Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on Nov 1, 2011 1:07:20 GMT -5
I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WORTH FIGHTING FORTarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He'd been scouting with Dalton and Charm along the Fallen border when they came. They were on break for lunch, Tarrik playfully arguing with Charm over who should get the last cherry while Dalton played Switzerland. One moment they were playing a vicious round of roshambo, the next there was suddenly three more people amongst them, shouting directions. The muzzle of a small, plastic gun was aimed straight at his chest, and heartbeat later he felt the sharp sting of a dart below his collarbone. A horrified yowl caught in his chest, he lunged for his his attacker on the other side of Charm, but collapsed as soon as he tried to stand. The sounds of shouting drifted away as his vision blurred, and a moment later everything went dark.
He woke up to the cold glare of fluorescent lighting, a metal table freezing cold beneath him. It took him a moment to realize he was restrained, throat, chest, ankles, and wrists. It took him another to completely and totally lose control. He thrashed, screamed, fought so hard his shoulders threatened to wrench from their sockets. The cold pinch of a needle put a swift end to it as his body again stopped responding to him, and dimly, as he faded back into darkness, he caught a sight of himself. Tubes, machines, all manner of horrific thing hooked up to his body, steel and plastic burrowed deep under his skin.
The next time he woke up, he woke up screaming. He came alive with a violent jerk and all but threw himself onto his back, hands scrambling over his arms and chest, half expecting the tubes to still be there, winding in and out of him like worms. But there was nothing, his skin was smooth, unmarred. It did nothing to stop his panic, and he fought to control his breathing, dangerously close to hyperventilating. Being tied down like that, it brought back a wash of memories, stark and horrifying. They dragged him into the very depths of his mind that he never allowed himself to visit, blew open doors he'd padlocked a thousand times. He didn't bother to wonder what they'd given him, it didn't matter. When he'd gotten the empathy he'd stayed unconscious for the entire time, but this time...
With a pounding in his head he distantly realized must be his heartbeat, he drew into himself, shaking and sweating, though he felt cold as ice. In his head he felt the cold blade of a knife on his wrists, his blood hot as fire as it fell onto his thighs. A moment later, mercifully, he passed out as his breathing finally spiraled out of control.
----- ooc; IT BEGINS. O3O
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SHAPESHIFTER
COYOTE
Fulsi
BETA
INVENTORY Skills Electricity, Agility, Speed, Poison, Flux
Weapons Hatchet, Baseball bat, Switchblade, Throwing knife set (x2)
Items Throwing Knife Harness, Fur-lined Jacket
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Post by Dalton Williams on Nov 1, 2011 1:38:33 GMT -5
[bg=000101]
D A L T O N [atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] Dalton had been caught the same as Tarrik in that wild, panicked moment, and there’d been nothing he could do to stop it; the drugs had caused him to pitch over before he’d had the chance to launch an attack. Unlike Tarrik, though, the head scout hadn’t woken up while they were working on him. No, he’d remained in blissful ignorance as they sliced deep into his body, into the core that was unique to shifters alone. If he had, though, his reaction might have been similar, for the sight of scalpels and machines and white-clad people would’ve been enough to trigger the stark memories of his first capture, and of his loathing for the sanitized smell of hospitals, and for hospitals in general. He was lucky this time.
When Dalton woke up, a short time after Tarrik had had his panic attack, he felt groggy. It also felt as though a freight train had run across him repeatedly, and as he lifted his head off the ground, a dull throbbing pain that had been gnawing at his stomach grew tenfold into a sharp, stabbing pain. Groaning faintly, he pressed a hand to the offending spot and scrunched up his face, trying to will away the ache. Eventually, it reverted back to its former throbbing self, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. His mouth, however, was bothering him too. He pushed himself up slowly into a sitting position and looking around, gaze narrowed as sunlight tried to blind him. His eyes landed on the prone figure beside him, and for a moment his mind was confused; who was it again? And then he remembered, and his confusion was placed by a certain horrific dread as he wondered briefly if Tarrik was still breathing.
Crawling on his hands and knees he made his way over to him, eyes wide and concerned, and he went through the motions, quietly checking his pulse and passing a hand over his mouth to feel for hot air. It was all there, though his pulse was rather fast; still, the worry in him died a little, and he leaned down to brush Tarrik’s hair off his face, feeling it damp under his fingers. “Tarrik? Wake up, man. It’s Dalton.” He hesitated, then gave his shoulder a shake to try and stir him further. “You better wake up, or I’m eating all the bacon.” It was a joke, of course, albeit a lame one, and something of a running joke between them. They both liked bacon, after all. As he waited for him to stir, he glanced around at their surroundings, trying to pick out distinguishing landmarks. There were none, though, and a quiver of panic tried to weasel its way back in. It was never good to not know where you were in the Menagerie, and all he could see thus far was rocky terrain upon rocky terrain, with a sparse grove of trees nearby. Where the hell were they?
ooc;; << >> IDUNNO DAL, WHERE U AT? u.u;
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[/color][/td] [/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr] [/table][/center]
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Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on Nov 1, 2011 12:46:42 GMT -5
I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WORTH FIGHTING FORTarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was rudely awakened when someone struck him in the face. Before he could fully comprehend his situation, however, he was shaken hard, and a rough squeak of protest -his throat was bone dry- escaped. He had every intention of giving whoever was doing it a well-deserved fist to the face until he managed to process the low words they spoke. Dalton? His eyes cracked open, squinted against the sunlight. Since when did the coyote kick him around to wake him up? "You do that.. and I'm divorcing you, dammit." Not sharing bacon was a serious offense, after all.
He shut up and pushed himself up so he was sitting, and winced as the gravel pressed sharply into his hands. As soon as he was up he took them off the ground and rubbed them together, then joined Dalton in looking around. Where were they indeed. He actually had a pretty good idea about where they were, though he would much prefer to be wrong. "It's the mountains, it's gotta be. The air's thinner, and all the rock." Tarrik swallowed hard and glanced at Dalton, pale eyes concerned, a look he rarely wore. The bird retros lived somewhere in the mountains, though he couldn't remember the odd word they called themselves. Distantly, he heard the trill of summer songbirds, and it sent an icy shiver down his spine.
"I don't suppose you've ever scouted up here, eh?" He wasn't hopeful, the mountains were a pain in the ass climb and on the other side of Fallen and Carna from Fulsi. Scouts and hunters, even long term tenderfoots like himself, had been into the meadows and forests beyond it, but he'd never climbed more than small foothills. But looking at Dalton as he was, a new worry took over, and he reached over to rest a hand on his arm. "But hey, nevermind that. You don't look so good, man. Do you know what they... what they did?"
