[M] Strangers make the best of friends.

POSTED: Sat Feb 27, 2010 12:14 am

WARNING This thread contains: graphic sexual content, graphic violence, or extremely offensive material starting with the #th post. Reader discretion is advised.

WC 447

The day was surprisingly bright; the sun danced over the the remnants of the last snow fall and the birds sang as though announcing the soon-to-be springtime. Lucia, though she had not travelled far in this new place, had took shelter amongst the shoreline. A small collection of rocks circled around her like a cave without a roof; in humour, one could perhaps remark about the beautiful skylight. Her ebony legs lay stretched down the beach, sand clinging to the wetter parts of her fur and the smell of salt dancing around her like a new brand of perfume. She had originally travelled here to admire the ocean, perhaps salvage some paper and sketch it for later memories. However, during the trek, such thoughts had dissipated, leaving room only for the horrors which stalked the darkest corner of her mind.

Laying there, her jade orbs half closed as the ocean breeze whipped past her face, Lucia felt an odd sense of calm. If she were never to be disturbed or discovered again, it was something she could live with. This odd landscape had given her something she had not felt in a while. Peace, a silencer to the voices which whispered in the back of mind, seeping into the individual wrinkles like poison to her veins. Unbeknown to the shadowy femme, company was not far down wind. The sweet scent of salt water had clouded her senses, and her current state of calm had allowed her once excessively high guard to be currently non-existent. As such, if the one(s) who disturbed her tranquillity were of unfriendly nature, Lucia would surely be unprepared; even if her green rucksack did sit neatly at her side.

With a light sigh, a small smile curled over the unsuspecting female's lips. She inhaled deeply, exhaling as though it were cigarette smoke and the taste was all too precious to be released quickly. Stretching herself out even further, she lay completely in the sand; an urge to wave her arms and legs and create the shape of an angel biting away at her heels. With closed eyes and a placid smile on her face, she seemed an unlikely suspect for anything other that innocence and generosity, yet this was quite the opposite. Her personality was as mangled as the single scar that sprawled itself over her left optic, glaring at the world with a come-closer-and-I'll-bite-you sort of attitude.

As the waves rustled back and forth, Lucia's eyes grew heavy. Insomnia made such things a rare occurrence in her life, and as such, she thankfully slipped into this world of dreams, unaware of the now looming shadow of company which had invaded her privacy.

POSTED: Sat Feb 27, 2010 5:12 am

It was a bizarre sense of luck that nothing too terribly momentous had happened in the war while he was healing. Or maybe things had happened and news had simply not gotten around to him. That was perfectly understandable. He spent most of his time in the Landfill (where not many people really thought to go) focusing on not moving so he could heal as quickly as possible. He wasn't exactly in the loop. But that was going to steadily change now—the vertical slash which intersected his prior wound so ironically was mostly healed now. He had regained most mobility in his shoulders and he was feeling pretty good. Not exactly ready to go about fighting once more, but he was getting there.

He was beginning to feel like a canvas on which others were meant to come across and leave their twisted signatures on. Foxhound—of course—had been first to stake a claim; Snake had carried the mark from his knife for half of his life. And now he had the claw-marks on his shoulder from that Dahlian and the wicked slash down his chest from his friend who, in a fit of insanity, decided to attack him. He wondered what he would look like when he got old. Then he realized that that was a ludicrous thought. He was a soldiers. Soldiers don't get the chance to get old.

These thoughts were not new to him—they had been ingrained since childhood. He lived daily; the future was a pretty yet absurdly abstract concept that he refused to acknowledge. So without further ado he set out for the beach, not paying attention to where he was wandering. He was pleased to be mobile once more, free. He was a good soldier, and a good soldier knew when to sit out and when to get back in the game. It was about Goddamn time. He could only sit and stare at the fire burning in the pit next to the car he slept in so much before he started to go crazy.

Eventually he came across someone, a woman who appeared to be taking a nap along the shoreline. He paused for a second, wondering if she was in any danger from the tide. He doubted it. The coyote took the wasting cigarette from his mouth and considered speaking. But he was not a social creature; he did not want to disturb if he could help it. He began to walk on as he had before.

POSTED: Sat Feb 27, 2010 9:29 am

WC 544
Great post! :D

The world of pleasant dreams had begun to fade; the twisted corridors of her mind curling around the virtuous like vines strangling a newly sprouted tree. Words of hatred echoed in the black female's mind, they danced seductively with the images of spilt blood and forgotten memories. This nightmare, though a daily ritual in her sleeping pattern, had begun to cause distress in the fingers and muscles of the slumbering canine. They twitched, slight at first, then stronger and more rapid. It was only when the cold wash of the ocean splashed over her shins, and the scent of a male floated nonchalantly through her nostrils, that the ebony came back to reality, if not a little dazed and confused.

Rubbing her eyes, Lucia slowly pulled herself to an upright sitting; watching the horizon momentarily before noticing a male not far off from where she had been laying. Glancing over the prints left in the wet sand, it appeared as though he had passed her not two seconds ago. Weary, Lucia's hands scuffled with the myriad of junk that littered the innards of her green pack. With it all intact and accounted for, a dazed Lucia rose to a stand and brushed away the clumps of sand with a feminine shake.

Meetings had been few and far between. There had been little in the sense of company since she had arrived at this mysterious land. Though the terrains had been breathtaking, and the strangers she had come across, intriguing, Lucia was yet to find someone who truly sparked her interests. As of late, this land had served merely as a place to study, smoke, drink and try to block out those vicious memories of her past. Flinging her rucksack across her right shoulder, one strap loosely dangling by her hip, the female pulled out a cigarette from one of the many side pockets. Placing it between her lips, she slowly began trailing after the male who had unknowingly saved her from her demons.

