As strong as the seas are stormy.</style>
"Come, Alice," she called into the underbrush, reaching out with the tendrils of her mind that were forever intertwined with Alice's and pulling, using the mental pull to turn into a physical tug that would bring her pup back to her heels. Alice was but a ball of fluff, smoky grey and white with parts that would delve into the darkest purples Hotaru had ever seen. Even more surprising was the fact that she smoked. Clouds of fog seemed to roll and billow off her skin, and though harmless, it was definitely eerie. Not to mention her pitch black eyes, the glowing scratches across her left gem. But Hotaru loved her fiercely, with the same intensity with which she loved, hated, or desired anything. Hotaru did nothing by halves; all in or all out. She loved like a tornado, hated like a whiteout snowstorm, hungered like a ravenous predator starved of fresh blood. Alice met her step for step, just as severe in her love for Hotaru as the she-wolf herself. They loved like fighting raptors, claws interlocked, and the only way they'd ever stop was if they both hit the ground and broke apart.
A rustling came from the sparse, hard brush at the top of the beachline, and out popped her hellhound, eyes gleaming black like ink and insidious desire. Feathers clung to Alice's upper lip, and though it was clear to Hotaru that she had failed to actually catch whatever grouse she'd roused up, the she-wolf was still proud to see that she was so interested in hunting. Giving a soft noise of contentment, Hotaru easily ducked her head and rucked her muzzle up against Alice's soft puppy belly, bowling her over with ease. The pup rolled, still nothing but a nugget with fur in the scheme of things. She yelped and whined happily as Hotaru nickered playfully against her little round belly, sneezing when Alice's smoke tickled at her nostrils.
"Up, pup. We're going to go play in the water." It was Hotaru's desire to get Alice acquainted with the Helovian dialect, not so reliant upon their mental speech which Hotaru was aware would grow and strengthen with time and age. It was one of the few things she could recall about her mother, and the soreness and sadness she felt was kicked viciously away. Why was it that only after she was dead, Hotaru felt as if she could have loved her?
Alice whined softly, and Hotaru jerked, still not used to having someone so vicariously tied to her, aware of her every emotion. Hotaru smiled briefly, staring down at the little ball of fluff and smoke. "I'm fine," she assured, turning and walking slowly down towards the beach, Alice stumbling and racing after her on tiny, too-big paws. And though she was but a tiny, wee little thing, her nose was still far more apt than Hotaru's. So when she started growling pathetically, her mind sending up nonverbal alarms in Hotaru's brain until the strawberry lass turned to figure out what she was freaking out about.
When she did, a snarl stretched her lips, and she quickened her pace towards the downed stallion. Alice looked at her reprovingly, clearly doubtful, but followed obediently behind her in a flurry of smoke. Hotaru slowed as she approached, peering down at the drugged out stallion. Her mind raced, her body tensed, and she contemplated merely leaping forward and crushing his vulnerable skull beneath the weight of her hooves. He had killed her mentor's mate, her daughter's biological mother. He had orphaned her baby, left her with nightmares of drooling lips and green teeth, blood and tears. He had killed one of her flock, her kin, her family.
But then she recalled the deals they had made, the old plans they had half-constructed, and though she wanted to behead him and drop it at the hooves of her Doctor, she also knew that he was so much more valuable to her alive. For the moment.
Alice whined in profound confusion, but Hotaru mentally hushed her.
"Hello there, Oxy," she purred instead, eyes sharp like daggers but smiling sweetly, the same old Hotaru he knew. "Long time no see," she enunciated sharply, quirking a brow to show that she had not forgotten their old dealings. Perhaps that would be enough to kick his drugged brain into gear, but she wouldn't be surprised if it was otherwise.
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[P] wear more pastels and put your hair down
