are you blessed or bleeding?

the Rift

[OPEN] are you blessed or bleeding?

Brighid Posts: 20

Hidden Falls Tiro

Mare :: Pegasus :: 17.2 :: 9 Buff: NOVICE

aeolle

#18

12-11-2013, 08:19 AM

BRIGHID

The woman is unsure as to when the obsidian girl seizes her departure, and her thoughts both fret and relax at her lack of presence. She worries - because the raven girl has been wounded, vermilion staining the sodden Earth beneath her hooves, she worries she has arrived too late to save her. She relaxes - because if the girl had lain upon the ground and not moved, the Princess would have to drag all of her weight upon her withers and haul her to wherever was her state of residence, and the Princess has played one escort mission too many already in her time in this land.
The emotions are replaced with icy resentment as a buttermilk frame of a man veers his way towards her person with the grace of a newborn colt, and she too comes to a dead stop, awaiting the impact (She'll murder that little vermin if he gets his filthy germs on her) of a midget that has messed with the wrong damn woman.

It doesn't come.
Instead, the little menace kicks up mud and Earth and grit into her face, neck yanking backwards, nostrils snorting towards her (He's getting germs on her) and heaving and the entire time the Princess stands and stares at him with such contempt it may have been hilarious.
It may have been, she may have laughed..
If she wasn't so pre-occupied with how much she wanted to mutilate him.

He stands.
The Princess feels her teeth grind together with the urge to shove (Beat him into the ground) the brute down once more, shove him down unto his knees, for he should worship her and beg for her mercy, for she is the daughter of Inanna, Queen of Elysia, and he is made to bow beneath her might. Her right to lay down law, to rule, to decide if he would meet Death at her hooves (And he would, if the choice was left to her) or live to see another day with those haughty little teal depths of his.
Mongrel, the Princess thinks, as he sizes her up as if she is a animal of prey or a ripe fruit with which to eat (And she is neither, the equine before her is the prey), and she can sense the tension coming off in waves from the Mongrel's frame. And it is, the correct option, to fear and loathe her, for she comes with no good tidings, no promises of alliance or friendship, she comes with the urge to cause carnage, to burn, to break bone and tear flesh from a far too fat for her liking mass.
The rain is the only noise. It pitter patters against her hide.

And then the Mongrel has the audacity to speak to her. Her! Princess of Elysia! He does not have the right to speak to her without her permission! She is blessed with the wings of the eagles with which to rise, and he is cursed to the land beneath her, some half-bred slug that barely has the conscience to stand in her presence! He should cry of her glorious appearance, praise her name (What's that? She wouldn't approve the whines? That doesn't matter!) to the God's above!
But the little beast has the pride enough to tell her it isn't any of her business (It is all her business, there is a woman and she is being hunted by two mutants on four legs), has the idiocy to step towards her (God's help her, she's going to snap his neck) and sneer at her (SHE'S GOING TO KILL HIM) and then on top of all of this he calls her a skyrat.
He calls her a skyrat.
SKYRAT.

If the Princess of Elysia had been born with dynamite inside her veins, she may have exploded in that instance.
It just so happened she wasn't made of dynamite (And it's just her luck, too) and could not explode and spray their damned guts all over the ground before turning them to ash, and before the woman can respond, the little Mongrel's friend comes over to help him.
That's perfect. She'll bash their brains together (As if they have brains) and see how very friend-like they are then.

He's hideous. They're both hideous but this deformity is even more hideous. He's made of brown turd's and alabaster (What a nice mix) and he's even fatter then the midget next to him. He stands about her height, although she is convinced this is just the fat upon his coat, and he's straggly and has the most stupid expression upon his face. He eye's her wings with delight, and she knows she is about to take out one of his damned cerulean peepers.
She'll gouge it out with her teeth if she has to. But he needs to stop looking at her as if she is some pretty bird with a overbuilt wingspan. She is the Princess of Elysia and how many times does she have to remind them of this.

He tells her she's outnumbered. He tell's her the girl has escaped (And what joy that brings her). He tells her to return to the skies with her wings.
And she stares at him with such malice and such loathing that it is a miracle in of itself that he does not spontaneously combust and scatter himself across the Earth. The Princess is not blind. Inside those cerulean pearls the not-so-little mutt is a mere overgrown babe.
He fears her.

That's good.
Because he's about to fear her a lot more.

Blazing, her gaze swivels to the man far too close to her, and a sneer to match his own curves across her anything but delicate maw.
"I think you've forgotten something." The Princesses voice is hard and rough and dark. "Rat's crawl on the ground, mutant."
There is mockery in her tone - "They don't fly like bird's. Because they're far too stupid to figure out how to grow wing's and fly above the ground. They wallow in trash instead."
Her dome has shoved itself closer to his - "And that's what you are. A filthy, trash-ridden rat."

Then her face slams forwards with strange haste for a beast her size, and she hopes it collides full on with the monster's skull, she awaits the sickening crack of bone on bone and pain and the laughter of seeing the mutant fall on his ass in the slippery Earth beneath him.
But she doesn't wait just for that, doll.

The wing that faces the turd-covered equine yanks up and down and she prays it slams into his face and she whips about to face him with her well-toned rump and in one sudden tensing of her ship she bucks.
There are two, bronze-gleaming, cloven hooves the size of dinner plates coming towards his frame.

And then, she really does laugh.
It's a deep, hearty noise, rising into a guffaw of them and their weakness.
She is aware of when her hooves hit the Earth, she doesn't know if they've hit him or not, and a cloud of red fills her vision.
The Princess is still laughing as if this is the most hilarious thing in the world.

She whirls towards the buttermilk, kicking with heavy front pillars and ivories bare and she bites towards his dome and her wings are flapping about with the strength of a whirlwind, and she has become a hurricane.
Revulsion, outrage, passion, utter and complete hatred boil within her veins.
She'll either kill one of them..
Or she'll watch them scurry away as the mice they are, back to the holes in the ground at which they've came.

Throughout it all, her bellowing voice cascades into a torrent of insults of mutants and rats and threats of being found out and laughter still pervades throughout her tone and for the time being the Princess of Elysia has gone mad with all consuming lust.

..Indeed.
The Princess of Elysia has gone mad.
And she doesn't give one single fuck about it, either.

Let's start a riot
A riot
Let's start a riot

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