorifies us so!”

Yet the images in Ykesha’s head were no reality. The wolf was not afraid of her. No victory was at hand. No battle had been fought and won. The reality was Ykesha was injured, worried, and pissed off.

But she was Inferni.

The lass gritted her teeth, eyes ablaze despite the pain that ran through her already broken body. She took an uneven step forward, her balance so disturbed by the pain that shook within her torso that she nearly lost herself. The woman staggered, eyes still locked on the wolf. His comment echoed within her brain, washing out the praise of the onlookers she had been picturing. The image of closing her fingers around his throat was dim. The audience’s applause seemed faraway. All the small hybrid could hear now was the wolf’s taunts and the sound of his footpads scraping across the cement as he walked away from her. Weak, he’d called her. She was weak. Feeble. Sick. In pain.

And she was Inferni.

With reserves the coyote wasn’t sure she possessed, the girl launched herself at the man’s turned back, her mind appalled at the candor of his comment. Weak was she?! She’d show him. The girl’s brindled body sped after him, closing the distance between the two in several seconds. Her fur bristled with agitation, eyes narrowed to slits and hackles raised. As she neared the stranger the woman jumped, her body drawing in as though to tackle him and sink her teeth into his shoulder. As the lass flew through the air her mind began to imagine once more. Her fingers were around his neck and there was distant cheering.

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