[html]
Word Count → 372 :: I made some assumptions in this post, and I tried to rewrite it without them and I just couldn't do it. Also, this could be a thread prompt, if Ata remains focused on her task... and I can think of some clever way she can harass Wanderp while simultaneously planting Thistle.
The coyote god Momoztli was angry with Salsola. What else would explain the misfortune her family had to endure? For so long, Ataxia had thought of the Thistle Kingdom as impenetrable to attacks. No one had trespassed on their land and survived, as far as the girl knew. Now, her father was dead, her brother was being held captive and her mentor Tlanti had left for Eterne. She wondered if the latter had seen the downfall of Salsola somehow, or if she had simply chosen an inconvenient time to leave. The silver-haired girl didn't want to think of Tlanti as a coward who had chosen to run off during Salsola's time of need, and so could only conclude that she had seen something deeply wrong before she left.
Tradition called for sacrifices, and her instinct told her no different. Only, she was fairly sure a simple rabbit or lizard wouldn't do. They needed a canine, perhaps several canines, to sway Momoztli to their side. It was something she would have to suggest to her mother. Ataxia did not have enough experience to trap and capture her own sacrifice, but maybe she could convince Eris to let her help with the ceremony... if she liked the idea, and she didn't see why she wouldn't.
The child's current focus, however, was on uprooting Thistle plants and replanting them outside Tlanti's old residence. It would be hers soon, but now was not the right time to leave her mother. The grief-stricken woman might not take it well, particularly since she would be taking the home of a coyote who was now considered a traitor. Ataxia had ambitions, and she did not want to be seen as emulating her - though it would be true.
The dark hybrid knelt down and picked up a small thistle plant by cupping the roots. Carefully, she placed it into the small hole she had created and patted the soil down around it. Soil had embedded itself beneath her claws, and a sprinkle of dirt had lodged itself into her fur. She was tempted to stop and clean herself, but it would do no good; it would just come back once she started again.
<style>
.heraldictxt-box {background-image:url( http://i.minus.com/isouZf6qbMVQM.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position: top center; width:233px; height:178px; float:right; margin:3px; }
.heraldictxt {font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing:0px; word-spacing:2px; text-align: left; margin:0px 25px;}
.heraldictxt p.ooc {font-style:italic; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:12px; text-align:justify; text-indent:0px; padding:0px 5px;}
.heraldictxt p.ooc + p {padding:0px 5px;}
.heraldictxt .wc {text-transform: uppercase; font-weight:bold;}
.heraldictxt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding:10px 5px;}
.heraldictxt b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;}
</style>
[/html]
[html]
xDD fffff Wandy harrassment.
Wander had wanted to be angry. She wanted to not care. She wanted to lash out at her captors, and yet none of that aggression boiled to the surface. None of that aggression had even simmered within her, as she had desired it to. It was as though she didn't have a single fiber of animosity in her. Not one ounce of hatred, or even a primal cruelty. The only thing she knew, the only thing she could implement was compassion. It was all the dame knew.
So with the death of someone she had not even known, she couldn't feel but pick up on the remorse of others. Deep inside, she knew that even Sirius was mourning, in his own way, though she had done her best to avoid his seething anger that was near-radiating off of him. The doe only did as she was asked, and then left as soon as the king saw fit.
This new territory was still taking time to grow adjusted to. Wander was almost constantly stubbing her toes on some new obstacle, and currently tapped about with a branch she fashioned into a flimsy, yet effective, make-shift staff. Hark gave a faint swivel with the sound of planting, and she moved closer in slight to investigate with her senses, milky pupils staring at the sight. She could only make out the slight outlines of the girl crouched there, planting thistles, and she made no move to inch any closer. After all, the girl was a superior, and clearly invested in her work. The dame awkwardly cleared her throat, still keeping a distance.
Would you like help with that, miss...?
