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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised. |
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Location: Colchester Quarter
Date: 18 July* (Forward-dated)
Weather: Humid, warm, windy -- threatening storms
Time: Late afternoon
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(--) Marking mature as a precaution. ;D
Machidael is by me!
Machidael had determined his favorite part of this strange continent thus far -- the cities reminded him the most of home. While architecture and building techniques varied from place to place, the feel of such spaces did not. While this small encampment of human life was hardly worthy of the word "city" it was the only English word he knew applicable to a space where humans lived. There was a faint, faded scent of canine lingering around, but Machidael could not identify anything about it, it was so old. The outside wilds lacked this smell; it was only as he poked through houses and enclosures he occasionally caught the old scent of canid. The rusty-hued hybrid wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but he looked all the same, picking a trinket or two from amongst the artifacts of humanity.
Seraht had carried him over the mountain, and for now, she was secured in a ramshackle garage some blocks over. Machidael realized the risks he took, of course, leaving things here and there, but all he truly valued was strapped to his back, either within his pack or slung across his back, as in the case of his long spear. The horse made little difference, in the end: she was a steady enough mount, but Machidael might have had another, if he'd so chosen. The dead woman in the warehouse had owned a horse, and he'd left it to its own devices once he'd left the vicinity of the bigger city. All in all, his horse meant little enough to him: neither this Seraht nor the warehouse woman equaled Zahi, his mourned friend.
When he'd had his fill of the house, the rusty-hued jackal slunk toward the curb and removed his pack. He sat down, dropping the things he'd carted off before him so he might better inspect them. His pack, leaned against his leg, served as the depository for that which he wished to keep. What he did not want, he tossed into the street. There was the tinkling of metal as he chucked a few coins away, followed by the thunk of a statuette. The rust-furred coyote inspected a jar, unscrewing its lid. He sniffed the blackened contents and made a face, chucking the jar away. It smashed against the concrete of the far curb and broke into a thousand glittering pieces, but Machidael had already moved onto the next item.
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301.
[html] [/html]Wraith was quiet as she watched the strange-looking canine wander into the house and quieter still when he returned. In his absence, she had taken to wandering through the city of her own accord, but once she heard the scrape of junk being pushed aside and his nails clicking against the wood and stone, she returned to her snooping spot. So far, he wasn’t doing anything of much interest, but as a spy and a scout, she had to observe everything to be completely certain. He seemed to be taking things out of his bag and destroying them. No, that wasn’t right: only some things were thrown carelessly, while others were meticulously stored away. She wondered why he was doing that. Had it made him angry to see those items? Why did he like the other ones?
The sound of glass hitting the cement startled Wraith and she jumped in response. Her heart beat quickly for a few seconds until her senses assured her that she wasn’t in danger. She watched for a few more seconds before she decided to go up and ask the man what he was doing. She figured he would have noticed her by now and didn’t want to upset him. After all, she’d flinched quite spectacularly when he’d thrown the bottle. Plus, watching him wasn’t giving her any answers and she was curious to know what he was doing.
“Hi,” she said. She wondered how best to phrase this. “Do you need any help?” she asked. She decided against informing him that she was quite good at destroying things as well if he wanted a hand. That would just sound like she was boasting and she did not want to do anything of the sort. After all, she didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.[html] [/html]
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Machidael is by me!
As he leaned to pick up the next trinket, a flutter of motion caught his eye. Machidael looked up and narrowed bloody red eyes at the canine lurking, well-hidden amongst the city's debris and overgrowth. His fingers brushed against something and he picked it up, but his gaze did not waver from the newcomer, who approached him boldly.
Her greeting was a friendly hello, but her question confused him. Machi took a moment to ponder it, snakelike head cocking to one side, though his eyes never left the earthen-hued creature. She was smaller than a wolf and browner, too, than wolves usually were. Did that mean she was a coyote? She didn't look much like Sebante, but he was the only coyote Machidael had ever met, at least to his knowledge.
Coyote you? he asked, pointing at her. Help what? he demanded, guttural English slow and laced with the thick accent of his mother tongue. Help find? Help keep? Machi was not one to refuse help, but what was she asking -- and what would she want in return? The rusty-hued hybrid was naturally wary, but his curiosity about her heritage and her offer kept him from telling her to fuck off, at least thus far.
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Wraith's first time meeting someone with an accent! She thinks he's dumb. XD 303.
