[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v298/ ... blebg3.png);background-repeat:no-repeat;background-position:bottom">SWAYING TO THE RHYTHM
OF THE NEW WORLD ORDER
cakeIn the dead of winter, the city was desolate, empty even of Mother Nature, as if the concrete mass rising from the ground had been shunned by the universe itself. It was nearing midnight and there was no snow falling from the sky that night, and yet the world was silent, as quiet as the black wolf imagined Heaven to be. Caught up in the ambience, he barely made noise as he walked, eyes wide and vivid, almost feverish, in the dark.
cakeAs far as he was concerned, the old hospital hadn't even had a name. He had gone in and searched, then come out lacking what he had been searching for. He was preoccupied, but at the same time he remembered, he filed this away for the future. It was near to what he called home at the moment, and it would serve a purpose one day, if anyone - or himself - were to ever need medical supplies. But as it were expected to happen eventually, he was running low, and the impending emergency had brought him here. He wasn't in withdrawal yet, he was simply uneasy.
cakeWalking slowly, Bane exited the hospital entrance in search of fresh air. The crisp winter breeze caught him head-on, and he welcomed it. Pausing near a bench by the street, he sat down and leaned forward on his knees. In his hands was a yellowing human skull he had found inside, and he toyed with it as if it were a pen or a flashlight, or some other petty thing. These things somehow amused him. It grinned up at him, a morbid memento of days past, but he simply looked away, gazing down the cracked and torn street at the nothing it slowly faded into.
|
|  [/html]
[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... banner.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
700+
Cwmfen trotted silently in the lands outside of Dahlia de Mai. She was deep in thought, considering what had occurred the night before. Pausing in the brush, the black female shifted, taking on the luperci form. She lay there alone as she had spent every night. And yet, ever since the Long Nights, that solitude that she so required held a different quality.... Her mind turned the happenings of the prior night over, trying to reason through the events, attempting to uncover something she might have missed. Why had he been there? Unexpectedly, Haku had appeared at her den, seeking friendship. The warrior sighed, trying to push the thoughts away. She wanted to believe that there had been something more, but how could she demand that of him—or anyone? While the woad marked fae knew that the Lilium had a mate, there was still that primal instinct that called for challenge; while her belligerent ways may have functioned thusly, the world no longer accepted such archaic views, it seemed. Perhaps to follow it would have asked too much.
The female considered her own confusion. Social confrontations of any nature were never really her strength. War. That was what she knew. She knew how to fight, and she was good at it. It was easy for her to decide who would die, or who would live. There was no complexity for her in such basic, aggressive instincts. But she had, and possibly could, never adapt fully to the social life. In the culture from which she originated, the wolves never took mates. They only took lovers; while usually the nature of these relationships was usually very similar to mateships in the respect that only one lover was taken, the relationship was not binding. Indeed there was love, but there was nothing restraining both parties from the freedoms of life. Lovers shared warmth in the cold nights. They made love in their dens. And (perhaps most importantly to this particular female) they were comrades in battle relying upon one another, protecting one another. Why could not the relationships here be of that nature. She found often—especially after the rites of womanhood—that she desired companionship. But she did not want the ties that would prevent her from being the wild and free warrior creature that she was.
Suddenly, the woad-marked female found herself wandering in strange lands. She had never really explored these particular lands, but from what she could tell from the strange, exotic city that surrounded her, she must be in the place named Halifax. The female did not like these constructs of human existence. Of humanity, she found only their ancient weaponry to be fascinating. There was nothing for her in these concrete jungles. Yet, she could not help but feel curious about these graveyards of man. What caught her interest the most was the way in which the earth was re-claiming that which was lost. The white orbs wandered over those seemingly frail vines with tendrils that penetrated and grasped at the sides of these edifices. How curious it was that these thin tendrils were slowly but surely conquering these seemingly eternal constructs. It was evidence only that nothing was eternal.