----- ooc; u.u;
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SHAPESHIFTER
COYOTE
Fulsi
BETA
INVENTORY Skills Electricity, Agility, Speed, Poison, Flux
Weapons Hatchet, Baseball bat, Switchblade, Throwing knife set (x2)
Items Throwing Knife Harness, Fur-lined Jacket
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Post by Dalton Williams on Nov 22, 2011 16:33:31 GMT -5
[bg=000101]
D A L T O N [atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] Relief flooded through him with such intensity that, for a moment, he felt a wave of dizziness and thought he himself might pitch over again. Once that had passed, however, he leaned down to peer at Tarrik with anxious, wide eyes, scanning him to make sure he was really alright. Dalton could not, however, help the low sound of laughter that bubbled up in his throat at the other’s words; it was almost a giddy noise, though he supposed that, given their present situation, border-line hysteria was entirely appropriate. “And as I’m sure you know, I’d be most upset if you did,” he teased back.
Once his friend began to sit up, he scooted back so as not to crowd him, eyes still scouring the terrain with distaste. He glanced back at Tarrik as he clarified where they were, and the puzzle piece – which he been unable to grasp at before given his groggy state – clicked into place. It made sense that they were in the mountains; he could see jagged peaks rising up all around them in a loose sort of formation, as if they were saluting the sky. It was noticeably colder too, in comparison to other areas he had visited, and as he dropped his head he could see gooseflesh rising along his arms. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he shivered faintly, although he wasn’t sure if it was just from the cooler temperature or because of something else. Was he afraid? The man twisted around to eye the patch of trees again. It reaffirmed the thought. Alright, yes, he was nervous. There was a reason he and his scouts didn’t frequent the mountains.
“No,” he muttered in answer to Tarrik’s question. “Too easy to slip and fall, there’s not much up here, and then there’s the birds…” Dalton trailed off for a moment. His ring had lost at least two scouts before they’d been able to clue in on what had happened. It had taken a while to find their bodies, but when they did, it was a messy sight; twisted and broken on distant rocks below them, their flesh torn at by the scavenging birds and other animals. Of course, there was still some debate as to whether they had simply fallen, or if they’d been given a nice push. “They don’t like visitors,” he finished dully.
Tarrik’s comment about Dalton himself, however, brought the scout back into awareness of his condition; the pain, while fading, still threatened to return, and he was careful in his movements. “I have no idea what they did to me. I think I was asleep the whole time. But it hurts. My stomach and head and…yeah. God knows, I’m probably going to turn into a mutant or something.”
He hesitated, peering after him, and then quipped, “What about you? You don’t look so great yourself, no offense.” There was another pause, before he pointed at the tree grove and added, “We should head that way, I think. Maybe climb a tree, see if we can get our bearings somehow? In any case, it might be a good place to spend the night too, if we can’t get out of here this afternoon. Though that would be preferable, really. I mean, that’s we need is for birds to nest in our hair while we’re sleeping, right?” he joked. Finally, though, he started trailing off in that direction, moving slower than usual as the pain started to make itself known again.
ooc;; Good lord, has it been almost a month already? My apologies D: /flail …was good though and posted, see? :3
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Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on Nov 27, 2011 20:40:07 GMT -5
I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WORTH FIGHTING FORTarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was at once relieved and worried by Dalton's answer; worried by the uncertainty of what had happened to him, for all they knew Dalton might spontaneously combust, but at the same glad he wouldn't have the new horror for his nightmares. The coyote had never outright admitted his loathing of all things hospital or clinical, but Tarrik had dragged him whining and complaining to the medics often enough. Hell, he hadn't ever seemed that comfortable around Tain when the medic was on duty, and they'd been close friends.
He declined to answer Dalton's question about how he was -he was sure the bruises would imply the soreness just fine- and instead listened as his friend looked and pointed around, suggesting what to do for the night. He'd been beat up before, though he wasn't usually so darn tender; he had to shift his leg where a pine cone was digging painfully into his ankle. While Dalton talked Tarrik fussed with his hands and arms, perplexed by the shallow press of sensation from every direction. His shirt, the ground, his hair, even. He glanced in the direction his friend pointed and frowned, none too keen on much of anything he'd said. "You wanna climb a tree in bird territory, Dal?" he teased, though there was a certain tenseness behind his tone that he couldn't swallow. Dalton was right of course, so he sucked it up, pushed himself to his feet, and followed when the coyote started for the clump of trees in question.
It didn't take him more than a moment to see the stiffness in his friend's gait, and he scowled, sped up a half-step, and snagged Dalton's hand in his. Tarrik wasn't a medic, but he could help with the pain, at least a little. A half-beat later he let a fluid cocktail of euphoria, pleasure, and satisfaction thrum through the connection, guileless and strong. They'd make Dalton's body release endorphins, the best painkiller Tarrik knew of besides a hit to the head. After moment he added a wash of calm; Dalton stressed too much for his liking. He let the empathy die down and squeezed his hand instead, then tossed him a cheeky look. "Have you looked in a mirror recently? Birds already nest in yours."
Once under the trees he glanced around, rather less skeptical than he'd been before. The trees were denser than he'd thought, and provided better cover. They still wouldn't be able to light a fire without it being a signal flare to everything for miles, but the summer was hot and the nights plenty warm for his tastes. His stomach roared immediate protest, and he was suddenly aware that he was starving. Hunger he was used to, this was the knawing, solid pain of days without food. "You climb your tree, Coyote, I'm gonna.. eat acorns or something." If only he was kidding. If only they were oaks. There had to be something salvageable, he told himself as he started to search the grove.
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SHAPESHIFTER
COYOTE
Fulsi
BETA
INVENTORY Skills Electricity, Agility, Speed, Poison, Flux
Weapons Hatchet, Baseball bat, Switchblade, Throwing knife set (x2)
Items Throwing Knife Harness, Fur-lined Jacket
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Post by Dalton Williams on Dec 1, 2011 13:18:02 GMT -5
[bg=000101]
D A L T O N [atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] Being so absorbed in his own little world, he barely noticed when Tarrik grabbed his hand until a wave of feelings – emotions that he was certain were not his own – crashed through him; they were nice ones, at least. He’d been subjected to Tarrik’s experiments with his peculiar skill before, and he’d experienced all manner of things that his friend liked to pass on to him such as anger, or hot shame. The scout could even recall the time the other man, who was ever the prankster, almost made him cry in front of a rather pretty girl. It was to be expected, of course. They were always at war when it came to preventing each other from successfully flirting; that being said, they were both rather deprived of all manner of gratification. Or Dalton was, at least. Tarrik kept insisting that he had some sort of imaginary girlfriend (if you could call her that), which had, at first, made the coyote question whether his friend was losing touch with reality. When he saw the picture his friend had painted, though, some of that doubt had begun to shed away. He was still suspicious, though. He couldn’t help it.
