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    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


    demented as the motives in your head; jassal pony
    #1
    I've wandered out of Sylva again.

    Not perfect and gleaming like I usually am, but worn and battered.  Dried blood and mud is matted upon my once vibrant coat, giving no indication to the beauty that lies beneath.  It is a testament to my latest ventures, as trying as the might have been, I am proud of my failures.   Even in the greatest of set backs I can find a small victory.  I am not a bitter person, no, quite the contrary; I am stubbornly cheerful.  Cheerful enough to hover over the edge of disturbing even.  But here I joke, because we all know the truth of it.  I am disturbed, to what degree however, all depends upon your perspective.  One might describe me as an irresponsibly loud and impulsive creature, to that I would respond that I am honestly just an enthusiastically spontaneous and carefree soul.  Same things, same meanings, same truths.  Just said differently.

    Isn't life beautiful?  So simple and yet so complicated.  So simply complicated.

    My ramblings continue, though they are soon to be lapsed by the impish giggling; I told you I wasn't stupid.

    There's no hesitation in my movement as I wade knee high into the river's gentle current.  The water Jack that stares back is distorted and blurred, bringing upon a new fit of giggles at the ridiculousness of the vision.  Really, this is like deja vu, but I highly doubt that Swampy has ventured out this far today, too busy with his torturing of the latest Sylvan play things that Batsy dragged home.  This was boringly natural.

    The water Jack begins to grin, and so I mimic the action, formulating the words quickly before I can even drop them from my pretty, bloodied mouth.  She knows

    "You can come out now," I say clearly to air of the dying dusk.  I've spoken to the water, of course.  But if the lurker decides to bide my command also, then so be it.  

    The more the merrier.

    @[Jassal]
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    #2

    "love breaks my bones and i laugh."

    Blood drools from his chin as he lifts his head victoriously from the cougar that attacked him. She heard its desperate cries when Vulgaris tackled it to the ground, smelled its blood when he sank his teeth into its delicate throat. The young deer never stood a chance, but the cougar had put up a decent fight when she tried to steal his kill. Her claws ripped angry red lines through the scales across his shoulders and face but managed to miss his arteries and his eyes. He knows he’ll be stiff and sore come tomorrow but for now, he decides to rinse himself of the ordeal.

    The water finds all the smaller cuts along his legs from the fight and he sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth. Still, he eases deeper into the river until his shoulders are covered. Vulgaris growls softly and the sound is something like a crocodile’s warning croon. When the water flows clearly once again, he dips his face and snorts to keep the water from his nostrils. The bubbles bloom pink with his blood before being swept further downstream.

    He lifts his red and gray head when he hears someone call out around the bend in the river and he wonders if another predator has smelled his blood. (Does he smell like prey or could another hunter recognize him from afar?) Vulgaris drags himself through the water until he returns to the dry land where he will have better footing. The serpent follows the curve of the river until he sees the buckskin girl all covered in mud and blood as he had been moments ago. His own wounds are still bright pink and red against his skin.

    Were you speaking to me?” he asks curiously before spitting the copper taste from his mouth. Water continues to drip from him even after he gives his head a little shake. Soon, his wounds will be gooey with plasma as it tries to repair itself. It would be nice to have some distraction from the sight and feeling until the brown and burgundy scabs form, he thinks. A part of him wants to ask how she happened to be in such a similar shape but he’d be lying if he said he was actually interested, so he tosses the thought away for now.

    Don’t I know you?” he asks with a tilt of his head as he draws closer to her. If she were a little cleaner, he would be certain that they had met in the Field, but she’s hardly recognizable in her current state.

    Vulgaris.
    @[Jackel]
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