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i'm sorry it took me so long, i was sick last week and got behind some on posting. D: she's shifted form for reading, of course~ 256 words
edit: fore-dated to 5/24 because of CRAZY NEW PLOT DEVELOPMENTS~ :O. stay tuned to find out more, folks.
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Light clouds billowed across the sky, dancing in front of the sun for the moment. The rock Tokyo was sprawled out on managed to retain enough heat that it didn't bother her much that her sunning spot was now in shade. It was bright enough, too, to keep reading without any difficult. So she still had all that she really needed from the sun.
The book clutched in her hands was an old one of fairy tales. She'd had it as long as forever; she wasn't sure exactly when she had picked it up, but if it hadn't been somewhere in the Concrete Jungle as a child it was certainly shortly after she had been chased away by Ophelia. The point was, it had been a damned long time. Her favorite tales were obvious; the pages were dirtier, the spine was creased more firmly at that point. Tokyo was as careful with it as she could be with anything, but time and age had made it rather ragged.
With the sun no longer threatening to attack her eyes, Tokyo rolled on her back, holding the book up in the air above her face. Cinderella was so silly. She hadn't read this story for a long time, it just didn't seem believable. Why would Cinderella let her step-sisters and step-mother treat her so poorly? If she was really good enough to become a princess like what happened at the end, then she should have told everyone, and they would treat have to treat her better, like she deserved.
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Is she near the boaders? I’m playing it as if she is, but let me know if it’s otherwise~
500+
The pied brute had left that fae with the horse far behind. The behavior of that creature the brute could not suffer. Corvus was an arrogant man, articulate when he chose to be and a kind of wealthy aristocrat. Long ago the male had strayed from the path and had taken to the way of Darkness until all that had made him compassionate had faded into that dark. Those soft, intangible tendrils that pierced all things with fear now filled that empty soul, replacing that compassion with that empty, cold cruelty. He thought nothing of living things, and yet he sought to make his life everlasting. But the irony of his existence was not lost, nor did it stop him. The once-gang-lord of Korea was accustom to getting what he wanted. Cwmfen would give it to him, and, as he had assured the lighter male upon his arrival to these lands, she could come to him willingly. The world simply worked that way, and his daughter would grow too anxious to keep away forever. The pack in which she resided would not keep him from her. Nothing would.
As he walked along the boarder, his movements held that eerie quality of a wraith, that ethereal grace that also characterized the movements of his daughter. The black claws tore the earth as if in warning, his posture held high and aloof as if the world meant nothing, as if this place meant nothing, as it surely did. Even in the day the crow wolf walked with the shadows about him, a pure black smudge against the world, drowning the light like the holes of space. And as the brute strode by the packlands, he lowered that cruel maw to the earth. Here, there were faint traces of Cwmfen’s smell, but it was obvious that she had not been here in a while. The smell of that lighter male, however, was unmistakably mixed in the marking of the boarder. The male did not wish to cross these boarders just yet—he had to play this game with care. A soft sneer crossed his lips. In this game, he already knew the end. It was the course and path that lead to that end that made the game worth his time. And so few things were worth his time.
Then the wind brought a near and fresh scent from a place nearby. A sneer flickered across his maw. Did his daughter require another warning? The tenebrous path of the mal shifted to cling more closely to the boarder like a spider on the wall. Those black, fathomless orbs found the creature upon a rock, reading a book. The erected tail swayed like a snake behind him as that emotionless façade pierced the air between them. And what could a book say that the mind could not conceive? The pied brute knew how to read, but only Korean; and it was not as if he believed himself in need of such texts. And so, deciding upon the path he would take, the Korean ceased moving, becoming that immovable shred of darkness that appeared like a nightmare in the wakeful ours. "Enjoying ourselves?" the empty tenor soothed, the darkness in his voice drawing her near.
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being near the borders works fine for me, hopefully i'll be able to pick up the pace with my replies as school is tapering off some now ><. 422 words.
