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+--- Thread: Wheeling Gull Isle angry smol (/showthread.php?tid=29632)
angry smol - Coelacanth - September 16, 2018
Dated for when the three amigas [@Reigi, @Moorhen, and Seelie] get home.
@Stockholm ♥
@Stockholm ♥
There was a wild light in the Aralez’s eye when she returned to the isle.
Leaving Maegi behind wasn’t just an emotional struggle for the sheepdog; it spat in the face of years of physical, biological instinct. Finding lost lambs and bringing them home wasn’t just a natural inclination — it was a need that gnawed at her and threatened to rip her open now, when her headcount (three minus one) amounted to two. Life was a numbers game for the feather-furred shepherd. She was zero. Every new member of her flock added one; every lost member subtracted one; and the count was cumulative. Thus, if by some cruel circumstance she was cast into solitary confinement, she would be measured by the souls she had loved and lost — without her family, she could only ever be negative. There were different categories, myriad specifications, and to a less busy mind the sheer number of folders, cabinets, and locked doors within Seelie’s psyche would seem insanely overwhelming — or perhaps simply insane — but she didn’t know how to live or think any other way.
The journey back to Wheeling Gull Isle had been fraught with memories and nightmares of the Wolfskull and the dread inhabitants of Blackfeather Woods. Now and again, the sheepdog would turn to glance over her shoulder, half-expecting Maegi to appear behind them, saying simply, “I changed my mind,” — but with the sandbar behind them and no sign of the winter-white Melonii princess, she admitted defeat.
She was not feeling steady enough to see her children, but begged her companions to summon Stockholm for her. For her part, Coelacanth padded northwest, leaving an obvious trail until at last she reached Wavewrack Lagoon — and there, as she so often did when she was distraught, she submerged her body entirely until only her ears, eyes, and the tip of her nose broke surface, a tiny sheepcrocodile surrounded by a warm blue glow of scintillating sea sparkle. She waited for the familiar feeling of cleansing and healing the island gave her, but it never came.
Leaving Maegi behind wasn’t just an emotional struggle for the sheepdog; it spat in the face of years of physical, biological instinct. Finding lost lambs and bringing them home wasn’t just a natural inclination — it was a need that gnawed at her and threatened to rip her open now, when her headcount (three minus one) amounted to two. Life was a numbers game for the feather-furred shepherd. She was zero. Every new member of her flock added one; every lost member subtracted one; and the count was cumulative. Thus, if by some cruel circumstance she was cast into solitary confinement, she would be measured by the souls she had loved and lost — without her family, she could only ever be negative. There were different categories, myriad specifications, and to a less busy mind the sheer number of folders, cabinets, and locked doors within Seelie’s psyche would seem insanely overwhelming — or perhaps simply insane — but she didn’t know how to live or think any other way.
The journey back to Wheeling Gull Isle had been fraught with memories and nightmares of the Wolfskull and the dread inhabitants of Blackfeather Woods. Now and again, the sheepdog would turn to glance over her shoulder, half-expecting Maegi to appear behind them, saying simply, “I changed my mind,” — but with the sandbar behind them and no sign of the winter-white Melonii princess, she admitted defeat.
She was not feeling steady enough to see her children, but begged her companions to summon Stockholm for her. For her part, Coelacanth padded northwest, leaving an obvious trail until at last she reached Wavewrack Lagoon — and there, as she so often did when she was distraught, she submerged her body entirely until only her ears, eyes, and the tip of her nose broke surface, a tiny sheepcrocodile surrounded by a warm blue glow of scintillating sea sparkle. She waited for the familiar feeling of cleansing and healing the island gave her, but it never came.
RE: angry smol - Stockholm - September 24, 2018
While Stockholm’s domestic ancestors never tended to flocks in the same way that Coelacanth’s did, the baseline instinct is similar enough to nearly be the same. He comes from a long line of guardians, protectors. That is his job, not just by choice or upbringing or fate, but something dictated by genetic instinct.
He understands the sense of loss and failure that haunts the inky sheepdog without ever needing to be told it.
Her trail is easy to follow, and after a short time he finds her at the lagoon. For a moment he lingers on the rocky shoreline as if thinking on what to say or what to do before wading into the water after her. At this depth he is far from submerged the way the his Aralez is, and there is something a bit comical about that. Comical, in fact, is what he is aiming for. He cannot bring Maegi back for Seelie, he cannot change the instinct and emotion that is woven into her being, but he can provide a distraction.
“Seelie,” he begins, solemn and serious, as if about to embark on an emotional discussion about what has occurred. Simultaneously he takes a step forward, perhaps as if intending to move in front of her, and as he does he purposefully ‘missteps’ and trips forward, going underwater headfirst with a splash and coming up sputtering and shaking his head, creating all the more of a spray of water.
He understands the sense of loss and failure that haunts the inky sheepdog without ever needing to be told it.
Her trail is easy to follow, and after a short time he finds her at the lagoon. For a moment he lingers on the rocky shoreline as if thinking on what to say or what to do before wading into the water after her. At this depth he is far from submerged the way the his Aralez is, and there is something a bit comical about that. Comical, in fact, is what he is aiming for. He cannot bring Maegi back for Seelie, he cannot change the instinct and emotion that is woven into her being, but he can provide a distraction.
