the Rift


[PRIVATE] And so it begins.

Gull Posts: 120
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16 hh :: 9 (Tallsun) HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Splat :: Royal Zephyr :: Phoenix Shady
#1
Gull

From above, the cluster of glaciers looks like a fairy castle. Glistening blue in the little daylight Frostfall has afforded the north, the ice casts sapphire hues onto the surrounding snow in a beautiful mosaic. It hardly looks like a murderer’s lair, but you aren’t fooled by appearances. Muriel’s killer had evidently been drawn to beauty, and the labyrinth that confronts you upon landing seems like the perfect place to hide away.

Eyes stormy, you peer into the first archway, hooves ringing on the frozen ground as you venture slowly inside. You don’t like it in here, you realize immediately. Though the cave is vaulted considerably high, you feel trapped, claustrophobic. A creature of the air has no place amongst the passages of this twisting maze, but still, you press forward. You have a job to do.

You turn your first corner and at least ten Gulls stare back at you from the reflective surface of the icy walls. You jump back in surprise, hooves clattering on the cave floor and legs splayed to keep your balance. For a moment, your breath catches in your throat and then suddenly you are coughing, the hacking sound echoing eerily along the tunnel. Throat burns, and you gasp for air, struggling to breathe…and then as quickly as it has come, the coughing eases. Greedily, you drink in the icy air, shaking your head to clear it. You’re on edge, and that surely hasn’t been helping anything. Get it together, Gull, you admonish yourself, straightening up again and refolding your wings on your back. You have a killer to catch.

OOC: Questing, part I!
@[Nymeria]


trouble just grew wings
Image Credit
Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#2
Nymeria
IF I HAD A HEART I COULD LOVE YOU \ IF I HAD A VOICE I WOULD SING
AFTER THE NIGHT WHEN I WAKE UP \ I'LL SEE WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS
She can hear smoke and ash in his lungs, the ragged cough and heave of corrupted bronchioles and ruined alveoli. In her silence, the polished glass walls rising high above and around her in a labyrinthian fashion, she is contemptuous at the thought of company, bitter at the idea of shattered solitude. Nymphete ears flick back, lissome shadows melting into her mane's voluptuous curls, and Nymeria huffs, vaporous white curling up from her nostrils in smoky veils. Her head lowers, neck slackening, and she wags her muzzle back and forth in an unconscious and scornful reflex. I would've thought to find quiet here. The wolf's thoughts spill out against the confines of her cranium, overflowing into the canals of her companion's; he chokes beneath her thoughts' weight, the ill-tempered thunder of her ponderings.

Eyelids slither shut over luminous irises; her exhale's sound is soft and silken against the tunnel's sheer cold, a chilling rasp like that of a knife drawn from its sheathe.

Lilómiel's wings spread, whispering shadow against the light streaming in around them. His darkness prevails even when kissed by the sun; he swallows all light like a hole in space, a gap in the cosmos. Over the last weeks his scales had dulled, their glistening brightness fading to a deeper black than anything Nymeria had seen before, a frightful tear in the brightness of the world. She loved it—the heretic and romantic darkness, his eyes' crimson gleam stark as roses blooming in sacrilegious black.

The needles of his mind—serrated edges, shards of glass rubbing up against Nym's wolfish skin—hum to her a lilting message, a flash of images. Her lids are dark (and yet streaked with red and indescribable light) and against it familiar sights play out, though tainted by his peculiar binocular vision.

His wings hiss against the air as he launches into flight, streaming shadow winging towards the intruder upon their peace. She melts into his rhythm, lets her thoughts wax and wane in mirror to his, until she can feel the air beneath her wings and embers in her throat, can taste ichor against her lips and sullen self-absorption pounding against her breast. Through his hawkish eyes she sees a thousand shades of color, a landscape of hues she can't even dream of in her equine body—how can one explain a color, when it's not like blue or green or yellow, red or indigo or orange?—And thus the first time she sees Gull, his body is painted in kaleidoscopic hues, and he is a look into another world, a world she can't be part of.

Nymeria exhales, and begins to wander, mind split between here and there. They've been practicing this—but she can't get the hang of it. Reluctantly, sorrowfully, she retreats from Lil's brain, slithering back into her body and maneuvering through the womb-like passages of the Frozen Arch herself. Through their uncanny connection, she can see Lil pressed up against the cavern wall, perched on a lip of ice far above the pegasus' reach, claws locked into the ice and lips curling back into something part snarl and part sinister smile.