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Tokyo was always spooked by the dwarf in Rumpelstiltskin. Why did he demand the queen's firstborn child? What use could he have of it? It creeped her out, and then it made her think of her own daughter, her own Princess, which was not exactly a set of pleasant memories. As a result, she was jumpier than normal, and paying very close attention to the noises of the forest around her. At first, she thought she was just imagining the footsteps creeping around in the brush near the border, but even after she decided they probably didn't exist they kept coming, one after another. So she was actually staring pretty intently into the brush when one of the shadows spoke.
Defensively, reflexively Tokyo shot back: "Yes, of course." Because if she wasn't enjoying herself, why would she be reading? What was the point of activities that did not provide immediate satisfaction? She could never understand why some people seemed to do such things frequently, and had long ago come to some sort of conclusion that they must just enjoy things that she didn't. For example, for all Tokyo's hatred of hunting, Champ sure seemed to love doing so for her. So, other people were just weird. The solution to unpleasant tasks was to convince someone who liked them to do it for her.
The silence felt oppressive, and the creepiness of the story she had been reading made her find the stranger sort of sinister. Which was silly. What did she realistically have to fear? She was a member of a large pack, on the safety of pack lands. And even if she hadn't been, who on earth would dare to offend Tokyo? Well, yes, there were some brain-addled fools that didn't understand what they were doing, but no one in their right mind enough to be dangerous would direct their malevolence against her. The quiet dragged on, and she felt the need to fill it with words, even if she didn't have quite enough vocal control to keep them from revealing just how irrationally nervous she was.
"It's my favorite book, it's on fairy tales, my mother gave it to me because I was her favorite." Near the end of her ramble, her voice did firm up some - boasting was familiar enough to be comforting, slightly. She gave a smug smile, remembering again just how amazing she was. Technically, Ophelia hadn't given it to her, but who would know? And Tokyo was definitely the best puppy, so her statement was true enough.
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Sorry about the wait!
500+
The thing seemed skittish, its senses alerted because of it. The lighter eyes had been pointed in his direction, and he allowed that thing to look. The black eyes looked back, that fierce gaze fathomless and hollow. Even as the pied brute lowered himself upon those sinewy haunches, his gaze never faltered. Nor did his lofty air waver as he made his posture relaxed, the secui’s lithic form as fantastic as the gargoyles that hung along the precipice of those human edifices. Momentarily, those black eyes shifted, falling upon the book in her hands. And the pied brute wondered at what idiocy was held within the words of that book. The Korean read very little, having been initially uninfected by the virus. But what he did read was the texts of his own country, not the mindlessness of these western cultures. His culture was grounded more acutely in what was real while the Western culture seemed to have a need to create the fantasies of some diluted mind. It was as that lighter, patterned wolf had said: she loved living in a lie. A sneer threatened upon those black lips but fell silent.
The Dahlian wolf’s retort was greeted only by a cold silence as that sneer was permitted to split his cruel jaws. It was as if he were enjoying some private joke, mockery openly displayed upon those jaws as if he believed those words were false. There was a brief flash of those hungry teeth before they were hid away, displayed momentarily in that silent warning—as if his presence wasn’t warning enough. And the crow wolf did not break that silence, content with what the silence could do and content with what the thing opposite him was allowing that silence to do. The crow wolf’s tail flickered once behind him, shifting the plants as a passing snake might. And his gaze was empty like that hypothetical snake, the emotionless façade sliding upon his beautiful features as that sneer faded. And then the silence was broken, the thing’s voice irritatingly falling upon his erected ears. Those black orbs dripped in that black mockery as he watched the girl. He looked her over for a moment before the suave tenor replied. "Your mother must have been deprived." The ambiguity would allow the Dahlian wolf to wonder, but he did not find anything extraordinary about this creature.
Suddenly the male moved—or so it seemed sudden for his stillness. Even with that slight movement, the male retained that strange, ethereal fluidity, as if he had been made of stone and yet somehow found the power to move. And like stone, one could expect that grating to sound from his moving joints. But there was only silence. The pied brute lay his body upon the shadowed earth, postured as the symbols of monarchy as his head continued to behold the creature. And his sent was set upon the boarder, sent out in silent, marking tendrils. He exhaled sharply, a sound of mockery and of laughter unable to manifest. The black claws tore the earth, marking it, scarring it. "Why hide in a book of fantasy," that suave, empty tenor continued, "if the world does not accommodate such lies?"
