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+--- Thread: Wapun Meadow that old cliché (/showthread.php?tid=1062)
that old cliché - RIP Fox - January 28, 2014
all welcome! quick posts preferred, but not required. takes place on the night of the 28th
It was quiet, almost too quiet for Fox. She licked her lips as if to taste the air, and let her grey eyes look out over the meadow. Not like she could see much, considering it was the middle of the night. Still, there was enough starlight to give her a glimpse of what lay before her. She squinted at the dark, as if that would somehow allow her to see more of the meadow, but it didn't seem to help. With a sigh, she realized the only real way to get to know what was out there was to walk out and use her other senses to explore.
The newly-titled Nu (ain't that a tongue-twister!) was still unsure if her new home would last. It was always difficult to tell with these packs that had only just sprung up. She knew there was a large possibility that it would fail (as she'd seen so many do), but she was willing to stick around for the ride. She just had to remind herself not to get too attached to her new friends, because getting attached meant feeling sad when it all went down the drain. Wolves came and went, but emotions stayed. If she could manage to keep her emotions in check, she'd be hunky-dory!
Meandering along at a rather leisurely pace, Fox thought of these things and what the future would hold for her. At the ripe age of one, she still had a whole lot of future ahead of her to fantasize about.
RE: that old cliché - Lecter - January 28, 2014
srry i suck so bad D;
“”
The man had not ventured far from Lethe's lands on many occasions, and the breadth of Sos' most recent demand, one he did not fully recall, had laid him in his den for a day and a night. He roused himself only to succor his feeble mind with a bit of meat and another opiate, but when at last Lecter came fully awake, he was ravenous.
The weatherwitch slid out into the moonlight; icewater eyes cast roundabout him. He did not sense the nearness of Lethe's other wolves, and so he set off in search of prey or his own damnation. Scenting the spoor of a buck, the thin shaman forced himself into a brisk pace, slowing only when he caught sight of a petite, fox-hued form not far from him. He paused to watch her, nostrils registering the scent of wolf, and one of Lethe's own at that, but his eyes shouted that she was a fox. Warily, he approached.
RE: that old cliché - RIP Fox - January 28, 2014
"Holy fuck, what is that god-awful—" Fox had to stop herself from continuing, because she realized the source of the fucking terrible smell that seemed to have been sent straight from torture-land. She scrunched up her nose as he moved closer, and squinted her eyes, somehow thinking that doing so would close out the rotting smell a little bit more.
"Seriously, dude, don’t come any closer or I am going to vomit," she warned. Fox had a weak stomach, and this smell was making it turn like no other. It was already making those pre-vomit gurgle sounds. What the fuck was Lethe thinking letting this guy stay with them? In fact, if this guy was sticking around, Fox might have to get out of Dodge as quickly as possible. Unless, of course, she wanted to turn into a puke-o-matic.
RE: that old cliché - Lecter - January 28, 2014
“”
The wolf/fox...thing exclaimed, and Lecter's ears swept foward, even as his eyes hardened with her abject disrespect of the ceremonial blood he wore upon his coat. So this is the new breed of wolf, young and calloused to the very God who allows them each breath, the shaman spat to himself, but he did not halt in his leery steps.
Only a scant few paces from her did Lecter choose to cease his movement, and watched her with a rapt and mounting anger burning in his breast. “How is it you appear a fox, and not a wolf, but still find the confidence to mock things of which you know nothing?” he demanded in a quiet hiss.
RE: that old cliché - RIP Fox - January 28, 2014
Well, not only did her new pack-mate smell of horrendous things, he was also a complete nutcase. Seriously, what the hell was Lethe thinking?! Maybe she just... hadn't met him, yet. Maybe he was like Fox and had just chimed in at the right moment, joining up on a whim (if this guy even had whims) and Lethe hadn't met him to kick him out, yet. Yeah, that must have been it.
Mister Crazytown took another few steps toward her, and Fox felt the heaves coming. He hadn't gotten past the second word before her body began convulsing involuntarily. One wretch, two wretches, gurgle, gurgle, up it came. The remains of her last meal (and quite a bit of water, for she'd just recently come from a drink) spewed all at once onto the ground in front of her. She looked up at her new "friend" with a look that said, "Hope you're happy, idiot!" But before another few seconds had passed, she found herself retching again, knowing it would only be a matter of time before she left another pile at his feet.
Oh, and she had no intention of leaving. She'd stand here and puke all day. It was some sort of crazy test, she told herself. A battle of wits to see who was the craziest. Damn, what a stupid idea.