"Are you dying?"

The snake drifts out from the tunnel, putting on a new skin for a new man. This time, she's sly and slippery, cool and dark-eyed, all layers of glass and frost, ash and solidified night. She wonders if he'll notice her youth (it had a way of being forgotten when she acted like mother); but mostly, she wonders if he'll stop breathing.

In that case, it might've been worth the walk.
IF I HAD A VOICE, I WOULD SING \ DANGLING FEET FROM WINDOW FRAME
WILL I EVER EVER REACH THE FLOOR?
MORE, GIVE ME MORE, GIVE ME MORE

tatiana gettelman on flickr
larfsalot on deviantart
@[Gull]


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Gull Posts: 120
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16 hh :: 9 (Tallsun) HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Splat :: Royal Zephyr :: Phoenix Shady
#3
Gull

Though your chest heaves in an attempt to recover from the coughing fit, the cavern is silent apart from the sound of your breath. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a dark shape swoop and disappear, but the bat doesn’t concern you: it’s what lies beyond that does. Has something within the maze disturbed it, or was it merely your choking echoes that wakened it from its slumber? Little do you know that your bat is not a bat at all, but Lilómiel come to scout for his mistress, whom you had disturbed.

Warily, you begin to press forward again, but you have only taken a few steps before the cough is back with a vengeance, clawing its way from your throat with a startling pain. Legs brace for support, and your nostrils flare, bright pink membranes on display like white flags of surrender. What’s going on here? You’re not one much for superstition, but the sudden onset of your unusual symptoms makes you even more uneasy. You wonder if this place is cursed, if poison lies in pockets of air ahead, or something worse.

Before you have time to get thoroughly spooked however, the coughing subsides just in time for you to hear the light clink of hooves on ice. Someone is coming down the passage, you realize, and you raise your wings a little, alert. And then, from the depths of the ice comes a grinning skull. Your heart rate spikes briefly before you realize that the skull is attached to a body, and the body of a filly nonetheless. As she approaches on long, graceful legs, you size her up and relax slightly. She looks about a year old, and aside from her rather morbid facial markings, there is nothing inherently threatening about her. With a degree of curiosity, you notice that she’s one of those horse-creatures, the kind that had been long extinct back home. Blue eyes regard her neutrally, watching her watch you, and then she breaks the silence. “Are you dying?” she asks, studying you, and you find yourself rather surprised at the tone she takes. There is a certain maturity to it, perhaps boredom even that you would not have expected from one so young. But then again, you think wanly, what do you know about kids?

A little amused, you begin to laugh, but the laugher soon turns into another bout of violent coughing. Eyes streaming, you face her with a wry smirk. “Nope,” you reply, “Already dead.”


@[Nymeria]


trouble just grew wings
Image Credit
Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#4
Nymeria
IF I HAD A HEART I COULD LOVE YOU \ IF I HAD A VOICE I WOULD SING
AFTER THE NIGHT WHEN I WAKE UP \ I'LL SEE WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS
Already dead.
She stares at the pegasus, unabashed by what she considers to be a joke in poor taste. Her head tilts, lilting to the side in a way reminiscent of a snake sizing up its prey; she shifts her weight, back and forth, and takes a step away, body language kept quite carefully neutral. The vantage point differs only moderately, but it brings her closer to her dragon, burrowed away above her head. I am unnerved. Neurons fire, thoughts ricocheting from her to Lil; his mind, full of darkness and emptiness, only echoes the sentiment, not understanding the words. Nym sighs, a long, slow exhale through her nares, and curls up her neck, sending a second image (something not quite describable) communicating only her emotions. The black reciprocates, and from his emptiness swells a bulbous sensation of wariness, of caution, and worry for his mistress.

The stranger's eyes are wet and steamy, moistened by his illness. There's a certain dampness to them—an ugly, distasteful dampness—that remains her of things rancid and swollen, bloated animals decaying in a fetid swamp.

It makes her ill. Lilomiel stirs in his temporary perch, his tail's silhouette becoming briefly visible against the backdrop of white and gold lighting. His claws tighten on the sill, grating against cold ice, and steam rises from his transcendent nostrils, smoke and ash carrying upwards to trap against the ceiling.