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don't worry like at allll, i am the queen of slow D: 355 words.
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The other wolf was acting weird, and Tokyo neither liked it nor had any idea how she was actually expected to respond to it. Her discomfort, of course, was directly translated into annoyance and frustration. Carefully, slowly, the female dog-eared the page she was on, closing the book with the reverence it deserved. She sat up, leaning back against her right hand and settling her left protectively over the book now resting in her lap. Who did this odd male, this shadow, think he was? He spoke again, and she glared at him. Brimming with anger, but unsure how to lash out, unsure which barb would possess the most venom. Tokyo was not.. a kind creature, but she tried for the sake of her pack. This wolf clearly did not possess the tendrils of scent that distinguished one as a Dahlian. And thus she could act however she wanted. And what she wanted was to make him hurt, to make him regret the things he was saying. With her lung condition, her only weapon was words, and thus they were definitely worth pondering.
She couldn't find anything satisfying, though, before the silence caught up with her, slipping under her skin and crawling goosebumps up her back. So she did what she could. "You don't know what you're talking about. My mother was the smartest person in the world. Your mother probably didn't love you, with your ugly eyes and weird colors." The male's eyes weren't really ugly so much as terrifying, but that didn't sound quite as offensive. His coat was definitely weird looking, though, she hadn't ever seen anyone with that pattern of fur, even if she might have found it cool draping the frame of someone more pleasant. "There are truths in every story, fiction or not, even if you aren't smart enough to figure them out." Trying, with every word, to be as offensive as possible. "What are you doing here, anyway? This is Dahlian territory. I could probably have you killed for trespassing. Or are you so dumb you don't even understand basic pack courtesy?" Exaggeration and hypocrisy, all in a day's work!
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The brute sneered, watching her set aside the task at hand. Those black eyes watched only those of the female, unrelenting as he lay in silence. This thing was filled with arrogance—but such delusions were easily remedied. He could smell her anger clawing at the air, and yet, those paws of rage had been declawed and were useless against him. The brute tail shifted briefly, like a coiled snake. And indeed, even as he lay there, he was far from vulnerable. The Korean had, as his daughter, trained in those arts of war—it could be said that he had influenced Cwmfen in such a way as to create that martial creature. And he was in control of this situation, of his body and muscles, of his mind. He no longer required the controlling of his emotions, for they had long since been eliminated from his being. But emotion still lingered powerfully within that Dahlian thing, and it permeated through the air between them. Emotion would control the female thing because she could not control it.
There was a great silence before the thing decided to speak. That empty grin allowed a brief flash of teeth before it disappeared from that emotionless façade. "Love," the tenor voice sneered, "is the greatest of your delusions." As he spoke to her, the brute’s erected posture, even while laying, allowed him to look down at her over the bridge of his black maw. And as he spoke, it was almost as if he spoke not only to it but the entirety of the population within those lands. Of course, the words meant nothing. He dwelt only momentarily upon what she said about his mother. But he could recall her only vaguely. He did not love her. He had not loved anyone. Love was simply a word in which these things had placed a disgusting meaning, which meant that her mother had been delusional. And the colours of his coat—they were not colours but hues. It seemed as if knowledge was not becoming of this thing. "The truths of stories—those but exist in the minds of the teller. The truth of reality is right her before you." The sneer twitched at the corners of his lips.
And then it made the threat. The cold, grating laughter clawed at the air, mocking it. "What’s stopping you?" the quiet tenor soothed in challenge. "Even if you called the others to fight your fight, you’d be dead before they got here." There was a cold certainty in his words as those fathomless eyes watched the other. His maw twitched with the beginnings of that snarl, those jaws perpetually hungry. Death was a thing he had the power to give, and his mercy could allow life. He was like a god, and he did not hide his supposition from the world. He was above them, just as he was above her. And he could kill her easily. Or he could leave her for Cwmfen. It wasn’t safe for anyone here anymore.
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443 words.