<style type="text/css">
.wand2ct b {font-weight:bold; color:#97c6c9; text-shadow:#13292a 1px 1px 2px;}
.wand2ct p {padding:5px 15px; margin:0px; text-indent:0px;}
.wand2ct {margin:0px auto; width:500px; background-color:#496b76; background-image:url( http://i.imgur.com/ICduj.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #436772; padding:220px 0px 5px 0px; font-family:georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#88abb6; line-height:16px; text-align:justify; border-radius:10px;}
.wand2ct .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px; text-align:right;}
.wand2ct p b:before { content: open-quote; }
.wand2ct p b:after {content: close-quote; }
</style>
[/html]
[html]
Word Count → 300 :: Sorry. Finals. :x
Her ears flicked back at the new voice, and the girl paused in her work. Slowly, she turned to face the stranger. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the glint of metal in the woman's nose. The dark hybrid gave a deceptively sweet smile. "Of course." Her tail wagged behind her, like a pup that had been given a new toy - and Ataxia certainty thought she had. Canines were so interesting to taunt, and a slave made an easy victim; there were no repercussions for doing so, and no one cared what a slave thought, anyhow.
Ataxia noticed the stick held in one hand, and the milky eyes. Probably blind. She wondered what was the use of a blind slave, other than the poking and prodding she was planning to do. Perhaps she wasn't blind at all, and it was only a ruse to make her look incompetent so she could get out of working. Well, it wouldn't work with her.
"I'll dig the holes, and you can put the Thistle in the ground." She gestured to a group of five or so uprooted thistle plants, and watched to see if the slave's eyes would follow to where she pointed. Digging wasn't her favorite task, but Ataxia thought it might be funny to see the slave try to put the thorny plants in the ground. If she wasn't careful, she might easily get stung - and then there was also the chance that she could take the slave's cane while she wasn't looking. That could provide her with some amusement. Either she was really blind, in which case she'd get to see her stumble about, or she'd was pretending to - in which case, she might catch the slave off-guard and have the joy of pointing out her charade.
<style>
.heraldictxt-box {background-image:url(http://i.minus.com/isouZf6qbMVQM.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position: top center; width:233px; height:178px; float:right; margin:3px; }
.heraldictxt {font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing:0px; word-spacing:2px; text-align: left; margin:0px 25px;}
.heraldictxt p.ooc {font-style:italic; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:12px; text-align:justify; text-indent:0px; padding:0px 5px;}
.heraldictxt p.ooc + p {padding:0px 5px;}
.heraldictxt .wc {text-transform: uppercase; font-weight:bold;}
.heraldictxt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding:10px 5px;}
.heraldictxt b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;}
</style>
[/html]
[html]
YEAAAH I WROTE A CRAPPY REPLYYY <3
Quietly, hark listened, tipped lightly towards the voice. She sounded young, this one, or at least younger than herself, and Wander couldn't help but allow a faint smile to tug her lips. She was always fond of those brimming with youth, as it seemed to stir something maternal, a deeper level of compassion than she usually used. Perhaps this was her calling, her guide back to happiness.
The dame gave a few, gentle sweeps with that cane until she felt a clump of earth tap at the end of her of the extended limb, and she brought herself to crouch. Carefully, those nimble hands placed her cane next to her leg, keeping in contact to ensure it was there, though still placing trust in the stranger that she wouldn't take it. Carefully, a finger prodded at the uprooted thistle's roots, confirming that this was, in fact, her target and not someone else's belongings. The fae had already made that mistake, and wasn't about to make it again. Wander paused in slight, tipping her head faintly as she thought for a moment more, hark once more tipping towards the young miss.
I suppose I should introduce myself, yes? I'm Wander Huxley, the doe offered with a kind smile. I'm... well, I'm rather new. May I know your name?
Her words remained sincere, void of malicious intent and regaining some of her former friendly warmth.
Also, I don't mean to be rude or question your judgement, but would you rather have me dig the holes? It'd save you having to clean your hands excessively later on. The fact that a higher-up was offering to do the menial task of digging had struck the mottled-pelted dame as odd, and her brow had furrowed slightly in confusion.
