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striking the proper vein.
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[html] » masterpiece of terror.out of character
Three cheers for evil! 
in character
Riot sat over a bleached wolverine skull doing a peculiar thing. In the coyote's mouth was a carefully bitten razor, her arm held out awkwardly to make a greedy slash in her toughened flesh. A rhythmic stream of red gushed from the wound and splattered in beautiful, dizzying patterns across the white dome. Once her blood coagulated to stop the stream she rested her arm on the ground and winced at the frighteningly deep cut (nothing she wasn't used to). Her ever-loyal immune system of steel would deal with that. Meanwhile, the 'yote spat the razor out for some oblivious soul to cut it's paw on.
Beady eyes, lost in wonder, admired the morbid work of art. Wolverines were creatures of unimaginable strength and violence, when provoked- the skull symbolized such traits. The blood was just a personal fuck-the-world touch. It was more than just art, though. The skull was a warning to trespassers: fuck with any of us and you'll soon learn the wolverine-like fury of our clan. The coyote grinned wryly.
It didn't take long for the crimson paint to dry in the warming sun. Riot tested it for wet spots, results were negative, thus she placed both fangs in the eye holes for grip. She carried it with her for many miles down the beach. Finally, she came to a halt where the scents of trespassers grew strong. She laid it in the sand and disappeared momentarily in the brush along the sand. A few minutes later she reappeared with a long, sturdy stick she had been saving for this very reason.
Riot stuck the head securely on the top of the stick. With a bit of digging and a lot of difficulty she deeply lodged the makeshift pole into the sand. She stepped back gingerly and eyed her fully completed project. It was indeed fair warning to any strange passer-bye. The Tirones turned and faced the dark, marauding ocean. She sat down to revel in the comforting feeling of evil intentions.
It felt good to be home.
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