| Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None
Bunnie |
 The snow had leeched through the red boughs tousling overhead, blanketing the fallen leaves (burgundy or brown, deep, deep, as if dried blood smattered the earth in pools and waves), and hiding a veneer of ice across it all that cracks beneath even her small steps. Occasionally, the ice thickens, and does not break, but steady is her gait, and the surprise slickness beneath her surprises, but does not capsize.
She trails winter’s smoke from her nostrils, occasionally her lips as she blurts forth a loud guffaw or hymnal; her breath hot on the chilly autumn air, her legs slender and ever moving as she approaches the Falls, and its ruby pool, the demoness pauses, as she had the day she had met the Golden Mouse. This time, though, the water cannot deceive her with its trickery; she knows it’s not what it seems, now.
The seemingly bloody water nearest the cascade is shuddering and unfrozen, yielding to stillness only when its downward drop of water decides to be, too, but the banks are rimmed in ice, various layers of it, that taper to fragile, cutout shapes on the edges, where frost becomes a pond. With one hoof she extends her weight forward, leaning, her eyes cast downward and her neck sloping in such a way, too, the other foreleg tucking to her bodice as she reaches out to tap the lip of ice.
A crack reaches her ears before she manages. Swiftly recoiled, her forelimb lifts her body in unison with its brethren, sends her pivoting about so that her white mane dances and flies upwards about her as she spins. Wary of another Mouse and its tricks, the white one narrows her eyes at the faintly wobbling tree line several yards away as her ears knit back into the her pale hair. Her cackling silenced, she prowls forward, her nose nudging aside the boughs with a fear of nothing, only an annoyance that, as the last she’d been here, spies (bad ones) interrupt her peace.
“Come, come, we…” will not harm you, she croons, silenced by the sudden visage of the espionage unit which had so harassed her, “…what?”
Her whisper is rife with suspicious greed. Having lived in magical realms for the majority of her existence, Beloved had seen enough “magic” to pick it out of, say, a shrub, as it was in now. With a curious touch of her pale lips upon the equally pale shell, she traces the cracks which are formed across its surface, like a crackling glaze had been smeared across it, but, even the barest caress of her wicked mouth splits aside these fragile wholes. Revealed within is white fur, white like snow, or bloodless flesh, and though she recoils as the first pieces tumble away from the shell, it is too late.
Eyes meet hers. Small, pale blue, and struck through the center with vertical pupils as if already demonic though new and wet, the creature mewls at her.
With a disgusted snort and high pitched declaration of contempt for this new creation of Helovia, the demoness tosses her head upwards, following its direction at a prance, away from the newborn whatever it is. She makes it several steps before the mew calls her eyes back again, to where the kitten (that is what they are called, she remembers, her eyes narrowing on it contemptuously) has wobbled out of its shell remnants, and had proceeded to follow after her, its tail erect, and small eyes innocently wide, and searching.
Frowning the deepest frown a woman might wear, Beloved stares down the creature, who, upon finally making it to her (its steps some many dozen to her few), pauses, its ears falling back warily. Trying to sit, it instead nearly falls over, and mews loudly, as it had as it had trailed in her wake. Wondering why no female cat has come to take this nuisance back, and why it had been in an egg (some mother, thinks Beloved), she stares for some time at the kitten, which stares back.
It is too much of a bore for a young cat, however, and with an eager wiggle of its suddenly skyward haunches, it propels itself at the mare’s foreleg. Though, at first, Beloved’s instinct is to smash it, and her hoof certainly lifts to do so, the collision of the soft, white body against her limb, and the sensation of its weak, useless legs and tiny teeth so violently clamoring against her flesh in the wild abandon of a kitten’s play, is… endearing. So her hoof slowly settles to the earth, and her horn rises from where it had suddenly lowered to skewer the attacking fluff ball, and, within moments, the demoness finds herself wondering what she’ll call it, if she doesn’t smash it, after all…
[ OOC: Open to any! ]
go on, believe
that life's some kind of masterwork
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image by littlewillow-art@DA & code by me
Tag Beloved, please!