She shouted, gently enough to show respect, but loud enough to hopefully get the male's attention. “Hey...!” Her slow paces folded neatly into a small jog, but slowed as soon as she were not more than two feet away from her new companion. Her lips bore a smile, though it probably resembled more of a confused glimmer, and her eyes drifted casually over the body of this male. Her first thoughts were of the adventurous sex and drug binges she had participated in on her travels, yet this was quickly replaced by a feeling of not knowing what to say. Not wanting to sound stupid, or perhaps even a little weird (despite knowing that, in fact, she was more than just a little weird), Lucia spoke the first thought that entered after her momentary reminiscing of her sexual antics.

“Got a light?”
Her tone was a little abrupt, though not intentionally, and as such, her hands now curled the wavy black hair that brushed down her back. Anxiety had begun to settle, and as such, the black female dropped her gaze to the floor; malachite eyes now tainted by an apologetic, almost moronic aura. It had just occured to her, she didn't even know if he smoked.

POSTED: Wed Mar 03, 2010 2:19 am

Yours was better, I assure you.

The white noise of the ocean and its relentless war against the shore drowned out whatever indication he might have obtained of her waking—he had no idea that she had until she was a short distance behind him, shouting for his attention. The coyote stopped, turning to face the stranger. His posture was decidedly nonthreatening; he had to keep it that way because he had realized that he was beginning to look... frightening. Anyone would notice the scars on his chest, the knife in its clasp in the small of his back, a kind of disciplined demeanor that spoke of a warrior. Or maybe they wouldn't—he didn't really know. He certainly had been garnering lots of strange looks, though, and he made a mission of trying to diffuse any anxieties.

He was a very poor judge of age—it came from his decided contempt for it. Snake was only a yearling, but no one could say that he acted it. No, he felt much older, and he acted much older. Some folks he met were many times his age and still acted like children. But if he had to guess, he would say that she was roughly his own age. A wolf, no pack, dark-furred, and not that tall for a wolf (which was always nice, as Snake was usually shorter naturally due to his being a coyote, and he disliked looking up at people). But these were all simple observances, just as easily printed off in binary from a computer describing someone in a photograph. He had no more thoughts on the matter just now—unlike most, Snake had a remarkable lack of judgment when he first met someone. This meant that first impressions were even more imperative.

The olive-eyed coyote was a little perturbed that a stranger—and a wolf at that, they who usually held reservations towards his own kind—would be so forward, but he had met others like her, he supposed. He wondered what she wanted, and when she asked, he was a little cautious. Someone who owned cigarettes was either very stupid or very unfortunate not to have a light with them—he was disinclined to believe she was either, so it seemed that she was merely trying to formulate an excuse to talk with him. He didn't mind, but it was odd. He was unremarkable in his own eyes, and most who spent twenty minutes with him generally felt uneasy. It was the silence, the lack of emotion that got most of them. It was generally amazing to find someone who didn't mind. But that was beside the point. The sandy-furred coyote drew a pack of matches from his pocket (he had not yet found a lighter; unlucky, he supposed) and struck it, lighting the cigarette that was held in her mouth. He shook the match and tossed it into the surf.

He didn't know what to say then, but that was normal—conversation was a very strange and obstinate thing for him. He still didn't even know if she had any further intentions besides getting her cigarette lit. So Snake did as he usually did when unsure—remained neutral. In this case, it meant that he remained silent.

POSTED: Wed Mar 03, 2010 9:57 am

WC 969
Not entirely sure where I was heading with this post, but oh well. Hope you like it, xD.

A moment of gray filtered over the landscape; a single, relatively large cloud buried the sun, causing a small chill to swell across the ocean, whipping lightly at Lucia's thighs, her hackles rising as though goosebumps on a child's skin. As she waited patiently for the male to respond, she wondered if he had already figured out that she did in fact possess a lighter, yet merely used her plea for fire to break the ice. It was a curious thing, conversation, for she had read no books on the arts of it, yet somehow managed to start them up with anyone who happened to cross her path. As such, her emerald eyes traveled slyly over the body of this male, as though trying to penetrate his thoughts, see into his history; get a feel for his personality, to make things a little easier for the both of them. It appeared that he seemed a little tense, and being a traveler, Lucia put it down to species; coyotes and wolves rarely conversed, even on the highways and camps she had been to in the past, and once upon a time, she too would have followed such a code, yet nowadays, loneliness was a cruel thing, and wolf or not, he had an interesting glow around him. There was something that drew her to him, and as she studied his form, she began to sketch a picture in her mind.

The first spark of interest was the knife; it gleamed in the light like crystals forming in a cave. The ocean breeze seemed to polish the blade, making it stand out in the relatively harmless surroudings. A smile tugged at her ebony lips, but with the uncomfortable silence, she refrained from allowing her emotions to show too much.
“Nice blade,” she nodded her head in the direction of his back, “I have two myself, though not as nice as that.” The compliment was genuine, for she had scavenged her daggers from a dumping ground (perhaps once a city as rumors had stated). “Mine are old and rusting,” she admitted, “I found them a while back, during my travels. Know how to use it?” She couldn't help but smile now, for Lucia's combat was specifically with knives and claw, and though she had no intention of fighting with this male, it appeared that he had been in his own fair share of battles; the scars on his chest reading like an open book.

With her cigarette now lit, her slender digits slid around it, pulling it from her lips as she inhaled the smoke thankfully. Her eyes glimmered with appreciation, though smoke filtered from her nostrils like a dragon readying a mouthful of flames, a glossy halo of white fog wrapped around her skull.
“Thank you for the flame,” she whispered softly, her tone changing momentary. Kindness was a rare thing indeed, and for all intensive purposes, she had expected her question to go unanswered. “The name's Lucia,” she continued, now aware that all the conversation was on her part. It made her a little uneasy, but she hoped her forward nature would break the ice, perhaps make the stranger less tense.

