[m] shredded
#1
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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language and graphic violence. Reader discretion is advised.



ANDRÉ FONTAINÉ
I'll let it show that I'm not always hiding

Come all the way down and watch me burn

I won't let it show that I'm not always flying

So on the way down, I'll watch you burn


The girl had not spoken of wolves.

André drew his head up as the stench caught in his nostrils, strong and feral. He could be scent-blind and not miss the signs. His hackles lifted, and the dragon tattoo squirmed as his muscles shifted, each step bringing him closer to these markers along the row of trees. This was the first territory that he’d come across entering the region, other than the whispers of packs that seemed to be forming in the expansive west.

Dumb bitch, the jackayote thought venomously, his hands clenching into fists. That a wolf pack was so strong in this region was a detail he did not appreciate being left out. It made him nervous—no, nervousness was for the weak. He was on edge and angry, and his perception of this region shifted from its tunnel-vision of purpose, expanding to incorporate all the monstrosities that lived here. An entire pack of them, beastly creatures without honor. One had caused enough destruction in his life, and he could only imagine what a pack would do.

He did not even think. Shoulders tense, he stormed forward into the territory and went to striking the nearest tree, his claws leaving pale grooves in the bark that soon bled sap. However, even damaging what the wolves had claimed was not substantial enough. His blood was up, the red dragon was dancing, and André felt justified.

He screamed a challenge into the trees.

242

mature for violence and language and whatever

table by raze; pattern by dinpattern



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#2
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OOC Sorry for the delay I had some catching up to do. And do you mind if we fore-date this a couple days?


The behemoth moved through the trees as swift and silent as any wolf of his size could hope to be. His summer coat was growing in sleek and shiny, a testament to a belly well fed. The moose just a few days prior was still fresh in his mind. He’d savored the meat, and reveled in their skillful slaughter of the beast, just he and the new she-wolf Palaydrian. He’d proven to be vastly skilled for one so young, with a highly tactical mind, and felling large beasts came easy to him. It had been proven time and again as creatures fell easily beneath his paws, larger and stronger every time. He picked through the brush with his tail in its instinctive half-mast position scouting the terrain for any tracks or scents worthy of study. It was a leisurely stroll, terribly typical of late, until both scent and sound reached him.


He paused entirely as his black-rimmed ears slammed forward. His nostrils filled with the unfamiliar aroma, and he snorted out the stench as it screamed intruder. He would hesitate no longer and he hurtled himself towards the sound, hackles raised and pelt bristled, he looked half a monster himself. He pushed himself hard, tearing through the underbrush as the world blurred around him. When he arrived on the scene, he did not even notice the claw marks in the tree, his eyes were all for the hybrid. His heart raced but the Epsilon felt no fear, only anger, the deep-seated anger which he often held inside. He allowed it to bubble to the surface. Trespasser! he snarled. You enter into the lands of New Dawn, leave now, or I tear you limb from limb!


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#3
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ANDRÉ FONTAINÉ
I'll let it show that I'm not always hiding

Come all the way down and watch me burn

I won't let it show that I'm not always flying

So on the way down, I'll watch you burn


André did not believe that one species was superior to another, and he did not wish to kill every wolf he came across. He simply hated, sometimes a dull throbbing resentment that he could swallow, sometimes a flaming pain when his blood was up, like now. More than he hated, he hurt. A wolf had killed his mother’s loyalty and had killed his father, and from all else he had seen from the coymutt settlement, they had done more than that. A pack of wolves might be a symbol of family, love, loyalty, but to André, it was only a massing of the spineless creatures too weak to cause trouble on their own. Even his mother’s wolf had cried for help before his jaw had snapped sideways.

It did not take long for one of the pack to confront him. Had he been thinking at all rationally, the jackayote might have been impressed by the response time—but there were no logical mental processes going on behind his narrow crimson eyes. He saw the wolf, white and black and huge even on four legs, and he remembered how small he used to be in comparison. He was still large only in the realm of his species make-up, hindered by his small breed blood, but this put him at an advantage.

The wolf roared at him, but André only wrinkled his lips back. “You can try, fils de pute,” he snapped in response. He took a few steps back regardless, claws flexing, but the added distance was only to buy him more time to speak; words he felt needed to be said, with his mind raging all the while. His sable tail lashed violently behind him, and he half-hunched, large ears snapping back against his skull. “Trespasser,” he repeated, spitting. “Who did you wrest this land from, wolf?”

That's fine! And lolol Andre is a moron.

table by raze; pattern by dinpattern



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