“Seelie,” he begins, solemn and serious, as if about to embark on an emotional discussion about what has occurred. Simultaneously he takes a step forward, perhaps as if intending to move in front of her, and as he does he purposefully ‘missteps’ and trips forward, going underwater headfirst with a splash and coming up sputtering and shaking his head, creating all the more of a spray of water.
RE: angry smol - Coelacanth - November 08, 2018
“Seelie,” Stockholm murmurs, and a flicker beneath the lagoon’s surface betrays the instantaneous spurt of joy that dances through her every time he exists in her general direction. The brightness of her Neptune eyes is diminished still beneath the stormclouds of grief, but she looks upon him warmly as he approaches her —
— and shoots to her feet, each feathered limb ramrod straight, her flowing plume cracking skyward like a bold exclamation point with the popping of her tufted ears. “WAT HAPPEN?!” her body language cries, head cocking so far to the side that she appears borderline vestibular. She is drenched in the wave he creates, and blinks saline from her lashes. In the seasong she hears her grandmother’s voice:
It will be weeks before this reassurance really begins to sink in (and there’s a stronghold of guilt within the Aralez that no external force can touch) but she needs to shed the tension in her thin musculature so badly that she can’t deny her goofy, stalwart, idiotic, perfect mate. “Ooh,” bespeaks the quick, decisive shake of her head and a soft, kittenish sneeze, “you are in so much trouble right now.”
Velveteen flews arch and ripple, displaying every tooth in her mouth as she crouches down low and weaves toward him with an eellike wriggle. Slim jaws fling impossibly wide as she flings herself upon her mate, forelimbs perched atop his back as she, well…bites him a few bajillion times. To an onlooker, the display might appear violent — especially given the warbling growls that dance up and down the hollow column of her throat and the hackles that go from the base of her skull to her fluffy butt — but she isn’t breaking skin or even chomping hard enough to bruise.
— and shoots to her feet, each feathered limb ramrod straight, her flowing plume cracking skyward like a bold exclamation point with the popping of her tufted ears. “WAT HAPPEN?!” her body language cries, head cocking so far to the side that she appears borderline vestibular. She is drenched in the wave he creates, and blinks saline from her lashes. In the seasong she hears her grandmother’s voice:
“You did not fail, small one. You guided a lost lamb home.”
It will be weeks before this reassurance really begins to sink in (and there’s a stronghold of guilt within the Aralez that no external force can touch) but she needs to shed the tension in her thin musculature so badly that she can’t deny her goofy, stalwart, idiotic, perfect mate. “Ooh,” bespeaks the quick, decisive shake of her head and a soft, kittenish sneeze, “you are in so much trouble right now.”
Velveteen flews arch and ripple, displaying every tooth in her mouth as she crouches down low and weaves toward him with an eellike wriggle. Slim jaws fling impossibly wide as she flings herself upon her mate, forelimbs perched atop his back as she, well…bites him a few bajillion times. To an onlooker, the display might appear violent — especially given the warbling growls that dance up and down the hollow column of her throat and the hackles that go from the base of her skull to her fluffy butt — but she isn’t breaking skin or even chomping hard enough to bruise.
RE: angry smol - Stockholm - November 13, 2018
The Gampr is not 100% sure his tactic will work, but when he surfaces and can finally see again after shaking the water away, Seelie’s expression makes it clear that – for now at least – he was successful.
His short cropped ears fan back against his skull as he feigns concern about her approach, and he attempts to shimmy back away from her, but he doesn’t even have to pretend to be slower than her here. The water is her element, and while he has gotten better at navigating in it, he will never be half as graceful or efficient as she is.
His tail curls up in a cascade of displaced water and his hackles ruffle playful in mirror of his mate, and he rumbles a low growl when she flings herself upon him. For a moment he stands there and takes the abuse as she gnaws on him before staggering dramatically and sinking underwater again briefly, with the hope that the suddenness of the movement will end up momentarily submerging her as well.
His short cropped ears fan back against his skull as he feigns concern about her approach, and he attempts to shimmy back away from her, but he doesn’t even have to pretend to be slower than her here. The water is her element, and while he has gotten better at navigating in it, he will never be half as graceful or efficient as she is.
His tail curls up in a cascade of displaced water and his hackles ruffle playful in mirror of his mate, and he rumbles a low growl when she flings herself upon him. For a moment he stands there and takes the abuse as she gnaws on him before staggering dramatically and sinking underwater again briefly, with the hope that the suddenness of the movement will end up momentarily submerging her as well.
RE: angry smol - Coelacanth - November 17, 2018
Seelie’s jaws snipsnap like a tiny crocodile’s, and when a low growl reverberates from her mate’s cavernous chest, she wriggles and redoubles her efforts. If she were able, she would have chattered at him the entire time, warbling and jabbering and generally trying to talk over him. As it is, her sassy, “In case you forgot, I do what I want,” whispers are barely audible over the splashing, sneezing, and growling.