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
| Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Astor |
for there are many ways to kill a man they say What is the world coming too, if Beloved can get a companion and Wessex can’t?
No, don’t answer that.
It is purely by accident that Wessex comes upon the demon woman and her newfound companion. Heavy hooves sink through winter’s slush, crimson welling up where dark mud ought to be. It is the sound of mewling that truly draws the Haruspex’s attention, however, for if it had been Beloved by herself, she probably would have gone out of her way to avoid the woman. She might have differently feelings about her fellow soldier, if it weren’t for the insane giggling which seems to perpetually permeate the air around her. Ears flicker towards the sound of the kitten, nostrils flare, and when no other noises follow, Wessex is obnoxiously honor-bound to investigate. The hero-complex is strong in this one, as it turns out she is drawn to saving those of other species now. She grumbles to herself, but doesn’t change course.
What she comes upon is rather… strange. A kitten. And Beloved. And the kitten is still alive. Wessex’s head tilts slowly to one side, taking in the scene with a growing puzzlement that borders on obscenely funny… because it’s a kitten. And Beloved. Surely the thing is in danger (though maybe not, the white witch is certainly unpredictable), so Wessex advances a little further and fixes the soldier with a look that clearly says she’s still trying to decipher it all, but also that she’s watching the woman. “Since when do you like baby animals?” she asks, knowing the woman’s penchant for blood and death and killing things. “Is this your companion?” she queries again, having only witnessed one, and it was the birth of a whale, a balenkorn. This… is an every day creature.
It’s really kind of fitting, in a disturbing way. Of all the Helovians she knows. Beloved is most likely to be a crazy cat lady. She’s already got the crazy part down.
I am Iron and I Forge Myself |
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-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
| Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None
Bunnie |
Nudging at the creature with her nose, it capsizes; tail tumbles over face, with a small mewl of displeasure, before it is back at its wild batting at her foreleg. With amusement, Beloved watches, focused upon the tiny cat and its ever moving mittens, ears lifted, eyes glimmering…
“Since when do you like baby animals?” asks a voice, familiar. It does not immediately register as so, though, and the demoness steps away, her crown lifting, ears flipping back, gaze narrowing into slits which hover hauntingly over the warding, angry hiss which suddenly erupts from her giggles. The kitten, frightened as well, remains where it is, merely pivots, its small back arching and its body dancing about on tiptoe as she, too, unleashes a hiss of malevolence. With a bark of delighted laughter, the White Witch discards her mantel of aggression, while the feline retains hers, her tail slowly lowering, and reducing its defensively fluffed diameter.
The next question stills that favoritism for a herd mate behind yet another hiss and scowl, a deep frown digging into the lines of her face as she glances at the small white fiend, marked by black.
“No,” she answers as if cursing, yet still giggling, her eyes suddenly back upon the many-staved mare, “it is only an Orphan. Though…”
The cacophony of her voices lures her eyes down, back to the creature, which slowly ambles towards her now, again. Beloved’s ears stay fallen, her nostrils curl with the deep, shaky breath she draws. It is very calling to her, that small face. It almost feels as if it, too, was drawn to her, their eyes meeting as their heads moved in unison.
The sudden realization that perhaps Wessex is right makes a sudden anger rise in her, and like a cobra, its head jets upwards, and its fans splay; a wild sound of disgust rises from her being, and it is hiss like, her head suddenly jettisoning up from where she’d been simply inspecting. Eyes widened by absolute displeasure and panic, her nose begins to swish one side to the other, faster and faster, until Beloved’s face is all but blurs, and her head begins to knock whoosh knock with the raving motions she subjects her brain to.
“No, no, nonono, no, no…” she wails, and plots, her erratic shaking fading into dismayed panting as she stares upon the kitten, sitting and staring at her, smirking, if it were possible. In her mind, she inquires, and her mind, as always, answers.