<style type="text/css">
.wand2ct b {font-weight:bold; color:#97c6c9; text-shadow:#13292a 1px 1px 2px;}
.wand2ct p {padding:5px 15px; margin:0px; text-indent:0px;}
.wand2ct {margin:0px auto; width:500px; background-color:#496b76; background-image:url( http://i.imgur.com/ICduj.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #436772; padding:220px 0px 5px 0px; font-family:georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#88abb6; line-height:16px; text-align:justify; border-radius:10px;}
.wand2ct .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px; text-align:right;}
.wand2ct p b:before { content: open-quote; }
.wand2ct p b:after {content: close-quote; }
</style>
[/html]
[html]
Word Count → 382 :: Sorry for making you wait. I had 5 billion Alma threads I had to reply to first.
Ataxia watched the slave maneuver herself closer to the earth. If it was an act, it was very convincing - but even so, that would not stop her from pulling a 'harmless' prank on the woman. She eyed the cane left by her side, but knew it was not yet the time to take it; it was too close to the female's body, and she was not yet distracted.
The question made her pause her thoughts of mischief. "I am Ataxia D'Angelo, daughter of Eris and Larkspur." For a moment, the female's chest swelled with pride - she was proud of her heritage and all that her parents had achieved; an example she hoped to follow. It did not last very long, however. Her ears flattened themselves in remembrance of the recent funeral, and her body slumped. The girl turned away from the slave, and resumed her digging.
Dirt and bits of foliage flung themselves this way and that, some of it falling in the slave's direction. "I am already dirty." The girl answered, irritation apparent in her voice. Using her hands in such a swift, almost violent manner was cathartic. She could imagine that she was digging her claws into her father's slave - the one that had been killed and placed upon his funeral pyre. Ataxia felt that she had been denied a chance to take her grief and anger out on someone else, and with her strength - or lack thereof, she would never be given another chance.
A second hole was created, before the dark hybrid had calmed herself. Slowly, she turned her head to the woman and sighed. Yellow eyes focused on the gray being before her. It would be irresponsible to hurt this slave, perhaps, but she could still continue with her prank. Her expression changed to one of sickly sweetness, a ploy she'd used frequently on her mother's slave, Molcaxitl. Of course, by now Molca had been harassed so much that she had probably figured out the truth. This new slave, however...
"I don't see why you'd ask, unless you want to play in the dirt, too," she gave an insincere laugh, and placed a dirty hand on the woman's shoulder. Edging closer, she aimed to smear more dirt on the slave - provided she did not move away in time.
<style>
.heraldictxt-box {background-image:url( http://i.minus.com/isouZf6qbMVQM.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position: top center; width:233px; height:178px; float:right; margin:3px; }
.heraldictxt {font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing:0px; word-spacing:2px; text-align: left; margin:0px 25px;}
.heraldictxt p.ooc {font-style:italic; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:12px; text-align:justify; text-indent:0px; padding:0px 5px;}
.heraldictxt p.ooc + p {padding:0px 5px;}
.heraldictxt .wc {text-transform: uppercase; font-weight:bold;}
.heraldictxt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding:10px 5px;}
.heraldictxt b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;}
</style>
[/html]
[html]
It's okay c:
The dame gave a slight nod once she given Ataxia's name, and as soon as her lineage was mentioned, Wander felt a slight tug of guilt. She had wanted to feel angry the day of the funeral, she had wanted to hate everyone, but none of those poisonous ideas had ever surfaced, especially once she had realized all who were grieving.
I'm sorry for your loss, the dame said softly, apology lacing her words as she listened to the girl release tension and anger on the soil. Carefully, she brushed the bits of soil and plant from her person before placing a gentle hand briefly on the girl's shoulder, before turning her attention back to the thistles, feeling around for the divot in the earth before moving one of the plants to its new home and patting the soil around it.
The doe gave a slight jump as Ataxia placed a hand on her own shoulder, her skin crawling slightly with the feeling of grime on her pelt, though she didn't dare to speak against the action. After all, this girl had just lost her father. That, and Wander couldn't possibly bring herself to hurt another being's feelings. Carefully, she lifted a hand to gently squeeze the one on her shoulder, and move it aside, diverting the hand from her person while trying to be comforting. A little dirt was nothing too bad, she could just wash it off or brush it out later, but it still didn't make her feel entirely comfortable.
