Viginlantes and Criminals, hmm?
Circe watched with impassive eyes as Ampere explained her idea for a game; as the words rolled off the Pegasus mare’s tongue, the shadowmere couldn’t help but lift her brow once more, her lips gnawing about, mouthing the phrase “hoof-full of justice”. To her sons? This blue dame wanted to administer a coup-de-grace of righteousness to her children?. Admittedly, the words stirred something humorous in Circe’s breast, but all the stricken cords weren’t ones of amity. Indeed, some betraying piece of the dark mare’s mind harkened back to her own “hoof-ful of justice”, so to speak—namely, a flying, wayward kick of anger, directed for the brittle breast of a near casualty of convergent passions. Circe pushed this out of her mind—or attempted to, at least. It was not the moment to reflect on unfortunate incidences; it was time for play.
Apparently.
“I’m the criminal, I presume?” Circe wondered aloud, her voice perhaps a little more forceful than necessary, though her tail behind her curled slightly, ivory plum twitching to-and fro in preparation of this “game” of theirs. The honest truth was that Circe was a little too privy to the life of a lawless nomad—even her attempts in creating a new life in this strange, twisted land had resulted in her taking up the mantle of her former life. A smirk began to lift the edges of her mouth as Ampere asked if she knew what entailed.
“I do,” she stated simply; her tail was a living thing, lashing about from place to place, her legs and bones eager to begin the romp. The words You’ll never take me alive, bitch! sprung upon Circe’s tongue, but after a moment’s consideration the shadowmere decided against hard swearing around the virgin ears of her young ones. As such, her taunt was relatively simple: “You’ll never catch me.”
And she stood there, waiting for Ampere’s move.
talk
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