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The weirdo said some cryptic statements, ones that didn't make much sense - about the nature of love, and truth. Honestly, though, Tokyo really didn't care enough to waste her time trying to puzzle out their meaning. Especially because his tone and her vague understanding of the words indicated that they were insulting, and the Dahlian female was riled up enough already, damnit. His cool demeanor, however, remained unchanged, no matter what she threw at him. It was seriously starting to piss her off. She couldn't understand how someone, anyone, could brush off insults like that as if Tokyo had said nothing of any importance. As if he didn't care what she thought.. as if she didn't even matter at all! She growled, low and rumbling, instinctively releasing anger that was not finding much purchase in it's desperate scrambling to hurt the male. Although honestly, in someone of her size, breathing condition, and gender, it sounded more like a really angry purr.
He spoke some more; a challenge. A threat filled, no doubt, with mere bravado. This stranger would kill her? Tokyo couldn't believe it. In fact, it was so outrageously ridiculous that she couldn't help but laugh, and the fury in her gaze dissipated some as a result. A wry smile twisted her maw. This wolf wouldn't even dare to lay a single paw on her. Why else would he be where he was, cowering on the other side of the border? He was afraid of the Dahlians. His threat was like those that Tokyo threw at puppies; empty, and dangerous only in theory. He wanted to terrify her, but she recognized in the words the sort of emptiness she tossed around, just by how exaggerated his claimed course of action was. To kill her! Absurd.
Well, she'd call his bluff. He'd certainly lose his composure, then, caught in an outright fabrication. "I hadn't decided if you were worth my time, yet." She titled her head, ice blue eyes glittering smugly. Tokyo was going to win any second. This was a moment to savor, her victory over the shadow that had so thoroughly gotten under her skin. "But I think it's only my duty to inform my pack. Even if you're clearly no threat to a full-grown adult, we do have a lot of puppies here. Some of them are small enough you might be a danger. If you catch them asleep, or something." Her tone was mocking, rich with condescension and flavored even with a hint of pity at how terribly dumb and weak this stranger was. She took a deep breath, preparing to let her howl ring out across the land.
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Excuse the crap, OnO
The Dahlian thing growled. It was a strange sound, as if something were wrong with its body. Such a thing would not have surprised the Korean brute—these creatures were so weak it was a wonder that they survived at all. But viruses had a way of doing that, of surviving, reproducing, and spreading their imminent weakness. And the thing was livid, as if his words were false. Did it dare doubt the words of a god? He was as close to a god as the Dahlian would ever get. Perhaps he could enlighten her. Perhaps she needed to be shown the weakness within her and the strength within him. The brute exhaled sharply in mockery. "You greatly underestimate my abilities," the tenor sound sneered, "And grossly overestimate the ability of yourself." The pied brute’s black tail flickered behind him like a hungry snake sensing that a meal was nearby.
The brute’s black lips twitched with that incomplete sneer, as dangerous as and incomplete combustion reaction. It would call the pack, it said, because the pups would be in danger while an adult could easily take him. "What are you wait for, whelp?" the tenor sound sneered, smearing the air with that blackness. "I won’t waste my time with you all day—you’re simply not worth it. Call the pack while they can still come to save you," that tenor soothes with those cold, assuaging tones. His voice was like the coo of a dove—or perhaps of a raven. The brute simply lay there, allowing the illusion of vulnerability to sit over his still form. Of course, his muscles had silently prepared themselves for abrupt and immediate action. And if the howl that hung on the edge of its throat sounded in the air, he could simply silence her—not kill, perhaps, but silence. And like the diamond wolf, this thing would easily fall to the mercy of the crow wolf’s cruel jaws.
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Naww, not crap! Mine is crap. ><; Sorry for the short. 205 words
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Tokyo hesitated twice. First at the fact that he was still unfazed by her calling his bluff, and second at the fact that now he was telling her to call. That almost made her want to call it off, to stop, because she sure as hell didn't answer to this guy and he had no right at all to boss her around. Except.. it was probably an elaborate trap. He was telling her to call because he didn't want her to. It was that fancy reverse psychology thing. Well, she was way too clever to fall for that. He was wrong; she didn't underestimate him, he underestimated her. It was blindingly obvious, and every time he went ahead and said something dumb like that it just further lowered her already low estimation of his intelligence and character.
