the Rift


[PRIVATE] Smudged Mascara; Last Night's Cologne

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?

Once upon a time, it was a pensive occasion for the Grey-Eye’d prince to once more stalk the lands of his infancy and first fantastic series of daydreams—but this is not the case this day. He crunches through a field gently frosted, his heavy steps crunching with every fall of his massive hooves as he makes the trek down south. His vassals have been re-summoned, for it is permitted for them to keep his company now. Ka’Mate is not too far from where his master travels; he is grounded for once, pillaging a newly-discovered vole’s den, his savage beak dipping deep into the discovered den, finding infants, shrieking, shattered parents. He gorges on genocide, and he will surely leave the den empty, defiled. Ka’Ora stays in the master’s shadow, riding his wither as she is wont, her balance careful against the rocking of her master’s lope. She is no nuisance to the serpent, that is for sure; she will never make her presence a detriment.

He reeks of woman. It has been some time since his foray into the northern waste (his vacation) and yet her blue-eye’d scent lingers somewhat amongst the stale sweat that clings to him. He would smirk a the memory, if he were a creature to smirk at such trivial things; the everlasting fire in his belly simmers with a satisfied purr, subdued for the time being, a certain type of refreshment stealing over his bones as he makes is way down, down, further south, homeward where there is work to be done.

He could not bath in such a frigid place—and as such, his pelt smells in a way that could distract him if he were to allow it, and incriminate him if someone had a mind to charge him (although, of what crime, he is not so sure). He does not understand a mare’s mindset, not yet at least—and he knows at least one of his leads is such a woman. He has become cautious around the female, prodding them with small experiments, watching and waiting to see if the silly irrationality of their filly days lingers about in a mare’s psyche.

Beware, he says, and Ka’Ora flutters from his back as he falls to his knees, dropping his bulk to the frost-covered ground. He rolls there, snorting, using the sharp blades of dead, frozen grass to wipe away the outer layer of debris from his back. He doubts it will completely wipe away the scent of woman--no matter. He is not so bothered about that, anyway. He itches

"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase


@Shida



--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
Delicate as FUCK


In West Helovia born and raised,
In the Hidden Falls' is where I spent most of my days,
Chillin' out, relaxin', and actin' all cool,
you know exploding some tools and lookin' real cool
when a fuckton of guys who were up to no good,
started invading my neighborhood
They got in one huge fight and me and auri' got scared,
so I ran for the throat with a hope and a prayer.


Yep. That's how that fucking fairy tale got off the ground. No once upon a time's here, just some bad luck heading up shit creek without a paddle. But apparently it's just me whose shit still stinks, since it seems like my Ma is now queen tits of the Edge, and my twin is settling in nicely as the resident vaping-Princess.

I'd slow clap for you fam, I really would. Only I can't quite do it with all these knives in my back.

I know what you're saying, Shida! Save it for your memoirs, cuz! Get on with the good shit, and listen, I will. But every good story needs some stage setting before shit gets raunchy, and so I'm just letting you know where I'm at. Things are a little dark, they're a little fucked up, and if that isn't okay with you, then feel free to trundle off and go spy on someone healing a bunny or something.

Princess smell's his home-cooked ass before I do, obvs, and as soon as the knowledge is transferred to me, I half smirk, half do one of those sideways-resting bitch-face smiles, and half bite my lip. So I look fairly stupid, but it's cool, because we're still a bit out. But I've got a memory like a fucking elephant yo. I remember how he left me. We were gettin' all hot and bothered by the Oasis in the summer, and then all of a sudden the pussy-footed bird-keeper just peaces the fuck out.

What's that? Your Ma called your home for supper? Yeah that's what I thought, you punk-ass kid. You know you can't handle this./ But I actually think he probably could. And you know what? I could use a little handlin' right now.

I've got my glassware, some choice herbs, and now, I've got a buddy. And you best believe he ain't gonna be able to do any scurrying away this time.