In any case, the cocktail of emotions that Dal was experiencing now chased away the pain with a fervor that surprised even him, and he glanced at Ari, offering him a wolfish grin. “Been practicing some more, eh?” He didn’t have to thank him outright; the gratitude was evident in his tone, and they knew each other well enough that it would be obvious. The pleasure aspect of the cocktail, of course, went straight to his head, and he embraced it for a while before the calm seeped in. While he welcomed it, he was almost sorry that it masked the rest of the feelings. Despite this, Dalton felt the tension ease from his shoulders, and he gave his friend an appreciate nudge, followed by a rougher, though teasing shove. “My hair is perfectly fine. Besides, you’re one to talk. I’ve seen you in the mornings - it almost sticks straight up!”
They reached the trees in due time, and the coyote was about to climb one when his friend made a remark about being hungry. Dalton cast him a look that clearly asked him when he wasn’t hungry, although it was only in jest. Ari ate normally; Dal, on the other hand, likely didn’t eat nearly enough. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat. Rather, it was merely because he forgot to, given his recent busy schedule. “Acorns are hardly a morsel. Find a squirrel or something?” In the past he’d done stuff like that; eaten mice and such uncooked, although always in his coyote form. Indigestion was a real pain, no pun intended.
He hesitated, his foot still braced against the trunk, ready to pull himself up by the knobs and branches sticking out, and then stepped down with a sigh. Truth be told, he was ravenous too, and he supposed two eyes were better than one when it came to searching for food. “Here, I’ll help you look.”
A half hour later, they’d managed to find some fruit (carelessly dropped by some passerby but miraculously not bruised), a few assorted nuts, and a carefully wrapped parcel, half hidden in the hollow of a tree, which contained a single can of spaghetti-os. Dalton grinned wryly at Tarrik, muttering as he munched on a peanut, “The gods are in your favor today, it seems,”
By the time they were finished feasting, it had grown darker outside; the thin winds whistled at first, and then picked up into a howl. Though they didn’t fancy spending the night there, they had no other option. Trying to climb down the mountains in the dark was utter madness. Thankfully, at least, they saw no other beasts except for the occasional silhouette of a groundhog or two. If there were any birds, they didn’t show themselves, and for that Dalton was relieved. After making the climb up a particularly broad tree and settling themselves into comfortable positions, sleep took hold of each of them, and this time it was a natural sleep.
And as they slept, someone watched, and waited.
ooc;; << Dundundunnnn.
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those whispers in the dark;
retromorph
pied crow
Lawaii
leier
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Post by Anita Gellard on Dec 1, 2011 13:55:34 GMT -5
[bg=575757][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/v8cx1u.jpg]
Somewhere above the sleeping men, the leaves of the tree rustled ever so softly. It had been watching them all day, but now that night had fallen, it emerged: a small figure cloaked in dark and streaked with white, a stark contrast and thus a contradictory in itself. The bird tilted its head to the side, intelligent eyes fixed on them as it drank in the smallest of details; the quiet rising of both their chests as they slept in union, side-by-side. The wisp of their breaths in the cold summer air. The beatings of their hearts, which it could hear only too well. Its eyes narrowed, cruel beak opening a sliver to emit a short, sharp hiss at them.
Oh, how she loathed them and their petty, stupid nature. Did they not realize the danger they were in of being in her territory? Of course not. They defied and offended her in every way possible. And Tarrik, gods, he had been unjustifiably rotten to her. After all she had done for him, mentoring him and loving him, and he had taken up with another! And a man, no less, though Ann would perhaps have been just as displeased if it had been another woman. Still, it would not do. Tarrik was hers. She had laid claim to him, just as she had to this land months before, and this bastard that he claimed was only a friend was trying to steal him away. She had seen them together before, committing their sins as they did just now, and it made her heart sick. No, more than sick. Furious.
Indeed, her fury was unmatched by perhaps even the forces of nature who pummelled them about in this wretched place. The crow shifted her weight restlessly, then, in one fluid motion, switched to that of her most beloved human form. The woman eyed them bitterly. What to do with them? She would have to punish the one who threatened her authority, of course, but what of Tarrik? Would she cause him suffering too? Ann looked on ponderously, studying him as he lay curled up beside the other. Yes. He would feel her wrath as well.
In her hand were two twin needles, each loaded with the poison to bring about deep sleep – tranquilizers, she’d been told they were called. She would keep them in their lull, until she wanted them awake. As silently and deftly as she could, she moved down to meet them.
word count; ooc; 83
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Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on Dec 9, 2011 13:39:50 GMT -5
MAYBE LIFE DIDN'T WANT THIS PART OF METarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He awoke dizzy and confused, eyelids far to heavy to open yet. He must have slept oddly, he thought, not been breathing well. But when he tried to suck in a deep breath and failed, and the fog of leaden heaviness didn't depart, he began to worry. After a moment of concentration he realized he was barely breathing, something pulled tight and still through his chest where the swell and fall of his lungs ought to be. Somewhere deep in the fog adrenaline sparked, flame hot with fear as it dug through the numbness of his chest and arms. When the sliver of sensation made him realize that in face he could not feel his limbs, he began to struggle in panicked earnest, though his movements were sluggish and after the first jerk, excruciating. The pain only served as a cracking whip, and he yanked blindly at his arms, which did not give, and finally upward, and his lungs expanded at last.
"W...w-what.." The words were a knot in his throat, abandoned to gasp once more. The oxygen flooded his veins and lifted the fog that had been weighing him down. The numbness in his arms and shoulders stayed, however, though his fingertips light up with electric sparks. After a moment he blinked his eyes open, only to snap them shut again in an instant as the sun burned straight into them, and he saw stars against his eyelids. He was suddenly aware of the warmth of it on his face and collarbone, and carefully cracked his eyes back open. The light still hurt, but no more than it ever did after waking up, and he impatiently waited for his watering eyes to adjust and focus.
