Black Morass Do you ever feel like falling for someone you never thought of falling for?
All Welcome  February 13, 2018, 08:37 PM
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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
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        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.
February 14, 2018, 08:20 PM
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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
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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.
February 21, 2018, 12:01 AM
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*throws pokeball at wild Kris*

        the boy, clearly caught off-guard by Absalom’s intrusion, slowed his fraught violation of the bird to a downtempo. his hips spasmed against air, presumably from the erosion of momentum taking place due to a loss of dignity. Absalom, however, didn’t bat an eye, and expressed no aversion for what he perceived to be a pubescent animal learning to come to the most natural conclusion of them all. 
        the gaunt man’s eyes didn’t slither away from the accusatory leer—he stared plainly back, as if waiting for him to continue his performance. his ear flicked back as he thought he heard faint breakage in the woods behind him, but his focus was wrapped up in Ramsay. 
        yes, the child answered, and proceeded to openly gawk at the chain burdening his spectator’s throat. he glanced down, then back up, and crossed his thin legs neatly one over the other. ”my scourge.” he said simply. pointing his snout at Ramsay’s truncated torso, he casually wondered aloud: ”your mother and father related?”
March 04, 2018, 10:20 AM
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The boy shifted from foot to foot with his eyes glued on the swaying links around Absalom's throat. "What's scourge?" he wondered, having never heard such a word—the Blackfeather wolves didn't use such negative terminology to refer to themselves, though truthfully, their entire order probably fit the definition. His indigo eyes tracked the end of the chain for several beats long, then flicked back up to the stranger's nose.

"Brother and sister," he shared, unashamed of his heritage and equally unabashed about admitting it to a complete stranger. It was true that Ramsay had, in his deepest darkest corners, a bit of a complex regarding his strange appearance when it was questioned, but so many wolves had simply accepted him for what he was that he didn't know how it felt to be ostracized. There was a distinct lack of judgment or questioning among the Blackfeather wolves that lent him the ability to not take offense.

That wouldn't last much longer, though.
March 05, 2018, 07:48 PM
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        "an evil." he answered plainly, loosely construing the meaning of scourge... mostly owing to the fact that he didn't have an open dicitonary to refer to, and also because he had used the word for affected flair. "the cause of my death." he proceeded to add, always futile in teaching the juvenesence vocabulary. truthfully he didn't have a name for the wretched appliance. he only knew that even without hands it tightened and garroted and made gore of his throat. he welcomed the boy's apprisal of the thing, head lofted to favor Ramsay a better look.  
        slimtorn ears were lured forward at the response to his admittedly contemptuous question. he was only joking at the expense of the kid's anomaly, but surmised correctly that his parents were related. siblings, no less. this might have visibly jarred Absalom, if he wasn't so damn intrigued. instead, his eyebrows lazily drifted up his forehead in an okaaaaay type of way. "fun for the whole family, eh." he smirked.
        slowly he rose back to his feet, glancing towards the mutilated hawk then cut his gaze to the blackfeather youth. "what's your name?" he asked, and followed with: "do you know Indra?"
March 10, 2018, 11:17 PM
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"Not dead," the boy brusquely pointed out, followed by sliding his tongue thoughtfully over his lips. At least, Absalom didn't look dead. He'd seen death many times, strewn out across Blackfeather's borders in the form of limbs and eyes and faceless bones, but he'd never seen it walk, talk or ask questions. For him, you were dead or you were alive. There was no in between, not without a concept of dead man walking, which he certainly didn't have.

Months of growing up among the Blackfeather wolves had done nothing to teach Ramsay the value of hiding his identity, so when Absalom asked for it, he answered truthfully: "Ramsay." And he was equally truthful when he shook his head in response to the next question. There was no one named Indra in the Blackfeather ranks. Still, just to be certain, he rejoined with, "she a Blackfeather? What does she look like?"

After all, there was the lady without a voice. She didn't have any name that Ramsay had ever heard, but that didn't mean she wasn't Indra.
March 11, 2018, 12:41 AM
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        "not yet, but soon." he said, inexpressive; inscrutable, to Ramsay's declaration. no, he was assuredly alive, for better or worse. moreover, however, he was not in denial of a blind morrow -- the scathing heat around his throat enjoined him from that notion. he was tied to his fate just as tightly as he was tied to the chain, and he could no better yank it from his soul than from his around his neck. others may have deluded their trouble by a graver way of reasoning--that fates such as these were exorable by a pleading clasp, a vowing tongue, or perhaps a bargaining chip. he would die intentioned by circumstance, or thus make himself a hangman by his own decree. he had no preference.
        the boy offered his name with seemingly no hesitation. Absalom did not return the favor, instead striding around the miscreation with a manner of fascination and interest, ears turning like oars as Ramsay worked over the name he had been given. what did a pendulous flower look like? "red, like a maple leaf. tail, like a stump." he said. "what is a blackfeather? what more can you tell me?" he asked with a pause in stride, gums pulling taut against his teeth.
March 17, 2018, 12:34 AM
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Absalom's description of Indra was about as vague as his explanation about the chain, but Ramsay wasn't bothered by his inexplicit manner. As the lone wolf circled around him, he watched warily, and Absalom's steps brought his attention back to the violated back of the dead hawk on the ground. A twinge in his gut was all that accompanied the glance before his eyes lifted back to the vagabond.

That description would have sufficed, but he had met Indra before her tail was cleaved, and so it rang no bells. But because Ramsay wasn't so well-versed in deceit and its purposes, he was honest in telling Absalom, "I know a red wolf. Had a tail though. Girl. Scared of the dead things, and didn't want to die." He licked his chops thoughtfully; whatever had become of that wolf? Maybe she was just another skull on Blackfeather's borders now. The thought made him feel instantly downcast.

"Blackfeather is family," he said, "but Vaati leads, and Vaati is being stupid, so Blackfeather suffers now. The red wolf wasn't one of us." They'd more or less died with the war that chased them from their homes, though he hoped the pack was still holding on, if only for Maegi's sake. He hadn't cast his sister aside as readily as Euron had done so, and though Ramsay was deeply disappointed in her, he still loved her, and he still wanted her to thrive somewhere, even if it wasn't with them where she ought to be.