"SO-" I shout across the frigid ground, because Hello, is soooooo 2005. An explosion tears through the ground a few feet away from him - you know, like a love bite or whatever the word is for something explosive from your past that comes back to bite you in the ass. "-don't bother getting up honey, cause once you get a load of this shit, you'll be flyin'" I continue as I edge closer, revealing the glassware already filled with herbs.



@Reginald

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry



Image Credits

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?

She is already a loud thing, in her bearing, her voice, the blast of her body on all five senses—and yet, somehow, she needs even more pomp, greater circumstance, a larger boom to announce her presence. The dirt and debris that flings from the explosion coats the Grey-Eye’d as he remains lying in the frosted field, tiny frozen pebbles bouncing against the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, his grey eyes ablaze and hot and so immediately, ephemerally a n g r y before he realizes who it must be. It does not take him long to connect the dots, for the picture they form is an unforgettable detonation to the senses (as she might prefer).
 
There she is—just as silly as he remembers her, something loose and distasteful disfiguring otherwise acceptable features in her face. He wonders where this looseness comes from—whether it’s a mental trait, something inside her mind that unhinges her body, her discipline, and leaves her a marionette to whatever passion crosses her way. He wonders how much of a filly she may be; he considers she may very well be stunted behind those eyes (those blue, blue eyes. The eyes are blue again. He finds himself liking blue eyes on something fuckable). His brow arches as she grins into his face—a burning thing that accuses him of a tease of long ago. Oh, yes. He does remember that particular instance—and it is a sore regret for him, to have missed a form such as that. A loose grin and stunted mind do nothing to diminish the merits of a body so nicely rounded and coupled as hers. Grey eyes turn figure eights against the curve of her spine--and if he were not so spent, his loins would surely stir.

She greets him (it is a scream).

*"SO. Don't bother getting up honey, cause once you get a load of this shit, you'll be flyin'.”*

He does not know what she means by that.

He snorts, and he is settled in the indentation of frosted foliage; he does not move. Ka’Ora hops claws closer to her master, those deep, deep eyes of hers tracking the buckskin mare and the glittering thing she carries with her. The question is sent to master before she can stop it (What is? What is? Flower?), before she can detect the ignorance in her master’s mind. He indulges the curiosity of his bonded; his brow remains cocked as grey eyes rest on the contraption. “Are you trying to poison me with those herbs?” He asks as cool and lax as his eyes, the bite in his tongue a cheeky thing, spirited and boyish. He shrugs from where he lays in the grasses. “I wouldn’t blame you, from the way I left you…lacking…like that, the last time we crossed paths…”

He snorts again, but it is the ghost of a chuckle, allowing the memory of that time to speak for him. Duty always calls, even when the blood is rushing and one is quite ready to indulge, so to speak. “…I’ll have to warn you, though,” he continues in a changed tone, a handsome thing that drips much darker, sultry as it weaves from his throat, “that I can spit something far, far more dangerous.”

"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase


@Shida



--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
Delicate as FUCK


I'm glad he's game. There's nothing worse than a masterful set-up, that someone just charges right through. You know what I mean - like if you set someone up for a perfect that's what she said, and they leave you alone and hangin' (that'swhatshesaid), or when you deserve the highest of fives and your bro just looks at your hand (hoof) held up there.

Are you trying to poison me with those herbs?

"We're all gonna die sometime. Only difference between poison and what's in this here glassware, is that you're gonna like how it feels, all the way to the end. I give you my personal guarantee-" I say with a wink and a smirk, flicking the dark albeit matted strands of my tail to the side, suggestively. "Besides, big 'ol you ain't gonna be done in by some buds, now are you?" I continue, teasingly. "I bet it's a lot harder to make you go down..."

Innuendos aside, it is just a plant. Plants are natural - organic, no added sulfides, hormone free, free-range, glutton and peanut free. If that isn't some PC shit, then I don't know what is.

Hell, it sounds like you could give this stuff to babies it's so damn natural and hippy-dippy.