Once his vision cleared some, he found himself looking, with intense bewilderment, at Dalton. He could have sworn they'd been more or less side by side, as they always were, so he could help chase away his friend's nightmares. In fact, they'd been in a tree, and now... His pale eyes, still blurry, drifted. They were on the ground, surrounded by trees, but not in them as they should have been. He didn't know why he wasn't more upset about these odd things, but his mind simply did not allow it; he felt like he had the day before, but it made no sense. Why would the Keepers take him again so soon? Surely they couldn't have some up with more things so quickly. Confused and still oddly passive, he studied Dalton more closely, though it was difficult with the sun directly behind him. His arms were held out and up to the sides, though he seemed asleep. "What in the hell..?" Tarrik turned and looked at his own arm, and for a long moment, simply stared at what he saw.
His arms were up much the same as Dalton's, high and tight enough that he would have been hanging from them while asleep, which explained the fogged numbness he'd felt; if someone hung from their arms too long, their diaphragm would be slowly paralyzed, and they'd suffocate. Two pairs of handcuffs, bright and shiny in the mid-morning light, anchored his wrists to lengths of chain that were then, as far as he could see, themselves anchored to trees. He wanted to scream, to thrash until his wrists bled and he hadn't the energy to move, until he lost consciousness again. The restraints sent mindless, animal panic coursing through him, only to be swallowed by the horrible, alien calm that infected his thoughts. All the same, he shook like a leaf as the terror built, swelling like a wave in him. "Dalton," he choked on his name, swallowed hard and tried again. "Dalton, help me, please.. just.." His voice was small, a whimper in a throat that usually housed shouts and loud jest. "..help."
----- ooc; allthepathetics </3
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SHAPESHIFTER
COYOTE
Fulsi
BETA
INVENTORY Skills Electricity, Agility, Speed, Poison, Flux
Weapons Hatchet, Baseball bat, Switchblade, Throwing knife set (x2)
Items Throwing Knife Harness, Fur-lined Jacket
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Post by Dalton Williams on Dec 20, 2011 12:37:35 GMT -5
[bg=000101]
D A L T O N [atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] He was running blindly, the darkness surrounding him on all sides, but he could taste its scent, hear its footfalls behind him as it grew steadily closer, and above all, he was highly aware of his own sense of fear. The boy dove through a thicket, the prickles tearing at his skin and clothes; he pressed on regardless. It was too close, much too close, to hesitate even for a moment, and if it caught him…he was fairly certain he wouldn’t last long. Something rose before him, though, blocking his path, and he let out a small, breathless whimper. It was some sort of apparition, that much he was sure of, but it seemed strangely solid. While it shed light around him, he was not grateful, as he could now see every detail with stark clarity. Its twisted, broken neck as it stared at him with eyes that saw all, its gruesome mouth and gnarled claws; it spread out after a moment, the details dissolving but its mass preventing him from passing by. And then he felt hot, foul breath on his back, and turned in horror to meet the gaping jaws that waited to welcome him home. He’d hesitated.
Dalton awoke with a start, gasping for air and then panicking when none filled his lungs. Fog pressed against his mind, and for a few seconds it prevented him from figuring out why he couldn’t breathe. Like Tarrik’s had, his chest felt tense and tight, his limbs stiff with sleep. He struggled for a moment, hanging helplessly suspended by the chains, but finally managed to rearrange himself so that air flooded back into his lungs, and he sucked it in greedily for a minute as he glanced around, his eyes landed on Tarrik a few feet away.
His brow furrowed; something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t quite place it. His thinking was too sluggish. …wait. Hadn’t they been sleeping together, or something of the like? And why were his arms so numb? His eyes drifted up, and for the first time since his nightmare he felt a true spark of fear burrow itself deep in his core. Swallowing heavily, he snapped his gaze back to Ari as he called him for help, but felt oddly apathetic whereas normally he would’ve felt a swell of need to protect the other man. Still, he tried to ward off the fog in order to calm his friend.
“Tarrik, it’s…it’s alright. We’ll be alright.” His tone was doubtful though, despite his words, as if he weren’t sure this were the right thing to say or not. “…you’re okay. Here, look, just…” The scout tried to shuffle forwards towards him, testing the chains’ reach, only to find his shoes scraping back the way he’d just come. Frustrated seeped through him, but as a manner of comfort, he offered him a small smile and made a sign with his hand, thumb and forefinger pinched in an ‘o’. “I’ll help you as best I can, but I’m rather caught up at the moment myself.”
This sad attempt at humor was lost as he pulled incessantly at the handcuffs, feeling them chafe against his wrist. There was still no sensation in his arms, though. Who the hell had done this? For a short moment, he suspected the Keepers, but he was sure they wouldn’t care about them enough to try this, unless it was some sort of public display of their power. Still, though, why do it in the mountains where no one else could see, then? It was all very strange, and his mind tried to find some rational explanation for it. He drew nothing but blanks. “Ari?” He quipped, head tilted slightly. The burn of the sun was uncomfortable on his neck. “Did you see anyone who might’ve done this? Or…or were you asleep too?” A miserable whine was starting to grow in his throat, but he swallowed it back forcefully. “We’ll survive this. Sure, we have shitty luck, but this? This is nothing compared to what we’ve gone through, right?” Still, even as he tried to make light of the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a curdle of dread knot in his stomach.
ooc;; x'D LIKE, 11 DAYS LATER. I'msosorry :x ANNPOST TO COME SHORTLY, once I escape the fatherbeast u.u
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those whispers in the dark;
retromorph
pied crow
Lawaii
leier
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Post by Anita Gellard on Dec 25, 2011 18:02:30 GMT -5
[bg=575757][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/v8cx1u.jpg] My, my, they are a sorry bunch, she thought mournfully as she watched them from a tree not far off from their current location. Strung up like butcher’s meat, they hung there pathetically, eyes heavy with sleep and mouths barely drawing breath. They would wake up soon, though, she knew, and when they did…she had a plan. Of course, when didn’t she?
And, sure enough, another five minutes of patient waiting granted her reward as they awakened, panicked, disoriented, and more than a little frightened, as it were, to be inexplicably chained up. Probably thought it was the Keepers’ doing, poor things. No, no, that would have been a blessing for them. Instead, they’d have to deal with her.
Anita wasn’t very happy with them, truth be told, after they’d gone off and hooked up without so much as a lick of warning. Tarrik, in particular, would pay a remarkable price for doing that to her. Bobbing her head once, then twice, the crow ruffled her features in annoyance before spreading its wings and drifting off behind the tree, beyond their line of vision. She landed upon the hard ground, claws scraping earth, and without so much as a hint of hesitation, she shifted, grew until she stood as a small, seemingly unimposing woman of dark hair and pale skin. Pushing herself off the ground, she straightened up and glanced off in their direction. They wouldn’t be expecting her at all.