The road opened up into a courtyard—the way a forest gave way to a meadow. However, the warrior stopped immediately, for she scented upon the cold air the scent of another—a male. The glossy white orbs scanned the surroundings until they observed a form sitting upon a bench. The male was black and he was alone. His scent, as she sniffed the air again, held no trace of any pack. A lone wolf. Immediately, the woad-marked Vitis grew wary, for her experience with lone wolves had never been good, often ending in the death of the other. Suddenly, Cwmfen realized that she had left her spear within the shelter of her den (where too her pied Raven awaited her return). With a feral ferocity flickering faintly within her eyes, she discarded such thoughts, for she was quite adept without the use of weapons. And while the distance between them was great, her posture changed slightly as she observed silently, with a mild fascination, the cranium of a human held in his palms.
[/html]
[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v298/ ... blebg3.png);background-repeat:no-repeat;background-position:bottom">SWAYING TO THE RHYTHM
OF THE NEW WORLD ORDER
cakeNice post! I apologize if mine are short compared to yours, I can't write that much without my brain imploding in on itself. XD
cakeTo any passing stranger, Bane may have given the impression he was lost in thought. This was a rare occurance for the medical doctor; even when thinking, even when perusing the depths of his mind like an old book, he was quite aware. A part of his mind -- the part the instinct ruled -- kept his third eye open at all times. And as he sat there, still as a rock, it was this part of his mind that saw her coming in the distance. It was then that his focus came back to him.
cakeWith blue eyes as clear as ever, he watched the dark figure down the road from the hospital. She was as visible as the buildings around her in the moonlight. Any closer and she would have blurred into a vague shape, like the bench he sat on, like the skull he held in his hands. She was dark in the shadows, but the snow surrounding her was pristine in the night, white and mostly unmarred by dirt or footprints. He could smell her wariness, in the air, in the way she stood. She was right to feel that way. But though he was a little agitated, Bane was still a gentleman. This thought made him smile and he slowly stood up to his full height, still holding the skull, which was small comparatively and fit perfectly in the palm of his hand.
cake"Good afternoon, ma'am," and his voice was barely louder than it would have been in any other situation. The dead silence of the dead city carried the sound of his voice as if it had been made for it. "It's rather late to be wandering about." Perhaps this would apply for him as well, but he had a reason -- a rather pressing one -- for being out during the witching hour. He wondered what hers was.
|
| [/html]
[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... banner.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Don’t worry about that~! I just like to ramble on, ^=^;;;
500+
The frosty white orbs held the male’s form, observing him from afar with a calculating gaze. She could not help but feel a curiosity towards this encounter as he found her with his gaze—clear blue eyes, juxtaposed by his ebony fur. Perhaps it was this symbolic imagery that intrigued her the most, for she lived in a world of such motifs. As the two shadows observed one another, she could not help but feel that there was something else about the male that intrigued her. Perhaps it was the implications of something darker, something bestial—primeval. Something that she felt was being lost in this world of humanesque creatures walking upright. It was ironic to think of such things when both creatures present had donned such guises, when the world about them now rose above them in skeletons of the past. This place of death, she thought. In this place was it meant for things to die, for wars to be started, to be fought, to be ended. The warrior had wondered why she was here. Perhaps this was why. The subconscious mind is never wrong.
When the male rose, she did not openly respond in any way. The warrior was calm as she observed the one opposite her. He was tall, taller than her. And stronger. Yet, strength did not win all battles. Cwmfen knew of her own strengths, of technique and of speed. Yet she did not discard him, for she did not doubt that he would be a formidable enemy. Or perhaps a formidable ally, should these circumstances end well. He did not seem to portray hostility as he rose, and she sensed no immediate danger from the other. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and yet carried in this human jungle. The woad-banded aurals pricked forward, and her posture straightened slightly, the kill feather in her hair twitching in the nighttime breeze. The white orbs considered the other, for the female continued to exercise her caution. Mere civility would not put her at ease, for in these ways she was not ignorant. She knew of that basic instinct—to kill the opposition, to rip the throat out of he who trespassed—and she felt it now. But she was the trespasser this night.