Stockholm interrupts her (the audacity!) by staggering dramatically and dragging them both under, dropping like a stone under her rain of abuse. Instead of popping up right away, she cleaves to the pebbly bottom and circles around to his hindquarters; then she pokes him with her sharply tapered nose right in the thick part of his haunch (a couple of inches east of the Danger Zone), “goosing” him.
Stockholm interrupts her (the audacity!) by staggering dramatically and dragging them both under, dropping like a stone under her rain of abuse. Instead of popping up right away, she cleaves to the pebbly bottom and circles around to his hindquarters; then she pokes him with her sharply tapered nose right in the thick part of his haunch (a couple of inches east of the Danger Zone), “goosing” him.
RE: angry smol - Stockholm - November 20, 2018
Dragging Coelacanth underwater with him via his sudden and dramatic collapse is essentially a second tallymark on the mental Stock vs Seelie Water Fight scoreboard; but he does not get to savor his victory for long – he is just starting to get his head above the water when she jabs his haunch with her nose, and he instinctively sucks in a breath which ends up being partially air and just a little bit water.
This time his sputtering and sneezing is a real reaction and he shakes his head rapidly, sending droplets of water flying from his fur. “Sharks,” he coughs when Seelie emerges from the water. Whether or not his mate is familiar with what exactly a shark is, the Gampr has no clue, he’s simply assuming she does. “Sharks in the water.” He raises a forepaw and slaps at the surface of the water as he poorly feigns an attempt to struggle back to shore, fighting very hard to keep a grin from his muzzle. “Save yourself. Too late for me.”
This time his sputtering and sneezing is a real reaction and he shakes his head rapidly, sending droplets of water flying from his fur. “Sharks,” he coughs when Seelie emerges from the water. Whether or not his mate is familiar with what exactly a shark is, the Gampr has no clue, he’s simply assuming she does. “Sharks in the water.” He raises a forepaw and slaps at the surface of the water as he poorly feigns an attempt to struggle back to shore, fighting very hard to keep a grin from his muzzle. “Save yourself. Too late for me.”
RE: angry smol - Coelacanth - December 03, 2018
She should be concerned for him — she should! — but he looks so funny, streaming with water and spraying saline from his nose like some poorly put together whale. She figures it’s worth being a Bad Dog if it means savoring this moment, so she puffs up her chest and leaps out of the water ahead of him. She positions herself on the shore, crouching there like a catnip-addled Ramsey, a twitch or two giving away her intention to pounce the heck out of him. “Fear no shark,” she boasts saucily, slapping both forepaws in the shallows for emphasis. “We make two.” Sixgill and Thresher are both named for the denizens of the darkensea. A devilish light glints in the Groenendael’s eyes as she looks her Gampr over more slowly, the motion blur of her tail slowing to a slow, feline tick-tock. “Winter sun,” she breathes, moving toward him slowly, touching her nose to the corner of his mouth. She either means, “Winter soon,” or, “Winter come,” but she doesn’t realize her blunder and therefore doesn’t correct herself. In case he isn’t picking up what she’s putting down, she smooths her nose along his jawline, up his cheekbone, and whispers, “Make more shark?”
RE: angry smol - Stockholm - January 15, 2019
sorry for the crummy phone post, will fix formatting later
She beats him to the shore, of course - she would have even if he hadn't been feigning his struggle. Stockholm considers it a blessing that their children haven taken after their mother more in terms of their familiarity and ease with the water. He has gotten better, a more adept and quicker swimmer now than ever before in his life. But he did not grow up with the sea, and that will always be his disadvantage.He lumbers up out of the water as Coelacanth slaps her forepaws in the shallow water and a small smile ticks at the corners of his lips as he is, for whatever reason, reminded of their first meeting and the way the water danced around her paws under the bright moonlight while she caught fish.
He refrains from shaking the water from his coat; instead he stands there, letting it run from his fur in small cascades as she moves closer, his eyes half closing as she caresses along his jawline. He turns his head, nosing behind her ear before draping his head over her neck and rumbling softly, "Mm, many more sharks."
RE: angry smol - Coelacanth - January 25, 2019
Your posts are always perfect, just like you. ♥
The cool leather of his nose caresses the bulb of one tufted ear, sending warmth radiating outward; a shiver runs down Seelie’s spine with such primal force that she has to step away from him and shake the water from her fur. “Make shark now,” she urges him, circling back to him immediately and snaking her tiny body along his broad chest. Tipping back her head, she angles her muzzle to trace the tip of her nose along the shorn edge of one short-cropped ear, bathing his chin and cheek in ardent kisses. She has utterly forgotten her manners and doesn’t offer him a single, “Please,” or, “May I?” — she merely whines at him, a plaintive, airy sound that seems at odds with the coquettish movements of her body and the smoke in her eyes. She needs desperately to banish the memory of the forest and the feeling of failure that comes with letting her lambs find their own truths, and though it isn’t at all the, uh…shark-making-season, she believes that his touch will heal what the island cannot cleanse.
…and then, whabam! They do the sex.