With the confident strides of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, she turned and stalked towards them, eyes cold as slate. They brightened however in false cheer as she neared, however, and she broke into a jaunty trot; all the better to greet them quicker. She came to an abrupt halt a few feet away, eyes fixed on Tarrik, a good-natured smirk quirking at the corner of her mouth. “Well, well, seems you’ve landed yourself in a bit of a predicament, eh, Ari?” The woman tossed his companion a quick look, then eyed her object of interest again. “Who’s this other lad, now? I believe introductions are in order.” As she spoke, she crept ever closer to them, and in the back of her mind she held only one thought: She was going to make them pay.
word count; ooc; …eheh. Creeper << Merry Christmas Etch, here’s your other gift u.u
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[/color] ] [/td] [/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr] [/table][/center]
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Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on Jan 3, 2012 11:34:05 GMT -5
MAYBE LIFE DIDN'T WANT THIS PART OF METarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dalton's word brought him no comfort as the steel continued to bite into his wrists, though he desperately wished they would. Sensation was swelling back through his arms now with the prick of a thousand needles, the sensation both intolerable and inescapable. He heard Dalton ask if he knew who had done this, and shook his head side to side, mouth and brows twisted inward as he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't know, he couldn't even imagine. Who would want to chain them up in the mountains? Tarrik liked birds, and what kind of wild bird would come up with this madness anyways? The retros were a bunch of animals that managed to barf out sensible words from time to time, they certainly weren't coming up with anything so elaborate.
"You have shitty luck, Coyote, I survived a grenade in my room." The words were tense, ground out between his teeth, but it was an improvement. A moment later he even opened his eyes and tried once more to adopt some composure. It was not forthcoming, and he swallowed a desperate sound that would have only upset his friend more. He'd never told Dalton about his fear of restraint, he'd never told anyone in the dome, save Tain. He always tried so hard to seem fearless, his current state could be nothing but a disappointment, something he'd striven never to give his friends. He wasn't seeing a way out, not a one, and as he pulled on the chains, the sturdy strength behind them was a deadweight in his heart.
If his heart was lead, Ann's voice was mercury, and Tarrik snapped his head around hard enough his neck cracked when he heard it, pale eyes owlish in disbelief. He remained in shock for a moment more, then dizzying relief spread through his body and expression. "Ann!" he cried, scarcely able to believe their fortune. And what had Dalton been saying about back luck?! "Introduc-? Look, get get us loose alright?! S'is Dalton, he's my friend, someone did this and I just really need to get these off Ann, I can't.. I don't do well in chains." His smile waned just slightly as he spoke, hands balled tightly into fists. Panic won't help, he reminded himself, Ann is here, we'll be fine. We'll be fine. "Dal, this is Ann, the Rogue I've been telling you about, she can help," We'll be fine. "She's good with finicky things, right Ann? Right?!" We'll be fine.
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those whispers in the dark;
retromorph
pied crow
Lawaii
leier
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Post by Anita Gellard on Jan 9, 2012 2:12:42 GMT -5
[bg=575757][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/v8cx1u.jpg] His relief, to her, was merely an annoyance. Had Ann perhaps been possessed of a far more real sense of empathy, she would have felt the weight of guilt. Of course, that was irrational – she’d done this in the first place to them, and such a simple thing as guilt was non-existent in her mind at the moment. Other matters, such as the need to show them their misplaced trust, were far more pressing.
Her brow furrowed thoughtfully as she prowled towards them, more feline than bird-like. “Ah, yes, Dalton. I should have known.” The woman tipped her head towards Tarrik, a smile creeping across her lips at his last words; she carried herself forwards until she stood directly beside him, then rested a hand against the chains, peering up at them in an almost loving fashion. “Of course I am – I dealt with you, didn’t I?” Reaching up, she gave a light tug on one length of chain which made it vibrate ever so slightly, and then she skimmed her nails along the metal, the gesture a coy, taunting one. He wanted out, did he? Well that was just too damn bad. He’d have to learn he couldn’t get everything he wanted in life.
“It’s a shame, though.” She felt the eyes of the other male – Dalton - watching her intently, his discomfort obvious. Perhaps he sensed what was coming next. “I’m afraid I can’t help you this time, Tarrik. You brought this on yourself.” The dull sunlight caught the glint of the knife as she withdrew it from her pocket and lazily flicked it up to his face; it lay delicately against the bare skin of his cheek. The panicked shouts of Tarrik’s companion went ignored. “Whatever shall I do with you?” She murmured, dragging it down lightly before shifting her grip to give him a hefty whack across the cheek with the hilt. “I thought maybe you’d realize at some point, but I suppose I put too much faith into you.”
Just as quickly as she’d pressed the knife to him, she withdrew it again, striding towards Dalton instead. A vicious grin was fixed in place, and, despite the other’s struggles, she soon had a handful of his hair winded in one hand, the other hand holding the knife against his throat as she glared coldly at Tarrik. “I am no simple rogue. Nor am I a woman foolish enough to think that you weren’t already seeing someone else.” The knife dug ever-so-slightly into the soft expanse of skin, droplets of blood starting to bead. “And I am not letting you go, so wipe that notion from your mind. Cope with those chains.”
ooc; …>>; Also, skipping Dal this round since it’s mostly Ann confronting Ari at the mo. – he’ll get a post later.
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[/color] ] [/td] [/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr] [/table][/center]
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Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on Feb 8, 2012 7:16:19 GMT -5
THIS NECESSARY EVIL HAS NO HEART Tarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Confusion crept into his face and thoughts as she didn't immediately reassure him, though he was hopeful toward the way she inspected the chains. Her tone was odd, he realized, though he couldn't place why. She usually sounded much more playful when she spoke to him; inviting, alluring, instructive. Now her voice was cold, barren, and he didn't understand it. When she finally said she couldn't help, he just plain didn't believe her. It was Ann, there wasn't anything he hadn't seen her able to figure out. She had to be teasing, joking, something. His protest faith were both cut short a moment later as the cold edge of a knife, beautifully honed, dented in his cheek.
