01-02-2011, 12:23 PM
OOC: First, I am sorry I didn't have this up last night, but I wanted my brain to be fresh and good for you. 
Secondly, homg, word count = 1081. SO SORRY. Obviously, no need to match, but I was inspired, and SSWM demands such things. Try not to get too bored. X_x
IC:
Idly she peered into the two caves, examining how the dirt ran like the trails of veins all across the dusky white surface of their insides. The eye sockets peered back, blindly staring into her forever, and straight ahead if she moved out of the way, never seeing but always looking. For what, she could not say. The skull was smooth but also aged and weathered, taking on a papery touch instead of the slick, polished feel of bones better kept. Compared to the spacial occupation of her own head, this one was humongous. She imagined it had been taken from a dead Optime of quite large proportions, perhaps eight feet in height. Taking it in her small, ink-laden hands, Saraqael held it at eye-level in a face-off and then rose to the mirror.
Had she ever read Hamlet, she would have chuffed amusedly at the likeness of Shakespeare's unforgettable and most well-known scene. Saraqael faced the mirror and holding the skull aloft, she pressed the ashen bones to the side of her head, the object flattening the ruff of ghostly fur at her cheek. It felt like a cold plate against her face. In her one arm, it was heavy. Muscles burned lightly in her scrawny bicep and in the underside of her forearm but it was worth it to see the real size comparison, which was terrifying. In life, the creature would have swallowed her head whole in two chomps. It probably had the jaw strength to crush her fine, thin-boned features with little effort. As such, a part of the fae child was oddly relieved that the thing was dead. Guilt followed that ease, a chaser more distasteful than the original drink. This could have been someone's (gigantic) mother, brother, sister, father, whatever, and for all she knew, their temperament was that of a lamb's – soft, gentle, and in need of nurturing.
With knit brows and pursed lips, she realized she had carried herself away into a land of hypothetical nonsense. A sharp laugh issued - “Hah!” - and she scowled, the skull swinging down from its perch to graze the soft fur at her belly, her second arm arriving in time to help support its hefty weight. Flicking her tail in mild irritation at none other than herself, she turned back to her desk, rejecting the feelings she had mustered before. Wolves had mostly been kind to her in her short year of life but what was dead was dead, and its remains, for her, had become damaged property, a chore she needed to complete. Placing it lightly on the shiny, dark wood, her bat ears picked up the loose clack she had associated with its broken jaw. Whatever had it connected, she'd destroyed it by allowing it to clumsily tumble from her grasp in a fit of fright. Feeling morally obligated – not to mention ashamed – she had offered to repair the damage to Kaena, a leader of Inferni.
Peeking at its underside, she noted the place where the jaw would go but found herself disappointed, though not surprised, that there were no magic holes with snap-in pegs. Though what she had in mind was ugly, she knew only one way to repair it. Saraqael moved swiftly to her pack in the corner of the room. In a moment she returned to her charge, leather thongs in hand and a large, bundled wrapping with a tie around the middle. The strips of skin fell to her table with the tiniest smack. Two-fingered, she pulled the bow from its tied position on the package and let the string fall away. Setting the bundle down, the coyote placed her right hand on the bottom edge of the material and her left hand on top and unrolled it. Inside the soft blanket were an array of bone knives, some serrated, others short, and still others long, thin, fat, curved, or straight. She chose one carved in the style of a buck knife, its glossy wooden handle black in the dimness of her room.
From there, the female worked quickly. She set the skull on her desk with the brain case portion upside down. She positioned the jaw on top to see where she needed to tie to before reattaching it. Discovering an appropriate position, Saraqael peeled a strip of leather from the pile and attached it in a tightly-knotted loop, doing the same to the opposite side. Flipping it over and replacing it on top so that the teeth clinked together, she then turned the skull perpendicular to herself. Where the cheeks should have been, two loops jutted from the face. If she looked at them from the top, they were like two arcing bridges. These were where she would attach her strings. Taking the tag-ends of one, she tied another tight loop around the flattish outcropping and then repeated it on the other side. Finally, she sliced off the remaining length of both thongs, discarding them on her desk to be cleaned up later.
It was time for the test. Her claws scraped against the underside of the cheek bone loops. She lifted the head from there, allowing the pressure of the jawbone to hang from her ties without touching them. Smiling with success, she bolted, slipping out the door in silence and springing down the hallway, through the front patio, and into the open air, the repaired border decoration trapped beneath her left arm like a football tucked for safety from prying hands. Excitement spurred her to swiftness but she kept her pace easy. The new member likely already looked and acted strangely enough. It wouldn't have been productive to her meager reputation to be seen sprinting around with a wolf skull clenched to her like a swaddling child.
It took her a little under an hour to come to the place where she had met Kaena the first time. The sky was still well-lit by the undiminished winter sun which had inconveniently driven away all of the clouds that day. No new snow was falling but the wind dashed up small flurries from the earth, a poor substitute for the real thing. Soon, the pike she was searching for came into view, unadorned and plain, a simple stick jutting from the ground. Standing on her tippy toes with her v-striped back turned to the outside, Saraqael set the large skull atop the shorter stake, finding a natural hole for it to balance on.
