[m]do what you want, you're never going to take me

Willow Soul · 02-28-2012, 01:10 PM

((Time is late evening, she's in optime, sitting on a log on the beach.))

Willow had promised Orin she would come back, though the assassin had no way of knowing how much time had elapsed since then. Still, she would make good on her promise, albeit in a meandering way. She left the sugar woods, site of the festival, and wandered towards the now defunct lands of Phoenix Valley. Once it had been her home, along with her mother and Tal, and yet they had left, drug behind their crazy dam who had turned around and sent her away short months later.

Willow toyed with a skein of her rustic mane as she pondered what had been going through Deuce's mind. "She didn't love us at all, Willow." "I know. It's sad, though, that's all. I never really had parents at all, if you think about it. Odadio was a mentor, not a father." A throaty laugh, the sultry voice speaking again. "Odadio was a good lover though." "Ugh." "Please. You enjoyed it." "Not really. You did. It was rape to me."

Both voices fell silent. After a moment, Willow spoke again, her voice hard and cold. "Sex is disgusting. Love makes a canine weak. I'm better off on my own, whatever you might think." Soul's taunting voice was only in her head now. 'You'll never be alone with me around. And we'll never go without sex. Deal with it.'

Willow released her skein of hair, the raven feather brushing her finger. She touched it briefly, thought of pulling it out and letting it fly away, thought of releasing her past to the wind. Soul pulled her fingers away, returning them to her lap. On the way down, she brushed her pierced nipples. Again, Willow wanted to remove them, but Soul kept her from doing so. The only thing Willow had triumphed about was the silver collar they'd worn at the festival. Willow had traded it off for some respectable clothing. Soul had traded those for more piercing supplies.

Vesper · 03-12-2012, 12:52 PM

[html]

Sorry again for the wait. <3 And here

is Vesper's optime form. x3 +5

“Stark not liking boys fighting,” the raven admonished her as the coyote padded back toward her clan grounds. She flicked an ear and said nothing, knowing that her acknowledgment would only incite more scolding remarks. At more than two years now, a subleader of the greatest pack in Nova Scotia, she did not need a birdbrain as a babysitter. And she did not care if he flapped his way to Ezekiel and reported her violence. No one had died, and that was the triumph of all of her battles.

Vesper was sinless.

The thought brought a twisted smirk to her lips, and she let out a cackling laugh. It must have startled the bird, who croaked loudly at her, wheeling around in the air, and shot like an arrow toward Inferni territory. He would either report her or sulk, but he was a lower creature with no sway over her fate. He’d come to realize that soon enough.

She still found herself reluctant to return home so quickly. Her minimal wounds had stopped bleeding, none giving her any trouble; her scar-riddled body knew how to remit pain, to slacken its burning hold. The sun was just beginning the fall from its bright zenith, and so she had some time to relax and scout out the neighboring lands before calling it quits. Perhaps she could accomplish something else useful.

The coywolf paused in her walking as the strong odor of salt blew across the grasses of the Waste. She took hold of some energy, of a thought, and the clench in her abdomen and the lengthening in her claws was prelude to the change. Scarce-used muscles rippled and shifted as bones lengthened and joints popped. The weird feeling invaded her senses, and her lips wrinkled back to bare teeth and gums in a silent snarl. Soon she lifted herself up onto two legs, head tilted toward the sun. Despite the light cutting the sharp angles of her body, she looked even scruffier like this: androgynous and mane-cropped and feral among the more upright and civilized luperci.

But that was perfect for her.

She walked quietly toward the beach, her awkward strides soon growing smooth as she became used to her body all over again. She dared to run, even, her small breasts lifting and falling as her skinny torso heaved with the exertion. She wanted to fall forward and run along on all fours again, like she’d seen Zalen do even in his shifted shape, but there was something breathless—in more than the physical sense—about running like this. She dared to run faster, and dared to grin.

A feminine scent caught in her nostrils, and Vesper turned her head as the shoreline came into view. On a log—perhaps a great piece of driftwood—sat a chocolate-hued specimen of beauty. Wind toyed with auburn hair and filled her nose with the smell again, and the hybrid resisted the urge to wag her tail.

My tragic flaw, she thought with a quirk of her lips, neglecting to notice the other flaw swelling within her—lifted chin, arrogant eyes, proud and defiant gait even in this awkward shape. Whether a lovely woman or her pride would be her downfall was up in the air, but right now the earlier fight on the mountains was making her daring.

She was silent as she approached the woman, however, and she did not look at her for very long despite her urge to. She came to stand beside the log, her hands falling to her nonexistent hips as she looked out toward the water, as if she’d merely happened across the auburn lady rather than coming to see her. Arrogant as she may be, Vesper knew she could not change one’s set preferences.

Image courtesy of henrikj@Flickr; table by the Mentors!

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