10-10-2017, 05:41 PM
ooc: sorry it sucks, i hate beginnings and im still feeling her out. she's kind of a bitch, just fair warning xD
- Year: 232
- Season: Autumn, Breeding
- SWP: None
COTY
Assailant -- Year 226
QOTY
"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
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M o n s t e r [Any/All]
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ooc: sorry it sucks, i hate beginnings and im still feeling her out. she's kind of a bitch, just fair warning xD
10-23-2017, 06:31 PM
He’d seen his fair share of faux bitches over the years (the ones who think they’re bad, the ones who spread their legs for any man, the ones who consider themselves foxes in the night). He’d been trying to piece together their thought process for a long time. The trickster’s conclusions had boiled down to a few different options (either they had an abusive childhood and being “bad” made them feel better about it, they thought that being sexy and naughty would get them good dick, or they just generally wanted to annoy the hell out of everyone). There were a few cunning mares in Beqanna who actually held up to their aesthetics (those were ones he could point out easily). They were the ones who didn’t flaunt their hips or spread their legs or put on that goth black lipstick to look more sexily cunning (they were the ones with blood under their fingernails, with titles to their names, with dangerous lies on their lips). The trickster preferred that breed of women over any other. He’d spent the morning hunting. He never hunted for meals (the meat and blood didn’t settle well in his stomach, leaving him tossing and turning throughout the night), only for personal enjoyment. The trickster took a special sort of pleasure in performing the various methods taught by the infection. He rarely slept (spending the dark hours and much of the mornings stalking through the shadows) as he struck a precise, bloodless blow or a bloody massacre or a surgical picking-apart of the anatomy. The blood was still painted across his face and splashed against his knees (though most of it was dry) when he made his way toward the more habitable corners of Beqanna. The wildlife had been active the night before, though they would be much less active the next night. The smell of her caught his attention before her appearance (the trickster always had a knack for smelling that sweet perfume of female) and he wove through the trunks until her savory frame came into focus. He circled around from the shadows, prepared to angle himself so he’d enter from her blind spot. While she might have been a sight of lusty beauty, he was a sight of historical charm. His gait was rugged and slanting (his front forelegs bowlegged and scarred from a break and a botched heal), his hide was peppery and scarred (with lightning-strikes cutting through his neck, back, and gaskin), his face was angular and charming (with his right eye a swirl of clear blue and inky black, his left eye a swirl of clear blue and misty white). The smear of blood across his knees, freckling his chest, and drowning his face only added to the entire ensemble. “Well aren’t you just looking for trouble.” His voice is a gentle tenor, charismatic to the core. It could be the sound of a loving father (in another life, perhaps) but it’s gruff with cobwebs and dust bunnies after living in the shadows for so long. “Usually if a pretty girl goes into the forest, she doesn’t come out.” LOKII disclaimer: lokii has illusionism and he'd love to play a few tricks if you'd like. he doesn't do anything that would physically harm krone, but he can mess with her mind in some mental ways if you give me permission to slightly powerplay (:
10-25-2017, 02:36 PM
"It seems trouble as found me." She mutters, flicking her tail in annoyance. Men - they thought so highly of themselves. They were so sure in their actions, so bothersome. Always thinking they can do whatever they want. She scoffs at him - bow legged, scarred, eyes charming but unusual, so very different from her. "Is that a threat?" @[Lokii] Permission for him to use his powers granted, as well as slight power play. I can't wait to see what he does 
10-29-2017, 02:49 PM
The trickster didn’t see much of a difference between women and men. He didn’t find one to be the superior gender (he’d experienced powerful men and powerful women in his lifetime). He’d seen a man burn a kingdom down to the foundations and he’d seen a woman unleash unnatural creatures into an arena full of innocents. The trickster was so sure of his actions because he knew there was weight behind them. He laughs at her initial statement (at the way her tail flicks in agitation, at the way she calls him trouble, at the way she knows so little of what is to come) and the sound is grating against the ears. His shadowy, spindly fingers slide against the curves of her brain. He waits in anticipation, waiting for her to say something more (he senses it on the slope of her lips). Her mouth opens again (calling his words a threat) and his cunning gaze locks with hers. “Not just a threat, babe. A promise.” With that, her world will fall around her. It starts slowly, with the colors (the green of the forest, the patchwork blue of the sky, the blood red on his face, the brown of the trees) bleeding into one another and creating a swirl of paints. The shapes disappear next, blurring into one another. As the shapes wash away (circles and squares and rectangles and triangles) the noise around her becomes heightened (the caw of a crow in the distance, the rush of the wind through the leaves, the sound of a groundhog shifting through the undergrowth). The sounds press against the inside of her head (loud and booming and brazen) until it might become painful. Then, suddenly, it all stops. There is nothing (no sound, no sight, no color) but darkness. He smirks to himself, watching her reaction as (from her point of view) everything she knows falls away as quickly as death. He holds her there for a few moments, until the silence and nothingness becomes