Still, his master commands, flexing towards him a barbed premonition of punishment. Reluctantly, the black quiets, his heart slowing, the flames gathering on his tongue receding. Ever since his discovery of flame, he had been eager to burn and ever more excited to slaughter. Soon, Nymeria always told him; soon we will be destruction itself. She would've felt foolish saying phrases like that outloud—but in her head, all was fair game, especially caricaturist promises of carnage.

Too much time has passed for her answer to be a quick quip of repose, but she says it anyways.

"If you're dead, why are you still breathing?"

A smile graces her lips, faint and waspish pride caressing her gleaming red eyes. A question indeed; she hopes he'll be interesting enough to bother engaging with her. Theoretical conversations (even stupid and foolish ones) always tended to be more interesting than "what's your name?"—"my name's aliska!"—"how are you?" dullness.
IF I HAD A VOICE, I WOULD SING \ DANGLING FEET FROM WINDOW FRAME
WILL I EVER EVER REACH THE FLOOR?
MORE, GIVE ME MORE, GIVE ME MORE

tatiana gettelman on flickr
larfsalot on deviantart
@[Gull]


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Gull Posts: 120
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16 hh :: 9 (Tallsun) HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Splat :: Royal Zephyr :: Phoenix Shady
#5
Gull

At first, you wonder if she has taken you literally, for the filly takes a careful step back and regards you with watchful eyes. Normally, you are one to laugh at your own jokes, but today, your sarcasm rings painfully true. The silence that follows is only broken by more of your hacking and wheezing; thus in your distraction you do not notice the flash of scales and the whip of a dragon’s tail, nor can you see the thin plume of steam rising from the ice above. You can scent something faintly acrid, but with the burning in your lungs it is easy to assume that the smoky air is nearer to you than not.

“If you’re dead,” she says finally, weighing every word, “Why are you still breathing?” Now you laugh, the short burst of harsh chuckling turned coughing once again. “Good question, girlie,” you finally rasp when you catch your breath. “Though I’m barely doing that, as you can see,” you add in a gravelly voice, feeling your airway constrict again. You cough once more, then peer past her. You have been mildly entertained by the strange girl, but you’re on the hunt and have no time for chitchat.

“Tell me, girlie,” you murmur as you stare into the ever-deepening blue tunnel behind her. “Has anybody been this way lately? Or seen—“ You pause to hack—“Seen anything unusual?” If the killer had come this way, it is possible that he had disturbed the dark filly as well.



@[Nymeria]


trouble just grew wings
Image Credit
Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#6
Nymeria
IF I HAD A HEART I COULD LOVE YOU \ IF I HAD A VOICE I WOULD SING
AFTER THE NIGHT WHEN I WAKE UP \ I'LL SEE WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS
Girlie. Nymeria's ears slide back, knitting tightly to her knotted mane. Her nares flare, disapproval lining the spread of her nostrils, and her eyes roll, a slick and slippery cascade of gory red and crimson. Girl! What an arrogant ass—to presume her innocence, condescend upon her with verbose and crude language. The latter part of her adolescence had been spent schooling herself; did that not qualify her as beyond the naive idealization of foals? It wasn't a mother, nor father, who forced her muscles to grow and sharpened her wits and fought every step for her survival; that was her, that was Lilómiel, fighting upstream lest they be swept back to the ocean whence they came. As if! As if she had the luxury of a soft bed of meadowgrass and a stream to sing her to sleep; as if she had a night where she could sleep in peace, without fear of being devoured. Her heart wrenches in rampant disgust, snake-like heat circumnavigating the contours of her arteries, but her face grows ever cooler as her blood warms, a mask of neutrality to disguise her own wretched misery.

Maybe he'll choke on his own phlegm, she prays; maybe he'll be floundering in his own bodily fluids, and finally realize how a few years of life didn't—shouldn't—make a difference in the way you treat lowlifes.

We all die anyways.