<style type="text/css">
.wand2ct b {font-weight:bold; color:#97c6c9; text-shadow:#13292a 1px 1px 2px;}
.wand2ct p {padding:5px 15px; margin:0px; text-indent:0px;}
.wand2ct {margin:0px auto; width:500px; background-color:#496b76; background-image:url( http://i.imgur.com/ICduj.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #436772; padding:220px 0px 5px 0px; font-family:georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#88abb6; line-height:16px; text-align:justify; border-radius:10px;}
.wand2ct .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px; text-align:right;}
.wand2ct p b:before { content: open-quote; }
.wand2ct p b:after {content: close-quote; }
</style>
[/html]
[html]
Word Count → 234 :: OOC here!
The slave's silence was met with a look of frustration. She did not squeal, or make any sort of protest. It was only dirt, sure, but Ataxia expected something more. Frustration changed to surprise when a hand was placed on her shoulder and given a gentle squeeze. The unexpectedness of it caused her to not resist when her arm was pulled away.
Ataxia did not know how to react. From someone like her mother or sister, the gesture might have been welcome - but a slave? Even to the lowest of Salsola, she did not want to show weakness. As she was taught and still believed, slaves had no soul. What did a soulless creature understand of grief?
She saw it as insubordination. The girl's eyes narrowed, treating her to a scowl. For a moment she had forgotten that Wander might be blind, and so assumed that would be all that was needed to dissuade her. All thoughts of pranking and trick-playing were gone now; she was in no mood to play. A cruel urge welled up inside her, and Ataxia would hurt this slave - if she was given the chance. Here, among the ruins, however, she was unlikely to get one. Too many witnesses, and she didn't even know who owned this one, or if anyone truly did.
"Who is your master?" The dark hybrid asked, a slight edge in her words.
Image courtesy of elevenamx@Flickr; table by the Mentors!
<style>
.if-template p.ooc {text-indent:0px; font-style:italic; font-size:10px; }
p.template-credit {text-indent:0px; text-align:center; font-size:10px; font-style:italic; width:425px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto;}
.if-template p {padding:5px 10px; margin:0px; text-indent:45px;}
.if-template b {color:#000000; letter-spacing:.5px; font-family:times new roman, times, serif; font-size:14px; }
.if-template {background-color:#92513a; background-image:url( http://i.minus.com/ivYU5g5K9R2LG.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #AC5A10; outline:1px solid #000000; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#000000; letter-spacing:.-.5px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:18px; width:500px; text-align:left; padding:300px 0px 10px 0px; margin:0px auto; }
</style>[/html]
[html]
I wasn't quite sure how to fully reply ;o; so I am of the poots.
The response had startled her, and Wander's silver-tipped harks fell back, ringlets falling over her shoulder as she turned her muzzle towards the dark-pelted girl. What had she done so wrong? The dame was just attempting to offer condolences for the loss of the girl's father, and somehow it seemed to spark hostility.
She shrinked back slightly in a form of submission, completely bewildered by the sudden change in demeanor.
My master? Sirius. My master is Sirius, the dame said softly, still keeping her body hunkered in a lower position. I'm sorry, I... I don't understand, what have I done wrong? It's just... I know what it's like to lose someone. I mean, not quite a loss like yours, but my mother died, and it was hard to get through... So I figured-- I figured you were upset like I was when I was younger.
Her voice was gentle and soft, trying to quell the sudden anger that had arisen in Ataxia.
I'm sorry...
<style type="text/css">
.wandertable b {font-weight:bold; color:#6ba574; text-shadow:#000000 1px 1px 2px;}
.wandertable p {padding:5px 25px; margin:0px; text-indent:0px;}
.wandertable {margin:0px auto; width:520px; background-color:#406162; background-image:url( http://img69.imageshack.us/img69/9813/wandertable.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #847b73; padding:333px 0px 5px 0px; font-family:georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#8dc1d4; line-height:16px; text-align:justify; border-radius:30px;}
.wandertable .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px; text-align:center;}
.wandertable p b:before { content: open-quote; }
.wandertable p b:after {content: close-quote; }
</style>
[/html]
[html]
Word Count → 267 :: OOC here!
A rush of pleasure ran through the girl at the sight of the slave's cowering submission. Ataxia had never been taught empathy, and had never learned what it was like to be under someone else's control, and so her pleasure was not marred by the taint of guilt. The dark hybrid grinned widely, showing her teeth. Her ears upright and her tail was pointed upwards. There was no threat here, not any longer, but she liked to display her dominance.