Lifting the cancerous stick to her lips once more, the tip glowed a fresh shade of orange, the thick taste of tobacco on her tongue. Most of the time, Lucia smoked more out of habit than enjoyment, but today seemed a little different. For once her body welcomed the poisonous smoke and the strange taste, her muscles relaxing and her eyes fixated on the male who had given her this small piece of heaven. At first she had failed to notice, but as her eyes fell over his frame once more, the silence slowly drilling into her head like a bad dream, she noticed the uniqueness of his eyes. They danced in a smooth shade of olive, almost as hypnotizing as a moth to fire. His emotionless stance reflected almost beautifully in these viridian orbs; it was like looking in a mirror, though her own eyes were a shade or two darker, resembling more the color of absinthe than spring grass, and his did not give shelter to scars. Her left eye, though beautifully shaped and unique in color, was the resting place to a single scar. A mangled line, for were claw had connected with flesh when she was a lot younger, a constant reminder of her past, and for some reason, a good conversation starter. Unsurprisingly, Lucia much preferred the lighting of cigarettes than discussing the nature of her deformity.

“Nice eyes,”
the words fell off her tongue without a second thought, and as her own ears listened to herself, embarrassment tore at her fragile frame. Her skin burned underneath its blanket of black fur, and her eyes dropped to the ground. Dragging heavily on her cigarette, Lucia waited in silence, her spare hand fiddling anxiously with the strap of her bag, twisting a thread between her fingers as though trying to distract herself from the feelings of idiocy and shyness that had now set in. Through it all, confidence was not often her strong point and though she had done well to start off with, one remark shifted her entire persona. “Err,” she stuttered quietly, trying not to look at the male, her breath sharpening in her lungs, it almost hurt to breath. If there were ever a time for the ground to swallow her whole, she would gladly take the offer now. A single word rolled off her tongue, as though summing up her general feelings on the subject at hand, as she waited eagerly for some sort of response, half expecting laughter or taunting, for she had never been too good at making friends. “...Bugger...”


POSTED: Thu Mar 04, 2010 1:03 am

It was an interesting first topic—not many had anything positive to say about the blade that he carried. Most liked to ridicule it as an obsolete human artifact. Luperci today figured themselves superior to humans, with their mouths full of razors and their claws like stilettos. Snake disagreed. Humans were masters at the art of killing—they could end a life from several dozen yards away simply by twitching a finger, and he didn't even know anything of missiles, bombs, or biologics. No, he had reverence for them while most had hatred or ignorance. He had lived in their cities, and he knew that they had been far more powerful. They simply had not the strength against a rapid disease. There was nothing to say to that. Perhaps the Luperci would all perish to a similar contagion years from now. One never knew, and Snake tried not to guess.

Still, it was an odd thing to be complimented on, and he was unsure of what to say; this meant that he said nothing. Her initial question was as easy as breathing to answer, though: "Yes, I have been taught." When fighting with teeth and claws, you got lucky if you killed swiftly. With a knife, it was easy—cut their throat or stab their heart. Snake didn't take any bloody joy in violence, unlike his brother. In truth, he didn't exact joy from much of anything. There was a vague satisfaction of being superior to an opponent, but that was it for him. He didn't have any problems with fighting with a blade when others scoffed—it was how he had been taught, and the object itself was also a gift. Snake had been given three gifts in his life, and he kept all of them with him: the bandanna on his head, the necklace around his neck, and the knife clasped behind his back.

He shrugged in response to her thanks; he knew the thank-yous well enough, but the your-welcomes were still a little beyond his comprehension. Just trivialities that had become traditional, such as introductions. She gave hers, Lucia. "I'm Snake," he replied automatically, as if programmed and continuing, "Nice to meet you." He was still a little cautious, however—one aspect of a good soldier was never letting your guard completely down. He had been attacked by a good friend (not in his right mind) and that was how he had been given the most impressive of his scars. It was all because he had let his guard down, let emotions get in the way. He would not make that mistake again.

The coyote smoked steadily. He had only recently begun smoking; it had not been socially-impressed or anything. He had found it a way to distract his mind when resting, recovering. It also helped dull pain a little, though he wasn't sure if that was actual or if it was just the result of a vacant mind. He didn't really care. It was calming, and he was ignorant of any detrimental effects (just as humans had been for hundreds of years). Even if he did, he wouldn't have any inclination of stopping. Soldiers, like other people in dangerous lines of work, smoked often. Perhaps it was just a side-effect of a fatalistic train of thought, the kind of 'I'm going to die some day anyway' kind of thing. That would have been his counter-argument.

Her complimentary comment was not strange to him. Well, unexpected in topic, but not strange. Snake was not one easily insulted, easily pleased, or easily unsettled. He was an astoundingly neutral person, more like a machine than a man in most aspects. She seemed to be far more affected than him, immediately dropping her gaze and acting in an agitated manner. No, not agitated—he remembered this to be embarrassment. The coyote didn't get embarrassed; one could say that he was extremely secure in himself, but the truth was that he just didn't think about it. The list of things that he actually cared about was... extremely short. Anyway, "You don't have to be embarrassed. I don't mind." He gave a brief pause before adding, "Thanks." He didn't return the compliment because he usually didn't put much stock in physical attributes. Snake also wasn't the man to say something out of character to gain a good impression.

POSTED: Thu Mar 04, 2010 11:33 am

WC 896.

Lucia nodded politely toward the coyote, accepting his thanks and trying swiftly to change the circumstances in which she had buried herself in. Staring blankly at the sand, the ebony female tried to recollect her thoughts, her mind racing and her heartbeat echoing in her auds. It had been strange hearing the silent stranger speak, for Lucia had expected his tone a little deeper perhaps, or, well, she hadn't really known what to expect – she was just glad he had spoken, and that the ice was broken. Smiling to herself, her eyes rose to meet the gaze of the male – his expressionless face oddly unnerving at this moment in time, as she had never met anyone like him.