"Indeed, but a wandering mind knows no hour." The silver toned melody rang in the silence. Her words held no threat. She was almost amicable as she replied. The woad-marked tail flickered behind her. "The same could be said of you. Or perhaps I trespass on your abode?" Pausing she sniffed the air once more, catching his scent like a stray hair. "You do not smell of any pack or tribe." The woman’s curiosity bid her to stay and explore this acquaintance. But not all souls were as her own, and she did not wish to press this male. He seemed to have a restlessness about him, yet it was different from her own. It was more feral, one that would scratch away the layers of control. And while such a thing brought about her wariness, she was at once greatly drawn by that state. "I will not linger for long...." In this way, she dismissed herself, and yet she hesitated there, as if wondering whether she would indeed leave him. It seemed, however, that intrigue held her there.
[/html]
[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v298/ ... blebg3.png);background-repeat:no-repeat;background-position:bottom">SWAYING TO THE RHYTHM
OF THE NEW WORLD ORDER
cakeShe spoke and he watched her as she did, his eyes as intense as ever; there it was, still gnawing at the back of his mind, and he knew he should have sacrificed a pill for his sanity before leaving home, but he hadn't anticipated this difficulty. The dark lady was right. It made him curious as to what had caused her mind to wander. Likely it wasn't his right to know. Likely, just as much, that in this state he didn't care much. There was something dark and malignant in him, something that surfaced rarely, only when his control began to slip. The ice was thinner than he gave it credit for.
cake"I don't have one," was his brief reply, oddly curt given his gentleman's mindset, the beliefs he'd had beaten into him. As he spoke, he moved forward, slowly, if for nothing but to get a better look at this stranger. She came into view under the moonlight and he saw the markings and the white eyes. If he had been any further into his own personal grave, he would have thought her to be a phantom of the past. A warrior maiden, perhaps, from the lands he had left behind, come to remind him of his treason, of Bane the Betrayer who deserved the fate they had chosen for him. But Bane still had his head. He smiled at her and stopped, opening his mouth to speak.
cake"Oh, no, please stay, my lady." Perhaps contrary to his aura, to the thinly veiled agitation and the glint in his eye, his voice was calm. Even and steady, and rather quiet. It belied his thoughts. "Where are you from?" The question was abrupt, but he was curious. It ate at him like a bear, or a big cat, or the halflings back home, gnawing on his bones and tearing at his skin. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the skull.
|
| [/html]
[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... banner.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
As her black, dual banded ears received his curt reply, they twitched. The sound of his words was different than those prior, for there implied something contrary and yet apparent in his demeanor. Something, a growl perhaps, stirred silently, clawing in the dark with violent tendrils. But she brushed away such dark tendencies, for they were needless here. She wondered what made such things move within her, for the blue-eyed male gave her no reason to become hostile. It was merely tone, and perhaps he had not meant to give it in such a way. The woad-warrior, still inept in the dealings of social behavior, was unable to discern the reasons for such things, and she held her self still in the dark.
As he approached, a certain amount of tension returned to her body. Trained for war, trained to fight, the female responded to his approach without a second thought. The tension was not immediately visible, not like a flinch would be. It was almost an implication, a change in the air about her. His approach, however, was slow and unhurried, and his step did not betray any eagerness that would be held in the gait of one approaching to attack. Once more, she let the tension slowly slip from her muscles, but they remained tightly wound about her frame, ready to spring into action should she require it. But, as he stopped, offering a smile, it seemed almost as if this would be a friendly encounter. The female did not readily return the smile, and her body shifted, turning as if meaning to walk away.
His request stopped her, as if his voice wound about her wrist like an iron-gripped fist. The ears swiveled back as she listened to the silence that followed his words. Their sound was different from his previous reply. They were, despite his appearance, quite calm. Perhaps she should have viewed this as dangerous, but she concluded that such things attributed to his ability to control himself. Quietly, she turned back to face the black male, nodding in compliance. "Alright," she said slowly, her voice almost a whisper. She decided that the male intrigued her after all, and her curiosity bid her to stay and explore this unexpected personality. As a creature of ancient custom, she found him to be refreshing—one of the best encounters she’d had with lone wolves (her mind went with particular disgust to the rude Nikolai Russo). Thus far. The woad warrior never allowed herself to express optimism too eagerly.
