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02-19-2015, 01:25 AM
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Bellona
weakness in the flesh, misery in the bones His bonded's haughty striding concerns the spotted boy, but his gaze remains fixed on the fiery wisps surrounding her. He is doing his best to suppress his concern for the seething Chieftess, but his attempts at concealing his emotions are proving futile. He cannot stand to bear witness to her wrath -- not when there is nothing to be done about it at least. Gradually the shapeshifter's emotions flit from feigned ignorance to muted sympathy, but the shift is not committed stealthily enough to be completely hidden from the vixen. Flaming and enigmatic eyes bear down on the pup and he instantly starts to quake under the weight of it; were it possible for such a fiery stare to give off heat, the blanket of snow draped across the Steppe would be reduced to a giant puddle. An involuntarily cry slips through the youth's jaws as he sprints to avoid the bird's explosive approach. Striped pillars bear down on the crisp earth behind him with enough force to make him flinch. His only pause in his flight is to spare a glance behind him. "Motlatlaloa, cohuatontli! Motlatlaloa!" His mistress' harsh laughter continues the chase even though her dancing body does not. Satisfied with the distance set between them, the boy slides to a stop to allow his galloping heart to settle. The throbbing organ still yearns for the vicious woman's love despite her latest attack, but this time he does not prevent his hurt feelings from reaching her. Love hurts, Mictla. I told you to stay out of my hea- Her venomous words are interrupted by a streak of shock piercing her mind, but the fact that she even acknowledged their bond as anything other than a nuisance is remarkable. Satisfied with his psychological breakthrough for the day, Mictla succumbs to the pull of gravity on his shaking limbs and collapses in the snow. Hardly a hair on his spotted self twitches in response to the snow flung up by Gull's arrival. Best to leave the big ones to their talking. The bird is shocked into silence by his very presence. The aggression that possessed her only moments before is almost completely forgotten, the throb in her legs the only remnants of the act. The vixen is suddenly ashamed of her fitful display. Did you bear witness to all of that? Blue ears seek shelter in the tangle of her mane as they rush backwards. Should I care that you saw any of that? A cobalt brow furrows. Why can't she just settle on being surprised or angry and be done with it? As if any more complications are necessary given the situation, one word squeezes past the blockade barring her mouth. "Gull?" In an alternate universe, the word is hushed; spoken by an angel, and possessing enough sustenance in it to revive a fallen lover graced with a similar name. The dame's tone trembles slightly, as if she is uncertain of whether she has the right to utter his name. There is an undertone of defiance in her chords, too, for a woman such as the one in this universe is as courageous as she is demure, and she'll be damned if she doesn't make her passion for the silver stag known right this instant. But this isn't that kind of universe. Bellona isn't that kind of mare. She is a force to be reckoned with with her temper about her, but now that she is unhinged by his closeness as he drops from the sky, the dominant, defiant, definite Chieftess feels as if she is worth nothing at all. "Gull?" The true interpretation of the word is found through out her tone. The bird is no angel, no damsel (to his distress), at all. She is merely Bellona, and merely Bellona is confused. "What are you doing here?" The bird's bright flames, though not as brilliant as they had been in her rage, drag across his ivory hide as if to map every slope and plain of it. It is not a romantic gesture -- not from her, at least -- and the act is meant only to scrutinize him for marks, scars, anything at all. Why she does this isn't entirely clear to her, but she commits to the act regardless. When at last she is satisfied with her findings -- he is quite the healthy specimen in her eyes -- the vixen returns her stare to the tumultuous seas in his own. "You've worked on your landing, I see." Her tone is neutral, its usual sarcasm marred by the shock that his arrival has bestowed her with. How did you find me? "talk talk talk" {motlatlaloa -- it flees/it runs cohuatontli -- little snake/little serpent @[Gull] SO EXCITED!! EMOTIONS ARE EVERYWHERE BUT WOOHOO!!!} |
Thank you Vossity <3
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