[html] [/html]He seemed confused by her question since he started wiggling his head in a weird way she’d seen others do before. He twitched it to one side and then held it still, frowning slightly, as he watched her. The direct attention didn’t faze Wraith, so she just watched him calmly. When he spoke, his words sounded weird and different--and were hard to understand. He put them in the wrong places, too, and although she understood the question, she wasn’t sure why he was asking it. It was obvious that she was a coyote: she was as typically coyote as they came, so she supposed that he was probably just a little dumb. He spoke slowly, as if he’d never learned the right words growing up, and seemed confused by her question. She wondered if she should talk slowly and put her words in the wrong order for him. Maybe it would be easier for him to understand.
“Yes, I’m a coyote, of course,” she replied. She stated with an air of haughtiness that implied that such an observation was obvious and silly to mention. If she were to ask him what he was, that wouldn’t be silly, because he looked different than the other creatures around here. He wasn’t fluffy and big like Mido, but he wasn’t the same sort of slender like the coyotes here. But aside from her blood family, most were mixed with wolf--a fact she had only recently discovered.
“Help break,” she replied. She gestured at one of the bottles with her right foreleg. She could easily take one between her jaws and lob them away against the side of a building. Although she didn’t have the dexterity he did, she thought that she might be able to smash them even in her lupus form.[html] [/html]
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(--) well, to be fair... ;D
Machidael is by me!
Machi mistook the haughtiness of her tone for an accent and paid it next to no mind. The skinny jackal's crimson eyes narrowed with the admission of coyote blood, and he looked her up and down. She looked different from Sebante -- he'd been small and silvery-gray, where she was tawny and streaked with golds. Her ears were like his, though -- and her muzzle, small and graceful as it was.
He looked down at the bottles when she gestured at them, though his gaze was quick to return to her. Break, he repeated. Then, he shrugged, lifting both shoulders slowly. If she wanted to break things, she was welcome to what he did not want. He extended a finger and rolled a bottle toward her. It was chipped and jagged around its mouth, unsuitable for any application Machi might have had for it. Moreover, it was dangerous to stuff broken glass in his pack.
Coyote you, he said, again, unwilling to allow the bloodline conversation to die. Jackal me. Coyote me, he explained, trying to explain that he was a hybrid of both coyote and jackal blood. There were more things in his heritage, he knew, but it was taxing enough explaining what he had so far. Machidael me.
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Oh, is he?! :o I did not know hahaha. Omg is he like Hybrid--brutish, but stupid? MY FAVE.
[html] [/html]He was creepy: he looked at her in a way that she definitely did not like. He was sizing her up, but his eyes with slitted and narrow, as if he were in heat.
“Stop that,” she snapped. “Don’t look at me weird,” she demanded. Maybe she wouldn’t help him break his bottles after all if he was going to be creepy about it. She didn’t want to hang around some weirdo coyote thingy if he was going to give her weird looks and especially if he was dumb. She didn’t have time for that.
But he rolled a bottle to her with a shrug of his shoulders and Wraith pawed it closer. She stood there, looking at the bottle. If he tried anything, she wondered if she could throw it at his head. He bent down to pick it up between her teeth. It was heavy, but not so much so that it was hard to lift. He spoke up again and he set the bottle down gently. She didn’t want it to break until she was ready.
“Oh,” she replied, “what’s a jackal?” She paused and then said: “I’m Wraith.” She still didn’t like the way that he was looking at her, but she had a weapon she could lob at him and she thought that maybe—just maybe—she could fight him. She probably wouldn’t win, but she could try. [html] [/html]
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(--) I think so! It's really hard to tell, only 12 posts in, and especially with his stunted English... but yes, I think he's a stupid barbarian. MAYBE. O_O
Machidael is by Nat!
This time, he did catch the tone, but he only blinked at her. She was here, and he could look just where he pleased. Though she picked up the bottle with her teeth, she set it back down again. This was strange to Machi, though he did not comment. He wouldn't know the words to ask her if she could shift forms and become two-legged. Maybe no coyotes could? Perhaps he was the only coyote -- or part-coyote, anyway -- on this part of the planet with the ability to take his two-legged form. But that was surely false -- he'd known Sebante in his Optime form alone.
Jackal... Africa, he said, using the word Amaury taught him. Over water. Boat. There was more to that, though -- there was what Sebante had told him about jackals and coyotes. Laboriously, he spoke. Coyote like jackal. But -- how? He could not quote Sebante -- he understood it and might have explained it in his native tongue, but lacking the words, he did not know what to say. And then -- it came to him. Wolf! he grunted, the word garbled in his mouth. Wolf. This time his voice was more understandable. Wolf fuck coyote. Wolf fuck jackal. Jackal like coyote. Though he most frequently used the word "fuck" in the sexual sense, or in the pejorative sense, in this case he meant the word in a destructive sense. Of course -- she could not know this, and might well interpret it in the sexual sense, taking his explanation for one of their literal relationship through wolf ancestry. He did not consider this, however.