I lick the inside of my lips a little bit as he mentioned our last time, running my tongue over my teeth, and I saunter even closer. He did leave me lacking, however much I hate to admit it. No matter how cold the waters of the oasis are, they ain't never cool enough to cool down that particular itch - can't even clean away that particular stain.

"Oh is that right?"

...that I can spit something far, far more dangerous

As he mentions what he can spit, I light the bong off of Princess' ember-y forehead, bright baby blue's sparkling with the light of anticipation. Though it isn't necessarily what's coming out of his mouth that interests me...

I exhale an expertly formed ring of smoke, followed by two more. They begin to fall in line with one another, like a bulls-eye headed straight for that great big handsome fuckable face of his.

"Why don't you come over here and tell me alllllll about it." I purr, my voice coated with hallucinogenic drugs and fantasies.


Image Credits

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.
#5

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?

It is almost shameful how flattery affects the Grey-Eye’d. He knows he must hold himself to such a higher standard of discipline as this, and yet he cannot help himself; any sort of praise given, however slight, however indirect, will always cause the shiver to run down the monster’s spine, will always tease the purr from the serpent’s lips. Yes, he agrees with her, it does take much indeed to bring me down, how astute of you to notice. His guard weakens, and drops, then, even as Ka’Ora continues to gaze upon the glass contraption with trepidation. However tedious and obnoxious her mannerisms, she does speak sense on this matter: whatever the effects of the plant may be, it is only a plant, and he doubts such a miniscule amount could wreak as much havoc as one might have cause to fear.

He watches. His eyes are careful and shrewd as he observes her use of the object, and how she lights it with the flames from her (formidable) companion. Ka’Ora simpers, kneading the frosted grasses beneath her talons as she keeps her eyes on the great hound. …Danger? she whispers into Reginald’s mind—but of course she is ignored, and she is not surprised by this. She knows her master is interested in other things at that moment. She does not take it personally; she licks the wound with grace.

The tip of the Grey-Eye’d’s tail twitches and curls as the smoke rings blow from her pale lips. Move, comes the command, and Ka’Ora stumbles away from where the stud lays upon the ground; he heaves himself to his feet, shaking the moister from his mane and the side he laid on (his hair is tousled and rakishly ruined, and he does not know this).

His steps are heavy as he comes closer, his eyes curving around the edges and crannies of the glass object, watching how the water boils, how the bulbs burn, how the smoke billows in a thick, sensuous ribbon as it wafts from the lip of the contraption. His eyes only lift, and his brow cocks, as she purrs at him a request, an imploration, to elaborate upon his sick, venomous warning.  “Certainly,” he breaths—and his voice is smoke even before the clouds of it have entered his lungs. “…but only if you’ll play nice and show me how to work this, Shi-da.” He does not remember saying her name before now; it had never mattered to him, though they bear the same crest and allegiance to their desert homeland.

Something laughs within him. He is so far from the borders, the churning, frozen ocean that isolates their home from the world; he is absent from the bottomless lists of duties and decrees that bind him intricately, forcing him into a dutiful form that he is growing to despise more and more by the day. He laughs now—because he is not alone.


"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase


@Shida



--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
#6
Literally shida right now:




Shida
Delicate as FUCK


He's so much bigger than I remember. As he stands, I can't help but bite my lip a little. Something about the pinprick of pain I feel, that rush of adrenaline, and the moisture in my mouth all while looking at him, just makes my knees weak.

And no, not in a a heavens to betsy, that handsome fella just makes my knees so weak!. Come on. You know I'm not that girl. This is more of a how in the hell do I get myself under that- which causes the corresponding knee-wobbling because the kid is stacked, and he ain't gonna be light.

Then he opens his damn mouth and as much fun as all this oh so witty banter is, I'm about ready to just give him a ticket-to-ride to my badonkadonk and let the knee-wobbling really begin.

but-

- I'm not very good at letting anyone else have the last word.