“Forgive me for saying such things--”, she paused - a curious tone in her words, as though she had not figured him out enough, or perhaps, he hadn't really allowed enough knowledge slip. She always did have an obsession with learning, whether it be subjects that helped aid her in day-to-day life, or about the various strangers that crossed her path. Knowledge, in her mind, was a weapon stronger than any knife, gun – or any other instrument that could be used to kill somebody. To her, having the upper hand meant knowing as much as possible about the one who opposed you – and for all intensive purposes, Lucia felt that was the whole world. “--but you seem tense? Is there something bothering you?” She tried to smile again, yet her lips simply curled into a strange half-smile, half-glance of confusion. Realizing this, her face gave way to a blank canvas once more, and her eyes studied the coyote carefully. He was definitely an interesting specimen when it came to personality, Lucia could already tell that, yet her deeper desires were to know why he seemed this way – what made him tick, and what made him so... silent.

Glancing upward, as she awaited some sort of answer to her strange, if not, relatively out of place, question, Lucia noticed the sky had began to fade into a light shade of gray. Drifting over toward the horizon, ocean spilling out as far as the eye could see, she took note of the darker clouds which rolled into their general direction.
“Looks like rain,” she muttered quietly, not really including the male, yet allowing it to be heard in case he did want to respond to that as well.

Shivering slightly, another breeze catching her off-guard, the obsidian female turned her attention back to her quiet companion. It was pretty obvious at this point, to Lucia anyway, that conversations were not a daily routine in this male's schedule – as such, Lucia pondered the possibility of if they would ever actually cross paths again after this day. Intrigued by this though, her mind pulled her out of reality and into the winding corridors of her brain; each thought well placed and well plotted – there was an odd sense of fondness developing for the coyote, though she doubted such feelings were in her favor on his side of the fence.

Pursing her lips, Lucia began to speak, though paused soon after – she, in all honesty, had not a clue what she would say. He seemed pretty blunt, small talk being a big thing at this moment in time. In an effort to get away from that situation, Lucia decided it best to push forward – though not as confidently as before.
“So, Snake,” a soft whisper to her voice, as though trying to telepathically explain that she was generally nice to have around – trying to avoid all possibilities of showing her, in lack of a better word, nasty temper. “--tell me about yourself?” She began to smile, but stopped halfway through, figuring it better to display her emotions orally and through her eyes, than through literal expressions of smiles, frowns, and so on. “--Do you have a pack? A family? A lover?

Her tone twisted at the end, a slight shift in her persona. It was very small, yet for anyone who knew body language, or even just the way tones displayed emotional barriers, one would guess that her inquiry of a mate was not, in fact, Lucia's doing. Though, if such a thing was even mentioned to Lucia, no doubt she would blame it on the binges of her younger days – not wanting to admit there was a problem. Denial was something she could master very well, and a lot of time, she never failed to do just that. “Well,” she continued, voice slipping back into a kind-mannered whisper, “what I guess I'm asking is--” she shifted slightly, her muscles rippling under her blanket of fur; her eyes watching closely, as though looking for some kind of reaction, maybe a button to press, or a way to get under his skin. That was the thing about Lucia; she always liked to be remembered, and the best way was to set some sort of impression – good or bad – it didn't always matter, yet in this case, good was the preferred method; she had her doubts about that too though, so she just went with the flow and prayed for a good outcome. “--What's your story?”


POSTED: Thu Mar 04, 2010 11:59 pm

Btw, in what territory is this set in?

He didn't feel the need to forgive her—he believed that if people spoke what was on their mind more often, a lot of meaningless trouble would be prevented. It was one of his own personal aspects, telling the blunt truth whenever asked. Snake often seemed enigmatic, but it was only because of his distant nature. He did not withhold information. Whatever someone asked, he would answer truthfully. It was really the fault of whoever was curious about him, not having the guts to ask him what was on their mind. That, by his reasoning, returned right back to his first code of speaking what you thought. He spoke as he thought and spoke truthfully, and he had not really gotten in much trouble yet. That would probably change, however. There was always a counter-example.

The coyote blinked at her slight concern. Tense? Yes, he suppose he felt tense, but he was always like that. It was not being tense or upset, it was being cautious and aware. Snake harbored a slight paranoia that might have driven others mad; with his calm mind, it was much more like a casual reminder. He shook his head, answering, "Nothing is bothering me. I suppose that I am usually like this." He could have continued to say that his clan was at war with a nearby wolf pack, but that might be too much information. If she asked, though, he wouldn't have any trouble talking about it.

The weather was worsening, as Lucia pointed out. The bright (and yet not really warm, per se) sunshine of earlier was blocked out by gray clouds that rolled in from across the sea. He glanced up to the sky to check, but didn't say anything about it. Rain, snow, sleet, hail—he could usually endure it and, if not, he would go and wait it out until it stopped. He had no peeves about getting rained on or whatever. Wolves lived outside; there was no reason to get finicky about things like that.

His attention returned when her tone changed, his name becoming nothing more than a sibilant whisper as she said it. Unsure, he remained quiet, crossing his arms. She had finally gotten to the part of asking the questions, parts of which made the fur along his spine prickle with surprise. He was busy formulating a response when she gave up the overarching theme of her inquiries, a general "who are you?" type of deal. Not many had bothered to come out straight with it like that before. He started with her first questions, working systematically through the list. "A pack? Yes, a clan, Inferni. It is up the coast. A family? Yes, everyone has a family. I haven't seen mine in several months, and I don't intend on seeing them in the future. And a—lover?" The emphasis to which he gave the word was much different than hers, on the fringes of disparaging but generally just sounding alien. "No."

Snake was—to put it lightly—damaged. Someone's childhood was very important to their development, and his was key to understanding his psychology. There had been no love or affection. His mother generally treated them well, but whether or not she cared about either Snake or his brother Foxhound was up to her. She had said she'd wished they were 'normal', so apparently she didn't love them as much as she should. Snake had thought his father to be Patriot, the cruel tyrant of New Haven, for his entire stay there. Patriot had pitted Snake and his brother against each other (eventually leaving itself as the horizontal slash across Snake's ribs). So when he escaped from that place and eventually met up with his real father, the affection between his parents seemed strange and almost disturbing to him. In order to become a perfect weapon, Patriot had tried to devoid Snake of emotions. That encompassed love, and blocked everything else.

