the Rift


So Sexy it Hurts

Reginald Posts: 165
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.
#1

Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

He emerges from the oasis; water cascades from his sides, pouring in thick ropes even as he shakes himself from head to toe. He feels the air kiss his sides, his sopping-wet neck, but it is a feeble kiss regardless; there is no breeze here, only the bite of the summer sun against his back. He revels in the teeth of the sunrays against his skin. He breathes the heat, flexing his neck, his shoulders, his quarters, prepping his body for what is to come.

He is a soldier--and, as such, he must fight, run off to war at the merest word, the instance of an intruder, the impression of a threat. He is shackled to this obligation, willingly imprisoned, and it is this duty that chafes at him the least. His blood runs ever thick, hot and bubbling in his veins, the serpent gliding along his arteries silently, still considering unmasking itself to these people (although, as always, he decides against it, for a monster inspires fear and panic and he is not quite prepared for such an opportunity). No, he is awesome even when cloaked in his mundane skin, a proud, fine specimen of a man. He can fight his battles with his bones of stone; his fangs are quite unneeded.

Besides, he is curious. He knows these soldier ranks are filled with the weaker sex, and here now is his chance to investigate their effectiveness. It is very likely he will find himself paired with a female, and for a much different reason than what he is used to. He is no stranger to the fighting woman—was not his gypsy mother such an example? Did she not teach him herself the ways of the warrior, the dance of a flexible body that can dodge the hardest blows? He shall test the mettle of his… comrades…and see for himself just why they choose to throw their women to the front line.

His coat remains plastered to his skin, his muscles defined, his body taut and sensitive to the heat. He lifts his head, and a heavy sort of whinny escapes his maw—a dark-lipped call, an offer of partnership in a sparring match. He moves himself to a place where the sand refuses to shift; his tail glides behind him, shifting ever so lightly in the high sun.

He waits; he will be patient for this.




@Shida !
Setting: Dragon's Throat; high noon, sunny day, minimal shadows; solid footing; hot, no breeze.
Attack: 0/3
WC: 400

"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

--All force is allowed to be used against this character!



Shida Posts: 109
Deceased atk: 3.5 | def: 7 | dam: 6
Filly :: Unicorn :: 16 :: 3 (ages in Birdsong) HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Princess :: Common Hellhound :: Hellfire Odd
#2
SHIDA

Hold on to your eyeballs sugar. You’re about to get a mouthful.

I see him across the pond; This big burly head case (or at least that’s how I imagine him). It’s much more fun for the objects of my sexual daydreams to be psychologically fucked up. Deep down, the answer a shrink would probably give is that I feel more comfortable around head cases because of my own traumatic upbringing, or that I fantasize about big burly men because I’m repressing thoughts of my Da. But you know what? Who the dick even cares where this shit comes from? I know what gets me going, and that’s that. Fuck psychobabble.

I do what I want.

And right now, I want that.

I hear his call, and I smirk. Ain’t no rush sugar. I think, but part of me does want to rush. But let’s be real here – I ain’t no thoroughbred. Ain’t nothin’ dainty about me or the way I run. Something tells me he isn’t lookin’ for dainty, but even so. No need to put my flaws on display. And it’s hot as tits out here anyways – things will get sweaty soon enough. No need for a pre-lather. Something tells me that we’re gonna do enough lathering, rinsing, and repeating that there’s no need to start on my own.

So I slink on over. Princess is at my heels, entirely unhappy about this entire charade, but keeps quiet.

I take in his slate grey eyes, batting my own baby-blues in a way that seems entirely unfitting coming from a girl with such voluptuous curves and obvious attitude. I ain’t no wall flower, never have been. And in my humble opinion, there ain’t nothing wrong with a girl who knows what she’s lookin’ for in life, and who ain’t afraid to get some. I raise my tail slightly, slapping it against my tan cheeks. I have my back slightly to the Oasis when suddenly--

[INSERT DRAMATIC GUITAR SOLO ACCOMPANIED BY EXPLOSIONS SOUNDS HERE]

-- that happens. The water explodes upwards in an arc, causing faux-rain to fall and shooting clumps of sand and water in a wide radius. There’s a dangerous come hither shimmer in my eyes, and a shit-eating grin plastered on my pink lips.

"Looks like you missed a spot-" I smirk, slinking forward. I try to casually knock my left shoulder into his in passing. Nothing like a little woopsy daisy to get the juices flowing. And if I perhaps leaned into him a little harder than a casual miss-step, what of it? If he were to be off balanced by the sudden explosion, water in his eyes, sand in his cracks and whatnot, and happened to stumble in the sand, so what?

I'll tell you so what. Nothin' riles a big guy like this up, like a little fuck you in the morning. I know his type (I've had enough repressed sexual fantasies to know what I'm doing here); boys like this don't want small talk. They aren't about the, haven't seen you around here before pretense. They're about getting down to business. And what says down to f- more than a playful explosion and physical assault?



I apologize to everyone in the word.

WC: 531
Attack: 1/3




Coding by Tamme. Image here

Reginald Posts: 165
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.
#3

Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

The answer to his call is not long in coming; the very universe seemed poised to heed his desires. It turns out the Grey-Eye’d was correct in his earlier assumptions. It is indeed a mare who answers him, bold and brazen with eyes that flash foolishly blue into his face. He watches her approach, and his own scrutinizing gaze is quick and trained as it rakes across her body. She is certainly not the same spindle of ivory he had encountered not so long ago in world of sunset. No, this one is all curves and lumps and fuller, fatter things that draw his eye in ways he does not care to admit. There is no beauty in the rough edges of her chest, the muscles rippling in an unladylike way underneath a tanned, dirty hide. It is just as well. He has never had much of a use for beauty.