The white orbs considered the male as she offered him a soft, amiable smile. "I hail from Caledonia, in the lands across the sea." But she could not return there. Though now she knew that her father had not raped her—yet—she could not leave the safety of these lands without making herself vulnerable to a life she did not wish to have. And now she knew why that crow-wolf wanted her, and she would not give it to him. The warrior, while timid and humble, was a proud creature, willing to face and defy Death until she would have no choice but to relinquish life to Death’s hungering jaws.
"And you, sir?" the Tilia inquired. She was a curious creature, and she wondered at the origins of others as much as they wondered about her. Perhaps, if this encounter continued to prove unthreatening, she would allow herself to introduce herself—yet, perhaps she would do so anyway, for her curiosity and politeness would move her to do so. Her face softened slightly as she realized that she was enjoying his company.
[/html]
[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v298/ ... blebg3.png);background-repeat:no-repeat;background-position:bottom">SWAYING TO THE RHYTHM
OF THE NEW WORLD ORDER
cakeHe read the tension even through the darkness, saw her as if she relaxed slightly, watched as she went to turn away, and some hesitation was there when she spoke. The word itself, her voice, almost fell on deaf ears. Bane was an eloquent man, he knew well how to use his words, but he was quiet by choice and loathed to waste them. At times, they were wholly unnecessary, and the body spoke volumes more than words ever could. There was that smile, still there on his face, and it was a strange smile, accompanied by a glint in his eye as he stared at her. He could feel the purity of his blood and it had begun to burn a little. He almost welcomed it, because he knew now that it would get much worse.
cake"Caledonia," he repeated, letting the word roll around on his tongue. It was barely a whisper, and it died quickly on the wind. He had never been there. He wondered why she was here, if her story were anything like his. Then she asked him where he was from: again, he could read her body language like a book. He could smell her curiosity. He thought of the prisoners of war they had kept in the old city. They had beaten and broken them until the words spilled from their hands and their eyes more than their mouths. Just like the blood. He could feel the dust of the skull in his palm, he could feel it beginning to give under his grip. It was fragile.
cake"Reykjavík," he replied slowly, pleasantly, darkly. For a second the accent he had earned there showed itself in his voice. Then it went away, just like it had when he had left. "Come a little closer," he added softly, tilting his head at her. All the while, that smile remained, and his eyes narrowed a little as he spoke. His own curiosity was overwhelming and he was sure she could see it. Smell it like he could hers. He knew it was different; that didn't matter. He wanted to see her move. The instinct reared and screamed in his head and he could feel himself slipping. And somewhere in his mind, the part that hated what he had become, it was welcome.
|
| [/html]
[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... banner.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
The black male seemed to be watching her as carefully as she was watching him. The warrior approved of that trait, for, while knowledge could not alone be gained through mere observation (simply because perception was an unreliable way of knowing), there was still much that could be learned through such scrutiny. The inflection of a movement, the hint of a gesture. At times, she found that it was the things that went unnoticed that proved to be the most significant. And often, such things did go unnoticed, and she felt that she offered such things in vain. Yet, with this male who was strangely attentive, she did not feel that such things were wasted. It was a refreshing notion. Perhaps this, too, made her linger there with him.
As he spoke, repeating the name of the lands from which she hailed, the female’s curiosity heightened. In the way he said it—and perhaps within the silence left after the winds had taken the quiet tones—there was something curiously dark. It made her want to lean in, to peer into the well of his thought and listen to the waters of his memories and contemplations, to have a taste of that strange darkness that lingered briefly upon his surface. The black fae knew, more in the back of her mind than openly, of the danger of her present desire, and yet she disregarded it, unconcerned with her own safety for once. And she did not doubt that instinct and muscle memory would serve her well. But now, she was thirsty.
