S.t.e.p by S.t.e.p

Istabel · 03-24-2010, 01:42 AM

.O.O.C. - Hallo. I'm still a bit new...Hoping I did right by offering this thread 'open' to any who wish to join?

...C.h.a.i.n.s. rattled, tink-tinking Istabel's arrival to the cobble-stoned courtyard that flanked the handful of buildings she'd come up against. Her whitewashed limbs had adopted a solemn stride, one that sloped and staggered, yet pressed on doggedly. Narrow features, stressed taut and lean by her condition, spoke little of the thoughts that rattled between her ears. Where am I? What am I doing here? What the devil is a Gazon anyway? Her brow furrowed, and her attentions were once again pricked by the shackles bound to her wrists. Perhaps there was one who could offer assistance with their removal? A small, quavering flame of hope was kindled...fragile though it was.

The sun struck Istabel as she turned a corner, causing her to flinch and stagger to a halt as the midday gleam blinded her. Her too-large ears ducked against her skull, and she blinked the sun-spots from her eyes. The disorientation was unnerving, especially on top of the sense of displacement she was struggling with. The scents of others tickled her nose, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. She had been granted permission to tread here...but that did not yet mean she was welcome. Golden eyes crept from beneath pale brows...combing the courtyard ahead.

A small depression loomed to one side, and within it a puddle, sunlight glimmering upon it's surface. Istabel's eyes brightened, and she staggered forward again. Water...All else was lost as she knelt beside the gritty pool, tongue working greedily as she lapped at it's surface.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 03-24-2010, 01:20 PM

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There had been an unfamiliar sound amongst the forest, one that had drawn his attention quickly. Larkspur had been perturbed greatly by the burning of Dahlia, and since relocated to the far end of Berwick, to the point he was nearly living in the vineyards. There at least, the smell of the fire did not rise to batter his senses. He had not slept more then a solid thirty minutes since the fire. Today, though, he was now driven by something much greater then fear—hunger. White fingered paws carried him along the forested path, and until that peculiar sound had caught his attention, he had full intentions of finding a food source larger then rabbits.

The large male slowed his approach as a strange looking woman came into view. Not only was her build thin and uncommon to him, but the chains around her body struck him almost instantly. Though by and large Larkspur had never been a slave, he understood what chains and bondage meant—the Khalif would have bound him had Misery not shown when she had. They used metal so the victim could not flee from the flames. Again, the smell of smoke crept into his skull and he pushed the thoughts away.

“Do you need help?” He asked suddenly, advancing without hesitation.

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Istabel · 03-24-2010, 11:50 PM

.H.e.l.p. M.e. ? Istabel whirled, large ears flattening against her auburn skull as she stared up at this new stranger. Marigold depths combed him over, from the glyphs branded upon his forearms, to the molten eyes crowned by salt-n-peppered features. His size was intimidating...but, then again, it did not take much when compared to the lithe frame of the Ethiopian Wolfess. Have I trespassed unintentionally? Her slender muzzle lowered towards the earth, and she took a hesitant step back. The action was echoed by the chink-tinking of chains, which in turn brought Istabel up short. Running was useless. Hiding was out of the question.

White-rimmed ears flitted forward. Perhaps...perhaps he could help. She traded a contemplative look between the strange male and the shackles about her narrow wrists. The inclination to shift once again tugged at her senses...but reason yet again won out. She was further encumbered by the imprisoning coils of metal when in her Optime form. Her panic-stricken gaze cooled gradually, coming to rest on the stranger once again. Tentatively, she shuffled forward, regaining the step she'd given in that short-lived retreat. Though poised one ready for flight, Istabel fought the urge and proffered a shackled forearm for his inspection.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 03-25-2010, 10:54 AM

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I'm not sure what type of shackles she's in, so bear with me if I describe it wrong. ^^;

By all accounts, in his Optime form as he currently was, Lark must have looked a brute. Between the scarred arms and broad frame, he certainly looked a fright. Still, his movements were gentle—he treated this frail, thin woman with the same tenderness as he would have Misery. They met and her arm was offered to him, one that his white fingers took and felt gingerly. The shackles were rusting and well worn. He had no idea how long they had been on her, but given the ruined fur underneath (what was left of it) he reasoned it had to be a while. Gradually, his face darkened and turned cold, feeling the same hatred he had for the Khalif raise up in his white-plastered chest.

Without looking up, he began speaking. “These need off.” It was not a question, and likely sounded more like a demand. Of all the things that the salt and pepper wolf despised, this unspoken bondage was amongst them. A year ago, this might have been him—except then they would have drawn up flame and sent him to his grave.

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Istabel · 03-25-2010, 11:31 AM

o.o.c. - Thats fine. Smile

They are metal, iron, rusted, you got it perfectly.