He was frozen, confused and betrayed, too shocked to feel fear as the lick of metal slide down to his jaw. This was Ann, the one who'd killed a monster over him, who'd he'd spent hours and hours and days with, learning to tame and bend the Keeper's gift to his will under her patient guidance. They'd kissed and far, far more, talked and wondered. The distraction was a relief as the hilt struck the side of his face like a sledgehammer, and pain cracked through him as an agonized shout wrenched from his lips. The pain was such that it made his eyes water, and the image of her walking to Dalton was blurred. "A-Ann!" he stuttered out through a bleeding tongue, voice ratcheting up as a coil of adrenaline seized him in response to the knife now pressing into Dalton's throat. The handcuffs dug viciously into his wrists at he fought to get closer, the skin breaking. "What.. Ann no! Stop! Get that the hell off him!" He was screaming now, voice harsh and desperate as red dripped down to the hollow of Dalton's throat.
"What are you talking about?! Ann please, you're not making any sense! I didn't do anything to you, he didn't do anything, you've gotta let him go!" What exactly had she said, he wondered. Seeing someone? None of it made sense, but all he cared about was getting that knife blade away from Dalton. "S-Seeing other people, like a girlfriend?! I don't have one! You bloody know that! If you mean the Carna, he's my brother!" How could she even know about Tain?! His mind reeled for answers as his cheek and jaw throbbed, purpling already with a dark bruise. "My brother, you hear me?! Not some.. secret boyfriend or anything! Just please, stop!"
----- ooc; /passes out/
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those whispers in the dark;
retromorph
pied crow
Lawaii
leier
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Post by Anita Gellard on Feb 20, 2012 1:36:23 GMT -5
[bg=575757][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/v8cx1u.jpg] Drip. Drip.
She watched absently as the blood pooled on to the toe of his sneakers. For all their bravado, they were so powerless now that it was almost silly. Ridiculous. She might have laughed, except for the fact that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Something caught her tongue, and she swallowed the notion. Why? Because the humour in it needed no emphasis from her.
Still, one had to marvel at it. Anita could see it in their eyes, in the sag of their shoulders but the tenseness in their jaws and necks – fear. They feared her. A woman of considerably small stature, wielding nothing more than a short blade and sharp words. Or was it her they feared? Doubt struck her. Perhaps it was their entire predicament, being trapped like rats with nowhere to run or hide. Whatever the case, a surge of pure satisfaction made her breast swell. The girl gave the tormented man an affectionate pat on the arm, turning back to face her object of interest.
“Save your breath, Graywall. You’ll need it for later.” The formal use of his last name weighted the statement. A second ticked by, and the blood drained from her face as scorn twisted her expression at his words. “Didn’t do anything? Really? Well, then you’re even more of a liar than I thought and it’s all the better that you’re here now.” Her scowl deepened as he continued, though she said nothing further. His brother, peh. He was probably lying about that too.
The words to follow were lost to deaf ears. How could he have done this to her, after everything she had shown him, taught him? After all his promises and charming, sweet words, how could he have gone and thrown that all away, for what? For who? This man. Her brows drew down as a frown briefly pulled at the corners of her mouth, and then the expression abruptly lifted, replaced with a cool look. “I see.”
Calmly, she moved the blade away from his friend’s throat, then brought it up to her mouth, lapping at the blood delicately with her tongue, testing it. Her nose wrinkled. His sin had tainted it, turned it foul. If it’d not been for that, she might have enjoyed it. “Damnable man,” she muttered under her breath. Behind her she could hear a murmured prayer, which was meant to be faint but literally chimed in her ears, and her eyes narrowed as she spun on her heels, facing Dalton again. “You really think that your God will help you now, when you’ve committed such an act?” Ann tilted her head, bird-like. “You are more foolish than I thought.” The man’s fingers were outstretched, trying to reach her as subtly as he could, but she simply stepped out of reach, turned back around, and slunk over to Ari once more. “You both are.”
Her head was ringing, spinning dizzily as their thoughts interwove with hers. She could hear snatches of them, like a poorly tuned radio, and while the effect was enough to send her up the wall, she found it to be quite useful too. A sneer turned up her lips, eyes fixed on Tarrik’s, and she laid a hand against his chest softly. “Do you know what he’s thinking right now, Tarrik? He’s thinking about how much he blames you for all of this. You two being caught here in these chains. Funny, right? Considering it’s partly his fault too.” The first strands of trust were starting to seep out from underneath her fingertips. “…only partly, though.” The knife, hidden momentarily behind her back, flipped out again as she began to slice a line across his chest beside her other hand. In the background, she heard Dalton scream, and smiled.
ooc; /CREEPERALERT
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[/color] ] [/td] [/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr] [/table][/center]
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Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on May 4, 2012 12:48:35 GMT -5
MAYBE LIFE DIDN'T WANT THIS PART OF METarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was madly pleased when she finally turned away from Dalton and back to him, her and her stupid knife and her stupid hate. She could cut him to ribbons all she liked, he thought viciously, so long as she stayed the hell away from Dalton. But her first order of business wasn't knocking his teeth out like he'd hoped, and dread stole into him a moment before her fingers pressed against his chest. He knew what she was doing, and a quiet panic started in his mind as she spoke. She was toying with his thoughts and emotions, he knew, but which ones? They all felt genuine, and he knew they would; he'd let her practice on him so many times. And what if she wasn't, and the touch was just a gesture? Horrified, his eyes stared into hers, then slid to Dalton's face. She could be lying, but was she? It was his fault, every inch of it, and who wouldn't blame him for it? Dalton could hold a bitter grudge, he knew, and he thought that one had formed against him turned his insides to ice.
"It's not..." It's not your fault, he wanted to say, but the cut of Ann's knife drove the breath from him. He'd been cut before, much deeper, and it hadn't hurt a third so badly. The Keepers, he remembered dully as he fought to keep silent, to steal away the satisfaction of his screams from her, they did something, something.. It was, in fact, quite too much for his senses, and he abruptly internalized. Distantly, he heard Dalton screaming words or nonsense, he couldn't tell. His fight or flight instinct had just done him one up, he knew, as he examined the cruel curve of Ann's lips in slow motion. the agony would come roaring back in a heartbeat, he knew, and he did the only things that came immediately to his mind. He yanked all the pain, guilt, anger, white-hot rage that he was overflowing with together, and slammed it through the connection Ann offered with her hand. Then he drove his head forward to bash his forehead square into her face.
----- ooc; shorterpostsnao? u.u FO ACTIONS.
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those whispers in the dark;
retromorph
pied crow
Lawaii
leier
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Post by Anita Gellard on May 6, 2012 19:10:02 GMT -5
[bg=575757][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/v8cx1u.jpg] Different, different, something was different about him. Anita flicked her tongue thoughtfully over her lower lip as she cut into him, trying to pinpoint how, but could barely think above the stream of constant noise that droned in her head like blow flies. Their panic was tangible from even the babble of their minds, and she loved it, savoured it. A moment later, that sense of satisfaction was abruptly cut short as a tidal wave of fierce anger rushed through her. It was strong enough to almost knock her back, and she instinctively moved her hand off of the man, the knife following suit. As if to force her away completely, Tarrik suddenly slammed his forehead against her face, and she stumbled then, pushed backwards by the momentum.