Her hesitation had given him a chance to try and stop her - but he didn't take it. And thus, she reasonably concluded that he wouldn't interrupt her actual efforts. He would probably just run when reinforcements arrived. Taking another deep breath - this one a little harder to drag from complaining lungs - she let a howl ring forth, a request for help: an indication of emergency.
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It’s totally fine! ^=^ And I’m just going to use some slight PP to say that he cut her howl off just as it started—that way we can avoid having to involved the pack directly in this thread, ^=^
A sneer was allowed to persist upon his maw. There was that silence again as those black eyes watched it, and he knew that the thing did not believe him. Her disrespect was intolerable—he would be merciful enough to show her to respect him. There was a black laughter that echoed in the empty recesses of his mind. The things with which Cwmfen nic Graine surrounded herself were pitiful excuses—they could not protect her. Repeatedly the pied brute that was the warrior’s father would show that to her, would show to her the futility of her efforts. And, just as with the diamond wolf, he would be merciful. He would let this thing live. The Dahlian thing moved to make the call—he exhaled sharply with that sadistic amusement. This thing should thank him, should be grateful of his attention and mercy.
He was moving even as the thing lifted its head. He was silent and swift, striking like the snake that he was. There was no snarl of warning, of irritation, of anger. There was simply—nothing. And then, as the first notes began to arise, he leapt, those cruel jaws finding the flesh. Those teeth punctured her skin with an ease that made him giddy for blood, and indeed he drew it from her, his tongue, like that of a vampire bat, writhing in the wound he had made, pushing the flesh further to allow the blood to flow freely for him. He held her there, holding her by the place where her neck joined with the shoulder, the momentum of the secui’s body having pushed the victim to its back. And he was unmoving as he held her there, the power of his jaws merciful as he held back, squeezing with maddening slowness, daring her to cry out, to beg him to stop. He placed his massive paw in the place just beneath her breasts, those black claws unforgiving of her skin.
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yeah of course it's np  . 390 words.
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It took Tokyo a moment to make the connection. The two events seemed too jarringly different to have any sort of segue. She was opening her mouth, just starting to howl, and now she was on her back, and her shoulder was on fire. She pieced it together backwards: the stranger was on top of her, his paw pressing down on already weak lungs. So, he must have jumped. Teeth were digging into her shoulder, tearing up her shoulder; he must have bit her, must have closed his mouth upon her flesh. Her throat was a bit raw when she cried out at the continuing pain: she must have also cried out on impact.
She managed to turn squeals of pain into actual words, "Stop! Please! What are you doing?" Tokyo couldn't decide which was worse: the suffocating weight of his paw, with the pinpricks of claws piercing her skin, or the fierce bright star that was her shoulder. She squirmed reflexively, desperately trying to wriggle free of his grip, but she was solidly pinned and only hurting herself worse in the process of trying to escape. She was so frantic to get loose, so disbelieving of what was happening that she didn't actually make the connection between her struggling and the additional pain. So she kept struggling, stupidly, like a cornered animal.
What was he doing? The words she had already spoken hit her again. Didn't he know who she was? Didn't he know that this pack would bring down a fury like no other onto his head for his actions? A little worm gnawed at her brain, voicing a thought she hated herself for having: was this somehow her fault? Was it something she could have avoided? Should she not have goaded him, so? Tokyo had never been hurt, not like this. No one had dared. A couple people had tried, throughout her misadventures - but Champ had been there to ward them off, to save her. But now she was alone. Well, there was Princess, back at the den.. A bit of terror, unexpected and uncalled for, rose. If this beast could attack her so callously on her very pack lands, was Princess really safe here? Her very world views about her superiority and invincibility were not quite shattering, but definitely receiving some solid blows and widening cracks.
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The pied brute tore mercilessly at her flesh, leaving it to be a shredded mess. But he was merciful—he did not tear away large chunks of flesh as he had with Onus. Whatever sadistic code of honor ran with the brute, he was always merciful with the females, even if they were the wretched females of these lands. Her blood did not satisfy the male. Her blood was not sweet and delightful to the crow wolf’s tongue but bitter, disgusting, as if it were rotting. And perhaps she was rotting. The entirety of these lands rotted about him as it shone in the sun. But this place...it was not worth his attention. Where he could have imbedded the Darkness within these soils, he did not. And his mind laughed that mirthless cacophony. Her squeals and words rang to her true character—it was the same taste as her blood.