.O.f.f. Yes. They needed off. Gone. Destroyed. Caramel depths switched rapidly to and fro, from the white-fingered hand that engulfed her shackled foreleg, to the face of the man holding it. Her heart beat an unsteady tempo, trading panic for reason and back to panic again. It was...difficult to feel hands on her that did not harbor the intent to harm. Then again, this brute's intentions were spoken for...but tongues lied all the time. Istabel shut her eyes briefly as she forced her rising terror into submission once again, swallowing hard as though she could force it down physically.

Istabel traded a silent nod for his remark, her face solemn and pensive as she continued to watch him. She tipped her chin to one side, exposing the thick, metal band that encircled her throat. Upon it, etched in a crooked, uneven hand, was one word: 'I.s.t.a.b.e.l' ...The white pelt beneath it had been stained black and gray by the months upon months of use. It was a vulnerable gesture that threatened to override her instilled calm...but necessary to exhibit the full measure of her situation. The shackles were not the only thing that needed to come off. One was still linked to the collar by a crooked chain. The other chain dangled free...no doubt the source of the noise that had drawn the stranger here.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 03-25-2010, 12:17 PM

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300+. Slight powerplay with her following him, hope you don't mind. :]

She looked as frightened as a bird in a snare, as if his intentions might have been impure. While many men might take advantage of this frail woman, Larkspur was not among them. Misery had hammered the laws of chivalry into his head, speaking so highly of her dead love, reinforcing these things unto him. Even though she was gone, he intended to honor her until her return—and she would return to him, return as a prophet with gleaming proof on her coat. For now, though, there was a task at hand. Only when her face moved did he look up, eyes finding the collar around her neck. Larkspur was uneducated, and found the letters as foreign to him as the runes along his arms.

Both hands now took the metal around her own wrist, and read the metal by touch. A bolt stuck out around the end, and had since rusted completely. Even if he had understood how to remove it, the rust would prevent such a thing. Frowning, Larkspur lifted his hand to the band around her neck—this too, was rusted shut. “Come with me,” he once again ordered, heading towards the nearest building. It was a long abandoned home, and falling apart from the inside out. This was not what he was interested in, as a much smaller building stood nearby. The wooden door was worn and falling apart, and Larkspur removed this by brute strength. The wood splintered and pulled off, cast aside with a grunt. He went inside, and spent a few moments searching through the gardening tools. Even though he did not know what they were called, he understood the purpose was clear enough.

One hand grabbed his prize, a pair of cutting sheers, and he came outside once again. “I’m gonna need t’cut them off,” he explained, his accent thickening as he disregarded a need to sound more educated then he was. Larkspur was simple, and simple solutions were all that was needed.

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Istabel · 03-25-2010, 08:56 PM

G.o W.i.t.h Y.o.u ...Istabel followed the black and silvered brute like a lean shadow, ears ducked against her skull and head bowed. It was an attitude of obedience she was so used to adopting, it was nearly instinctive. Only once they'd reached the shack and the stranger disappeared inside did she pause to consider her freedom. He had bid her to follow, and she'd tucked her tail and slinked after him like a dog. The notion that she did not have to had never occurred to her. This clandestine idea of freedom was so new, so...foreign. It agitated her to the point she found herself pacing again...Back and forth. Back and forth. Crossing before the threshold of the shack again and again, the sunlight winking dully upon her ruddy pelt as she dodged in and out of shadow.

When the man emerged, she froze again, marigold depths locking onto the pair of shears he wielded in one hand. Before his words announced his intentions, she flinched away, chains skittering in her wake. Several loping strides brought her up short, spent and drained, and she pivoted wearily with the expectation of finding him in pursuit. Instead, there he stood...bewildered. Waiting. Patient. Her white-capped ears scissored atop her skull, as though playing puppeteer to the thoughts within. He is not going to hurt me. He is not... Her head tipped to one side.

Like a chastened child, Istabel dropped her head, tucking her ebon-striped tail as she slunk back to his side. Her eyes still rolled wildly between the sheers clasped in his hands, and the stranger's silvered face...She did not mean to imply he was a monster. She did not mean to misinterpret his intent. She was merely building off of the unstable foundation upon which she had been raised. Where she came from, such tools were not used to do good things...The last of her trembling left her as she joined him again, forelegs propped rigidly outward for his inspection and use. Dropping her gaze, those honeyed pools would not venture up to met him again, for fear they would giver her some cause to bolt. Not only did she lack the strength, but she feared it would try his patience, and she longed to be free of the imprisonment chafing her wrists and neck.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 03-28-2010, 11:19 AM

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Sorry for that delay!

The thought she might run never occurred to him. When she did, half-scrambling, Larkspur remained where he stood. A predatory instinct rose for an instant, quelled as she slowed and came to a halt. He said nothing. Slowly, she returned to his side—and when she had, he turned the blades and hooked them around the rusted pin. With a great force, Larkspur brought the shears together and snapped the metal off. It flew by his head, and fell into the muddy earth without a sound. The metal cuff flung open and fell, hitting the ground near their feet without more then a muted thud.