Secondly, homg, word count = 1081. SO SORRY. Obviously, no need to match, but I was inspired, and SSWM demands such things. Try not to get too bored. X_xIC:
Idly she peered into the two caves, examining how the dirt ran like the trails of veins all across the dusky white surface of their insides. The eye sockets peered back, blindly staring into her forever, and straight ahead if she moved out of the way, never seeing but always looking. For what, she could not say. The skull was smooth but also aged and weathered, taking on a papery touch instead of the slick, polished feel of bones better kept. Compared to the spacial occupation of her own head, this one was humongous. She imagined it had been taken from a dead Optime of quite large proportions, perhaps eight feet in height. Taking it in her small, ink-laden hands, Saraqael held it at eye-level in a face-off and then rose to the mirror.
Had she ever read Hamlet, she would have chuffed amusedly at the likeness of Shakespeare's unforgettable and most well-known scene. Saraqael faced the mirror and holding the skull aloft, she pressed the ashen bones to the side of her head, the object flattening the ruff of ghostly fur at her cheek. It felt like a cold plate against her face. In her one arm, it was heavy. Muscles burned lightly in her scrawny bicep and in the underside of her forearm but it was worth it to see the real size comparison, which was terrifying. In life, the creature would have swallowed her head whole in two chomps. It probably had the jaw strength to crush her fine, thin-boned features with little effort. As such, a part of the fae child was oddly relieved that the thing was dead. Guilt followed that ease, a chaser more distasteful than the original drink. This could have been someone's (gigantic) mother, brother, sister, father, whatever, and for all she knew, their temperament was that of a lamb's – soft, gentle, and in need of nurturing.
With knit brows and pursed lips, she realized she had carried herself away into a land of hypothetical nonsense. A sharp laugh issued - “Hah!” - and she scowled, the skull swinging down from its perch to graze the soft fur at her belly, her second arm arriving in time to help support its hefty weight. Flicking her tail in mild irritation at none other than herself, she turned back to her desk, rejecting the feelings she had mustered before. Wolves had mostly been kind to her in her short year of life but what was dead was dead, and its remains, for her, had become damaged property, a chore she needed to complete. Placing it lightly on the shiny, dark wood, her bat ears picked up the loose clack she had associated with its broken jaw. Whatever had it connected, she'd destroyed it by allowing it to clumsily tumble from her grasp in a fit of fright. Feeling morally obligated – not to mention ashamed – she had offered to repair the damage to Kaena, a leader of Inferni.
Peeking at its underside, she noted the place where the jaw would go but found herself disappointed, though not surprised, that there were no magic holes with snap-in pegs. Though what she had in mind was ugly, she knew only one way to repair it. Saraqael moved swiftly to her pack in the corner of the room. In a moment she returned to her charge, leather thongs in hand and a large, bundled wrapping with a tie around the middle. The strips of skin fell to her table with the tiniest smack. Two-fingered, she pulled the bow from its tied position on the package and let the string fall away. Setting the bundle down, the coyote placed her right hand on the bottom edge of the material and her left hand on top and unrolled it. Inside the soft blanket were an array of bone knives, some serrated, others short, and still others long, thin, fat, curved, or straight. She chose one carved in the style of a buck knife, its glossy wooden handle black in the dimness of her room.
From there, the female worked quickly. She set the skull on her desk with the brain case portion upside down. She positioned the jaw on top to see where she needed to tie to before reattaching it. Discovering an appropriate position, Saraqael peeled a strip of leather from the pile and attached it in a tightly-knotted loop, doing the same to the opposite side. Flipping it over and replacing it on top so that the teeth clinked together, she then turned the skull perpendicular to herself. Where the cheeks should have been, two loops jutted from the face. If she looked at them from the top, they were like two arcing bridges. These were where she would attach her strings. Taking the tag-ends of one, she tied another tight loop around the flattish outcropping and then repeated it on the other side. Finally, she sliced off the remaining length of both thongs, discarding them on her desk to be cleaned up later.
It was time for the test. Her claws scraped against the underside of the cheek bone loops. She lifted the head from there, allowing the pressure of the jawbone to hang from her ties without touching them. Smiling with success, she bolted, slipping out the door in silence and springing down the hallway, through the front patio, and into the open air, the repaired border decoration trapped beneath her left arm like a football tucked for safety from prying hands. Excitement spurred her to swiftness but she kept her pace easy. The new member likely already looked and acted strangely enough. It wouldn't have been productive to her meager reputation to be seen sprinting around with a wolf skull clenched to her like a swaddling child.
It took her a little under an hour to come to the place where she had met Kaena the first time. The sky was still well-lit by the undiminished winter sun which had inconveniently driven away all of the clouds that day. No new snow was falling but the wind dashed up small flurries from the earth, a poor substitute for the real thing. Soon, the pike she was searching for came into view, unadorned and plain, a simple stick jutting from the ground. Standing on her tippy toes with her v-striped back turned to the outside, Saraqael set the large skull atop the shorter stake, finding a natural hole for it to balance on.