When the male spoke again, it was to speak the name of his origin. She heard the lilt of his dirge change, and wondered at it. The name of the region was not familiar to her, but, from her experience gained with her travels, she guessed it was from a place within a similar northern region as her own country. The sounds of the languages tended to gain a rough, yet musical quality in those regions, quite different from those of Africa or even of the lands far to the south of the AniWaya. The female thought that she rather liked the strange variation of this accent’s chords, but when that song started again, it was gone.
Discretely, suspicion rose in her as a dry riverbed fills once more with the waters of the wet season. And yet, the female remained placid as she stood before him unmoving. There was a strange pride that drifted along those waters of suspicion, as if she were a woman of consequence. And yet, it seemed almost as if she held herself in that way naturally, and in such a way that contradicted her tentative demeanor and was dismissed. Her stillness was not of hesitation or fear—its quality was different, as if it merely bid him wait, allowing him to know that when she did come—and she would—that it was of her own accord, and that his words did not bind her to any unsaid promise. A light smile carved gracefully into her maw, and it held almost the qualities of a sneer. But her face was not unkind, and slowly, her woad-banded feet slid forward.
As she closed the distance with painfully slow and fluid progression, his curiosity became more apparent, and she sensed within him a conflict. She received a strange satisfaction—or perhaps satisfaction was a poor descriptor—as she experienced his struggle. And then the warrior’s progress stopped, her adroitness ceased. And when she spoke, her voice was strangely calm, assuaging and forthcoming. "What do you see here that was not clear before?" And the challenge rang clearly in the cold air.
[/html]
[html] 
cakeHe felt a hook attached to the back of his skull, right at the bottom where it connected to the spine, and it was pulling him. Towards the hospital, towards the place he slept at night, towards the pills that would return him to his body. Bane was a man who didn't fear much, and rarely feared anything illogical; he did, however, fear himself, and that was why he hid himself. That was why he needed the addiction. It turned him into someone who made sense, someone he could understand. What he feared most, perhaps, wasn't who he became when he wasn't numb, but the fact that it intrigued him enough to tempt him from his path; the fact that he enjoyed it.
cakeThe lady moved after some hesitation, and the dark wolf read this correctly as an intentional thing, as a choice rather than pure obedience. This was a good thing. In his mind were the battles he had fought, and watched, and the warriors and soldiers he had treated. The warrior-maidens there had considered themselves equal to men, even if the men hadn't agreed. He knew just by looking this lady would have been able to handle herself there, though for how long he didn't know; they all died in the end. Bane liked a strong woman. They were harder to break. Away from himself, he bored easily. And in his head he could feel the tug, and he grinned at her, an empty expression that left his eyes blank, glittering like dark-blue beetles in the moonlight against his black fur.
cake"So much," he told her darkly, and he ached to touch her, his fingertips twitching under his fur. He tilted his head as he spoke, staring, and he could hear the screaming in his head. His blood felt hot in his veins. With the grin still there, he continued, softly: "Do you ever feel," a pause, as if he had lost his train of thought for a moment, "that you are a stranger to youself?"
|
|
[/html]
[html] http://img141.imageshack.us/img141/3402 ... 985rw1.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
Cwmfen saw that empty smile as she approached, and a fierce one of her own flashed across her face. But her lips did not part to reveal the strong teeth behind them. And soon that smile was gone, as quickly as it had come. The white orbs sought his eyes, and she thought them beautiful—as if the colour of the wild sea had been tamed there, and they seemed to shimmer in the moonlight as if a soft breath had shuddered across its surface. But the sea was indeed wild, and its waters treacherous. The sea would easily break one against the rocky shores, or pull one deep into its dark embrace. The sea was hungry, and it was ruled by no one. The female took note of such connotations, and yet, she found herself willing to brave the waters that seemed so still now. But how long would it be before that eternally beating life was released? She wondered if she would be able to resist that force.