unbearable. And then he brings forth a demon to her eyes. In truth she is standing in the forest (as still as a scarecrow, eyes glazed and mouth hanging) but to her perspective there is darkness and then there is a demon. It is something that looks like a horse, but with high, dangerous spikes along the spine and a head with a larger skull than normal. Sharp fangs poke through the blueish mouth, and there are eight legs where there should be four. The demon replicates the trickster’s opening words. “Usually if a pretty girl goes into the forest, she doesn’t come out.” The voice of the demon is mucky and slippery, and a brief flash of a thickly wooded forest flashes to her eyes when the word ‘forest’ is spoken. The demon’s mouth opens unnaturally (jaw unhinging, fangs flashing, saliva dripping) and moves toward the woman, an ungodly screech coming from its throat. Just when the jaw might latch onto the woman (provided she isn’t running), the natural world comes flooding back in the blink of an eye. Everything is as it should be (the crow is still cawing, the trees are still green, the shapes are solid) and the trickster still stands before her, head tipping slightly to the side. LOKII  He takes pride in his control over her. He watches the way she reacts (how her skin begins to sweat, how her eyebrows pull together in confusion, how her breathing increases, how her muscles twitch) and a deep sort of pleasure brims to the surface of his mind. It had been too long since he had last exercised his tricks, yet they seem to be just as powerful. She moans as the world falls into darkness like the beginning of an apocalypse (his apocalypse) and a warmth brews in his lower gut. It isn’t the heat of arousal (though he certainly wouldn’t be opposed) but it is the flame of desire for chaos. That impulse (the inclination for groans of pain both physical and emotional, for the sob of a broken-hearted lover, for the stubbornness to push harder and harder, for seeing homes burn, for the sight of maroon blood pouring onto delicate ivory snow) drove nearly every move the trickster made. It was an addiction, a lifestyle, a purpose. Through that one sound, he craves more. His nostrils quiver and his lungs heave (yet his tricks still twist against the ridges of her mind). She speaks a word, then. “Stop.” The noise moves perfectly in tune with the end of his little show (the closing scene did not fall short due to her language) and he gives a haughty chuckle to himself. His shoulders roll in a casual movement at her following words. He’d been playing tricks before his first birthday, though it had been on smaller creatures. The pink queen had been his first equine victim (and she had been impressed, he remembers well) and from there his talents had only improved. “I’ve had practice, babe.” LOKII @[Krone] It never failed to satisfy him (the way their hearts would speed up, the way their muscles would spasm in fear, the way their smiles would spread after). Their awe settled a debt to his desires, and yet as soon as their inspiration faded he was hungry to find it again. Her lips curl deliciously and he wants to lean in and kiss them (not out of affection, but out of that lustful sort of adrenaline). She calls him impressive and a subtle smirk works its way across his blood-caked mouth. “I know I am, babe.” His shoulders roll into another nonchalant shrug. She introduces herself finally (and he is so easily amused at how quickly her hard exterior melted into delight and compliments) and he responds with, “Lokii.” “Where do you call home?” LOKII @[Krone]
11-22-2017, 08:36 PM
"Ischia." She answers coolly, thinking back to her island home. Her heart leaps to its beautiful landscape, its rough but crystal clear waters, its long beaches. Certainly, it was a wonderful place to call her own. "And yourself?" She asks calmly, but she already has an idea of what the answer will be. With those powers and that attitude, she is almost certain he comes from Sylva. She remembers the party, the pure craziness of all its inhabitants and visitors. It reminded her of the type of kingdom her father had always wanted to run, of the dreams he had wished for his children to continue upon his disappearance. She sighs, noticing then she hadn't been looking at him, but rather the ground beneath his hooves. Her eyes travel up to his face, and she listens for his answer. @[Lokii]
11-23-2017, 09:45 PM
He knows how to push buttons (he’s always known, some sort of deeply-integrated instinct that has always been there, nudging his shoulder) and he’s good at it. He always has been. Since his first birthday he has been smirking and cat-calling and refusing and laughing in their faces. They rarely ended in positivity (he’s teased the dark god and had his legs broken and poorly-mended for it) or a gain in power (he’s cat-called a princess and, though he did not win her affections, never received a refutation). But he always found a great deal of enjoyment from watching their faces squirm and their eyebrows pull together in agitation. He sees it, then (he’s gotten to her with that one word — “babe”) in the way her eye muscles twitch as she resists the urge to physically show her displeasure. The smirk on his face intensifies. He’s mourned for the kingdoms that have passed (for the Valley, especially, with its tall cliffs and dark, shadowy forests) but he knows little of the ones that exist now. His only reference comes from what he hears among gossips (and what he knows of Sylva, the place he might call a home if he’s feeling frisky). Most of the territories seem to rest on the belief of peace and goodness (which makes the trickster’s upper lip curl in disgust) and it made Sylva an obvious place for him to rest his legs. “I can tell you already know.” His bruised eyes (blue and white, blue and black) look over her face carefully. “Tell me about your home,” he croons. “I’ve been gone for a long time” — (to where, he won’t say) — “and I don’t know anything about the new kingdoms.” LOKII @[Krone] |
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