"I'm young, not blind," the skull-faced queen proclaims, one sculpted brow arcing upwards in a testy hyperbole of her disapproval. Her eyes settle on his nostrils, on the rejected mucus of his body, tracing [arrogantly so] the strange contours of his foreign body—and then her calculating gaze snaps back to his face, to his sky-blue eyes. Slowly, caustically, she props up a hind hoof, the subtle hint in body language disparaging. A low and lazy smile quirks up her lips. "Have you any missions to complete before dying off?" Perhaps I could help; "if you do, I would be glad to assist you. I wouldn't want you to be lingering with unfinished business."

The pegasus' attention slides by her; Nymeria sidesteps, aiming to catch his favor once again. She's not exactly certain of what she's doing—but I'll figure it out. It wasn't like she was a child anymore, at least, not in her eyes. Soon, the time would come for her to a make a move in her mother's name.

And she was going to succeed.

"You're unusual," the equine offers helpfully, lips peeling into a smirk. Lilómiel's amusement echoes her sentiment, and he shifts again, scales rustling over the ice. In the darker depths of his mind, the areas obscured by his half-hearted battlements, there is a glimpse and gleam of emotion, a thrill of hunger for the spotlight. And she can relate; because this, this hunger, this need, for attention is what drives her to block the pegasus' path, stall him with empty trickery. Regardless of her black's wants, her needs came before his; she, after all, was the one without a mother. She was the one without a brother.

Lilómiel was lucky enough to never had had them before they were ripped away.
IF I HAD A VOICE, I WOULD SING \ DANGLING FEET FROM WINDOW FRAME
WILL I EVER EVER REACH THE FLOOR?
MORE, GIVE ME MORE, GIVE ME MORE

tatiana gettelman on flickr
larfsalot on deviantart
@[Gull]


OOC: It's quickly becoming evident that Nymeria is a simile for bratty... xP


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Blu
#7
unarchived per request
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode

Gull Posts: 120
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16 hh :: 9 (Tallsun) HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Splat :: Royal Zephyr :: Phoenix Shady
#8
Gull


“I’m young, not blind,” she retorts testily, ears flattening with displeasure. But the little spitfire has not quite provoked you yet. Heaven knows you’d put up with much worse that this light jabbing in the brief time you’d spent with Bell. You suppose this girl would hone the point of her knife with age; with time perhaps enough to rip a heart out or stab the likes of you in the back, but for now, you remain deceived by her appearance. She’s just a girl: what harm could she bring you? There were real dangers on the loose, and they were the ones who concerned you.
 
“Have you any missions to complete before dying off?” she drawls, catching your eye. She’s glad to assist, she continues with prickling sarcasm, and you feel your skin twitch with slight irritation before coughing again. As you glance past her, she sidesteps, blocking your path, and you stop abruptly. “You’re unusual,” she coos with a smirk, the picture of childish innocence. Yet her posture and tone are so openly condescending that you cannot help but find her obnoxious. However, she still has not riled you to the degree she perhaps intended. You are not a patient creature, but so single-minded are you in your purpose that you will not allow yourself to be distracted in this moment by the mere singsong of a bored filly.
 
“Look,” you tell her impatiently, giving her the satisfaction of meeting her triumphant gaze. “I need to know if anyone’s been through here, or if you’ve seen anything out of the ordinary. Blood, or-or feathers…” Here you toss your mane with another raspy cough, exposing the knot of bloodstained pink feathers from Muriel’s wings. “Perhaps we can work out an…arrangement.” You have no idea what this filly might want for information, but it’s not like you’re making a deal with the devil. 




trouble just grew wings
Image Credit


@Nymeria
Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#9
Nymeria
IF I HAD A HEART I COULD LOVE YOU \ IF I HAD A VOICE I WOULD SING
AFTER THE NIGHT WHEN I WAKE UP \ I'LL SEE WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS
The man's face does not flicker, does not waver—she waits with bated breath, eager, like a dog at the door with his master turning the key outside. Show me something; anything! Let him burn and broil beneath the cut and caress of her divine words—let him simmer and stir, grow unsettled by her stare's piercing intensity. She waits, bored and apocryphal, hunting for entertainment, cruelly excited for the possibility of the old man dying before her (with that hacking cough of his, surely he would keel over completely soon!) And she is neither given nor offered anything for her patience, for her hunger. Slowly, she droops, her sails deflated by the stallion's apparant lack of giving a fuck—but not entirely. There's still something formidable in her nostril's flare, her mouth's unruly twist, some sour puckering to her facial features as if by failing her, he has only spurred her furthermore into risky and reckless action.