The smile began to wane when the Boss's name reached her ears. This was certainty not what she wanted to hear, not at all. "Is this true?" She asked, almost as if she was unsure she could believe her. Her tail wavered slightly. If this pitifully creature was Sirius's slave, then hurting her by any means was out of the question. It was possible she might be able to get away with something small, but even as arrogant as Ataxia was, she did not want to risk facing the Boss's wrath; the laws of Salsola were very clear on that.
Briefly, she considered the idea that the slave might be lying but still - it wasn't worth the risk. The girl crossed her arms and listened to her explanation. There was neither a smile, nor sign of pleasure. Not even a glimmer of understanding in her eyes; she still thought of slaves as soulless, and it would take much convincing to make her think otherwise. If they felt grief, they surely did not feel it as strongly as normal wolves did.
"Apology accepted." Ataxia replied, and turned her back to the slave in a manner that was reminiscent of a sulking child denied a toy.
Image courtesy of elevenamx@Flickr; table by the Mentors!
<style>
.if-template p.ooc {text-indent:0px; font-style:italic; font-size:10px; }
p.template-credit {text-indent:0px; text-align:center; font-size:10px; font-style:italic; width:425px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto;}
.if-template p {padding:5px 10px; margin:0px; text-indent:45px;}
.if-template b {color:#000000; letter-spacing:.5px; font-family:times new roman, times, serif; font-size:14px; }
.if-template {background-color:#92513a; background-image:url( http://i.minus.com/ivYU5g5K9R2LG.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #AC5A10; outline:1px solid #000000; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#000000; letter-spacing:.-.5px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:18px; width:500px; text-align:left; padding:300px 0px 10px 0px; margin:0px auto; }
</style>[/html]
[html]
Horrible reply is horrible ;3;
The woman gave a nod to the inquiry, and she sat upwards faintly with the, yet again, sudden change in demeanor of the girl. Carefully, she transplanted the next thistle, wiping off her hands before gently touching Ataxia's arm.
Are you feeling alright, miss Ataxia...? came her gentle voice, a genuine expression of concern tweaking that slender hybrid's visage. Harks were perked forth once more, and she readjusted her position a tad to turn more towards the girl.
... It may not mean much to you at the moment, Ataxia, but I'm here if you need someone to listen, Wander spoke once more, her tone serious and soft, nimble hand withdrawing slowly. I just thought you should know that... I may be nothing more than a slave, but...
She shrugged gently as she withdrew, attention returning to the plants, pressing the dirt down around the stem.
<style type="text/css">
.wandertable b {font-weight:bold; color:#6ba574; text-shadow:#000000 1px 1px 2px;}
.wandertable p {padding:5px 25px; margin:0px; text-indent:0px;}
.wandertable {margin:0px auto; width:520px; background-color:#406162; background-image:url( http://img69.imageshack.us/img69/9813/wandertable.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #847b73; padding:333px 0px 5px 0px; font-family:georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#8dc1d4; line-height:16px; text-align:justify; border-radius:30px;}
.wandertable .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px; text-align:center;}
.wandertable p b:before { content: open-quote; }
.wandertable p b:after {content: close-quote; }
</style>
[/html]
[html]
Word Count → 173 :: OOC here
"So many people have left." It was a statement that would most likely be confusing to the slave, as she presumably had no knowledge of her missing siblings, or that she'd admired the now gone Tlanti. To the young hybrid who had known Salsola and only Salsola all her life, it seemed like her whole world was breaking apart before her. What was Momoztli trying to do, taking all those she loved from her? "I don't like it." Ataxia said, trying not to display any emotion. "I want something to be happy about."
The dark hybrid sat on her haunches, back still facing the slave. She made a feeble attempt to dig another hole, but she lost the energy as soon as she'd started. Her eyes stared at the ground, then flicked to Wander. Again she wondered what mischief she might be able to do or get away with. Even something to talk about would good, though she really hadn't ever anticipated conversing very deeply with a slave. "When did Sirus get you? I didn't know he had any slaves before."