"My story? I was born in a city called New Haven. I was kept a prisoner because my mother and the ruler had a... falling out, of sorts." He left the fact that they were ex-mates and that Nikita had mothered seven of his children out of it. "The tyrant trained me to be a soldier so I could serve him. I escaped with my mother before the end of it. We traveled, I met my father, and then I left and came here. Now I fight and serve for Inferni." Sparing a lot of the details, that was pretty much it. "What did you do before you came here?" It seemed only polite to ask. Or just an obligation.

POSTED: Tue Mar 09, 2010 12:42 pm

WC 1234.
Quarts Shoreline :)

The words seemed to trickle of his tongue at ease, as though he had programmed himself to respond exactly like that to whomever inquired about his life, or the world around him. This seemed strange to Lucia, for all the acquaintances she had stumbled across, all the varieties of personalities that had crossed her path, told their stories, spoke about life, none had ever been as straight forward, or as closed off as him. This, in itself, irritated the female somewhat, for she was never very good at making conversation, nor at trying to get others to open up. It was not, in this case, for leverage or personal enjoyment – she was genuinely curious about this male, about his way of life, about his past, and though he had told her bits and pieces, she could tell they were mere scraps of information to keep her satisfied; there was secrets to his tale, yet like everyone else, secrets were like a shield, protecting feelings and emotions – or perhaps in this case, protecting the lack of emotion.

Tilting her head slightly, the female was fixated by him. The quiet void that stood before her in the form of a canine, it was beyond strange. There was once a time that she could have related to his situation, yet with her continuous blackouts and memory loss, Lucia had pulled herself away from that abyss, wanting to enjoy herself – and remember happiness, rather than all the bad karma she harvested inside her mind. As she let the words he had spoken echo in her mind, trying to read between the lines, see something that could not be seen, she felt her tongue twitch, words falling from her maw like water from a tap that refused to turn off. This, though it didn't happen often, seemed to be repeating around him – there was perhaps a trigger in him to make her say her thoughts, and that, though it was not yet a threat, could cause problems. She prayed to whatever higher power may perhaps watch over the world that he would not take offense – and if he did, well... she would have to deal with that little slice when it came to it.

“No lover?”
Shock filled her tone, her eyes reflecting a strange light, almost flirtatious – yet well hidden. “How comes?” She smiled lightly, as though trying to make the situation a little more comfortable – the words had already been said, there wasn't much else she could do apart from plead forgiveness for being so bold and intruding – but that, in all honesty, was not her style. “Have you ever loved?”

Awaiting some kind of response, the female's mind continued to bend over the rest of the information Snake had thrown her – like scraps to a rabid dog. There were so many questions building up inside her, she wondered if they all would just rise into the conversation as bluntly as the rest. It made her nervous slightly – for there were boundaries and lines that shouldn't be crossed, and being that she had only just met him, there were no pointers to state when that line had been stepped over. Due to this, Lucia decided that she should maybe push her luck a tiny bit more – see if there was any reaction from it, see if she could trigger those pointers to visualize; and hopefully not cause any conflict in the process.

Shifting herself slightly, body growing uncomfortable with the stillness of the situation, the quiet conversations that flowed to and from the pair, Lucia's mouth parted again. The words, this time, were quieter – more controlled. She wanted to speak her mind, dig up more skeletons from his closet; she wanted to get to know him properly. Perhaps in some remote wrinkle of her brain, she wanted him to be a friend. If that were the case then Lucia needed to figure him out, and quickly – she had no idea if she would ever see him again after this day, and though she would never admit such to his face, she would definitely like to cross paths once or twice more in the near future.

“Why did they fall out?”
She asked, the question directing toward his mother and the ruler he spoke of. “Where's New Haven?” She wondered if she had ever came upon it during her travels – it would be quite interesting if she had, for then she could see if that journey and the knowledge she may have gained there, could be of any use to figuring out why this coyote seemed so shut down. It could almost be called robotic.

“Before here,” she paused, realizing that she had almost changed the subject a little too hastily. She smiled, though it remained forced – almost fake. She wasn't sure how to react with him right now, she couldn't decide if her emotions made her inferior to him – to be honest, she wasn't sure of anything. He made her doubt everything. That silent gaze, that abyss of emptiness that scratched itself across his face – it was a little mysterious, and in a strange, almost twisted sense, Lucia found it mildly attractive.

“--I traveled,”
she said bluntly, weary of going any deeper. There were so many blanks in her mind that even she couldn't piece all of the puzzle together. With a muttered sigh, the ebony female continued – telling only what she knew; there was no point in lying. “I used to live with my mother – but she was killed by a rapist,” she paused, a flashback in her mind; her eyes narrowing and a lump in her throat; there was still anger in the memories. “--My father.” The words were growled, violent. There was almost a threatening aura around Lucia now; there were inner demons and they were restless. “I killed him in return... Then left my home and traveled. I've been many places, done many things – I educate myself in various topics to pass the time.” Her body slumped, relaxed itself with the change of topic. She was calm again, and perhaps a little more sheltered about her own past than she realized – hers, as a matter of fact, remained more sketchy than his. It was a strange revelation.

“What are your skills?”
She inquired finally, her words trailing into the growl of the ocean waves. There was drops of rain casually slipping down her pelt now; the clouds slowly bursting, and the small specks of rain beginning to reach the land. Glancing upward, Lucia winced slightly; a drop landing atop her scar, almost like a cold slice of a knife – or perhaps just a flashback of the claw which had torn her flesh so long ago. It triggered a question that even she didn't understand the roots of it – there had been no thought to it, no processing of whether it was relevant to their conversation. It just rolled off her tongue like saliva for a fresh kill. This worried the female – there was something wrong. There was something (or someone) speaking things she didn't want to say. There was almost terror in this theory – though it did not show.

“Do you like being alone?”


