Haunted Wood But not too tall

To get my damn fuks in @Vengeance :angry:

She wanted to have some time being happy. To relieve that pressure she felt before the breeding season. Before the real thing.
With whoever she decided to take her fancy.

So she wandered on through the woods, looking for someone. Something. She frowned, feeling agitated. She had no idea why. Perhaps a stick would help her frustrations before she found a victim.

34°, currently it is snowing/heavy fog and set during the day. Located in Haunted Woods, Wretched Timberland | ooc notes: LOL U ACTUALLY DID

Today the Warlord decided to rest at the meeting spot. Away from the gathering and at the top of his throne to look down on the timberland below. The fog was thick and heavy, like a blanket weighing them down as the snow slowly fell all around in a haunting dance. The snow gathered along his back while he peered out from above, paws crossed under his chin as he lazily rested on the cold rock. 

He couldn't see her, but he knew she was somewhere below. Vanity was somewhere near, her perfume stained the air, announcing her existence in the fog. Softly his tail curled in the mist, twisting it with the smooth movement offered before falling back onto the rock. For a moment he wondered how he faired today, if the jostling of her head had truly healed or if her abnormal character of hers had faded back into the harpy he knew before. 

Regardless - he couldn't see her after all. Closing his eyes, he listened to the silence of the fog and her footsteps as they echoed softly in the distance.

She carried the stick, which was almost a branch, a few feet before setting it down and chewing on it, before picking it up and carrying it again.
She approached the meeting place, wondering who would be around for her to bother.
Lo and behold, Vengeance's form was nestled subtly atop his rock. 

She dropped the sick again, pinning it under her dirtied socks.
Crunch. Crunch.
She shook her head, letting half-rotten shrapnel fly from her mouth. 
Then, she was ready to just be her usual, seductive self. She did have a temper hidden within her, of course.

"Vennyyy.." she cooed into the fog. Of course, it was the mountain sat there and not Serem's fat ass. Poor lass. She couldn't smell her recently enough.
Probably patrolling, and it wasn't like the nocturnal Alison would pop up.

Her crunches echoed out, breaking the silence further. His ears twitched at the sound as they tried to find that silence once more. But it wouldn't come. Eventually, her voice rang out and called for him, flattening his ears against his skull; despite his annoyed gesture, he smiled. She sounded like herself again - but what good would come of that time would only tell. Perhaps he would miss her overly submissive self more than he thought. 

What is it? He grumbled, tone barely audible as his chin barely lifted from his limbs. Are you ready for another spar? he cooed, mocking her for the way the previous one had ended as his lips curled into a crooked smile.

He came to her, and she went to him.
She instantly touched her nose to his cheek, not caring if he decided to bowl her over. It would be fun to wrestle even though she would certainly lose that.

Her tongue licked out, sweeping his cheek in affection, moving forward still to press their shoulders together. She wanted to nibble along his shoulder and would do so if he hadn't already decided to push her down. She gave a playful growl, her tail waving to show her game.

He did not. With Serem as his Consort, Vengeance was able to keep himself satisfied and able to focus on other tasks without yearning for some kind of physical partnership. Though should they happen, he wouldn't refuse of course. He was no saint - he would simply not hunt down for such acts now that he had something so readily available. 

As Vanity made her move, he stood still, observing her as she did her thing. This seemed more like the Vanity he knew. I can never seem to predict you. He cooed deeply. Twisting his head just enough to make eye contact with the white-faced woman. She went from being flirtatious and coy, wanting nothing to do with the Warlord, too fearful and submissive, back to coy and flirtatious. Have I become some kind of 'booty' call to you?

"You never will, Warlord," she grinned, moving into a play bow before him. She was bored and didn't care if they fucked or not. It was something fun to do that all mattered.
Her eyes glittered with joy. She felt alive again. Perhaps the blundering idiot reset her or something.

Then he had the complete audacity to question her perception of him. Whatever a booty call was, she assumed it was something that meant going to someone for a fun time for whatever reason.
"If you want to be, I can find someone else to bother." 
She rose from her play bow, feigning sadness with a dropping tail and slackened figure. Not quite looking at him under her lashes.
What would he do now?

Someone else she says. Amused, he would have fun with this as well. And who may that be? He cooed, the deep baritones of his voice slithering free from his lips in sludge as thick tar. Black Hat? His tone was teasing - Revui was away, the gargoyle hasn't been seen in days as he left on the mission to go scout out Rusalka. The pack didn't have that many males to pick unfortunately for her. 

No, it was quite possible that he would never be able to predict the white-faced woman. Perhaps that is what he found most amusing about her in general - and most dangerous. He could never be certain of her loyalty, what she was up to, what she was thinking at any given moment to add to the growing list. 

Walking around her, he sized the woman up, shoulder rubbing against her as he walked around behind her, threatening to swallow her whole under his bulk. He wouldn't mount her, not yet, he would have fun for now. There was no rush in such a thing anyway, and plus, he had to be certain she truly wanted him this time. Instead, he loomed over her for now from behind, standing still and powerful while he pondered what she would do or say next.

He couldn't even take a guess.

Oh that tone demanded an answer just to equal it. Her chin tilted up slightly, watching. Her mask cracked open with a soft chuckle. 
"Perhaps," she replied evenly. She let him come closer.
Rub his shoulder to her.
And she whispered in his ear in a sweet, robins tone: "Perhaps Serem."

She wondered if he cared. But if he had claimed her, then he might. Maybe he would get scared that Serem would not want him as a mate: oh the crushing possibility of not having offspring.
He moved behind her, and she was unsure of his reaction. Her ears were tilted back to catch his words clearly, but she didn't look. Either she daren't or didn't want to. 
But the air was thick enough to drink like soda.