A Fire for the Mark

Yi TaeKyung · 07-27-2011, 05:08 PM

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Sorry about the wait~! Would it be okay to backdate to July 12? If not it’s cool! Just let me know!
WC: 555

The white orbs looked down upon the cold, unresponsive metal. The brand, bearing the mark of 無 --Nothingness, Empty—lay upon the unnatural, black river of concrete. The Korean woman sat upon the rough surface, those unnatural, humanesque legs crossed casually as she contemplated in unmoving silence. This thing was itself foreign to these lands, just as she. With a strange sense of fate, the Jindo-wolf hybrid could not help but wonder if it was a Korean who had also made this thing. It could be anyone, she suspected, now that cultures had often become something for one of any culture to identify with regardless of birth right. The woman sneered. She did not believe that was proper. Indeed, she believed that one could learn to assimilate oneself in another culture and live comfortably—that was true without a doubt. But she did not think that one born of a culture should simply pick up parts of another culture and assume them as part of an identity. That was strange. Where was the pride in one’s own culture? Where was the loyalty? There was none. No. The obsidian fae believed only that her identity could coexist with her own Korean culture. She would never abandon her culture or even parts of it for another.

The mind of the solitary female wondered to places where the darkness became almost livid—livid almost like a rage, and yet it was not anger that was felt. It was a simple blackness.... An emptiness....

The woman wished to mark herself. She wished also that she could have found a brand with another mark that, in Korean, was phonetically identical: 武 – Martial, War. Both marks would be fitting. But the Taekwondo fighter knew nothing of metal work. This single brand that she had been fortunate enough to have found would have to suffice.

Unfortunately, the woman was unfamiliar with the simple art of making fire. When she had left her homeland, she had been young enough such that the adults and older wolves had made the necessary flames. She had watched, and she had noted that they had used some sort of device at times—a rock perhaps. A frown ruffled the smooth, plain beauty of her Korean face. A bit more attention could have helped her now. Regardless, she rose, searching for some wood. At least she could start there.

The Concrete Jungle was silent in the deep night. The clouds covered the moon, and the light-sensitive orbs were in their perfect environment. She wondered too—if she was able to start a fire, would she be able to look upon it? She doubted it. The light would prove to be too intense for her sensitive eyes, she thought. A tree grew from the base of a building, causing it to lean in crumple slowly over time. The sinewy figure moved toward it in near-silence, her two-legged gait graceful and almost deliberate—proud. Strong hands grasped the branches and twigs, gathering them up in her arms until she had a fair amount. And then she returned to where she had left the brand: an empty street with dark pavement, cracked in places as Nature desired to conquer. Making a neat pile, the tenebrous woman knelt, beginning to rub two sticks together in a pathetic effort to make fire.

Saluce Tremblay · 07-27-2011, 06:12 PM

The mountain was out tonight, normally at night he stayed at home or around his usual stomping grounds to either hunt or mill about, but the heat of the summer had come on strong and night time was a much better time to be out running errands. Night time was also comforting, a natural piece of his being, where humans feared what went bump in the night, he was what went bump in the night so fear of darkness wasn’t an issue. Saluce was the apex predator around the western part of Halifax and the old Dahlia de Mai pack lands but tonight found him exploring deeper into the urban jungle.

His days had started to run together lately; not having much interaction with others was helping to establish a solitary lifestyle. He wasn’t exactly happy with it; he had recently found that interaction with others was sometimes a healthy aspect of life. But tonight he had figured on not meeting anyone and he’d be able to scavenge the wasteland of Halifax for any helpful bits of precious metals to use for his blacksmithing.

His horse trotted along carrying him through the deserted streets, the clicks of its hooves on the pavement adding a calling card to his presence he wasn’t sure he fully liked. The man needed the horse in the event he found something too heavy for him to carry by himself. Since not expecting to find anyone around the forgotten city he easily found himself leading his horse right into the area the black female was currently trying to figure out how to start a fire. He didn’t notice her, mind on other things at the moment as he kept leading his horse toward the industrial district. But he felt his hackles rise with the suddenly realization of not being totally alone, eyes looking around trying to find the source of this disturbance in the night time.

His eyes settled on the dark silhouette with those white eyes and instantly some recognition hit him, he almost mistook her for the dark lady who had saved him so long ago but the scent was wrong. For a moment he sat there for a moment before allowing any words to leave his maw.

“Hello,” was the only thing that did leave his mouth as he stared over at her.

Yi TaeKyung · 07-29-2011, 05:04 PM

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Thanks for your patience with me, too OuO
WC: 555

Strong, yet feminine hands, caused the two splinters of woods to meet. The hands rubbed them together, the soft, repetitive sound of the contact whispering in the silent night air. Soon, the silence was interrupted by the distant clatter of something approaching. Yet, for the task at hand, the obsidian woman ignored it. The warrior was determined to create the fire regardless of her lack of knowledge. But no matter how she moved the wood together, the fire would not begin. Smoke did not emerge. Nothing happened. A soft frown marred the woman’s emotionless face. Her hands allowed the wood to fall back to the cold tar as the white orbs watched the unmoving scene thoughtfully. Still, she ignored the sound of approach, it’s noisy clatter offensive to the night. The dark winds brought her the scent of prey and beast. Her mouth twitched. Two unnatural joining. And yet they approached her. Still she ignored them. They did not concern her. The fighter was confident and ready as ever even as her attention was placed elsewhere. But simply watching the wood would not do—the fire would not begin on its own.

Her thoughts paused and there was silence once more. The black aurals twitched, raised above her head. The white orbs remained fixed upon the task she had placed before her knees, choosing still to ignore this intruder. It was strange, she thought, that these Western wolves did not first seek audience before directly approaching. But she supposed she could pardon such a thing—it was a cultural difference after all. As silence continued, she thought that the stranger (for she recognized neither scent of beast and prey) might continue on and allow her the solitude. But the silence was broken once more by the voice. Finally, the white orbs turned up toward the male who sat upon his prey—such a strange sight, although not unfamiliar—and she rose, the confidence and dominance openly held upon her erected posture. She held it as easily as the one she was mistaken for, but the obsidian fae’s presence was not gentle at all. The Jindo hybrid regarded the large male who weighed himself with armor to protect his soft skin. She, on the other hand, required only her natural nakedness to fight.

“Hehl-loh,” the alto song replied, the empty tones neither hostile nor unfriendly. It seemed as if this male was himself, amicable. The lunar eyes caught something in the male’s expression—it was almost as if he recognized her. The black crania tilted slightly, a mild curiosity stirring within her. She chose to play this game of amiability, intrigued by the male’s response. She bowed slightly in greeting, as was customary in her culture, although she did not give him the deep bow of one deeply respected. He was a stranger to her, after all. “Wah-teu....?” Her voice trailed off as if she were unsure as to how to finish the sentence. English was still unfamiliar upon her Korean tongue. The black plume moved thoughtfully behind her as she took several steps forth into the darkness, allowing distance to remain. For a moment, she watched the prey animal hungrily, licking her maw and allowing the strong, hungering teeth to glint in the deep darkness before returning her attention the one who had interrupted her.

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