He wanted her to beg. She had asked him to stop, but that was not begging. It was not the same. He tasted the low quality of her lifeblood as she struggled beneath him, tearing her own flesh against him. Then, finally his jaws released her, feeling the labor of her breathing beneath him. So terribly fragile, he sneered. But the emotionless façade was untouched, those beautiful, almost effeminate features made terrible by that coldness. The pied brute rose above her, his tail raised in dominance as his maw traced along her neck. "You love life so dearly?" The cold, tenor voice dripped in mockery. "Beg for it," the brute commanded. "Beg, and I may give you my mercy." The black eyes pierced the lighter colors of the other, challenging her to do otherwise. His jaws were still hungering, not for her blood but for her life.
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445 words
His jaws unclamped from her shoulder, and Tokyo cried out again softly, this time with momentary relief. Of course, seconds later as the pain crashed and hit her, any and all relief was completely forgotten. She wasn't sure she'd go so far as to say she loved life, but she certainly was not ready to let go of it. At his request - well, demand - a cold defiance rose up in the female. Did he know what he was saying? She was Tokyo Chance, and even if she wasn't the strongest wolf out there, she was certainly the prettiest, and the bravest, and the coolest, the most intelligent.. And, well, lots of other things too. The point was, she shouldn't have to beg no piece of filth like this male for anything, let alone her life! What arrogance he had, to think that he could even pretend to have that sort of right!
Thoughts along that line darted through her mind like scattered autumn leaves caught in a breeze. It was about two or three seconds before the hurricane of pain and self-preservation sucked them up and crumbled them away to dust. Fuck yeah she was going to beg. She was going to get through this with minimal additional injury, and then once safely away from the situation she could go back to the place in her mind where she was certain she was superior to everyone else. The pied male wanted to hear her beg. He wanted to hear her fear, hear her unworthiness, etc etc. Well, she'd give him that - and by exaggerating, and trying to fit her words to an imagined idea of what he wanted, she would once again possess control of the situation, even if only within her own skull.
"Oh please, please let me live.." She gasped for air (not in pretense, really, her lungs were super not-happy). "I know I'm not worthy, and you could take away my life in a second, but please spare me, please show me some mercy... Please, don't orphan my puppies, they're no more than a month old, spare me for the sake of them.." She had flirted with the more pitiful lie of "I'm pregnant, don't kill my unborn babies!", but pregnant wolves tended to get this edge to her scent so she had gone with the harder-to-disprove option. Tokyo exaggerated her sobs, from that point on. Yeah, her shoulder fucking hurt, and her neck.. God, how much was she bleeding? But she distinctly made a point of exposing her fear, her pain, trying to feed the beast what he wanted so that he'd just glut himself already and move on.
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We could wrap this up in a couple of posts? ^=^ By the way, your characterization is so effectively fun, ^=^ Hahah, clash of the egos!
Those cries of pain satisfied the male. In his sadistic pleasures, the sounds of fear and pain satisfied him as no sound of pleasure and ecstasy could. The black eyes shone like cold obsidian as he watched her, the black lips of the emotionless façade flickering with some sinister hilarity. The black tail waved once above his form as if in dominance, for surely it was dominance that he now asserted over the pack wolf. The black orbs watched the defiance move through her as if she could not comprehend beyond herself. But he saw it set aside as she spewed some tale. The crow wolf did not care for her life. He cared only for the ending of her life or for his mercy that he had the power to exert. And yet, for all the idiocies that pilled from that foolish mouth, she spoke truth. She was worthless, and he could kill her. The only thing that allowed for mercy was his daughter. The game had only just begun, and he was not going to rush the game by making a kill so early along.