"I never play nice-" I whisper back, placing my pink lips over the stem and breathing in a deep, full breath of the almost opalescent smoke (either it really is multi-coloured, or I've already had a tad too much. Either way-) as an example. The water is still bubbling beautifully as I offer it towards him - that's the thing about magical glassware. It just sort of does it for you.

I look at him through hazy blue eyes, and my mind is just a bunch of expletives in the shape of his face, with a few phallic verbs thrown in for good measure.

"You just put your lips around it ... and boom" Somewhere far behind me in the distance, something exploded. Shit- I think to myself. I didn't even mean to do that- Oh well. Doesn't matter. At least the timing was good. "Then you'll start seeing what I see."

Taste the motherfucking rainbow.


Image Credits

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.
#7

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?


[Reggie might be a stud but he's still a n00b] 

He watches the light in her eye—how it dances and wavers, dangerously close to flickering out, though it preservers in those churning blue depths of hers. She is unhinged, the culprit sitting before her, sparkling and well-spun, its gut bubbling with liquid and its brim spilling the faintest trails of smoke. Safe? Ka’Ora asks. He knows the question she cannot piece together with words: Is it wise for him to become as inebriated as this trigger-happy tramp? Would it not put him at a disadvantage? He does not know how this would feel—how it would hinder his ability to protect himself. This could be a game he does not know, with rules he is not familiar with. He might be dealt a sorry hand indeed.

He sees the simper in her eyes, though, and the praise is there, however faint—and his ego is boosted because of it, and he throws his caution to the four winds. Keep watch, he tells his vigilant harpy; she beats her wings and at once, Ka’Ora dances on the wind, and she is gone.

He hears the rumble, and feels the shake in the ground as a distant explosion detonates. His brow cocks at her once more. Bad girl,” he says, sealing his fate and approaching the object, muzzle lowered. His lips feel the cold, foreign glass as he mimics her technique, inhaling the air within, which he finds much thicker than he anticipated.

It is too much, way too much; he withdraws quickly, coughing into the grasses beneath him. He had not expected the searing in his throat, how it crept into his nostrils as the smoke spills from his mouth. He breathes through it, tears pin-pricking the corner of his eyes. His resolve hardens to steel; it has become a challenge.

He does not ask her for a second attempt; he brings his muzzle upward once more, and again his lips find the lip of the glassware. He is slower this time, inhaling the thick smoke, feeling it burning, burning, burning all the way into his chest. He does not let it best him, some weak, insubstantial smoke. He holds it there, expelling it only when he allows, releasing the smooth ribbon from his maw in a long drawl. It is not as skillful as those wings Shida had blown before—no matter. There will be time to learn.

He stands for the moment, eyes closed, senses focused and searching the change in his perceptions. It is not so subtle. It falls upon him much faster than expected—or perhaps it is better to say it lifts him, for his weight seems to disappear, and he feels as though he walks upon a path of clouds. His head swims—and as it does, the very air seems to thrum, and he weaves ever so slightly to its rhythm (and he does not know this). Laughter bubbles from him; it starts slow and quiet, and remains so, nothing more than a dark, handsome ribbon falling from his lips, rocking his shoulders slightly as it leaves his chest.

Muscles relax; joints loosen. He opens his eyes and though his sight wavers before him, he no longer possesses the tension to care. He looks upon Shida’s face, seeing her eyes, and he likes her in that moment in a way he has never cared to. “Well, then,” the words slip between the chuckling; he bites his lip, allowing the warm velvet to encase his back and shoulders, feeling a warmth kindling in his body so soon after being spent. This is what you see,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “How often do you partake?


"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
#8

Shida
Delicate as FUCK


Bad girl

His words sound far away and fuzzy - and the sensation of the sound on my ears pours over my body, and it feels like some sort of stained velvet blanket being draped over me.