RE: that old cliché - Lecter - February 02, 2014
lol
“”
The foxwolf did not answer, save for the retching of her stomach's contents onto the ground before him. Muzzle wrinkled in distaste, the shaman sidestepped the vomitus and regarded her with more disdain than before. Perhaps she was a literal fool, with little in her skull to commend her?
Whatever the reason, when the smaller beast began again to heave and choke, the pale witch growled a warning and backed from her, hackles prickled against the sickness she would surely infect the rest of Lethe's lands with, if something drastic was not done. A sudden cruel idea clutched him; he narrowed his eyes. “I will give you a draught to settle your stomach and end the nausea, woman,” Lecter offered coldly.
RE: that old cliché - RIP Fox - February 03, 2014
*amused*
He spoke again, but Fox could not hear him. The nausea had overpowered her, and the only noise that made it to her brain was the loudest ringing (or was it buzzing?) sound she had ever heard. And then, the funniest thing happened. The crazy, horrible-smelling wolf started to get darker and darker. Upon more observation, Fox realized it wasn't just him, though. It was like the stars and the moon had gone out. "Poof" they went, leaving her in a darker and darker place. Even with the ringing and the loss of vision, Fox had somehow managed to keep herself standing.
Well, for a little while. A few short seconds of the dark ringing elapsed, and then Fox's legs buckled beneath her and she was on the ground in a pile of fur and flesh. She had been knocked unconscious by the wretched smell that was Lecter. Laying somewhat on her side, her lungs still functioned normally, though it was a wonder she wasn't tossing her cookies in her sleep.
RE: that old cliché - Lecter - February 05, 2014
hahAH
“”
Nares flaring, Lecter watched as she wove, then crumbled to the earth's embrace. Naturally, he could not smell himself, and so the bleak swoon the foxgirl found herself in was of a mystery to the pale witch. Pacing forth, he thrust his muzzle near her own, to hear the exhalation and inhalation of her breath; satisfied that she was alive, but not sated with much else, Lecter rocked back upon unsure heels.
He had several options, it seemed; he could let the woman be, to awake alone, or perhaps beneath a rude splash of hot urine for her earlier insults, or he could drag her away to his spider-ridden lair, to operate in true sadism upon her, or perhaps he could call for Lethe and have the honeyed succubus deal with this occurrence as she saw fit.
As he mused, his cold eyes trained themselves upon her prone form, and he silently willed her to awake.
RE: that old cliché - RIP Fox - February 06, 2014
Fox's body had not responded well to his foul smell, and it demanded rest from her (without her permission, no less). The Nu remained on the ground, her tongue lolled out to taste the dirt. The girl's stomach gurgled something fierce, and yet she still did not rustle from her body's enforced slumber. A full thirty seconds passed, and she lay there with her chest heaving while her body tried to remind her that she should not get near such sickening things again.
The yearling's eyes fluttered, and she groaned in discomfort. Her stomach ached, and the smell had not gone away. Her whole body felt weak and disjointed, and she did not think she would be able to do anything until this wretched beast left her. "Away," she creaked, her mouth and throat dry. Of course, she probably didn't look or smell to great herself, laying here in her own vomit. And that only made things worse. Swallowing hard, she did everything in her power not to gag again.
RE: that old cliché - Lecter - February 11, 2014
“”
He watched her with rapidly fading interest, but when she awoke only to croak a command, he crept closer to her, circling her prone form with a sadistic light glowing electrically in his icewater eyes. A mocking laugh broke from him; he shook himself near her, dried gore flaking from him into the air. If she could not handle the stench of the one closest to the Gods, perhaps she did not deserve to live in a pack that was still resplendent, in his eyes, of Shearwater Bay.
Lecter was in his element; he pranced about her, rasping his hoarse chuckles and teasing her with the very odor that emanated from his fur, daring her to rise, to punish him with fang and claw, to flee. But it was more likely that the pathetic little foxwolf would only gurgle another spate of vomit onto herself and fade into another blackness.
RE: that old cliché - RIP Fox - February 12, 2014
hopefully last post for me!
The horrendous-smelling wolf shook his fur, flicking bits of disgusting whatever upon her. Fox did not understand why he insisted on torturing her, and she was going to make sure that Lethe knew about it. Had she known that he was some kind of religious nutjob, at least she would have been able to understand it. Fox gagged again, but the contents of her stomach were already on the ground. There was nothing left but dry heaves.
Somehow, Fox managed to gain enough strength to lift herself from the ground. Vomit still clung to her fur, but she would—could not—stay here any longer. Weakly, she lifted her lip in a warning snarl. She made no move to attack him. Fox had only wanted him to stay away from her. And that was all she had ever wanted. If he tried to stop her, well... she would get to that if she had to.