01-14-2011, 12:59 AM
OOC: Saraqael has just come from Cour de Miracles. She's at the border in front of McNamara's Landing. 
Word Count: 1020
IC:
Rising out of the ground, it was a powerful looking but clearly defeated giant. It had been grand and impressive once, a shining, swift beast. A mechanical wonder, intended for flight judging by the tattered, abused wings that jutted from its sides. None of their various species, coyote, jackal, or wolf, would probably ever put it back together, but the idea that all the parts and components might have been there still were intriguing. Science was alien, even a little scary to her, but interesting nonetheless. It seemed like a direction that they would all move in eventually instead of just isolating technology to the cities. If the vessel had ever kissed the sky on its formerly silver wings, now it sat, rusting pathetically, abandoned and red on a background of white. For a moment she pretended that the earth was bleeding from its belly, an old ulcer scabbed and crusted over. It was an easy comparison to make – it really did look like the ugly gash of a wound. Judging by the lack of trees surrounding the crash site, it had plummeted into a large field or pasture, not harming anything in its way. Its side was sliced to shreds and random boxes and packages speckled the soil in its vicinity. The nose ran straight into the ground, crumpled to folding, the sheet metal buckling in several places. If there had been bodies inside, a pilot or passengers, they were probably long ago picked apart and carried off by animals. Staring at the wreckage, Saraqael knew it was large by how massive it looked despite that she was far away. In trying to approach it, she had encountered a territory border, something that surprised her and upset her because it barred her from further exploring the glorious mess it made. It likely had an endless amount of strange smells, new textures, and unique sights. She imagined buttons, switches, belts, wires, and bolts, and a tingle of excitement gripped her limbs. Then an urge tightened in her gut and she tried to relax it away to no avail. It pressed so hard and fervently that the idea of crossing the border – trespassing on unfamiliar land – occurred and appealed to her. Whoever found her would have probably just felt bad at the sight of a minuscule coyote, pale fur now rolled in rust, eyes wide and desperate, staring at a wolf while she rubbed up against the inside of the downed plane with freakish passion.
It would have been awful to break the rules so blatantly and crazily, disgraceful not only to herself but to Inferni as well as to the strange area she now approached. Even if the wolves had nothing against her from the very start, her coyote heritage could have easily been brought to the forefront of the list of causes for her mischief. At the very least, her genes were always ammunition to use against her, the cause of all her greatest faults. She did not need that, and neither did Inferni who would probably have expelled her for being so careless and stupid. How could she have blamed them, either? She would have felt the same if anyone else went traipsing across scent lines, directly defying the implied message therein. At that point she would have forfeited any rights or protections she had as an outsider, an ambassador from a far away pack. As a fearful creature who wanted desperately to live, she thought it best to stay put, to watch the rusty scrap heap longingly but from a comfortable distance. To be sure, she put space between herself and the line that marked their territory as claimed. Several yards out and fairly far away from the site, she sat in the snow. Fast, dexterous fingers did not fumble with her straps but undid them with simply twists and pulls. Since she had tied them on in the first place, Saraqael knew the key to their undoing.
Her pack slumped over in the snow like a limp, dead body. Letting it to its own devices, it seemed like an appropriate moment to lay back and calm herself. Traveling was difficult business because she was doing it primarily in Optime. Lupus, at least for her, was far too small of a form to bear any load except for the smallest. Her bag was rather large, taller than her back, extending up to the back of her head. Filled with dry meat, skins, pre-made wares for selling, and blankets, it still had room in it to fit the rest of what she had brought with her to Nova Scotia.
Laying back, the snow felt cold even through her thick fur. As per usual, the sky was a muted gray with slate clouds that spewed snow incessantly, if only lightly. Flurries stuck to outstretched pieces of her fur, melted quickly to water drops, and then slid down to bother her flesh. Saraqael ignored them purposefully, choosing to focus on the clouds instead. The first one that floated by rather sluggishly reminded her of a rabbit. She realized it could have been the influence of her rumbling stomach on her mind, which then saw what it wanted to in the blobby accumulations of vapor and ice in the atmosphere. The girl was eating even less than normal since she was traveling and spending her time primarily in Optime, a form she was nearly incapable of hunting in. The second cloud looked like the head of a squirrel, or perhaps the form of a frog. It was pretty indistinguishable with various bulbous attachments that might have been anything.
The little coy's mind was growing fuzzy and her eyelids were closing shut every now and again on her two-toned orbs. More tired than she had been able to tell while walking, she calmly slipped her hands beneath the back of her head for makeshift cushions and allowed herself to drift off. Her last thought was that she wished could have fallen asleep with one eye open to keep the other trained on whoever was going to come upon her.