POSTED: Fri Mar 12, 2010 5:46 am

He might appear to be shielding, but in truth he was trying to do the opposite. Snake did not really fear divulging information about himself, but he would not do so needlessly. If someone prompted about his family, he would tell them who they were and where they were. But they would have to ask again what he thought of them to know that, or anything further such as that. It was like calling commands on a computer—it would respond how you asked, but anything beyond that would need more input. Most were afraid of trespassing on his feelings; a futile attempt. He was not easily offended, just put slightly off balance. He adjusted, slowly, to those that he met. He believed that becoming offended by someone stemmed secretly from a lack of security within oneself. Snake had no illusions with who or what he was, so he didn't get offended. It was either that or he just knew how perfectly superficial insults were regardless. Snake believed in one old adage: Sticks and stones may break bones, but words never hurt me.

This was why he appeared dully surprised at her electric reply—there was a curious spark in her vibrant green eyes that was alien to him, but he did not comment on it. No one had really asked him about this particular subject before; he had no precedents to go from. He hadn't thought it so disturbing or strange, but apparently it was to this Lucia. But her next few questions were ones that gave him some pause. Usually he would answer without any thought, but this was always one of those thornier subjects he tried to navigate around. They all clung to love like it was more vital to life than blood—Snake could not understand.

Had he ever loved? The simple answer was no. It is hard to do when one never received much affection regardless. Sometimes he felt that his mother had some small tenderness for him, but that was only between her bouts of self-hatred for being unable to have a "normal" child. His brother had cast him as his enemy; while Snake did not hate him, he did not like to be near him either. He had not known his father for so long that he didn't know how to feel when he had met him—most attempts at a connection that Laurel had offered his son had fallen on deaf ears. And as for everything else, Snake had really not met many others in his life. In New Haven, he had been restricted from the general public. On the run, no one until they met Laurel. After that, it was family friends and wanderers and always the need to move on, move on. Here, he had not found anything either—not that he was even looking in the first place. Affections were merely weaknesses in his point of view. If he had not formed any friendship with Daisuke, he would not have the disfiguring scar on his chest. That was all the proof he needed.

All this rolled through his head as he was wordless; he probably didn't need to say anything, because the cryptic look he gave the wolf was enough to answer her question. He felt obligated to at least attempt to answer that first one, so he said quietly, "It had never come up." Of course, Snake was so obstinately thick when it came to any affections directed towards him that he would never know unless someone came out and just said it.

The subject turned towards his own history, or his mother's to say the least. Snake would be lying if he said he wasn't a little pleased with the transition. This was far easier to explain. "My mother was his mate a while ago," he said, leaving out that Patriot had not ever been formal in the relationship. Snake knew that he did not limit himself to one woman in New Haven. "She was with him for many months before realizing who he was and how he was changing her—she didn't like either. She escaped, and that angered him. She returned later to New Haven to face him a final time. A fool errand; he captured her again. It was in that imprisonment that she realized she was pregnant." Of course not Patriot's, but those of man she had traveled with and grown close to. As for New Haven itself, "It is west of here, and perhaps a little south. A great human city, falling into disrepair."

She answered his question then, remarking on the focal points of her own past history. He was silent as she recalled her parents, a mother who was killed by a man who had given her children against her will and how one child had taken her revenge over him. While it was a more different story than he normally heard from passersby, he didn't know what to think of it. A dark and depressing tale, but life was as it was. Was he supposed to say he was sorry? He doubted it; she seemed resolute in her actions, as far as he could tell. He was not sure if he would have done the same in her place. In the end, he was satisfied with her answer—he didn't feel the need for any more intricate details.

"I was trained to fight—I am skilled in little more. In biped and quadruped forms, with weapons and without. I was trained to ignore pain. That sort of thing," he answered. "What sort of things did you learn along your travels?" The rain was beginning to fall in earnest now; he could feel its chill running down his body like trailing fingers. It was somewhat refreshing, he thought. He was distracted by this when she asked her final question. He looked to her once more, pondering his response. At last he said, "Like?" It was to highlight the meaning of what he meant—he did as he had always done, there was no pleasure within it. Did he like being alone? No, but it was what he knew. He was sure that if he had grown up being with others, he would feel the same way. "It is what I know. In familiarity, I suppose I am at ease with it. But that does not mean I like it or dislike it." He didn't feel the need to ask her if she liked solitude—seeing as though she had sought his company while he had been content to leave her alone, it showed that she liked it enough.

POSTED: Tue Mar 23, 2010 12:18 pm

WC 563

His words met with her auds gracefully. They skipped through the corridors of her mind, sliding into doorways and rooms of cabinets like the ocean before her. All that he spoke of stored itself inside her brain, not intentionally perhaps, but stored nonetheless. As he mentioned about his memory, the history behind his life and style that he now possessed, Lucia's eyes travelled toward the direction of where he claimed New Haven had once been. Though Lucia had not been there, the way Snake spoke of it made her grateful for that fact – in all honesty, she already knew that she hadn't, yet the question seemed simple enough and she did like to try and have conversation most of the time. It made the voices disappear.

“I am sorry for your past,”
she whispered softly, not entirely sure what it meant to be sorry for such things anyway. It wasn't like it was her fault, or her doing that caused the misfortune, yet as always, there was little that could be said in response to such a memory, thus sorry seemed the best approach, even though she knew it probably did little good, nor made the memory any less heavy to bare. However, Lucia figured that as long as she felt good about it, and that she had slid in her two cents, that it did not matter. The conversation would move forward, and that would be that.

“It appears you fared quite well over the years,”
she continued, smiling as her gaze returned to Snake's form. “I would love to see you fight sometime. Do they run arena's here? Challenges?” She paused, remembering all the times she had fought – sometimes for money, sometimes for fame, most of the time it was survival, and here she stood. Alive, well, all intact bar one single scar – an impressive record, or so she thought. “Did you train yourself, or be trained?”