Then, and only then, did he speak. “I’m not gn’ta hurt ya,” the bi-colored wolf explained. “Stay still.” It took him the same amount of speed to cut the second pin off, and then with the chains free, he saw the extent of damage on her wrists. They were ruined by the weight of those things, something that sat ill with the older man. Both eyes focused on her neck, and the collar that remained there. He did not move towards it, waiting for her reaction before such a step was taken.

Istabel · 03-28-2010, 10:45 PM

S.t.i.l.l.ness. Stillness consumed Istabel as the first shackle fell away. The weight was lifted. The bond broken. Gone. Rusted bits of metal clattered to the ground...and her eyes followed them with a hint of disbelief. The pieces that symbolized her previous life lay shattered at her feet. The evidence of their placement was wrought forever across her wrists, traced by silvery black scars...but soon to be nothing more than the pang of a memory. Istabel's lungs swelled with a deep pull of air...as though tasting freedom for the first time.

The stranger's voice crept into her awareness, turning the pale tip of one ear in his direction. The flutter of motion was followed by her eyes, lifted to meet his own calculating stare. She studied him as he knelt to the task of removing the next pin, flinching ever so slightly as the cuff fell away. He paused. Waiting. Almost there... A fiercer light rekindled in the depths of the eyes she met him with, and Istabel thrust her chin up...exposing her pale throat and giving him access to the final pin that secured that dreadful collar.

I want it gone. I want it all gone...

Larkspur D'Angelo · 03-30-2010, 10:46 AM

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So I just checked out your art, it's really awesome! I love the most recent stuff, that style's always been one of my favorites.

It was like something entirely new had swept into her body, rushing up through the air and into her lungs. He saw her eyes change. A fire blossomed in them, the same fire that had been born into his when his life was granted. She would owe him nothing—she would owe nothing to any master anymore. Larkspur’s lips pulled up, exposing his ivory teeth in a wicked smile. Something remarkable was happening now. She was being reborn, and it was he, Larkspur D’Angelo, who would bring her into this new life. Such power felt unfamiliar but not unwelcomed. He sucked in the air, attempting to taste the emotions rolling from her thin form, and lifted the blade to her neck.

One fell swoop broke the metal cleanly, sending the third and final pin flying into the air. Where it fell he did not see, for his attention was focused entirely on the woman. The collar swung wide and fell in a heap, still bound by those heavy chains and rusted memories. They lay in the grass and wet earth, powerless, and he dropped the shears next to them. All of these things would need destroyed—he would see to this in the same way that the Khalif always destroyed the wicked.

But for now, he had something else to keep his attention.“Can y’talk?” He asked rather bluntly. Even after so long, Larkspur was still ineloquent and rough.

Istabel · 03-30-2010, 11:48 PM

o.o.c.: Thanks! Its a new style I've been trying on, and I have to say I like it. Feel free to follow it, I've more to add this evening if I get around to it...your compliments are very much appreciated!

B.o.n.e and sinew sprang free as the collar was snapped from around her neck. The first, true breath of freedom was pulled into Istabel's expanding lungs as she shifted from one form into the next. Her Ethiopian Wolf heritage sculpted her Optime form into a physique long and slender of limb...made all the more potent by protruding angles thanks to her lack of nutrition and care. Her white-masked features were crowned by a tousled mop of auburn and ebony. Large, white-rimmed ears sprouted from the crown of her head, currently angled at half-mast as her marigold eyes calculated his question.

As she lay sprawled and feeding on deep lungfuls of freedom, a long pause pursued the level gaze she pinned him with. He'd given her the liberty she'd fought so long for. He deserved an answer. This fact seemed to settle into place as last, and Istabel dropped her eyes with a firm shake of her head. No. She could not speak. The use of words was beyond her. A handicap that had pummeled her with it's consequences her entire life.

After all, a mute Luperci could not scream.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 04-06-2010, 09:49 AM

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Sorry for the delay, I was out of town!

She was made of sharp angles and fine lines, things that made her beautiful despite the blackened, ruined echoes of bondage on her arms and neck. She was free, as he had been made free, and yet she said nothing. She did nothing but remain still. There were no echoes of abuse as there had been with him; no bleeding wounds or bruised skin. The price of freedom was very high, and it remained engrained in his memory. He owed his life to one singular person, and he could not forget that—just as he could not forget the voice that whispered through stone and spoke to him of things he did not entirely understand.

Frowning at the answer, the large male’s ears turned back. Such a terrible thing, to be without a voice—to be unable to communicate beyond signs and gestures. Even if she was able to write, Larkspur could not read. He understood her well enough though this simple way they had been, which suited him well enough. White fingers rubbed against the back of his hand, and he shifted his weight from one leg to another, almost uncomfortably. “Y’hungry?” He asked shortly, not sure what more to do for her.

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