Her own eyes were dim in the darkness, though they shone visibly for their whiteness. They flickered with intrigue at his simple response. And what do you see? The warrior asked silently. She thought, then, that she could feel the hunger of his eyes’ waters, more so than before. Her hackles bristled slightly, and yet it was not with hostility. That darkness in his voice intrigued her, perhaps more so than anything else. The woad-marked female knew not why she was so drawn to such a darkness, but she found something there that she could not help but revel in. It was like a strange, black stone. She wanted to hold it in her hands, to feel its smooth, cold surface and feel the weight of it in her palm. She wanted to become it, to crush it in her jaws. It was a curious thing, the darkness, and her curiosity desired to be sated. It was a hunger of her own. And so she smiled softly, an enigmatic smile that invited much more.
As the male continued, the female laughed quietly—inaudibly—a rich sound. "Such dangerous words," the female remarked, almost to herself. Then, with more volume, "Perhaps it is safer to completely lose oneself before finding oneself once more." She did not directly answer his inquiry—or perhaps her quiet laugh had been her reply, a knowing sound, a troubling sound. Now the alto melody rang quietly with silver tones, and her voice held the same inviting quality as her smile. And yet, as she stood there, her challenge was withheld, as if it were some test he must pass. And once he passed—she did not know. Did this even matter, this change encounter? She knew that she did not believe in mere coincidence, in chance, but did he?
The female shifted her weight, placing her hand on the higher hip. The black tail flickered dangerously behind her, but her curiosity peeked quietly from behind her fierce exterior. Who was he? What did he want? These hostile questions were questions of curiosity too, and they desired to be sated. She flicked her head, forcing her hair to become orderly. Even such a curt movement was graceful. Her eyes never left the other as the smile left her maw.
[/html]
[html]
cakeCoincidence was a made-up word, invented for those who wouldn't take responsibility for their actions. Everything happened for a reason. Bane saw -- no, felt -- something of himself reflected in those pure-white eyes, in her aura, and it was something that intrigued him. He wanted his sanity. Inside his head, he was screaming, desperate for his own attention, the focus that was so wholly set on the dark lady before him, on her face, her body. He heard her words less than he felt the emotion she spoke with. She was curious of him. That much he knew. He grinned then, a rare sight, teeth bright white against his black fur; Bane was a doctor, a professor, a scientist, but he possessed a savage soul, tamed only by his willpower and his thirst for knowledge. There were few things in the world that, at that moment, he wouldn't have given up to know her.
cakeHe touched her. As with his voice, his touch was gentle and calm but belied his nature, the beast within that reared when he was denied the drugs that bound it. His fingers brushed against her cheek, claw just barely scraping against her skin beneath the black fur that mirrored his own. His eyes were on the markings, the blue that marred her fur. Something was eating him alive from the inside out; it was fine, he had been through worse. He spoke. The grin was still there. "Wouldn't know, I've never been lost." In his head it made sense; in his head he wasn't contradicting himself. Bane never had been lost, he had never had to find himself. He had always been there. There were simply parts of himself he so rarely got to explore.
cake"You aren't afraid," he added slowly. This wasn't a challenge, or a threat, simply a statement. Fact. The grin faded. There were no more words in his head that he wanted to let out; he wasn't even looking for any from her. Shifting his weight, he reached forward with his free hand and went to wrap his fingers around her wrist, almost tenderly, like a lover might. He wanted to see how far he could go, how far he would; he wanted to know what she would allow. He would speak in ways that transcended language; yet he had a feeling she would understand.
|
|
[/html]
[html] http://img141.imageshack.us/img141/3402 ... 985rw1.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
His grin was unexpected. Mirthful, amused perhaps it was, but not entirely. There was something savage in that mere gesture. Her response was a twitch of her lip, as if she wished to smile in return but was unmoved. The female’s mind was considering the other fully now, calculating everything he had said, everything he was doing. Perhaps even what he might say, what he might do. She wanted to find that savage beast hiding beneath that calm exterior. She could not help but admit that she was more than marginally curious about this stranger, and that this stranger, though she did not even know his name, had excited a more primal curiosity in her—one that was purely physical. Yet, the female was unsure if such a response was due to the black male’s own desires. She wondered why he desired her then. She wondered if he was influenced by something else. And she wondered if she even cared. The female was not a creature that followed the rules of society—or at least the society in which she lived. Promiscuity, while she herself did not practice it—was not something looked down upon. Males and females were equals. And so why should she not be curious? Why should she not explore her curiosity? She had only recently come into womanhood, after all, and there was much she did not know.