His maw was split by that terrible, snarling seer as if he snarled and laughed in silence. It was unnatural. Then, suddenly, that laughing snarl was wiped from his face, replaced by that cold, impassive façade. His jaws came close to her face, those fathomless orbs drinking in her prone form, her body posturing in that ancient display of submission. But simple submission was not enough for the crow wolf. It was never enough. "Our concern," the insidious voice practically hissed as he whispered in her ear, "is not of your viral procreation. I asked only of your life." He pulled away. The pitiful thing. How undeserving she was of his attention, and how merciful he was for giving it. "Do you even know," the tenor voice soothed, "how truly close you are to Death?" The cruel maw of the pied wolf ran along her throat, those bone white teeth merciless as they scraped along her skin.
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Sure thing. . Also, tyyy~ I do enjoy this thread, haha. 409 words.
Our concern? What the hell, this wolf was seriously demented. Who was he talking about? Surely he could not have meant Tokyo and his concern, it just didn't make any sense in context. Must be himself and his crazy. Blah blah viral procreation. Guess her "poor babies at home in the den" scheme didn't work, but she hadn't been pinning a terrible amount of hope on it, and she was still alive. She must be doing things right if he was actually considering killing her. And if he wasn't going to, then it didn't matter what she did. So she should stick to the strategy, tedious as submission and self-deprecation were getting.
His voice rose in a question; she backtracked mentally, retracing the words he had asked. Did she know how close she was to death? His teeth scraped against her skin, and she had to use every ounce of willpower to stay still. She was smart enough to realize that now, at least, moving would be a very bad idea. Those teeth were sharp, and the skin against her neck was fragile, shuddering slightly from her ragged breathing even at her stillest. Had her shoulder pain gotten worse? So focused was she on imminent survival, that when they were speaking, when she was desperately thinking, it had been easy enough to ignore. But in this ever-lasting, utterly silent tormented stillness, it seemed like her torn flesh was shouting in her ear. Willing her to move, slightly, to ease the pain somehow, to shift and make it better, although she knew in some part of her brain that that wasn't going to help.
Tokyo whispered, afraid to trigger a coughing fit from still-complaining lungs. He was certainly close enough to hear her. Her taste for the dramatic was present, too, even in a situation like this, and it seemed more appropriate not to break the silence. "I know I'm staring right at it." She was looking straight into his black orbs, searching for something, anything within them, but finding nothing but darkness. Regardless of her words, she didn't really, couldn't really believe that he would kill her - even now, even with the action so easily within his reach. At the same time, though, this character she had created, this persona she had formed to play the part of the victim, to fill his sadistic lust.. This character believed, and so within her voice there was no hint of a lie.
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No problem!
PM me after you’ve read this so that I can close and archive it. You can make another post if you’d like—just let me know~ ^=^
She was still beneath him, unmoving as his teeth tested the vulnerability of her skin. It was so thin, so surprisingly weak. With a mere flick of those cruel, hungering jaws, her blood could be spilled upon the earth. And yet, even before he had moved to spill her blood, he had already gifted her life to her. Like everything else, this was merely a game, and he had chosen to be kind. His serpent’s tongue flickered over the open would that bled with every meager beat of her heart. Those hollow eyes watched her mockingly. How like a whelp she was beneath him, afraid for life and yet too ignorant to know how close Death was, if the concept of Death was even grasped. Perhaps the concept of survival was lost—he did not know how human these things had become. He knew only of this weakness that shuddered beneath him, that struggled to capture even the air.
The thing’s response was enough. He did not know the implications of those particular words spoken with that particular voice, but he found that it did not matter. Had he not already ordained that her life would be spared? And whether the begging had been genuine or not, the words pleading words had been spoken to save her own skin. Was that not enough? He sneered. And his daughter, Cwmfen nic Graine mac Corvus, would know that her time was drawing near. It was inevitable. She would be made to come, and she would come. This thing beneath him...it was merely a warning. She would know.
The pied brute drew back, those black orbs meeting that insistent, insolent gaze with that hollow, heavy intensity. Despite that empty blackness, the sinister flames flickered with tongues that laughed mirthlessly with mockery. "Surely you should not tempt Death so," the tenor murmured with those emotionless tones. The flat façade was harsh and impassive upon his face as he looked down at her. Then he pushed off of her wretched form and turned his back on her, disappearing as a black wraith into the shadows of the trees. He departed from the lands in which is daughter was harbored. "She will know," the tenor voice soothed quietly as he departed, leaving the bleeding female to suffer alone and without solace.
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