Word Count: 1020IC:
Rising out of the ground, it was a powerful looking but clearly defeated giant. It had been grand and impressive once, a shining, swift beast. A mechanical wonder, intended for flight judging by the tattered, abused wings that jutted from its sides. None of their various species, coyote, jackal, or wolf, would probably ever put it back together, but the idea that all the parts and components might have been there still were intriguing. Science was alien, even a little scary to her, but interesting nonetheless. It seemed like a direction that they would all move in eventually instead of just isolating technology to the cities. If the vessel had ever kissed the sky on its formerly silver wings, now it sat, rusting pathetically, abandoned and red on a background of white. For a moment she pretended that the earth was bleeding from its belly, an old ulcer scabbed and crusted over. It was an easy comparison to make – it really did look like the ugly gash of a wound. Judging by the lack of trees surrounding the crash site, it had plummeted into a large field or pasture, not harming anything in its way. Its side was sliced to shreds and random boxes and packages speckled the soil in its vicinity. The nose ran straight into the ground, crumpled to folding, the sheet metal buckling in several places. If there had been bodies inside, a pilot or passengers, they were probably long ago picked apart and carried off by animals. Staring at the wreckage, Saraqael knew it was large by how massive it looked despite that she was far away. In trying to approach it, she had encountered a territory border, something that surprised her and upset her because it barred her from further exploring the glorious mess it made. It likely had an endless amount of strange smells, new textures, and unique sights. She imagined buttons, switches, belts, wires, and bolts, and a tingle of excitement gripped her limbs. Then an urge tightened in her gut and she tried to relax it away to no avail. It pressed so hard and fervently that the idea of crossing the border – trespassing on unfamiliar land – occurred and appealed to her. Whoever found her would have probably just felt bad at the sight of a minuscule coyote, pale fur now rolled in rust, eyes wide and desperate, staring at a wolf while she rubbed up against the inside of the downed plane with freakish passion.
It would have been awful to break the rules so blatantly and crazily, disgraceful not only to herself but to Inferni as well as to the strange area she now approached. Even if the wolves had nothing against her from the very start, her coyote heritage could have easily been brought to the forefront of the list of causes for her mischief. At the very least, her genes were always ammunition to use against her, the cause of all her greatest faults. She did not need that, and neither did Inferni who would probably have expelled her for being so careless and stupid. How could she have blamed them, either? She would have felt the same if anyone else went traipsing across scent lines, directly defying the implied message therein. At that point she would have forfeited any rights or protections she had as an outsider, an ambassador from a far away pack. As a fearful creature who wanted desperately to live, she thought it best to stay put, to watch the rusty scrap heap longingly but from a comfortable distance. To be sure, she put space between herself and the line that marked their territory as claimed. Several yards out and fairly far away from the site, she sat in the snow. Fast, dexterous fingers did not fumble with her straps but undid them with simply twists and pulls. Since she had tied them on in the first place, Saraqael knew the key to their undoing.
Her pack slumped over in the snow like a limp, dead body. Letting it to its own devices, it seemed like an appropriate moment to lay back and calm herself. Traveling was difficult business because she was doing it primarily in Optime. Lupus, at least for her, was far too small of a form to bear any load except for the smallest. Her bag was rather large, taller than her back, extending up to the back of her head. Filled with dry meat, skins, pre-made wares for selling, and blankets, it still had room in it to fit the rest of what she had brought with her to Nova Scotia.
Laying back, the snow felt cold even through her thick fur. As per usual, the sky was a muted gray with slate clouds that spewed snow incessantly, if only lightly. Flurries stuck to outstretched pieces of her fur, melted quickly to water drops, and then slid down to bother her flesh. Saraqael ignored them purposefully, choosing to focus on the clouds instead. The first one that floated by rather sluggishly reminded her of a rabbit. She realized it could have been the influence of her rumbling stomach on her mind, which then saw what it wanted to in the blobby accumulations of vapor and ice in the atmosphere. The girl was eating even less than normal since she was traveling and spending her time primarily in Optime, a form she was nearly incapable of hunting in. The second cloud looked like the head of a squirrel, or perhaps the form of a frog. It was pretty indistinguishable with various bulbous attachments that might have been anything.
The little coy's mind was growing fuzzy and her eyelids were closing shut every now and again on her two-toned orbs. More tired than she had been able to tell while walking, she calmly slipped her hands beneath the back of her head for makeshift cushions and allowed herself to drift off. Her last thought was that she wished could have fallen asleep with one eye open to keep the other trained on whoever was going to come upon her.