Tilting her head, she nodded politely at his question, pondering on what she should or shouldn't tell.
“I taught myself a variety of things,” she admitted, eyes traveling to the ground as she remembered all the books she had read, all the goals she had set herself; all the failures and successes that warped her twisted mind. “I can speak several languages if the occasion ever arose. I taught myself basic healing techniques, and I am still increasing my botany knowledge,” she paused, only rising to meet his gaze once more, her body almost statuesque, “I can tattoo... just about, and I can fight,” her eyes lit up as she mentioned that word, as though recalling all the battles she had faced in the past, winning and losing wasn't what fighting meant for her; it was a release, an escape from all the horrors that were tucked away in her fragile mind, a way to stop the anger from consuming her. “I am trained with knives mainly, but I can hold my ground with tooth and claw if it were required...” She paused once more, thinking deeply for a moment. There were so many questions, so many curious things in her mind, she knew not what to ask next. She just prayed he didn't grow tiresome of her, like so many beforehand. “I like you,” she admitted bluntly, “you're very interesting.”


POSTED: Fri Apr 02, 2010 2:40 am

He shrugged, not knowing how else to respond to the statement. To be sorry for someone's own past was strange to him -- it was not in her control, nor his. Where it is you are born is something beyond anyone's control, and, while true that some places were worse than others, it was not something to get hung up on. It had shaped who he was, but he did not hate who he was. He simply was. There was no way to change it and therefore no reason to worry. So he didn't. Regardless, it was a pretty enough sentimentality from the woman, and he appreciated it.

Had he fared well? Yes, he believed so. He had managed to survive his trek here alone, though he had appeared malnourished and exhausted when he had. It was an amazing transformation that that skinny, quiet coyote had undergone to become what he was now. Now… he assumed that he was somewhat fearsome. He certainly got strange looks, though he assumed it was probably just the scars that he bore on his chest. That, or the abysmal look in his eyes. Snake raised a brow at her inquiry. Arenas, challenges? "I have never heard of such things, so I would assume not." People… fighting for sport? He would spar, but to actually risk injury for something that was not in self-defense of one's self or one's pack was very strange to him, very alien. Snake's personal philosophy was a strange thing. He viewed himself as a weapon, his body the very instrument of harm. There was nothing inside to guide it -- if he killed, it was because someone told him to or because he had been threatened. He was obsessive about keeping up himself physically because that was where all his worth was. "But people spar all the time, so I suppose that could be a challenge."

As for his training, "Yes and no. I was trained some, but I was encouraged to find a way to defend myself that suited me. It was trial and error, but it did help find a personal style." The most structured training he had been subject to was that of CQC from both his mother and Patriot. All the rest was just fighting, fighting, fighting. He got good at it because he fought so often.

From what she said, her talents were diverse and very impressive, seeing as though she was mostly self-taught. Snake spoke only the language he had been born into hearing, and he could only perform the most basic of first aid. Tattooing was something he had seen and heard about, but not something that interested him -- his body was the weapon, and he didn't want it marred by scars or ink. He was far too paranoid. But still, he was vaguely pleased to know that she was trained in knives. "Far too many think that to fight with a knife is superfluous," he said almost bitterly. Luperci who thought their teeth and claws were superior to man's machines of slaughter. He didn't believe so. He could have a knife in someone's heart far before they could work their way to some vital artery. And if he could get the Goddamned pistol to work, he wouldn't even have to get close. Snake had massive respect for the humans.

He was brought from his reverie by her sudden and very unexpected statement. It was not something that he got a lot. His demeanor was… off-putting for the majority of those he met. His olive gaze focused on her sharply then, trying to distinguish any shadows in the words. But no, they seemed genuine. Interesting -- yes, he could say he was that, but he had never thought so in a positive way. He paused, still unsure of what to say, before nodding and saying, "You are interesting also." A bit of an awkward pause before he added, "So I suppose that means I like you as well."

She was definitely unique, individual, among all those that he had met in the past few months. It was actually refreshing. Once you played over the same strange introductions and bland conversation over and over, it got sickeningly old.

POSTED: Wed Apr 07, 2010 12:18 pm

WC 404.
Sorry for the wait.

His words fell together, a jumble of letters in her mind. It took her a moment or two to separate what was important, and what wasn't. She wasn't sure why she had momentarily lost interest in his words, but it could have been the embarrassment of her latest statement. Unsure of how to respond, she simply nodded at him and smiled shyly. There was something oddly pleasurable about a male returning a compliment, and though it didn't happen often, Lucia could definitely say she liked the feeling.

“Thank you,” she whispered kindly, her emerald coals staring blankly at him. “It has been a while since I were called interesting. I am glad that you like me.” That was a lie. She was thrilled. There were thoughts in her head that she could probably get killed for somewhere in the world. They were graphic, almost wrong. Yet, they made her happy – and that was all that mattered in her mind. The arousing feeling crept along her spine, and as such, Lucia cleared her throat. It didn't help much, but it reminded her that some things were best left alone. Unless of course he ever felt similar emotions – then she would perhaps change her opinion.

“I also agree about your statement about knives.” The silence had to be broken, otherwise Lucia was sure she would do something she might regret – or perhaps Snake would anyway. “I find weapons a lot more entertaining. The adrenalin rush leaves little to the imagination. It also is the perfect 'high', I think.” Her lips sprouted a look which could have no real description; perhaps she was just happy that they were getting along. It was unusual to say the least – and for once, Lucia knew what it felt like to be somewhat comfortable in somebody's presence without the aid of alcohol or drugs. “Do you just use knives, or are there other weapons you like to indulge with?” Malachite coals flashed dangerously, there was a pleasure in her eyes now; the talk of weapons and fighting triggered a sickly interest in the female. She did love the thought of spilling someone's intestines across the ground sometimes. It helped her sleep – occasionally. “I like guns myself. Though I am yet to find one which works – or that I particularly like. Have you ever seen a .44 Magnum up close?”


