[html] xxxxxFire burned in the sky from the setting sun, setting the decrepit building awash with golden light. Sitting in a window overlooking the swampland, blood dripped down the window frame in dark paths to pool on the ground — the source a rabbit Samael was carefully cutting apart. Slowly tearing the skin from the muscle, hollow, glazed eyes stared up from a soft, brown face, only moments ago alive and racing across the mucky swamp. Licking crimson from the tips of his claws, he tore off a piece of the animal, contemplating the piece of flesh briefly before placing it between his fangs. Eating wasn't a common past time for the coyote, though killing was another thing, keeping claws sharp and wits trained. But he'd grown weak from lack of consumption the past few days, hands shaking and vision darkening, and death wasn't something he sought in the immediate future from sheer laziness.
xxxxxWiping his knife on a moth-eaten curtain hanging beside him, he returned the dagger to it's sheath, slowly eating the rabbit while watching the sun's golden rim sink below the horizon. Creatures had begun to stir in the swamp, croaking and creaking and chirping a chorus like no other, and he listened with one ear trained on his surroundings, darkness beginning to swallow the earth like a dark veil. Finally, tossing aside the carcass, crimson eyes narrowed on something that hovered just above a particularly marshy patch of earth, watching as something pale and light flickered and burned into life. A ghost, or so he presumed. Shades and shadows haunted his consciousness always, their constant whispering fading into just another background sound, but this was something different. Something he'd seen only a few times before. A spirit as many believed, or demon seeking evil in this world. Will-'o-the-wisp as humans had called it, he watched the ghostly fire shimmer and glow in the growing darkness, before finally burning out and leaving behind a blackness that fell like a wall.
xxxxxShifting slightly on his perch, he brushed aside a lock of his dark hair from his face and settled back against the window, listening to the night sounds and the shadows that whispered and spoke a constant chorus. [/html]
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Hai Laura. ILY. Sorry it's SO fucking late. <333
___The sun was setting, the hazy glow coating the lands in a painfully dim reddish tint. Anya feared sunset more than anything, if for no other reason than the painful memories it brought. Sunset was always a time of an ending, a loss, some painful experience that would add to the stains and the scars. It was inevitable... the worst things happened when the sun was not present, it seemed. Her mother's insanity had seemed to surface most in the presence of sunset or dim light, and as such, Aiji Sadira had died within her nightmare... just as the sun was half-mast and glaring with a single, angry crimson eye... double that and there was Ahren, double again and Anya completed the nightmare.
___No matter what, Anya was reminded that she was only another scar, another stain upon her mother. Living, breathing, cheeky proof of Aiji's mistakes and her pain. Her eyes narrowed, crimson meeting the inanimate yet matching red glare of fire sinking in the sky. Anya wore her sins in her eyes, painted on her features, sewn to her soul. Everything about her screamed her life story... and yet, nobody ever seemed to perceive a word of it. No matter how loud she screamed, nobody was listening. Her stomach turned. She wanted to hurt. Oh, she wanted to hurt. For the first time since her mother had dragged her here, her claw found the skin beneath her pelt, and she tore at it, not even realising what she was doing as she curled under a tree and whined. Her jeans were stained with blood of many colours even before the first drop hit; hers, her mothers, those who'd dared challenge her, food, those she'd found gone before she could have been close enough to heard their screams. Travels had learnt her well, and now she saw the world in fire and ice, black and white, bad and worse. Nothing else.
___The drop hit. She blinked. No tears. 'I must not cry.'
___A nearby building caught her eye as the curtain shifted, and a form perched in it. A coyote, or perhaps a hybrid. Hard to tell. She didn't much care. Her eyes met the colour of his for a moment, and her stomach turned. Crimson. 'Damian-disarray-hate-Ahren-destruction-love-Anya-death-hate-love.' Another violent intestinal twist, and she muttered softly under her breath, cruelly, to herself. "Try to find an apothecary. Or maybe a therapist. Stomach's not gonna hold up if it keeps up." Slash, pang, drip. Her mind wasn't clear. She could smell her own blood. Whatever. Another scar. It was the same as anything else. Last time, Aiji was to blame for her being here, and the effect of Ahren on her. This time...