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I approve of this!
[html] [/html]Even though she told him to stop staring at her weirdly, he didn’t respond. He was quiet and didn’t say anything in reply, but stopped giving her those creepy looks. They were kind of like the creepy smiles Hybrid used to make when he talked about things she didn’t understand. She didn’t like it. It was weird and she’d rather remember her father as a warrior than a weirdo like this guy.
“What’s Africa?” she asked immediately, but had to stop from chirping in when he spoke up again. His explanation was poor and she didn’t like that he didn’t know what he was. He was definitely stupid, she decided; there could be no other real explanation, after all.
“Eww,” she immediately replied when he claimed that wolves fucked coyotes--and these jackal things, too. She wrinkled her nose, flattened her ears, and recoiled. “That’s gross,” she informed him. “Do they really have sex?” she asked, after a moment’s hesitation. Fear clawed at her insides, threatening to tear her apart. What if there were coyotes in Inferni who weren’t really coyotes? [html] [/html]
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Machidael is by me!
Africa cross water. Big water, he said. Africa didn't matter; it was in the past. Although his frustration was mounting, he wanted to know more about coyotes. So far, he'd only known two: Sebante, he'd liked, and this girl. He was starting to think she wasn't very bright, herself, especially when she misunderstood what he meant. He grunted and scratched at his hair, using a strange rubbing motion rather than a true scratch. The braids needed to be done by someone else, and he couldn't afford to ruin them without knowing anyone to fix it.
Sex maybe, he added brusquely, not really caring what wolves had sex with. Not sex fuck, he tried to correct, lifting both hands in a conciliatory action. Hurt fuck, he said. Kill fuck. The "fuck" was entirely metaphorical -- why couldn't she see that? His fiery eyes searched around, looking for something by which to make his point. One of the items on the ground caught his attention. The rusty hybrid reached for a drinking glass with a long crack running from base to lip. He lifted it up in a gesture, then cocked his arm back and launched it.
This throw didn't take it so far away as the first thing he'd thrown, but that was his intention, after all. The glass shattered as magnificently as its predecessor, and Machidael pointed at its glittering ruins with a spidery finger. Wolf fuck, he said, bristling. Sebante had explained to him the plight of the coyote -- had he perhaps lied, after all? Was she a wolf-friend? The thought aroused his suspicion, though she had seemed disgusted enough at the thought of wolves and coyotes having sex.
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[html] [/html]Wraith had never been across any water, so she wondered if this Africa place was on the other side of the water in Inferni. At least she had a name for the whatever was out there. She hadn't been much farther outside of Inferni and she was content to stay if the outside contained strange things like this, who couldn't talk or explain things properly and talked of wolves and coyotes having sex. Whatever was out there, it sounded terrible.
His clarifications didn't help much, either. Wraith wondered if there was something wrong with his head. He didn't seem to be very smart and couldn't even say a real sentence.
"You're not making sense," she told him, annoyed now. She found that she was growing more and more annoyed with how stupid he was. "That's just hurting and killing. That's totally different," she pointed out. Obviously.
She watched him carefully as he picked up the bottle and began to examine it. She lowered her head and took a step back, letting her lips pull back to reveal her teeth. When he threw it, she snarled at the sound of shattering glass.
She didn't like him. [html] [/html]
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Machidael is by me!
Despite his analogies and attempts to explain, it seemed she simply did not understand. Machidael might have blamed it on the language barrier, but he was more apt to suspect she was stupid -- or a fake coyote, maybe. She didn't look very much like Sebante, after all. Maybe she was just a wolf pretender? He glowered at her and lifted both hands in apparent frustration with her words. He did not know how to make it any clearer -- the words simply weren't his to say. Perhaps if she'd spoke a proper language like Arabic instead of stupid and hard English. Even their writing was utterly nonsensical -- all hard and sharp curves that made his eyes hurt. Not that he understood Arabic writing any better, but at least that looked right to his eyes.
When she started growling, he couldn't stand it any more whether or not she was a coyote. Fuck off! he snapped at her. Brainless idiot girl, he added in Arabic, just for good measure. He wished he knew more insults that she might understand, but he could at least get the point across. A growl rumbled in his throat, and he hunched forward, almost into a crouch. Fuck off, he repeated, one hand snaking to the side as he groped for his spear. It wasn't a jabbing weapon, or a close range one, but he always made do anyway.
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[html] [/html]She was right to get upset, it seemed. He was stupid and crazy to boot. Something inside of him must have snapped because in a split second, his entire face changed and he swore at her. Instead of just being cautious, Wraith was now just pissed. She let her gums unfurl completely and this time, she really snarled.