Could she kill it?
We would die.
Could she flee now?
It will find you.
Curse this heathen’s realm!
Perhaps we are the one cursed.
“Who did this?” vehemently questions the woman of Wessex, her tone accusatory, her gaze equally so; with a forward pace she presses her stare upon the gun-metal mare, small muscles in her face twitching, her laughter like sharp gurgles amidst her panic, now, “who? Was it you?”
go on, believe
that life's some kind of masterwork
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|
image by littlewillow-art@DA & code by me
@Wessex
Tag Beloved, please!
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
| Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Astor |
for there are many ways to kill a man they say There is more irony and karma here than can be tallied, Wessex thinks, as she watches the White Witch meet her match in the form of the cutest little demonic fluff ball you ever did see. Beloved, however, goes down her usual rabbit hole and begins to freak out. Sigh. She really should have just turned away and left the pair alone. But that would require her to ignore that damn savior complex which seems to fill every fiber of her being these days.
Good lord, they even react the same way. But there is something interesting in watching the mare figure out what’s happening, much like the way children discover the world, in wonder and confusion and horror writ on their faces. In the next moment, Wessex is back at the thought that it was a good decision to change course, just in case something happens, and in the moment after, she thinks herself crazy for that very same thought. And all of a sudden, she needs to find the emergency exit for this crazy roller coaster she’s been placed on.
Yellow-orange eyes roll as she adopts a dry, patronizing tone to match the vehement questions spat at her. “Yes, Beloved. I gave you a companion and forget to find one for myself…” A pause. “Calm down.” She looks pointedly from the gasping creature back to the white kitten who does… indeed seem to be smirking at the two of them. “Are you going to take care of it or not?”
What do you do with an orphaned companion, anyway?
I am Iron and I Forge Myself |
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Sorry, idk what this shit is x.x
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
| Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3 |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None
Bunnie |
Wessex seems to merely watch her, for a while, but the cat watches back, in all the ways Beloved is merely in panic and denial. Wheezing, further unhinged than her usual wild-eyed self, her giggles are gurgles, ones that are cut short only by the warrior mare’s sharp, commanding voice. The dam does not last long, of course, but the blasted remnants of those inner fortitudes snag and grasp the debris that was her erratic breath and vicious gaze.
Instead, she simply stares upon the cat, the words of the Haruspex meeting her ears, but seemingly passing through, or just drifting about in that space between most call a brain, but which is something darker, and much more complex for one such as the White Witch. Her silver eye flutters, her black eye grows abyssal, and with an exhalation of shuddering breath upon the frigid air that leaves a dragoness’ plume, her crown lowers in defeat.
She can hear its heart thudding in time with her own; feel its… feelings like worms writhing within the confines of her already riddled mind.
“Oh, shut up, we are not stupid,” snaps the pale one, a barking, growling command that is not comforted by the babble of her giggles, instead imbued with the disgust and abhorrence for this world that fills her the longer she stares at her entrapment, now quietly purring where it sits and watches through black rimmed eyes, “one cannot kill such a thing without the cost, and we are not stupid. Even Beloved has a soul, just as you.”
Narrowing her eyes contemptuously at the kitten, she again ponders the price.
She burrows for the shards that remain…
And growls, audibly, stepping towards the pale fluff ball with all the menace she can manage, earning only the upwards arc of the creature’s spine and the lift of its idiot tail as it bumps its chin upon her lowered face. Gritting her teeth against the urge to bite, her face is the picture of wickedness, restrained, and it is, perhaps, laughable, especially so as the monstrous, tiny cat clambers its way roughly up her foreleg, and towards the slope of her pale shoulders.
Here, Orphan’s small mind thinks contentedly to itself as she gracefully sits, her paws tangled in the stringy white locks of her disgusted mount, here is my throne.
go on, believe
that life's some kind of masterwork
|
|
image by littlewillow-art@DA & code by me
@Wessex
Tag Beloved, please!
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
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