OOC: Oh noes. Sorry it got so long. >_< WC: 500.
IC:
Saraqael stood in front of the body-length mirror of her room. She was pleasantly naked, pure white all over except for her few marks of coal. Her eyes were always masked in shadow and her forearms and lower legs had been dipped in the blackest of ink. The orbs stared back at her, sickly lilac and gemstone teal. Curiously, she stretched, flexing upward with her arms locked above her head to watch her skin roll over her ribcage, the black crescent on her chest becoming taller and thinner. She cocked her head, relaxed, and turned to the side, examining her slight curves. Her breasts were tiny, her buttocks nothing to be proud of. She would never be a buxom babe, a thought that gave her cause to smile. She sometimes felt bad for those weighed down by overzealous fat deposits. The coyote would always be light and free instead, able to leap, slide, run, and fight, even in Optime. In the mirror, she wagged her shadow-tipped tail, curving to see the silvery V's that peppered her ghostly pelt in traditional coyote fashion.
In that moment the short girl decided to get dressed. It was not something she did every day but it was the best way to show off her wares and boost her confidence. With all her natural lack of coloration, she enjoyed sporting some flare. Flicking her emerald, turquoise, and sapphire bang with her pinky to fluff it, she took one last look into the glass then turned towards the wardrobe. The doors pulled open with ease. She had unpacked everything she had no intention of selling there, a vast collection of decorative fur bands, a scant few tops and skirts. Unhesitatingly she pulled out a bi-colored magenta and teal arm bracer, a neon yellow, green-spotted bracelet, and a pair of happy orange calf-warmers with red snow-leopard spots and purple, dangling charms. All of them laced up like human shoes, thongs threaded through eyelets to crisscross, and she tied them on with practiced ease.
Now ready, her bedroom door opened with an aged, croaky creak. Poking her pointed muzzle into the crevice, she sniffed and peeked. Satisfied that the corridor was empty, she sprang out, her door closing behind her. In three bounds she was at and through the west wing's entrance and in three more she had successfully flown the mansion without encountering a soul. It wasn't that she was avoiding anyone in particular but the hallways made her antsy and Saraqael was not in the mood for talking.
An overcast gray kindly shielded her way from a harsh winter sun as she made her way to the borders. As she understood, it was any good pack member's duty to patrol them and keep Inferni's territory unmolested by strangers. Despite that it could have involved speaking with someone new, the borders were an expansive enough route that she would take her chances. The only company offered by the outside area was a troop of passing, squawking birds.
[html] 506 words. Sorry this took so long! <3
Bangle liked this bunch of coyotes up in Inferni, he had concluded. For the past few days he wandered near it, ever since his encountered with that fun-loving, pot-smoking Sage woman. Were all coyotes like this up here? It was colder in temperature, that much he knew, from being up much higher than he had been used to lately, but it seemed like every coyote from east to west lived here. For a few brief moments, Bangle wondered why he hadn't joined this wild bunch, but then thoughts of white fur clouded his mind, reminding him of where he belonged.
The coywolf's pleasant thoughts were muted by the clinking sounds of his wares and his jewelry, as he decided to move about the pack's borders once more. It felt heavier, possibly because of new things he found, or even traded with some odd faces here and there. Bangle couldn't help but grin from ear to ear, kicking snow away from in front of him as he made his way through. He felt accomplished, that his skulls and bones, and other things actually had some more value here than it did anywhere else, it seemed. Then, as his orange-yellow eyes glanced over at a large pole with a wolf's skull skewered at the top, he knew why.
He male stood and watched it for a moment, covered partially with frost. Did these coyotes really despise wolves that much? Bangle wasn't sure, he was a bit of both. Despite this train of thought, he thought they were alright. His feet continued on their way, pushing forward into the snow that nearly reached his calves now. Bangle was glad it hadn't snowed that hard since he had left, but he wasn't sure what it would be like when he left the following day. The male simply let his feet do the walking, taking him wherever they felt like they wanted to go. Readjusting the pack on his back, several of Bangle's jars and bones rang together in a sweet harmony of trade.
It was nearly time, however, to find a place to rest for the time being, yet Bangle still meandered near Inferni's borders. Nothing remotely seemed interesting, as he stood and scanned the snowy grasslands, until his sights fell on something... unusual. It moved, indicating it was a stranger (or rather, he the stranger for being on the lands), but the colors on the moving form was.. strange. Too strange to pass up.
Bangle turned on his heel and made his way towards the coyote, and upon coming closer he noticed the female lavishly decorated with several colors not her own. His eyes sparkled with interest, his grin broad as always when he approached her, standing a few feet away. The male wasn't trying to sneak up on her, hell he couldn't even if he tried, with all that was on his body that very day. "So, lemme guess.. yer goin' huntin'?" He asked her in a sarcastic tone, ears twitching as they expected the sounds of laughter.
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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?”
[html] 366 words. Short! x_x;
He had wanted her to hear him approach, he wasn't trying to hide it or sneak around. Bangle was never really good at that, either his decorations gave away his hiding places, or his high pitched laugh would. The coywolf knew he was intruding upon pack grounds, though, and so he kept his distance, watching the female take an elegant stroll through the Inferni borders.
Though she, too, stood out rather well among the lands. Inferni, in general, seemed like a much darker place, so she nearly stood out like a sore thumb with the whitest fur. As she turned her attention onto him, he saw the mask that adorned her face, much like a raccoon's. Other appendages were adorned with the same color as her facial mask, but what Bangle found most intriguing as he stepped up near her were her eyes. They were of two different colors, something the traveler hadn't seen for some time. It was once said, though it could have easily been an old wolf's tale, that those with different colored eyes had two different sides to them - personality, thoughts, everything. She wasn't much shorter than he, nor were several of the coyotes he spotted on the lands. Bangle almost fit in among these others, much like himself, instead of the taller wolves in the southern lands.