The knife slipped from her hand, momentarily forgotten as her vision exploded in a burst of white stars. Her temples throbbed painfully, and when the stars finally cleared, she felt something wet dripping from her nose. Confused at first, she reached up to wipe at it with her fingers, then frowned at the red stain that blotted them. Her teeth bared as she fixed her gaze on Tarrik, and the flood of emotions he’d just sent to her came rushing back all at once. Furious, she strode forwards and slapped him viciously across the cheek, putting weight behind it. Her blood left a smear, grotesque as a gaping wound. When she finally spoke, her tone was seething. “How dare you try that with me. But you do dare, oh you just did. I should kill you both right now.” Some hidden secret glittered behind her eyes. “Really though, for the moment, that’s up to you and him.” She spat the last word out, then shook her head and walked away, picking the knife back up and walking past them both.
By a tree, there lay two tin cups. They were, of course, just a few of the many items that her flock had raided from those who had died up in the mountains before. She scooped one up and carried it back over to Tarrik. Grimacing, she flicked the knife up and deepened the cut on his chest, just enough to loosen the clots so that the blood ran freely again. Then she held out her other hand so that the cup could catch the small stream of blood. Her eyes shifted to his for a moment, wary but amused. “Waste not.” Then, without much bravado, she put the cup down and grabbed up the other cup, then repeated the process with Dalton, widening the short cut on his throat and gathering his blood. How very morbid indeed. If they only knew… She carried the cup of Dalton’s blood over to Tarrik, grim smile back in place, then said, voice wavering ever so slightly and full of spite, “If you love him so much, then bind yourself to him. Taste his sins, taste your own. If you really love him, if you really want to save him, then you’ll drink it. All of it. Or he dies – I will kill him.” She held the cup up to his lips, ready to tip it to his mouth, her other hand on his arm and her fingers ready to release a deadly little addicting concoction of emotions.
ooc; it's short..er? D8 AND SEE WUT I DID THAR?
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[/color] ] [/td] [/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr] [/table][/center]
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Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on May 25, 2012 14:03:04 GMT -5
MAYBE LIFE DIDN'T WANT THIS PART OF METarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His head rang like a bell after hitting her like that, but he didn't care. She deserved it a hundredfold, the only pity was he didn't have enough leverage when he did it to knock her out cold as he'd wanted. The slap she dealt him after was comforting, almost, in it's brutality. He hated her calculating, the stupid little games she'd been playing in her mind as she went between them. She could hit him, again and again. Sooner or later she'd get close again, in anger most likely.
But she changed gear fast, it seemed, and he could only fight s scream as she took his blood, carefully out of his reach this time, and then Dalton's. He wondered if she meant to paint it on them, or use it to attract flies. But instead she pressed it up against his mouth, and he snarled in revulsion, leaning back as far as he could get. She was insane, absolutely insane. He almost screamed at her that she wouldn't kill Dalton, couldn't, or he'd bite through his tongue, and then what would she have to torture?! But his time with her told him the answer before he had to ask it; she'd kill him slowly, by inches, over days. Of the two of them, the only one that might earn a clean throat cut was himself, if he mouthed off badly enough.
None of those thoughts made the idea of drinking what was in the cup and better. He could smell it, coppery and warm, and it made his stomach roll dangerously. "I can't..." But he could. The moment his mouth opened she tilted the cup, and his words choked in his throat as he gagged, red spilling down the front of his chin and throat. It didn't taste as bad as it had smelled, though, and he crushed the urge to retch. And the appreciation in him, the want and the crave, he knew them, and they scared him. "Stop," he choked out after he forced himself to swallow, "Stop it! I drank it, what more do you need?!" To make him like it? To make Dalton realize what she could do to him with Dalton as leverage? He didn't want to know.
----- ooc; omnumnum? >>;
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SHAPESHIFTER
COYOTE
Fulsi
BETA
INVENTORY Skills Electricity, Agility, Speed, Poison, Flux
Weapons Hatchet, Baseball bat, Switchblade, Throwing knife set (x2)
Items Throwing Knife Harness, Fur-lined Jacket
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Post by Dalton Williams on May 30, 2012 1:53:29 GMT -5
[bg=000101]
D A L T O N [atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true] His blood, his blood, Tarrik was drinking his blood. Bile rose in his throat, but Dalton choked it down, the sour taste coating his tongue and making him all but retch. He couldn’t help it – Tarrik was his friend, his best friend, and while he didn’t hold it against him, the sight alone was enough to make him want to vomit. He felt cold, clammy, sick. Sweat soaked his skin, the salt attracting flies, but he barely noticed, such was his gaze fixed upon Tarrik’s chin as the blood – no, no, his blood dripped down in gentle beads. How had he not coughed it all back up? Surely the taste left something to be desired for?, he thought with bitter humour.
He almost didn’t even notice the girl, then, either, until she was kneeling next to him. He started, head jerking back, eyes wide with alarm. A thought flashed in his mind, and electricity crackled at his fingertips. As luck would have it, though, he couldn’t reach. She hadn’t come close enough yet, and his hand movements were restricted by the chains. Frustrated, he bared his teeth at her and snapped a short, damning curse, which only seemed to amuse her. In her hand was a cup, and he knew it held Tarrik’s blood. He’d watched her gather it from him with a sort of numb disbelief only a short time ago. His face drained of color as he stared at it, believing that he was meant to drink it as his friend had. This didn’t happen, of course, though what followed was no less shocking to him than if he would have had to.
A flick of her wrist was all it took, and the cup’s contents splashed across his face and chest in a grisly imitation of a splatter-painting on canvas. Blood seeped into his mouth, tasting of copper. His expression, a mixture of confusion, revulsion, and surprise must have made him look even more ridiculous, because he heard her laugh. “Stupid coyote,” she spat. “Thinking you can predict me, eh?” She lashed out, her hand a whip, and caught him in a backhand across the mouth that snapped his head to one side. He felt blood gush from a split lip and mingle with Ari’s blood; Dalton twisted back around to glare at her. Then he stiffened, watching as she started back towards Tarrik. Trying to draw her back to him, he snarled, “Don’t you dare touch him, you bitch. Look, do what you like with me, but just…dammit, leave him alone!” The conviction was there, but he knew his voice shook, and it wasn’t just from rage. Fear gripped him, steaming the fire with ice.