___She was the one to blame.
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[html] xxxxxIt was the scent of blood that aroused him from his thoughts. The thick, metallic stench that caused his muzzle to wrinkle and crimson eyes to search, searching for the source. Blood was wounded. Blood was pain, and blood was weakness. Blood filled the room he was already sitting in, permeating around his coat from the rabbit he'd killed. But wafting in through a broken pane of glass on the window was the smell of another's blood: a wolf. Rising from his seat, he pushed open the window — frame sliding upward with the horrible, ancient hiss of aged wood and rusted metal. But like a serpent, liquid and silent he slid through the opening and onto the ground, creeping toward where he imagined the blood came from. Pupils dilated to nearly consume his irises, there was a shadow in the darkness that didn't quite fit. That wore jeans and blood and wounded it's own flesh with it's claws.
xxxxxHis own fascination with physical mutilation was more than similar to this creature's, yet mutated and distorted, changing into a deep masochism further than coping with mortal emotions he'd rather not have. Scars riddled his own flesh, curving up his arms and body, twisting white and pale through the dark, nearly black fur that coated his skin. Scars carved even after misery fled simply to feel the rush of pain as nails and knife dragged through yielding flesh. "Or, perhaps a monster," he said in a deathly-soft voice, crimson eyes catching what little light there was and glowing against the shadowy backdrop of his jet-and-gold hued coat. "..following the beautifully delicious smell of your blood." He paused where he was a few yards from the female and regarded her with an almost unnatural hunger, head low and fur bristled along his back, like some nightmarish version of a halloween cat. [/html]
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Ewcreepy. =/
___Her limb was bleeding enough to drip the wet glare of crimson colour on her jeans. The stain spread, soaking through the fabric into her pelt beneath, and her maw spread in a mildly crazed smile. Her canines were long, and she sat, tempted to clean the mess up, perhaps lick the wounds and call this finished... when a shadow, whatever dim light there was left of the day to define a shadow from the light, hovered over her. Her eyes flicked up for a moment, then back down. The male. Fuckin' coyotes. Never had respect, not one of them. The bitch who'd been the reason her parents had never reconciled, was a coyote. Lykoi was the name. Goddamned interspecies breeding little cunt.
___When Anya had been younger, she'd thought that her mother and father had loved each other. There was no such justice in the world for a young pup. Her father was a rapist, and her mother was a fallen princess. Now, she was an outcast, the bastard child of a disgustingly selfish male and the dead princess of a demolished castle, which just for fun, had since been taken over by aforementioned male and his other deranged family. How cute. Not exactly a faerytale ending, eh? Never was and never would be. But c'est la vie.
___Her eyes lifted again, giving him the up and down, a less-than-interested once-over for a less-than-interesting half-breed mutt. She didn't lift her voice in speech; it didn't seem worth the time or effort. Instead, she closed her eyes and laughed softly, the sound hollow and cold, and rested her head back against the tree. His comment was barely registered in her mind. Whatever. If he was that sick to be serious...
___She might actually like him.
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[html] xxxxxThey hissed in his head, whispering suggestions that caused the edge of his lips to curl in quiet delight. He was relatively ignored by the female, given only a soft laugh in response as her head laid back against the tree, eyes closed to the world. His presence didn't even seem to remotely pique her interest, and for an arrogant, self-centered creature such as he, this annoyed the Lykoi prince. He wanted her attention. He wanted her blood. It wasn't fun if they didn't scream and squirm, even just a little bit.
xxxxxSamael moved forward, raising himself up over the bleeding girl and resting one hand on the tree's rough bark, drawing his muzzle closer to her face. "You know, it's most unkind to disregard those speaking to you," he said lightly, claws sinking into the wood. He'd drawn himself willingly into striking range of the female, but a few cuts and scratches from an angry bitch were far better than dully lapping the blood up off a lifeless soul. He wanted her to fight, kick and scream as he tore her down, savoring the sight of life faded from those pretty little crimson eyes. He wanted her nails ripping through his flesh, inflicting pain as the adrenaline poured, clinging to life like she actually cared.
xxxxxSuicidal maniacs fighting for the chance to keep on breathing, if just for a moment longer. He'd show her what it meant to want to keep on living, in the most raw, primal form.
xxxxxAnd then he'd steal her soul. [/html]
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