[P] SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +--- Thread: [P] SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. (/showthread.php?tid=26522) |
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SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. - Beloved - 02-10-2017 She is not sure why she has remained, even after the gathering of the mortals reveals itself to not the presence of a power, or a trinket, but a coupling’s session, contrived by some fool and his equally foolish woman – or so Beloved thought of it all, anyway. Standing where she had quietly meandered upon the revelation of what the event was, the faintly giggling, tittering demoness watches the ongoing interactions about her. Regardless, the wicked one was a creature of fate, having vast faith in all things to love her, and keep her safe; this also entailed placing her where Beloved was meant to be, and if this child’s dating game was her destiny, so it would be. So, while some might grow anxious as they waited, Beloved was simply herself; a pale beacon of horror and madness, a wraith among the living. And, apparently, a single lady. So, when it becomes apparent that all the individuals filtering through the wood have made their way to others, Beloved starts tittering a nervous sort of laughter, and feels vastly offended. How dare they ignore her splendor! She thinks, with narrowed eyes, admiring the paired groups from her distance, her pale pink tongue touching gently her lips in longing, a nickered call cast into the misty allure of the grove. "Hello?" [ OOC: Round two mehbeh? ] you've lost your demon. @Bartholomeo RE: SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. - Bartholomeo - 03-01-2017
@Beloved If you're wondering, the guy he's raging about is, amusingly, Volterra xD PS #helikesitsohewantstoputaringonit RE: SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. - Beloved - 03-11-2017 The man who arrives to greet her at last is tall, and reeks of the sea. The demoness lifts her haunting eyes to meet his green, which seem, in their depths, restless and dark. This initial impression lends her to believe the pirate is of a much more malevolent nature than he truly is, and though her perturbation at being jilted by her first partner still lingers, it is very quickly washed out by interest in the man before her. He saunters near, and she draws even closer, her hostile gaze becoming the softer, alluring guise of a feline, her claws deceitfully retracted; close enough to brush his skin with her muzzle, if she wanted, she refrains, a faint chiming of giggles becoming the only true bridge between she, and the dual toned pirate. "Yes," she answers to the name which she knows to be her own, tail seductive reaching along her sides in slow swishes, gently wafting her perfumes towards him (a beast of instinct, as we are all, she thinks, with a wicked chortle), "and no. Beloved has been alone until now, you see. The first never came. We had begun to ponder…alternatives." Like gutting the closest couple to her, for instance, but Bartholomeo didn’t need to know that, did he? [ OOC: omg I think I got her out from under the rock she was hiding beneath? maybe? ] you've lost your demon. @Bartholomeo RE: SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. - Bartholomeo - 03-15-2017
@Beloved RE: SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. - Beloved - 03-17-2017 The wicked gleam of her eyes grows as her ploy lures more than just suave smiles and winks to the expression of the suitor, her gaze meandering from the bashful glance away from his lustful stare upon her flesh, to the flesh of his own. Pale upon the crown, black upon the rest, her eyes trace the branches along the flesh of his neck with an eager eye, wondering if the salt smell which lingers about him now is stronger, still, were she to embed her lips among the tassels his knotted mane. Babbling giggles in remark to his jest on the behalf of her never-arrived compatriot, the white witch flutters her lashes, and continues the slow sway of her banners upon her sides, her head occasionally slowly drifting in mirror of the motions of her dock. When he asks her about herself, the dame’s incessant laughter hums into a purr of pondering, her dual-toned eyes fluttering to the ceiling of the world, before landing back upon the stag. "We are of the mountains," she says, gesturing north and westward, towards the Basin, not caring if he knows there is a land there, or not; her child-like voice sings and floats among occasional giggles, "Beloved is a blade there, among several others. And you, Bartholomeo? What does a man like you do?" you've lost your demon. RE: SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. - Bartholomeo - 03-25-2017
@Beloved RE: SN: Shoulda put a ring on it. - Beloved - 03-30-2017 The cursed doll holds her eye upon him, the suitor, her flirtatious flutters of tail and lashes intentional, and carefully placed and metered. Though she is as sure to attempt to steal his life as she is his free time this evening with more pleasant things (for him, anyway, in more than one way), it’s ever difficult to deduce. The witch is as fickle as the wind, cold as its arc through the tundra. It is fitting that she resides to the north. Indeed marked by scars, in the ways she has retained perfection, her eyes meander across his figure as it is displayed, her dainty limbs moving beneath her, applying outward curvature to her proper bits; slipping from behind, the scant view of her round haunches reveals itself about her small shoulder, her tail still swaying, its Arabian arc poised toward heaven, her hooves each placed for poise. But the grin, wicked and malformed, which eases across her lips, reveals the truth: she is no maiden, or angel cast from above. She is that which has arisen, from the deep, cold dark; a shadow given form. "Much as the Ocean is. Cold and proud," she deems her home, child’s voice breathy, split by laughter, "its heart of water unfreezing. At night, the sky is often lit by color, rather than stars." "Like the mountain, too, the sea holds many secrets," she whispers, a sudden glimmer in her eye seemingly arisen from the incantation of the mention of the deep ocean’s companions (the brine and breeze), "dark as night at its depths, be it below waves or stone. If Beloved were to die, she would find either a suitable bed." "What is it you fight for, Green-Eyes?" she questions, last, not truly curious but to mock him, mentally or aloud, depending on the foolishness of his reply. Family, honor, love; what were these things to the wicked one but fleeting illusions, held fast to the strands of this mortal frame? Yet, it is what they lifted their swords for, these day-walkers, entrenched in the rain filled, muddy ditch of their short lives, too blinded by the grit and downpour to see the shadow that lie beneath, and from which it fell, from above. [ OOC: I SUCK AT SHORT POSTS FML ] you've lost your demon. @Bartholomeo |