Another laugh, which made him tug hard on the handcuffs in retort. Then came the words, like those from a snake’s tongue, cold and mocking, as she circled back over to him. A bolt of satisfaction jolted through him. “Leave him alone, he says. Do what you like to me, he says; do you hear your little friend, Tarrik?” She paused, beaming over at him. “So self-sacrificing. I hear up here,” she tapped her head with a finger, then continued, “That he would die for you. Ironic, I would think.” Her lips curled in a distinctly displeased manner, tone sarcastic. “And you drank his blood and proved your love, you don’t love me, you love him, and thus…well, I’m sure you see. Wrong path, love. You just damned yourself to hell. And a whole lot of pain for you both.” A cheery tune played through the air as she whistled and passed by him.
What was she doing that for, he wondered, watching as she set about building a small fire between them. Burn them alive, like they used to do with witches? He wouldn’t have been too surprised, what with all her talk about sin and hell and his god not being there to watch him. Dal didn’t want to think about that particular matter, even as his chest tightened painfully at the notion. Had they really been abandoned? Had he been abandoned since he’d come to this forsaken dome in the first place? Probably, whispered a cynical portion of his mind, and he winced.
His gaze drifted back to watch the woman with a fascinated sense of horror as she worked. How did someone come to be this…cruel? And messed up? Obviously she had a few loose screws but Tarrik had seemed so positive about her before. And now…
He eyed the knife in her hands, saw her heat the blade until the metal glowed a dull red, then brighter. And then she approached him, and he felt his stomach sink. The man tried to twist away from her as best he could when she stepped around behind him and kneeled, but there was little he could do as she wound one hand into hair as a grip and tugged hard, a warning. The other hand, the one that held the knife, hefted ever so slightly, and then he felt the knife sink into the flesh of his back; he couldn’t think of a time when he’d ever screamed so loudly before.
Again and again and again it bit, dragged, or peeled, and he swore and shouted and screamed himself hoarse, the pain overriding all sensibility of controlling his reactions. How could he? It was unbearable, to the point where on several occasions he felt the world slow and darken, felt himself droop slightly in the bonds, only to wake up to the intensity again a few short minutes later. He didn’t know what she was doing, and she didn’t tell him. Frankly, he didn’t care, and a vindictive, masochistic part of him was glad that it was him and not Tarrik, not Tarrik…never Tarrik, and he knew she heard him, he knew, and…and so what?...if he was to die, at least Tarrik would live…at least…he…
The ground was red beneath her knees.
ooc;; SHORT POSTS YOU SAY? DOES WHAT IT WANTS IT SAYS. Combo post WHEEEE BRB GOING TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET.
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[/color][/td] [/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr] [/table][/center]
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Shapeshifter
Dog & Brahminy Kite
Fulsi
Delta
INVENTORY Skills Empathy, Touch
Weapons Ice Axe (x2), Hunting Knife(x2)
Items Shift Armor, Chainmail Gloves, Throat Guard, Handcuffs(x3), Stetchbook, Drawing Supplies, Indian Ink
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Post by Tarrik Rosdahl on Jun 15, 2012 0:07:02 GMT -5
MAYBE LIFE DIDN'T WANT THIS PART OF METarrik ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
However loud Dalton screamed, Tarrik was louder. Mindless, wild rage consumed him. He fought the cuffs on his wrists until they bled, then fought some more. He couldn't breath, couldn't get closer and couldn't get away. He threatened, begged, persuaded, and swore. None of it effected her, slowed her hand, or gave Dalton a breath's respite. He only stopped when he choked; the stench was horrendous, like well done steak.
Long before she was done, Tarrik was spent. The dirt around him was churned from his knees and the toes of his boots, and the undersides of his arms were sticky, red, and buzzing with flies. He would have been crying, if he'd not been so dehydrated by the sun and his struggle. Instead he hung blankly, sagged forward against the bonds, and stared at Dalton's eyes through the top of the flame. He hadn't met his eyes in some time, he thought, but it didn't matter. It felt like if he kept watching, he couldn't die. That if he looked away, he might. Ann had said Dalton had been willing to die for him. Maybe she lied, but he didn't think so. The coyote shifter was the martyrdom type, and to his horror, it didn't seem like either of them would be able to do a damn thing to stop it.
Look up, he thought weakly, don't leave me here.
----- giantpost then demanding zoompost YE ARE CRUEL /sobwail
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those whispers in the dark;
retromorph
pied crow
Lawaii
leier
|
Post by Anita Gellard on Jun 15, 2012 0:35:49 GMT -5
[bg=575757][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i52.tinypic.com/v8cx1u.jpg] Ann’s head rang with their mingled screams, and the intensity of it all made her bare her teeth in frustration. With each one she tore fresh from them, she grew more vicious in her manner. Being in such close proximity, she could hear him whimpering and snivelling between yowls as the knife cut deep – pathetic. However, a sense of bliss floated over her as his attempts to jerk away grew more and more feeble, and on more than one occasion she had to check to make sure he was still breathing. Weak though he was, if he died from this, her fun would be over far too soon. The lines she carved in his flesh were precise, despite his prior attempts to escape, forming shapes as the fired edge sealed it. It wasn’t too much longer before she finished, and upon doing so, she shifted her gaze up to Tarrik.
Smiling coldly, she stood, cleaning blood from the blade with her shirt, then prowled back over to the fire to turn it scalding hot once more. Behind her, Dalton hung loose in his bonds; the flies did not spare him, either, attracted as they were by his friend’s blood that was still splashed across his face. When he felt Tarrik staring, he lifted his eyes to meet his, but the look seemed hollow.
Unfazed, Ann made her way back over to Tarrik, kneeling behind him in the same fashion as she had done with Dalton. There was no suspenseful wait – she simply plunged the knife down and began cutting away at his back, with no mercy to be had. The pattern was similar to Dalton’s, but ultimately different, extending along to his upper back and shoulders. She ignored any noises he made, or that Dalton made, and focused only on her task at hand. He was surprisingly quiet, though, and barely flinched. Once finished, she wound her fingers up into his hair and gave his head a sharp tug back, voice near his ear, “You had better not be dead by the time I return.” Gathering up her things, she once more went to the fire, this time putting it out. A final glance was spared at them, and then she morphed, her form like that of a small shade as she disappeared into the growing darkness.
ooc; >>; is short as I could get it /dies Needed to mention Dal too though.
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