She did not flinch when he touched her. But she had not expected it. Her eyes lifted to find the male’s blue ones, a question held in them. The woad-marked female was certain that he was capable of so much more, and yet his touch was so gentle.... The black female found his control to be breathtaking, and a small breath was released from her maw. Cwmfen was impressed, and yet she was not yet moved. She could smell his desire and the power it had to engulf her, but she resisted its pull, almost effortlessly. Seemingly, the black fae did not respond as she felt that claw brush against her skin. Such a touch was not foreign for her, as she had felt many more of the likeness in battle—less gentle and more deadly, but it was similar. The she-wolf sensed his controlled curiosity and felt that she was in no immediate danger, though she did not dismiss that dark threat lurking beneath the surface. Her body was relaxed as she allowed him to look, unconcerned. "Perhaps its time," she responded simply, and she allowed a small, knowing smile to appear. She wanted to see what lurked in the dark sea of his soul.
No, she agreed silently, but she did not respond aloud. The white orbs were curious as that smile faded. As his fingers wrapped about her wrist, her gaze was averted from his face, and she observed his grip as if it were something to consider. The woad-banded fingers clenched and unclenched as if testing his strength and her ability to escape that grip, but she did not remove it. It was as if she had been waiting to assess his physical worth, and her eyes had traced his upper torso on the way down to her own hand. As if content, the female looked back up to him. What does he want? And the question lingered timidly upon her breath. How far would he go, and how far would she allow him to go? She was satisfied with what she had assessed of this stranger—he was of the personality and build that caught her attention. But was he merely playing with her? The snarl lingered on the bridge of her maw. And yet his desire was beginning to permeate through her tranquility. Who is that beast I can see lingering beneath that gaze?
[/html]
[html]
cakeSorry for being so slow, life is being a bitch. :| And by the way, this thread is awesome.
cakeSo he had moved on in his head, from one place that made sense to another that was scattered, chaotic, the opposite of everything he believed. Despite this, he still knew this had been written, in the stars, in the sky, in the Book of Fate that foretold the end of the world. Bane wasn't the type to play; he didn't do anything without a purpose, and when he wanted something, he went after it because he knew it was what was intended. She was no different, and no part of him was wondering about tomorrow or yesterday, about her life or what she did. She was here for him, what else mattered? Even in this chaos, things made sense. Something was burning inside him, and he knew that it wasn't just the beginnings of withdrawal. He was unstable, and he self-medicated to fix this issue; perhaps the numbness wasn't a better option.
cakeHis grip on her wrist was firm but still gentle, but his eyes glittered with the coldness of a madman. He smelled her curiosity and didn't wonder why she stayed. It didn't matter. Without his crutch, he would fall apart... or perhaps fall together. She wasn't scared, as he had stated, his words still lingering around his ears, in the air, there but not quite being absorbed. This was something he found arousing, something he wanted to end; he wanted to make her fear him but not enough to run. Just enough, it was all he wanted. Just enough to taste it and keep it there, where he could see it. Bane was a controlling and dominant man, and sex was no different to him in that respect. Baring his teeth, he moved forward still until he could feel her before him, her fur against his chest, warm and soft and feminine in ways he had almost forgotten, it had been so long.