"Fucking loner!" she sneered. She let out a loud, yipping howl to warn any coyotes nearby of this insane coyote "jackal" thing. She didn't like him and she wanted someone else to come so that they could be witness to his insanity. She didn't like that he was using words that weren't real--fake mumbo jumbo hoodoo voodoo, she bet, like the crap those weird Anathemans did--or that he was swearing at her.
He moved closer and grabbed his spear and Wraith knew that he wasn't just crazy; he was now pissed off, too. She ran back a few steps, keeping her eyes on the spear, but skittered back as far away as she could. If he threw his spear at her, then she could rush him and attack him. Without his weapon, he probably wouldn't be able to fight her off while she had four legs and he only had two. [html] [/html]
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Machidael is by me!
Loner? Machidael missed a beat at the word, the snarl pausing in motion for a moment as he worked it out. He recognized "fucking" as a derivative of the word he so enjoyed employing, but the second was lost on him. Loner? Lone? Alone? Did she mean to insult him by calling into question his unaffiliated status? The russet hybrid's snarl remained through a cruel, barking sort of laugh, one that emanated low in his throat and was gravelly with derision.
She was quick to fly back with the spear in his hand. She'd seem him throw, and she must understood. The rust-hued hybrid scowled and cocked his hand back as if making to launch the thing at her. He stood with his opposing shoulder facing her, taking a few steps back of his own accord. His throws were strongest from a middling distance, and though he could not retreat from his bag without endangering its contents to put himself in optimal range, he could still threaten to do so.
Fuck off! he again barked. No kill, he promised, though he silently added (and in Arabic, naturally), this time. He didn't really want to kill a coyote if they were, as Sebante said, the jackal of this continent -- even a coyote as miserably dull-witted as this earthen-hued woman. She would not even be any good for whelping young -- her children might inherit her wits. Maybe it would be best to put her out of life? Machidael grunted and made a fake with the spear, jerking his arm forward as if to throw it, but he did not release.
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[html] [/html]Wraith flinched when he jerked his hand forward. She was still too close to take cover, so she flattened herself lower to the ground to make herself a smaller target. She tried to slowly sneak backwards, mimicking his own motion as he moved away, too. He shouted at her and she growled loudly. She did not like being ordered around, especially not by some stupid, dim-witted wolf-coyote thing that couldn't even speak properly.
When he said no kill, she laughed. Would he really promise her that? She tried to move back and then used a burst of speed to try and avoid the throw. It never happened. She snarled when she realized that he had faked it. She howled again, this time as a warning to anyone nearby that there was an insane murderer with a spear lurking about these parts.
"Watch your back, asshole! I'll have all of fucking Inferni fucking your wolfy ass!" she shouted. She hoped they ate him--literally.[html] [/html]
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Machidael is by me!
Her laughter provoked his rage, though he did not dare launch the spear. Machidael's strength was in his weaponry: while perhaps capable of bludgeoning an unarmed foe or fighting them with teeth and claws, his specialty was with his blades. He would not fear one so small and stupid as this creature, but neither could he afford to take too many senseless chances. The rust-colored hybrid grinned and cackled his own laughter with her jerking and sudden realization of his feint -- a broad, gold-toothed grin spread across his muzzle, and he hopped from one foot to the other, going so far as to lower the spear and clutch at his belly.
Her words, however, cut through his merriment and gave him pause. Inferni? He knew this word, although he did not recognize it at first. Glowering at her with suddenly renewed anger, the rust-colored jackal skittered forward toward her, clutching the spear in his hand. Fuck off! he snapped, stamping the butt of its shaft against the hard asphalt. Wolf you! Jackal me! He was insistent and almost petulant with these words, though they were growled in his thickly accented tongue as any other.
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Wanna end here? This has been fun! 8D
[html] [/html]At one moment, he was sneering and laughing and making all of the same faces her father used to make and then the next moment, he seemed solemn and angry. Well, he had been angry the entire time, but now it seemed more like a cold anger. She recognized it from others in Inferni, her mother, her father, Chapel--but she didn't dwell on Chapel much if she could help it--and she knew that it would be best to run while she was still able.
Just as quickly, he snapped and lunged at her. She dodged what she thought would be an incoming spear, and skittered farther away. Instead of slinking back like before, she twisting so that she could run sideways, dancing away with her long coyote legs.
"Die in a fire!" she shouted and then ran like hell. She hoped he would die being fucked by the ghost of her father (since really, what could be more gross?) but that would be difficult to convey to an idiot like him. [html] [/html]
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