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03-14-2015, 12:22 AM
Of course I should have expected December to defend her annoying little Spitting Carl. Not so fiercely of course, but perhaps that was a shortcoming this time around. I don't expect the mare to harm my companion, but I feel an extra pang of rage at her for snapping her teeth at the hellhound. Did she really think that I would let Damaris harm the fuckin' llama? Damn she's stupider than I thought! Damaris backs off, growling at the llama and at December. She wasn't going to hurt the stupid thing, just make sure it stayed put and out of my way. She's not given a chance to prove that, however. I'm surprised that December tells the Spitting Carl to back down and go to bed, even more so that he listens, though it is clear that he doesn't want to.
She turns back to me and.... is calm. Inside I'm flabbergasted. I've just lambasted her and she's taking it as if I'm having a casual conversation. What the fuck! Can I get no satisfaction? Of course this just angers me more, and I try not to splutter stupidly as she calmly replies. I pin my ears and sneer, curling my lip in mockery. "Come it if you could?! Seriously? You should have gone to fucking beauty school then. We're fucking wild horses why the fuck do you need to be pretty? Who the fuck COMBS THEIR MANE?" Of course she's just gotten back from a patrol! She easily takes that from my offensive line. As for spars, she's got an excuse for that, too. Though I could berate her for not knowing the benefit of surprise in a nocturnal attack.
But from her response I can see that I must change tactics. I've rapidly exhausted my original point of attack: being a soldier. She doesn't care enough and I don't want to just make her do a good job, I want to hurt her. I want to see her in pain. (Damaris growls again, but the direction is more ambiguous. I do not think she likes the desires that I have within me, but there's nothing she can do to change them.) Instead, as I watch her turn to picking at the feathers along her fetlocks, I see the opening that I need. Perhaps this mare is more vain than I thought. When we first met, I thought her fairly simple - in a good way - and down to earth. But it would seem that there is a streak of vanity that mars the character of White December. No, this is definitely my 'in'.
My tail cracks through the night air like a whip, and my growling voice is quick to follow. "Groom all you want, then, it shall do nothing for your appearance. You are large, oafish, ugly. Your coat is pale like a ghost and the coloring do you have makes you appear old and scraggly." I move closer and snap my teeth at her flesh, just barely missing it. "You are an emotional, good for nothing piece of meat that is only useful for throwing before our enemies like canon fodder, and if you're LUCKY bearing children to the lowest nag that no herd would dare take." The insults fly likes swarming bees, blinding stinging at their target. Have I hit my mark? Do these blows wound? "And even then he would be ashamed to say he ever laid eyes upon you? Gods help his soul for touching you." My mind doesn't think, doesn't process; it's completely removed from the situation. Only my tongue and lips are involved in this. A raging hessian who has found his victim.
WC: 611
Tag: @[December]
She turns back to me and.... is calm. Inside I'm flabbergasted. I've just lambasted her and she's taking it as if I'm having a casual conversation. What the fuck! Can I get no satisfaction? Of course this just angers me more, and I try not to splutter stupidly as she calmly replies. I pin my ears and sneer, curling my lip in mockery. "Come it if you could?! Seriously? You should have gone to fucking beauty school then. We're fucking wild horses why the fuck do you need to be pretty? Who the fuck COMBS THEIR MANE?" Of course she's just gotten back from a patrol! She easily takes that from my offensive line. As for spars, she's got an excuse for that, too. Though I could berate her for not knowing the benefit of surprise in a nocturnal attack.
But from her response I can see that I must change tactics. I've rapidly exhausted my original point of attack: being a soldier. She doesn't care enough and I don't want to just make her do a good job, I want to hurt her. I want to see her in pain. (Damaris growls again, but the direction is more ambiguous. I do not think she likes the desires that I have within me, but there's nothing she can do to change them.) Instead, as I watch her turn to picking at the feathers along her fetlocks, I see the opening that I need. Perhaps this mare is more vain than I thought. When we first met, I thought her fairly simple - in a good way - and down to earth. But it would seem that there is a streak of vanity that mars the character of White December. No, this is definitely my 'in'.
My tail cracks through the night air like a whip, and my growling voice is quick to follow. "Groom all you want, then, it shall do nothing for your appearance. You are large, oafish, ugly. Your coat is pale like a ghost and the coloring do you have makes you appear old and scraggly." I move closer and snap my teeth at her flesh, just barely missing it. "You are an emotional, good for nothing piece of meat that is only useful for throwing before our enemies like canon fodder, and if you're LUCKY bearing children to the lowest nag that no herd would dare take." The insults fly likes swarming bees, blinding stinging at their target. Have I hit my mark? Do these blows wound? "And even then he would be ashamed to say he ever laid eyes upon you? Gods help his soul for touching you." My mind doesn't think, doesn't process; it's completely removed from the situation. Only my tongue and lips are involved in this. A raging hessian who has found his victim.
Tag: @[December]
Rostislav
more than a drunken fool
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*You may do anything you wish with Rostislav excluding dismemberment and death.
