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+--- Thread: Ankyra Sound as your heart measured in mountains, fell and climbed (/showthread.php?tid=15467)
as your heart measured in mountains, fell and climbed - Lusca - May 27, 2016
birth of Lycaon, Wylla, and Ingram! i'll be out of town Sun-Tues, so getting this up a few days in advance for the guppies. Lauren, Lusca would do her best to hide the bebs for the first week but if you want Caiaphas in here now that's copacetic too <3
As it turns out, consequences come in multiples and are highly customizable.
Lusca's Consequences, in particular, came in the form of three whelps. Two inkblots--a male and a female--and a third, mink colored male. They'd arrived, free of complications, early in the morning and after countless hours of laboring.
To say their grand debut was a private affair was to say the very least. Yup, it was very grand, very debut-y. Oh yeah, privates definitely involved. It was also gushy and slimy and captioned with snarled exclamations of "why am I so fertile! this is stupid!" and enough expletives to penetrate a nun's thick-coming fancies.
Listen. Bearing life is, like, a miracle, guys.
All of the effort, sweat, and amniotic fluid ejected from weird places led up to her eventual responsibility for the three new lives. Initially, she was unimpressed, and left the den for a brief intermission to air out her crotch (cuz ow damn). But a few minutes of reflecting on her life choices and taking the brunt of disapproving glances from her conscience appeared to do the trick, because she returned from her break, towing a line of resigned sighs with her.
Lusca started to get the hang of things after a few hours of practice. Keeping Consequences fed was the hardest part. Not for lack of milk itself, but for her inabilty to reconcile herself to the transition from incubator to 24/7 taphouse. She hadn't even known her dignity was tied to the structural integrity of her nipples until she was faced with the wildly unattractive appearance of them after nursing for an extended period of time. However--slowly, slowly, she became comfortable with the idea of not having to do anything except eat, relax, and occasionally check pulses in order to keep things groovy.
As to be expected, she was curious, and explored newborn features with an impolite sort of intrusiveness. She pressed her cold nose into pawpads, repositioned bodies, stepped on heads (accident). Also to be expected, these pokes and prods didn't go unprotested by the subjects of her harassment. Spatial awareness be damned, an intractable body-part flailed in her face--the tiny extremity barging rudely into her nostril with a squeak from its operator. Lusca recoiled, snorting with surprise. The kick was an impotent sensation outside the womb (a tickle really), but she could not help but feel like a target of the fruit of her loins. This was evidenced, in her eyes, by all manner of ways they'd caused her bodily faculties to malfunction throughout the weeks of her final trimester. Emotional continence left first, and then the legit pissy type of incontinence happened. Oh, and the raw, weepy nip situation. Care to explain this fresh hell, Mama Nate?
Her nose wriggled. "Mmmyes, very strong." she murmured, an expression of wistfulness upon her brow. "Almost like you've been practicing." Side-eye game coming at you, Ingram. Apologize to my bladder right now. It's traumatized and probably suffering from battered wife syndrome because of your karate sessions.
Shifting her attention to the last-born of the litter, she rearranged the little black female with the broadside of her snout, snifting the fur of her nape and drawing her into the tilde of her wrist with an inward sweep of her chin. Any touch administered was patient and gentle, and she allowed herself to linger for she did not now how much time she would have with her--or how many of these little, meaningless seeming interactions she would have to sentimentalize about later. "Sorry, young one. You deserve a better start." They were illegitimate, and would quickly come to understand what it meant to struggle. The famine was tough enough on the most self-sufficient individuals, but vulnerable, dependent beings such as these had no chance. Bundles of joy? No. Burdens to bear, through no fault of their own.
It was because of their inevitable separation from her that she felt bitter. She resisted the postpartum bonding process, fought off the oxytocin that flooded her body--denied herself access to any emotion that had the capacity to complicate things.
Even still, she often noticed herself staring at them, and noticed serene smiles unfurling upon her lips, and noticed herself loving them. And as you do when you catch yourself drifting into another lane, Lusca overcorrected and swerved; turning away to close off her body language. This was ineffectual as a long-term solution to her problem. Any belch or sly hormonal flutter compelled her to peek between her legs, just to make sure... and detachment would fold under concern, folding under intrigue, folding under humor and loving gazes, til she was an origami model crafted from maternal warmth once again.
Were any of the newborns to fuss, Lusca was quick to fulfill their needs as to avoid drawing undesirable attention to the rendezvous site. She quickly learned, however, that some needs were simply unable to be satisfied by anything she had to offer. Squeals, squalls, emphatic suggestions--Lusca's brood feared not to speak their incipient minds, and under any normal circumstance this would have delighted her. Now, it stringed her up by tendrils of hypervigilence. The trundling shadow of a pine-needle at the denmouth had the ability to dose her with adrenaline. She could have sworn mushrooms exploding from the decaying bark of logs were footfalls, and there was a certain distinctness to the sound of mothwings beating against the membrane of a leaf. "Shh shhhhush."
Unfortunately, in spite of all her anxiety and whispers and careful minding to, Saltwinter's tenderest feet were not long for stealth.
RE: as your heart measured in mountains, fell and climbed - Ingram Sr - May 27, 2016
He was born without much flair, and his announcement that he was here was no more than a soft whimper, softer even than it should have been, as he drew his first few breaths. His genetics had intended that he be more lively, that he be larger and stronger, but genetics were no safeguard against the randomness of life. They were only a blueprint of what could be in an optimal situation, but famine was not shy about altering those plans though his mother gave what she could. So it was that he was born rather runty, a small black pup that bore a frosting of silver along his nape and back.