Finally his eyes meet hers, sea blue and weepy with illness. Disgusting, she thinks, what an appalling stallion. His nostrils are grimy with his sickness' waste, his very face lined and creased. It's with great effort that she doesn't flinch to look upon his virulent features. Whatever he has, she does not wish to get infected by it. Still, even with all the flaws and faults to this auspicious moment, she is triumphant in her goading, and she cannot help but tip her chin up proudly. 

Me: 1.
Him: 0.


The pegasus continues, elaborating on his former statement. With each progressive word, Nym grows more giddy; blood and feathers! A dying stallion! An adventure? Lilómiel chirped, his warbling call grinding against her ears—she flips back her forelock, stamps a hind hoof against the ice. There's a building pressure in the back of her head as Lil presses on her thoughts, his scales chafing across her ponderings and curiosities. She shakes her head, at first flippantly, then more firmly, as if she can discard the rising pain. Back, she says, throwing her weight against his, but even the greatest, earthy continents can do nothing but stoicly withstand the tide.

Desperation blooms in his voice, impatience manufacturing into a deal. The spider's heart skips a beat, and Lilómiel cracks through her mind's barriers, slithering into her brain. He's everywhere, and nowhere, gelatinous blackness crooning approval. 

Take it. Take this opportunity.

Lies are springing onto her tongue, pushed there by her bonded. Say you've seen it. Those flamingo feathers, splattered in crimson—it wouldn't even be... it would be easy. It's never hard for her to lie; the only difficult bit is keeping them all straight. All she had to do was tell him where she went (south, north? Whoever knew?) Or not even that... it just had to be something small. And she could broker a deal for it.

Nymeria's gaze slides up from the feathered clump to Gull's cyan eyes.

"One favor for a favor. I help you, and when I need you, you help me out once. Anything short of murder goes. Deal?"
IF I HAD A VOICE, I WOULD SING \ DANGLING FEET FROM WINDOW FRAME
WILL I EVER EVER REACH THE FLOOR?
MORE, GIVE ME MORE, GIVE ME MORE

tatiana gettelman on flickr
larfsalot on deviantart
@Gull


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Gull Posts: 120
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16 hh :: 9 (Tallsun) HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Splat :: Royal Zephyr :: Phoenix Shady
#10
Gull

Ahh, that seems to do the trick. The look on her face at the offer of your suggestion is one of pure delight, and her muzzle tips up in smug satisfaction. You watch wearily as she soaks it all in, clearly pleased with herself. Will she give you an answer now?

But no, not yet. The skull-marked head bobbles in a most grotesque fashion as she nods and shakes it alternatively, as if arguing with herself. Your gaze shifts away uncomfortably, for you’re beginning to think that perhaps she’s a touch…touched. Her lips aren’t forming silent words, but you’d seen old mares go crazy and start talking to themselves all too often, and the girl was coming disturbingly close with her gestures to no one. Maybe it’s from living down here too long, tucked away in this echoing labyrinth, you think uneasily, feeling claustrophobic in the icy tunnel. Anyhow, it gives you the creeps.

Suddenly, her red eyes narrow, then slide to meet your own. “One favor for a favor,” she tells you, “I help you, and when I need you, you help me out once.” And then, in a tone that sends involuntary chills down your spine, “Anything short of murder goes. Deal?” Murder? The proposition is thrown out so casually, as if arranging a death is but an afterthought. You’re sure she’s just bluffing, feeling grown-up and self-important in negotiating this bargain, but still…it makes you hesitate. However, you cannot seriously believe that whatever she’ll want from you will be too demanding. She’ll have to find you first, in any case, so unless she plans on leaving this cozy ice palace of hers, you’ll be in the clear. If that’s the only price she demands for information, you will gladly pay it. Taking pains not to answer too quickly, lest her tiny heart burst with joy, you shake your head slightly and cough, the clear equivalent to a shrug. “Deal,” you reply finally, tone decidedly neutral. 

