Black Morass Do you ever feel like falling for someone you never thought of falling for?
All Welcome  February 13, 2018, 08:37 PM
Ramsay
Lone Wolves

Ramsay grunted uncomfortably as he worked his bony hips against the back of a fallen, recently killed ferruginous hawk. He did it more out of compulsion than anything—something in his animal brain told him to, so he did—but it came with sensations he found uncomfortable, and so he warred within himself about whether or not to stop. The compulsion, like a horrible itch, wasn't satisfied yet.

So Ramsay, conflicted, continued to grind against the hawk, itching the scratch that was a need to dominate something whilst ignoring the other scratch that his body wasn't yet prepared for. It was his first kill—his kill—which brought out the dominant behaviour. Sure, the hawk had had a broken wing and was easy pickings, but he'd never before killed a prey animal, had never felt the rush in his blood as his predator instincts took over. It mounted in his brain along with the stress and exhaustion and drove him into a more feral mindset than he was used to.

As he glared into the dark morass, torn between continuing or stopping, a thin line of drool dripped from his lips onto the dead hawk's lolling head.

AW, Ramsay feels dominance drive and lust (in the form of bloodlust) for his first time, pardon weird behaviours.
February 14, 2018, 03:43 AM
Absalom
Lone Wolves

        the man had trailed after the petals of his shriveled rose, hands aching to hold her stem once more--to water her, to perk her back up with spoonfuls of sugar. he could trace her only but faintly--his haggard gait could not rival the panic that impelled her lithe legs through the countryside. he would have his bouqet again, everything in its own time--he was nothing if not a patient florist.  
        he could not savor the metallic scent of blood--the weep of his wounds had made him noseblind to its odor, but he did pick up the scent of a strange wolf and followed that to the sight of a misproportioned boy and his dissipated behavior of molesting a dead hawk. absalom was neither disturbed by the boy's deformities nor his necrophilic compulsions for birds of prey--but he sure was fascinated, and thus made his slow draw up to the scene.
        "by fucking jove." his voice came suddenly, rakish and intrusive. the undertow of scintillating wit behind his phrasing (pls google "bird of jove" for i so deeply amuse myself) conjured a cackle from the mucousy viscosity of his throat. "s'pose you couldn't say 'nay' to those come-hither eyes." the litch made a pointed gesture towards the membraneous, insensate gaze of ramsay's feathered swain. sal's expression was filmed over with a distinct lack of concern for the other's carnal inclinations, and yet his eyes were dimly lit in a depiction of amusement.
        "you pair going steady?" the malicent being settled as comfortably as he could the cold ground, a far and polite distance, all but yellow eyes concealed by the animated shadow of the boy bucking against the carrion with saliva bubbling at his flews and falling like ropes upon the bird straddled against his loins.
 

absalom is a low priority character. always open to run-ins! pm me.
February 14, 2018, 08:20 PM
Euron
Lone Wolves

Cameo unless noticed :)

He felt lost and sought to find himself in an old comfortable routine. So he followed Ramsay into the morass, both a shadow and a ghost. Unseen and unheard as he trailed behind. He did not witness his brother make the kill on the ailing hawk; but what came next he had seen back on the meadow, when Iliksis had set upon a rotting head in the same way. He himself had been pressed to the dark wolf's loins, and Euron's mind flashed back to that thrilling moment. Between his memories and current observations, he felt himself stir.

The winter air was cold between his legs.

The arrival of a stranger broke his transfixed stare, which moved to the rawboned wolf and latched on with a hard and biting aspect. His nape bore quills and the smooth skin across his snout buckled as his white fangs seemed to descend from beneath his black lips. But Euron never moved, and no growl betrayed the sudden aggression and protectiveness that he felt.
February 17, 2018, 09:50 PM
Ramsay
Lone Wolves

Wakka wakka wakka wakka, went Ramsay's little hips as he stared off into the forest, trying to comprehend the dog desire to claim something in so rough and primal a manner, but when a voice sang out to his right, some weird deep-seated shame found its way into his belly and he disengaged from the hawk. His hips rocked three more times in midair, in spite of the discomfort in his pelvis, before his feral instinct dissipated and he was left staring accusingly at the stranger.

He didn't realize how much he'd grown until he was faced with an unfamiliar wolf. He came up nearly to Absalom's razor sharp collarbone, if not a hair taller, and his eyes were level with the swinging chain around the man's throat. "Yes," he said, mistaking Absalom's meaning to be relevant to himself and his brother. But his dark eyes continued tracking the swing of the chain, and after a short moment, he asked, "what is that?" as if he hadn't been caught redhanded shagging the back end of a corpse.

All the while, Euron went unseen.