Yet, he who was named Ingram, was not a lost cause. He found his mother's teat by way of a feeble crawl, and perhaps with the help of a nudging snout. But there was strength in his jaws, and determination in his grip. He suckled with zeal, issuing a complaint in the form of squeak should he be jostled from his purpose by his mother's movements. Perhaps he was not bestowed the body his father meant for him, but behind the blue eyes, that were so hidden, awaited the jack o' lantern orange of his mother's gaze, and in that intense hue lurked her fiery spirit. It was his, at least in part, and it would see him through.
RE: as your heart measured in mountains, fell and climbed - Wylla - May 27, 2016
Life had only just begun, but for a melodramatic newborn, it felt like an abrupt rollercoaster straight into H-E-double-L.
Wylla's little pod within Lusca was a warm and comfortable place. Sure, she was submerged in nastiness tweny-four hours a day, seven days a week, and there was no such thing as orientation or eating or breathing, but it was nice. Warm, cozy, stretchy and free of jostling. She could've floated there forever and been content with it, even if her contentment was the result of a lack of awareness. Indeed, within Lusca's body, Wylla had no consciousness and therefore no way of even knowing there was life beyond it, or life within it, or life at all.
Fast forward to today, where her warm bathing fluid was lost and then she was brusquely squeezed and dropped upon the floor and brought to life by an overwhelmingly huge wet thing. As anyone who has recently been run over by a truck might know, Wylla ached something fierce, and though her body would show no lasting effects, there were imperceptible bruises from the ordeal and her head was a little misshapen from coming out a little crooked and her teeny tiny shoulder still smarted from where it had struck the ground upon her entry into the world. All of these things would be remedied in short order, the shape of her softened skull included, but today they compounded into one miserable, squalling child with a grotesquely lopsided head.
There were a few comforts that Lusca made quick work of. Nursing shut the babe up quite effectively, but Wylla couldn't nurse forever lest she burst like a water balloon. Even if she tried, the zeal with which Ingram went about the task prevented her in other ways. More than once already was the tiny girl the victim of one of his powerhouse kicks. The other comfort was her mother's gentle touch, the tactile stimulus almost more keen for her than a typical newborn. Wylla practically purred when Lusca rearranged her, though in truth they were tiny whimpers and growls rolled into one strangely happy sound.
Yet it would come to light that this ability to calm Wylla with a touch was singularly unique to Lusca, and that even a days old babe was able to tell the difference between mother and any other, and even an hours old babe knew the sweet taste of love and adoration, without the consciousness to comprehend it, as she fell into a milk-drowned slumber in the crook of Lusca's forelimb.
RE: as your heart measured in mountains, fell and climbed - Caiaphas - May 27, 2016
SHRIEK I AM SO EXCITED!!
of late the shewolf had taken to stalking the coven's once-captive, knowing full well the eventual threat of birth was near. when lusca retired to more secluded hidings than her typical locations (in truth, could she be any more reclusive?) caiaphas knew it was time. like some great creep the wretch had hovered just out of sight, though she dared not come too close for fear of meeting lusca's wrathful teeth. she could scarce hold her excitement when she heard the soft babble of pups within, and with a dart the she-wolf bid for the grotto to collect petty offerings that appeased her eye and pleased her. later she would present lusca with these gifts (though they were intended for the guppies) and would demand to see them; but for now, she let the new mother rest.
RE: as your heart measured in mountains, fell and climbed - Lycaon - June 02, 2016
please use your inside voice this is the maternity ward
The first of firsts, he was aware of the squeezing sensation of a contraction. He felt his shoulders forced down as the muscles cushioning him thrust his existence into propulsion, then there was a thin slip of cool air and the perception of a cold nose's violation, toggling with his factory settings (as one does to get familiar with the controls in a new game).
When Lusca motioned to take him into the glove of her muzzle, Lycaon hoisted up his noddling head and bleated mightily, a sound effect his mother would find him to be particularly stingy with, reserving its use only for the most indignant of emotions. He grunted and wriggled and acted in a generally user-unfriendly manner during the transplant of his body from the ground onto the path of a tongue's nitpicking lash, at length washing him clean of birth's detritus.
Fortunately for the boy, Lusca's attention rarely remained on him alone for long, so when she shifted tasks to attend his siblings, Lycaon blindly scooted under the archway of her elbows, latching his gums around the first mammiliform shape they could find: a toe -- quite south of his internal gps's set destination.
RE: as your heart measured in mountains, fell and climbed - Lusca - June 03, 2016
pp always welcome lauren. i think my post concludes this thread :)
Lusca was solemn though she nurtured her young with intense focus. She did not have a mate to copilot, so her own needs were suppressed in favor of their own -- but she didn't have time to mind. Instinct to leaven these helpless things far transcended self-care, and she felt a sense of purpose fill the empty spots that isolation to the Ankyra Sound had created.
An eerie feeling climbed her spine and although the sealitch lingered just out of sight, Lusca's intuition discerned her presence. Ears sinking, she hefted her weight to the opposite end of the den, her back exposed by the ingress. Should any of Caiaphas' comrades try their luck for access, she'd be there to take their coats. And faces.