I don't smirk or even smile as he falters on his first attempt. It isn't about perfection - nothing in this fucked up life is. It's all about getting that shit down deep into your lungs and letting it work its magic. Doesn't matter how its done or how it burns, just matters that it happens.

And quickly, he makes sure that it does.

His laughter makes me relax. I mean, there's always potential for a bad trip. And who knows, the big hunk might have keeled over right on the sands before me. Should I have warned him? Well... He's a warrior, I'm a warrior... life is dangerous as shit. Everything can't come with a warning label, right?

As he bites his lip, suddenly I want to bite it to. My muzzle stretches forward slightly before I'm even aware of what I'm doing - I'm too lost in the way the site of his dark lips seem physically soft to me. It's like my eyes can feel them, and -

This is what you see. How often do you partake?

"Often enough-" I mumble, forcing my gaze away from his lips and into the deep oceans of his eyes.

Oceans. Salt. Swimming. Birds, Sand fucking everywhere. Sea-gull rat bastards stealing my food and-

Get a hold of yourself. I mentally snap, refocusing my attention on Reginald, rather than the universe of thoughts and sensations that his eyes hold.

"You think seeing is good? Wait until you feel it-" Without hesitation I moved forward. Unlike before when we had sparred, I wasn't looking to try and shove him aside in quite the same way. I might have not been a petite little sunflower, but my body was comprised of enough hills and valleys to be sufficiently tactile against his own robust frame. I wanted my shoulder to press against his, even as I moved down the length of his body.

And, because we all like a little salty with our sweet, I threw in a few nips and nibbles on his flank as well.



I'm an asshole for taking so long. Sorry ;-;

@Reginald


Image Credits

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.
#9

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 world weaves, his body is loose. Something within has become unhinged, something vital he had never noticed before—and it is so easily discarded by the burning smoke swirling in his throat, that thickness he can still feel lingering there in the depths of his chest. His pulse—he can feel his pulse, sluggish and lazy, how it pricks and tingles beneath skin that has become sensitive without his notice. The world turns slowly around him; everything is slow. His realization of this is a slow one, and the panic is slow to come. No, actually. There is no panic. He feels these things and the worry is lost amid a lazy, hypnotic sea of his stringy, relaxed joints. He breathes, and the motion of breathing itself is calming, mesmerizing.

It seems he’s not the only one mesmerized between the two of them. His attention is slow to focus, and yet it does, and he sees how Shida looks at him, her dull blue eyes studying features on his face with an intensity that fails to alarm him. He stares back, and his eyes are hard, granite things, as always. Strange smoke can do little to change that (besides tint them red, perhaps, although the basilisk does not know his eyes have been tinted red).

She is speaking—although the words mean nothing to him, not really, as he is more interested in the timbre of her voice, the drops and the high-hats and the bass-kick, the colors of her tones he had never analyzed before, worthless things that suddenly interest him (the Grey-Eye’d is losing his grip). Her voice pulses around him in the void of a weaving, swaying universe, a place where he is compelled to weave, and sway as well. When she comes forward and her body is pressed against his—she is a mare, alive and breathing, and her blood is hot and her veins are pulsing—he is caught off-guard by the sensation of her, the miniscule pinpricks of her unkempt fur sliding across his own, the subtle dips and curves of her muscle-lined body. The pulse, the pulse of her heart, a hammering heart. Teeth against his hip.

He had not noticed the unfurling within him, the rising of a tide that had been calmed not too long ago by the ministrations of a silver-backed harlot. This one maybe plated in gold instead, but the unfurling continues, the building of pressure in a secret place he had thought was depleted. He should’ve known better--his appetite is never satiated, not completely. The shift of his senses has only served to quicken the growth of his hunger (she’s biting him).

He turns toward her, following her lead, reaching for the pleasant curve of her croup. Ka’Ora has flown away.She knows what is coming.



[I MEAN we can continue and get down and dirty if you want ;D BUT we can also call it good here and fade to black?]
"talk talk talk"


day1953@pbase



--Please tag REGINALD in every reply!

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




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