POSTED: Tue Apr 13, 2010 12:02 am

A rare smile flickered on the coyote's lips, virtually indescribable in his own mind. It was strange, he never felt this way around people. Even with what he thought to be his closest friends, he usually counted the minutes until he could escape back to his own world of solitude back in the landfill. He just didn't usually feel comfortable around people. He couldn't guess what they were thinking; it was not like reading the movements of someone in battle. Just now he didn't know what Lucia was thinking, but it didn't matter as much to him. He was more comfortable than normal, not trying to edge away like he usually was. It may seem like a paltry matter out of context, but if one knew how antisocial Snake was, it took on more meaning.

There was silence, but he was so dense when it came to these things that he couldn't guess what to fill it in with. What her mind was filing it in with, at least. And when he couldn't assume, he didn't try. Eventually she raised her voice again, an agreement to his statement. His dark-tipped tail flicked slightly at that, pleased that someone shared his opinion. It was about time. Most of these canines in these parts, they were almost too feral in his opinion. They needed to realize that what the humans left behind was good for them. But what she said about the adrenaline, the high, he couldn't understand. Battle was not a thrill for him; it was as simple as eating or breathing. He shrugged his scarred shoulders. "They are more efficient." That was what it came down for him, at least. He wasn't entertained by fighting; anything that someone was trained to do became a job and not a joy. And perhaps that was the difference between the two warriors here.

"Mostly knives," he answered, "I was also taught how to fight in Optime form. It all revolves around exploiting the body's weak points. Like, if you break someone's elbows and knees, they won't be able to fight any more. But that is mostly it." His olive eyes watched the dangerous flash in her eyes with interest, assuming that she found such happiness in the thought of fighting. Strange, but he associated fighting with survival, and that was a worthy goal. Snake so rarely understood others, he rarely even tried in the first place. But he… he could attempt to try with Lucia. "You enjoy the battle, I suppose, yes?" he asked.

As for guns, he couldn't say that he had ever seen the one she spoke of. Patriot had a few, but they were all broken. He remembered one was a revolver, another a pistol, the third a submachine gun. He shook his head in response to her question, but reached behind him, into the back pocket where he kept his own prize. He drew it, a 1911 Custom pistol that was polished with obsessive attention, though the name "Hayter" was still scratched evidently into the side. "It doesn't work, but I want to fix it one day." He held it out to her, thinking she might appreciate it. No one else around here did. It was his own personal treasure, and he usually didn't show it to others. This was a special case, however.

POSTED: Wed Apr 21, 2010 9:22 am

WC 829.

It took her by surprise. Her emerald orbs watched as the coyote's mouth shifted into a smile. Considering his lack of emotion up until that point, Lucia was not entirely sure how to respond. Thus, her mind wandered over the contortion repeatedly as though checking if she had deceived herself and hallucinated, but each time she slipped across the curve on his beautiful face, it remained there – she felt her heart skip a beat.

Trying hard not to show too much pride from the situation that arose, the ego which began to fill her skull at the thought that she may have managed to successfully enter into the unknown, and be allowed to see past the many walls that this male placed so protectively around himself, she kept her body still, almost statuesque in her beauty. Only her eyes moved – and they, clouded in absinthe, simply watched his own eyes, as though searching for the insight of this smile. She wanted to know if it were her that caused this beautiful rarity, or if in fact, it was just a passing thought in his mind – some distant memory – that had swiftly stolen his blank canvass.

As she had expected, there was pleasure in his stance as she agreed with his words, and though she had not lied to create this, it made her happy to know that someone in the world shared similar views. She had never quite found anyone as similar in mind as this wonderful beast. She, as her own being, had always had a fascination with the human world. Their objects were beautiful – and though she had heard many stories – she could not see why they were feared so much back in their time. They seemed so smart, and well prepared. It just begged the question, why did they not see their demise coming? This thought, however, quickly evaporated – stolen by the angelic tone of Snake's voice. Her auds flickered to attention, and her lips parted slightly; not to speak, but merely to show that she was interested in his words, and that he was better company than any she had stumbled upon beforehand.
“That is true,” she agreed plainly, nodding her head as she spoke, “Weakness is something nobody can escape in the end – it's just a matter of whether you are able to protect your own weaknesses before somebody else can suss them out.” She grinned, though she was not entirely sure why. There was something about him that made her inner desires appear atop her maw, and that made her want to open her walls and be read like an open book. Even if, deep inside her heart, she knew that could always lead to disaster. “The battle is the best part,” she replied to his question honestly, there was no point in lying. He would figure her out eventually anyway. “There is nothing better than tempting fate – wondering if you have the strength and knowledge to beat your opponent. The thrill of living on the edge of death's door – it never ceases to amaze me. What about you?”

Silence crawled back into the space between them. It was unnerving – but only for a moment. It gave Lucia time to think. Let her mind ponder over how she had never met this man before – how she had never crossed paths with somebody as perfect as he. She wanted to tell him this opinion, but she feared he would not respond with similar tones. Thus, her jaw remained tightly closed, and her heart continued to drum beats into her ears – filling the silence, but taunting her as it did so. If she could blush, and though without reason to do so, she would have done.

Finally, the rustle of movement broke their censorship. Her malachite coals traveled down to the direction of the sound; watching carefully as Snake reached behind him. Her instincts, as protective as they were, told her to place up her guard, but she remained still. Her calmness filling the atmosphere around her, and an impressed grin sprawling over her lips as the pistol came into sight.
Impressive,” she breathed, almost as though the wanting of this male had sucked the air out of her; it was a raspy tone, although it still possessed her feminine flavor. “I would gladly help you fix it one day, if you like?” She returned her gaze to his own coals; wondering if emotion would eventually seep from his eyes too, rather than just expressions that – if one were to think about it – could be faked. “I've read a few books on guns – well, enough torn out pages anyway. I know a bit here and there. I could be of use to you?If only he knew that sentence had double meaning, and deep down, she prayed he did. He was perfect.


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