[m] [ro] this is why you should run
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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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Setting Location Form NPCs
Location: Halifax

Date: ~22 Sept (Foredated)

Weather: Raining

Time: Night
Optime
Verenna Wyrre

(--)


Machidael is by me!

Machidael carefully wrapped the end of each braid with a cloth. Tying the tiny knots was the hardest part. They were, at least, long enough so that he could reach all of them -- but the top of his hair was beginning to grow out, necessitating he re-braid the whole thing. Or -- more specifically, he'd have to cajole Verenna into doing so for him. He scowled to himself, glancing toward her figure. She was curled up on the bed -- the frame had collapsed, leaving the mattresses alone on the floor -- and sleeping peacefully.

It had taken some effort, even, for her to make the dye he was now using to turn his hair fully dark again. He had gone and procured the ingredients -- along with the food she'd eaten -- but it had taken near pleading for her to make the dye for him. It was not so tough a job and she needn't even move about. And yet, Machidael had almost relented, indulging the urge to slap her across the face with claws out. He might have, too, had she held out but another five minutes. In the end, she did acquiese to his murmured words.

Perhaps it was the Arabic that helped -- he had at least been able to curse her several different ways, murmuring them soothingly as though they were entreaties. She was even attempting to pick up a word here and there -- an admirable effort, too, had Machidael been teaching her anything other than the filthiest words he knew. The dusty-brown hybrid was now quite capably and quite competently repeating, "I want you to fuck me in the mouth with a cat's corpse" and other such lovely gems, convinced they were loving words.

That, at least, made Machidael grin. He finished the last of his braids and began the arduous process of soaking them through with dye. He had already done the gold -- it had taken only one mishap to learn he must do the gold first, and more than he intended, if it wasn't to turn black from the run-off. And even then, he could never quite get the gleaming, yellow gold he desired. Instead, his hair tended toward tawny or even orangey at the tips.

He was in high spirits, and perhaps for one reason alone. The curve of Verenna's belly was beginning to show. Machidael was too elated to be truly upset with her constant demands of food, water, and other such necessities. He would be a father, after all -- and he must take care of his woman and his children, after all. There was already a flame of strong love for those children within the rust-hued canine. It was unlike anything he'd experienced thus far in life -- neither his family nor his wife nor the raiders had received such devotion from Machidael, and yet this twit of a woman managed to evoke it in him by just gaining a few pounds and filling out in the ribs.

He dipped his braids, carefully holding the tied tip out of the small bucket. His red eyes lingered on the woman, though. He could see that slight curve even now -- though she'd unfortunately chosen the four-legged form for her pregnancy. This decision had been one made entirely on her lonesome -- he'd left her as an Optime and come back to a Lupus, and she'd refused to change back. It's better for the babies, she'd practically screeched at him.

Machidael could mourn that decision, but at least it did not entirely deprive him of his masculine rights. He had even deigned to shift into his own infrequently donned four-legged form for her, following loud and repeated complaints of pain or discomfort... something like that. He had considered that she'd deprive him entirely as the birth drew nearer, but he already had a contingency plan. Since she did not seem to mind his play with males, he'd stick to them for the nonce. Surely there were others like Amaury -- and hopefully, others like Halaki and Twensu.

He gave a little shiver at thoughts of all three, and glanced back toward Verenna. His fascination with their children did not perplex him as much as it might have. Though he clearly preferred men, all he'd ever wanted was proof of his masculinity -- and here it was, growing in her belly. Walking, breathing, yipping and yelping proof. He'd take the strongest of them, and leave her with the rest. Perhaps he'd grow into respectable adults under her care. It was not likely, but that was alright. The firstborn, the strongest -- a male, he thought -- would be his.

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