Oh Gull: your fate has been sealed.


trouble just grew wings
Image Credit


@Nymeria
Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#11
Nymeria
IF I HAD A HEART I COULD LOVE YOU \ IF I HAD A VOICE I WOULD SING
AFTER THE NIGHT WHEN I WAKE UP \ I'LL SEE WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS
Nymeria takes note of Gull's discomfort only absentmindedly, discarding his anxiety in favor of the thoughts circling her own head. It's a mistake—body language is an important factor in brokering and dealings, and letting her attention wane from the stranger will no doubt bite her in the ass at a later date. In the moment, however, she is consumed with lust and fervor, chasing Lil's tail even as he chases hers—but the both of them are circling, circling, around the drain, and at any moment they'll go tumbling down into the gutter.

She breathes, the cold air stinging all the way down her trachea.   

It is at this moment that sickly eyes meet hers, dark and tumultuous like the sea tossing before the oncoming storm. The spider steadies and stills in an almost unnerving fashion, clearly lashed up with tension and laced with eagerness. Perched in the shadows above her, Lilómiel rumbles softly, a nearly inaudible, guttural growl which echoes faintly through the frozen arches. His scarlet eyes glow dimly, and then darken, as he squirms back deeper into his alcove at Nym's urgings. To show off her companion at this point would only provoke unnecessary questions, and belated introductions—it would be better to keep him hidden, in the matter of a cloaked dagger or a hidden gun ready to be pulled at the wrong move. Her thoughts are perhaps unwarranted—she is not old enough, or even physically capable, that such crafty manipulation as intimidation and violence would come into play. No, as of now, her body language betrays her want, her need, while her pokerface remains intact; each twitch of her ears, the shift and sway of her limbs, bespeaks ambition and greed, gluttony and and yearning, despite the her cruel face's oblique coldness. 

Nymeria will need to rely only on her wits.
And it seems they are good enough.

While her body remains tight and hard with tension, something about her eyes softens ever so slightly. The façade of youthful nightmarish eases, and something bubbly and vulnerable seethes up to the outermost of Nymeria's skin. "I saw blood a couple kilometers south from here," the spider admitted, exhaling nervously. "That's why I came here. I was nervous about what could be out there."
IF I HAD A VOICE, I WOULD SING \ DANGLING FEET FROM WINDOW FRAME
WILL I EVER EVER REACH THE FLOOR?
MORE, GIVE ME MORE, GIVE ME MORE

tatiana gettelman on flickr
larfsalot on deviantart
@Gull


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Gull Posts: 120
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16 hh :: 9 (Tallsun) HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Splat :: Royal Zephyr :: Phoenix Shady
#12
Gull

It is funny, the power a girl not much older than Brigand holds over you in this moment of silence. So hungry are you for information that the time the girl takes to think feels like one eternity stacked on another, stretching onward indefinitely: a pregnant pause that is never to give birth. The need for answers has intensified to the point that it’s physical, gnawing at your insides and shooting through your muscles. Your hooves do not move, but you find yourself somehow straining forward, as if some strange force is simultaneously compelling you both towards her and away. You are trembling slightly, but this shiver has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with anticipation. What does she know? Has she seen the killer? Is he near? Your mind races even as you wait for her with bated, raspy breath.

But when she finally speaks, your ears fall flat. “I saw blood a couple kilometers south from here…” lisps the childish voice, and your breath releases in a phlegmy woosh. However it is not relief in your exhale, but disgust. She saw blood a few kilometers from here? So had you—at the murder scene. What a tip this had turned out to be. Your neck angles away from the girl in disappointment and frustration. “No kidding, girlie,” you wheeze, less than pleased with her revelation. “I’ve just come from there myself—trying to find the one that did it.” Refolding your wings along your back impatiently, you shift your weight, considering your options. Would it be worth it to pursue the winding tunnels beyond, or would it greater serve your purpose to try a different direction completely? If the girl hadn’t seen anything here…but then again, she was fairly useless, wasn’t she? Unable to conceal your bitterness, you huff into the frigid air, the steam creating a thin veil between you.

“Is that all, then?” you ask abruptly, then turning to leave. If no one had come this way, then you had no time to spare for idle chitchat and frightened children.

OOC: Gull's out and this is CLOSED c: Thanks for un-archiving admin!

trouble just grew wings
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Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!

Odd the doer of things Posts: 115
Administrator atk: 23 | def: 42 | dam: 108
Mare :: Other :: 5"2 :: 27 HP: 108 | Buff: badass
Odd
#13
un-archived per request


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