cake"Come with me, blackbird," he told her, and all kindness and consideration was gone. "I want to see you, I want to know you," His fingers tightened, the muscles in his arms and chest taut with some sort of anticipation, and he spoke in an almost inaudible growl, deep and low in her ear. His voice echoed of the beast he constantly harboured within. No longer gentle, no longer able to hold it back. Perhaps he simply no longer wanted to. Vaguely, in the shrinking part of his brain where the curiosity still lurked, he wondered what he would do if she were to say no. He called himself a gentleman; surely this was true. Soon he might find out. Still holding onto her, his free hand lowered to run down her shoulder and her back, the black wolf went to pull her back, towards the indoors, towards the hospital, the dark rooms that still smelled of sterility and medicine. As he moved, he caught sight of the human skull, laying abandoned now, cracked and forgotten in the snow-covered street.
|
|
[/html]
[html] http://img141.imageshack.us/img141/3402 ... 985rw1.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
OuO
500+
There was some distant look in his eye, or perhaps there was something too near. She saw a darkness, a wildness, a chaos come forth within him. A slight, barely discernable smile of satisfaction flickered across her woad bound maw. That was what she was interested in seeing. But rather than sate her curiosity, it merely made her seek it more. She knew that it was this creature—this wilder, feral creature—that was his true quality. That creature of reason was the mask, and, no matter how much that mask had become prominent, the creature of reason was never the true essence of a wolf. A wolf was wild and free, and that wild creature of chaos drove her life and soul. She knew that it must be there within this black male as well. The white eyes flickered back to his grip upon her wrist, and she saw broken in the snow the skull that he had held. This symbol of a broken skull—a broken control—was proof enough that such a thing existed.
The black male approached her with bared teeth, and she responded by unsheathing her own hungering fangs. She let him come, for his control was still intact. The woad warrior had not, however, expected the contact that he gave, but she did not reject it. Her jaws lingered at his exposed throat, and it was almost as if he had given it to her. The warmth of his body embraced her gentle curves, and her well sculpted body, pleasantly toned with the labors of war, involuntarily moved up to greet the male’s worthy form. But she felt his grip upon her tighten, and there was a different hunger on her mind, and her jaws wanted it, to crush life as it was meant to do. It was his voice that stilled her, that broke through seething silence, and bid her come. He wanted to know her, he claimed. The implications of his request were clear, and as his hand fell to her shoulder and down her back. And he began to pull her to that human edifice.
At first she did not respond and passively resisted him. The white orbs stared their challenge openly, and her vicious maw released a quiet snarl. She wondered who he was to demand such a thing. But she found that his demand did not trouble her. She found that she did not want to resist this male, the stranger that he was. The woad swirled fae had seen a part of that darkness, and it was the darkness that she loved. And her curiosity with him bid her to move, and so she did. The black fae let her face grow calm and allowed him lead her into that human building, for the darkness was there too. Because he was there. She felt a different hunger then, and it was as a hot, glowing coal. She hungered for that darkness, for the beast that harbored it. She found that she wanted to know him too. She wanted to let him explore her, to lose himself in her. And she wanted him to loose that darkness harnessed there so that she may taste it and know that too.
[/html]
[html]
cake Fade to black? :o
cakeThe civil face the dark wolf put on for the world was a farce; underneath it, as she had figured out by now, lay that dormant beast, the wolf, the animal, that so many now disregarded and forced to submit for fear of the savage side they harboured. In some it was more present than in others, and in Bane it was more obvious than not; he hid this, but the beast constantly fought back. Sometimes it won. He could see this inside her, too, smell it and hear it in her voice, the melody in her tone that sounded like a song, the song of the forest, the mountain, the wild. It still lingered in his ears, the feeling of it more than the words. It was that that he wanted, the ferocity that he needed. Soon he would taste it, and the anticipation reared in him, the instinct alongside it, strong and unwavering.
cakeShe resisted, but only for a moment, teeth bared, and he knew deep down he needn't doubt her strength. It excited the beast inside to feel it on her, in her, and to know that, now that he had been granted her permission (so he wouldn't have to take it,) it would be his. For the night, until the fire in his veins took him hard enough that he would be forced to come back to himself. For now he would be fine, now that he had something to focus the fire on. Fingers remaining tight on her wrist, he continued to move, taking her with him inside.
|
|
[/html]
|