Image courtesy of elevenamx@Flickr; table by the Mentors!
<style>
.if-template p.ooc {text-indent:0px; font-style:italic; font-size:10px; }
p.template-credit {text-indent:0px; text-align:center; font-size:10px; font-style:italic; width:425px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto;}
.if-template p {padding:5px 10px; margin:0px; text-indent:45px;}
.if-template b {color:#000000; letter-spacing:.5px; font-family:times new roman, times, serif; font-size:14px; }
.if-template {background-color:#92513a; background-image:url( http://i.minus.com/ivYU5g5K9R2LG.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #AC5A10; outline:1px solid #000000; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#000000; letter-spacing:.-.5px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:18px; width:500px; text-align:left; padding:300px 0px 10px 0px; margin:0px auto; }
</style>[/html]
[html]
Derp. D: Crap reply.
The Huxley woman was perplexed with each swing in the girl's mannerisms. She was puzzling, to say the least, and hark perked in slight, remerging to a relaxed position from previous submission. Wander remained docile, however, still submissive as per usual. The dame paused, listening, and testing the air, silently examining this young woman as though scent and sound would let on to her intentions, or perhaps her thought process. It hadn't yet occured to the woman that dear Ataxia may have just been looking for a victim to pester, though Wander had never been one to look for the darkness in stranger's hearts, as noted by the related Pandemic.
I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything, Miss Ataxia, she mused gently, remaining soft and gentle in her ways. A slender hand gently touched the sulking lady's back, her touch practically a ghost against that ashen pelt. Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?
Empathy, as it seemed, was not a way to approach this girl. Though, even so, the dame wasn't some object, and she was just like any other roaming canine from before, though now forced into a lifestyle of servitude.
<style type="text/css">
.wand2ct b {font-weight:bold; color:#97c6c9; text-shadow:#13292a 1px 1px 2px;}
.wand2ct p {padding:5px 15px; margin:0px; text-indent:0px;}
.wand2ct {margin:0px auto; width:500px; background-color:#496b76; background-image:url( http://i.imgur.com/ICduj.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #436772; padding:220px 0px 5px 0px; font-family:georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#88abb6; line-height:16px; text-align:justify; border-radius:10px;}
.wand2ct .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px; text-align:right;}
.wand2ct p b:before { content: open-quote; }
.wand2ct p b:after {content: close-quote; }
</style>
[/html]
[html]
Word Count → 281 ::
Ataxia responded blankly to the slave's suggestion that her feelings had been hurt. Hurt and offended were different things to her; she'd more of the latter. Very little truly hurt her; perhaps her father's death and Tlanti's disappearance, but those were unavoidable things that couldn't be controlled. Even when she was hurt, she was always able to heal her wounds and bolster her ego by taking someone else down. Mostly, she was upset that she didn't have complete freedom to take advantage of the woman.
"You have no need to keep apologizing." She said, and twitched at her touch, though neither did she push her away. The young hybrid noticed that she hadn't answered her question and wondered if it was by Sirius's orders to tell nothing or she was not wanting to reveal how she had come to Salsola. Briefly she pondered asking the Boss of her history, but it wasn't important. All she really needed to find out is if the slave was truly his. For now, she was merely cautious. There were some things, perhaps, that she might get away with. "When I was a child, I liked to play games with my sisters and the one who babysat me. Perhaps you would be willing...?"
She turned to face the gray female, giving a ponderous look. She scratched her chin, "Although we'll have to alter the rules a bit since you can't see very well. The game is thus: I run, and you must catch me. I shall be slower, and perhaps try to make some noises to make it fair." She grinned. There were many, many ways to take advantage of the female, even given her rules.
Image courtesy of elevenamx@Flickr; table by the Mentors!