When she introduced herself, he stared blankly, almost unmoving except for one ear that moved to the back of his head. Then his features changed, as he smiled warmly. "That's quite a long name ya got there! How's about I call ya Saraqael, hm?" Cocking his gray and red marked head at her, he examined the female. Her demeanor towards him, though the encounter had only been a few seconds, seemed calm enough. "Mah business goes where I go," he explained with a charming grin lighting his features. Before he let her respond, though, he stuck his hand out for her to shake. "Name's Bangle, but many call me Slickmaw. Take yer pick." "Ya look like a classy kind of female.. perhaps there's som'n I can interest ya in?" Bangle's eyebrows wiggled, presenting what he had draped on him, from head to toe.
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OOC: Word Count: 1010. No worries about the shortness, and sorry for the length! I can't afford anything shorter if I want to keep up with SoSuWriMo, haha. 
IC:
Saraqael stared at him, bewildered. Rarely did she find herself so completely overwhelmed by the mere presence of a canine. He was a center of color and sound, cheerily exuding brightness from his inside and outside. Like a butterfly or an exotic parrot, he was visually fascinating to her. Now that she trusted, for the most part, that he was not intending harm, she would have liked to rove over his person, touching every trinket and bauble, rolling beads between her fingers, stroking the feathers, learning the feel of his clothing and attachments. They were strangers, unknown to one another except for in name so she spared him. Even their names, she found, were strange. He commented on the length of her name and she had no choice but to agree. Four names was a somewhat unusual quantity, three fairly common in comparison and two even more so. Though technically, “Destroying Angel” was a single title, also the name of a deadly white mushroom. She did not tell him this because it was useless, uninteresting, and vain. She wondered if he thought she expected him to call her by her full name when he asked permission to call her by her first, but his question did give her cause to ponder why she greeted everyone with the full length of her title. It was unnecessary, really, especially since it was unlikely that he would remember the whole thing. The first portion of her name was unique enough without the rest of it attached anyway. “You may call me by my first name, yes,” she confirmed, mostly for his benefit. He held out a tawny hand and she arced an eyebrow, not rudely but confused. It was not a tradition she was accustomed to but she did not wish to offend. Her ink dipped paw slid into his, her small, skeletal hand looking dwarfed. Gripping it lightly, she jiggled their clasped digits, a pathetic excuse for a hand shake on her part. Secretly, she enjoyed it quite a bit, feeling the roughness of his pads on hers and the feathery tickle of fuzz, like feathers, in the in between places. The creature was a sucker for textures and sensory experience. She had always been enthralled and sensitive to such things but it was so difficult to find willing participants to engage with her. Saraqael let go of his hand.
“Slickmaw” was appropriate judging by the way words flowed fast and fee from his mouth. It was easy to imagine him as a smooth talker, a professional bamboozler. With his charisma and enthusiasm, she also imagined he had wooed many souls into his bed. More frequently he lured probably passerby into purchasing his wares. He gestured to them with suggestive eye motions and she realized all his flare was more than an elaborate costume – it was the whole display of everything he had to offer. His business really did go with him. From this, she decided that she liked “Bangle” better. The sounds were fuller, richer and more fun in her mouth as she repeated them aloud: “Bangle.” Sharp “b” and twangy “a,” then succinct, weird “g,” though it ended elegantly despite the rest of its harshness in soft “l.” For her there was physical pleasure in language, another quirk of hers that she persisted after with youthful passion, repeating new words and cataloging them in her brain. The name suited him better, anyway. It was musical, like he sounded, and he had real bangles besides. On his arms and legs were striped markings, permanent bracelets, and he also adorned his body with clanking silver hoops. Bangle, jangle, tangle – all the words were him, and they rhymed, which added some extra truth to them. Looking at him again, she shook her head gently. None of his clothing was quite her style, for the girl only adored furs, bright colors, or shiny things, and had little use for beads since she possessed an impressive collection of her own. Plus she barely wore clothes. If she needed feathers, she would have found them or killed a bird, then dyed them herself. Skulls were in no short supply either, and she had small trinkets and other baubles to go along with any of her pieces. What she needed was more complicated, perhaps more rare. He did not look like the man for the job but he might have known the canine who was. Softly, she said, “No thank you, Bangle. I am looking for an empty book. Do you know where I can find one, or a canid who might be able to make me one? In exchange I can make brightly colored fur pieces, like the ones you see on me now, or dye the book maker's fur, or trade supplies.” Normally she would have explicitly offered to trade dye but winter was not a good season for it and honestly, she would hoard the colors she had left for creating wares for those who wished to barter for her product directly.
The girl felt guilty for not being interested in what he was selling. More likely than not, since he had not named a specific person he was looking for, or a task he wanted to complete, he had traveled to Inferni for the sole purpose of trading. If he requested it, she would take him into the lands to find someone else to appeal to about his merchandise. He had the benefit of at least looking like he had a high percentage of coyote in him which would help to earn the trust out of the others who were primarily mixed themselves, and the exchange of goods was always a healthy way of building relationships between packs, though she had no idea where Bangle hailed from since he had not said. Saraqael hoped that he would tell her, and even more so, hoped he could help her find someone skilled in creating and binding pages together to create a book.
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