She’s gotten his attention: grey eyes are locked onto her form, and she is his partner for this spar—his adversary (his prey).

He is amused by her brazen step, no matter the brainless ways she approaches the serpent. She is not the first woman of the desert to give him that look--and, more and more, he’s beginning to respect those forward, willful ways of the mares of the Throat. They take what they want; they refuse to hide their desire behind useless banter and weak filly ways. They break the mold of the conventional woman. They make the hunt easier.

…This is something different, however. He had not called the mare for an urge that now begins to thrum deep inside his veins, vibrating insistently as it nudges itself into wakefulness. He had called her to fight, to hone his body and fulfill his—duty—to this place. The focus is gone from that, however. He is distracted. She walks in his line of vision, and he sees a full body to sink his teeth into, a tail that lifts in invitation—

--then there is chaos, and he is assaulted by the debris of the oasis bed as water shoots in all directions from some sort of explosion that occurred beneath the waves. He is caught off guard; mud and wet clumps of sand rain down on him, and he is struck in his eye, blinded for the moment as he struggles to regain his composure. He backs up a step; it is a blind move and it is not enough to get him out of range from the mare as she knocks into him. Her chest is broad, her joints are sharp, and the point of her shoulder jabs into his chest as she passes by him; he is pushed back by her weight, stumbling backward a few steps even as the mud continues ooze into his eye. He snorts; he grunts; he tosses his head in an effort to clear his vision of the debris, even though it begins to pulse with something red—and savage.

Looks like you missed a spot, comes the taunt. For one blazing, glorious moment—he is lost.

His mother had taught him to dance in battle, to move with the flow of the fight with nerves held loose and waiting. In this moment he lunges and the grace of a dance is forgotten in a surge of brilliantly blazing anger; teeth flash from his black lips and he bolts toward her left side as she passes him, those fangs jaws of his aiming to plant a deadly sort of kiss against her wither. He thrusts his weight forward—eager to touch her should his teeth fail him, to shove her into the ground with nothing but the force of his chest and body in the brief spark of manic rage that possesses him in those moments.

It dissipates from him almost as soon as it sparks to life; the moment of insanity lifts. He regains the sense of his composure (They must not know he’s a monster!) but it is too late to stop the flashing teeth, the charging body—the fight is well and truly started, and there is nothing left but to finish it.





Attack: 1/3
WC: 698
"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

--All force is allowed to be used against this character!



Shida Posts: 109
Deceased atk: 3.5 | def: 7 | dam: 6
Filly :: Unicorn :: 16 :: 3 (ages in Birdsong) HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Princess :: Common Hellhound :: Hellfire Odd
#4
SHIDA


Listen.

Ain't nothing I like more than seeing my explosions blow some shit up, (I haven't had sex yet, and so maybe one day explosions will be my second favourite thing. But for now, they're still the bomb diggity [oh snap. pun. didyouseewhatididthere]), and so seeing Sir Reginald sputtering around like a babe who just face planted into a puddle, made my heart fucking soar with glee.

Like, maybe I'm actually pretty good at this? I casually let myself gloat internally as I sashay into the beast.  Fuck you glow stick, I think recalling Ciceron and his fucking pedo-ass jumping out of the bushes, I am good at thi-

All of a sudden the blissful ball of pride in my chest popped like the reddest pimple you ever seen. I feel a pinching down my spine and across my shoulder. It feels like there's a hoard of small critters with rocks, just slapping them together against my skin. I know I'm being bitten, but at the same time, my mind sort of can't fathom it.

Like, is this motherfucker really biting me? Well. Hope you've got your shots friend, I haven't had a bath in months, so enjoy that. Nevertheless, for all my witty mental banter, outwardly I squeal and pin my ears.

"The FUCK dude-" I manage before my body is tossed roughly to the side. My ungraceful limbs scramble beneath me to try and steady myself. But much to my chagrin (shut up, I know real words), I just hopelessly grope at the ground. As it turns out, maybe blue-tits was right, and I need to practice more. But honestly, there's just so much fucking sand. Anyways, the moral of the story, is that sand is fucking slippery, and regaining one's balance is hard as dick.

"What are you, a girl?" I wheeze, trying to play off the fact that the wind has just been knocked out of my lungs, and that my shapely figure (shut up, round is a shape) is so out of shape, that this relatively un-athletic act of regaining my balance has actually taken a toll on my muscles. "Do you want to pull my hair too?"

Like seriously. Who the fuck bites. In the back of my mind, Princess laugh/whines, and I grunt. Okay fiiiiiiiiiine. You do. But you're a dog, so it's cool.

Anyways, back to this.

I roll my shoulder, frowning as I crank my neck around to look at where I've been vampired. The disgust on my face would suggest that there was wads of spit dripping down, but of course there wasn't. But it did sting like a bitch.

Without any warning (or at least, the time between my brain saying "hey do this" and my doing it, was pretty dark quick), I spun on my forehand. Thanks for that little genetic boost Ma. QH blood FTW. My hind legs lashed outwards, large hooves aiming for Sir Reginald's shoulder. Though given that my head was tucked downwards during my pivot, I could have been lashing out at just about any part of his body. I hoped that I hit him, and hit him hard. Show him what a real attack should be like, and not just some slobbery bullshit love bite to the shoulder.

As my hooves retract back to my plump golden ass, I try to scoot forward and spin to look at him. "Come at me bro." I taunt, winking in his general direction.

In my mind, I can practically feel Princess rolling his eyes at me.




WC: 531
Attack: 2/3




Coding by Tamme. Image here

Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Blu
#5
Reginald defaults to Shida. Shida earns 0.5 VP.
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode


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