<style>
.if-template p.ooc {text-indent:0px; font-style:italic; font-size:10px; }
p.template-credit {text-indent:0px; text-align:center; font-size:10px; font-style:italic; width:425px; text-align:center; margin:0px auto;}
.if-template p {padding:5px 10px; margin:0px; text-indent:45px;}
.if-template b {color:#000000; letter-spacing:.5px; font-family:times new roman, times, serif; font-size:14px; }
.if-template {background-color:#92513a; background-image:url( http://i.minus.com/ivYU5g5K9R2LG.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #AC5A10; outline:1px solid #000000; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#000000; letter-spacing:.-.5px; word-spacing:.3px; line-height:18px; width:500px; text-align:left; padding:300px 0px 10px 0px; margin:0px auto; }
</style>[/html]
[html]
ohmygod, sorry for the long wait ;u; I've had such lack of muse and lots of stuff going on. -poots all over- Sorry for the crappy post ;u;
The game had sounded only slightly suspicious, though she gave a small nod of compliance. The dove lacked eyesight, but made up for that with her sense of hearing and smell, and at least she had confidence in those attributes in a round of hide-and-seek. A soft laugh escaped through black lips, a gentle smile gracing her slim features.
Oh, well, miss... You don't have to go any slower just because of my lack of sight, I can keep up, she reassured. Lineage and heritage were things that could contest with that; borzoi and silken windhound bloodlines, as well as collie traces were enough to keep up. However, it was just the fact of sharp turns and keeping track of the young miss.
Are there any other rules I need to know of, Miss Ataxia? the doe inquired. Something seemed to stir in her, as if a suspicion or a hint of teasing intent, a sort of reminiscent lurking of childhood teasing from her brother. Those large, silver-dipped harks tipped back only slightly, in a wary manner. She brushed it off, feeling as though it were just residual paranoia from the event of being brought to this strange place and to a new culture.
<style type="text/css">
.wand2ct b {font-weight:bold; color:#97c6c9; text-shadow:#13292a 1px 1px 2px;}
.wand2ct p {padding:5px 15px; margin:0px; text-indent:0px;}
.wand2ct {margin:0px auto; width:500px; background-color:#496b76; background-image:url( http://i.imgur.com/ICduj.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #436772; padding:220px 0px 5px 0px; font-family:georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#88abb6; line-height:16px; text-align:justify; border-radius:10px;}
.wand2ct .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px; text-align:right;}
.wand2ct p b:before { content: open-quote; }
.wand2ct p b:after {content: close-quote; }
</style>
[/html]
[html]
Word Count → 308 :: Out of Character text
Ataxia was surprised by the slave response. "If you're sure..." She raised an eyebrow, which was perhaps not visible to the dog, but the condescension might be heard in her voice. "I'll see how good you are at this game, first. I don't want you getting hurt." Her tail began to wag. If, indeed, the female was as good as she thought she was, it would not be quite Ataxia's fault if she swerved and the slave stumbled into a batch of Thistle. She did, after all, think she could act as a normal, non-blind canine. Claiming to care for the woman's well-being would help the girl's image, too, if the woman ever became suspicious.
"You tag me, then you win. Normally I'd have to chase you, but that wouldn't exactly be fair since you can't see where you are going and I don't think I'll enjoy chasing you if you go too slow." As amusing as it would to be to see the woman run into something while being chased, she suspected the slave's sense of self-preservation would not allow her to run very fast. The game would be over too quickly. "There are no other rules." It was perhaps the absence of rules that Wander should be worried about. Ataxia was perfectly willing to follow them when it suited; she knew Salsola's laws well and did her best not to violate any of them. Yet, without laws or restrictions, she felt free to act as cruel and wanton as she wished.
Without a word of warning, the young hybrid stood up and dashed off behind the building. Her feet led to a structure not far from the first - Miqui's house. Ataxia paused to look behind her and see if the slave was following, but was fully prepared to start running once she was seen again.
<style>
.heraldictxt-box {background-image:url( http://i.minus.com/isouZf6qbMVQM.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position: top center; width:233px; height:178px; float:right; margin:3px; }
.heraldictxt {font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing:0px; word-spacing:2px; text-align: left; margin:0px 25px;}
.heraldictxt p.ooc {font-style:italic; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:12px; text-align:justify; text-indent:0px; padding:0px 5px;}
.heraldictxt p.ooc + p {padding:0px 5px;}
.heraldictxt .wc {text-transform: uppercase; font-weight:bold;}
.heraldictxt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding:10px 5px;}
.heraldictxt b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;}
</style>
[/html]
|
