welcome to your new hell, Welcome to the Menagerie. Or as we like to call it, Dome Sweet Dome! We are an eight-year strong futuristic shapeshifter and sci-fi creature roleplay, dedicated to bringing you a world unlike any other; a world in which your character has become an experiment and must fight for survival in a domed city, cut off from the rest of the world. Choose to be any animal in your fight for survival in an artificial world built by the Keepers as they subject you to experiments beyond your control. Choose to wander the world inside the walls alone, as a Rogue, or find safety in numbers in one of the groups known as Rings. How will you survive?
60 - 65 ºF
blustery with scattered showers spotty sunshine
YEAR 2309
shift bans.
» Cougars (aka Puma, Mountain Lion, Panther)
» All Tiger Species
» All Lion Species
» All Wolf Species
» African Leopards
group bans.
none.
encouraged !
FEMALE CHARACTERS! create a RETRO or ANTHRO and get 250 CP + a free skill! read me for more info!
last updated: april 19th, 2016
Click on each Ring or Retro group image to view their ranks!
GROUP UPDATES
CARNARING
Jocelyn Edelwolfe is the new Alpha! Seija Mulviene is the new Beta, and Grey is the new Delta. Lead Hunter is now Boone Haywood, Head of Border Patrol is now Noelle Ndango!
FALLENRING
-
FULSIRING
Fulsi has a standing treaty with the Nakoma, granting limited access to their fresh water.
NAKOMA TRIBE
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ANALOYA PRIDE
a while back, the Analoya suffered a suspicious poisoning of their river, luckily with few casualties; the Bellator are suspected of having taken part in it, and there are whispers that Pride leader Wanderer is talking alliance with the Nilda for access to their clean water.
BELLATOR HERD
As new leader of the Bellator, Loril has instituted some rank changes. See this thread for more information!
LAWAII FLOCK
no updates!
NILDA PACK
no updates!
CARNARING QUICK STATS
ALPHA -- Jocelyn Edelwolfe, Clouded Leopard, played by IronChild
BETA -- Seija Mulviene, Spotted Hyena, played by Seija-chan
DELTA --Grey, Mackenzie Valley Wolf, played by Kriss
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It was not an easy trip. Although they had not needed to go all that far, it was slow going for the both of them. Injured and exhausted, walking the distance to the Inn was like walking through knee deep snow, and the autumn wind was sharp - making the trip just that much more enjoyable.
On the way, Roma mulled over her predicament. What am I doing? What the hell am I gonna do once we get a campsite. Why am I even helping this guy? What … then hell … am I doing with a Carna for Christ’s sake? She quickly reminded herself that she had made him a promise, and although there were many things Roma Partholain might do (and do well) breaking a promise was not one of them.
When the Inn came into view, Sister Wolf flatly refused to agree that it was safe to rest there. Every attempt Roma made to argue the contrary was shot down flatly until she turned around to Grey and shrugged her shoulders. ”Well, I ent too keen on bein’ in the buildin’ but I reckon there’s a water behind it. Maybe we can keep a distance back?” Roma didn’t know the solution. In Sister Wolf’s mind there was no safe place in the Menagerie, least of all buildings.
She hoped Grey had an answer, and he did – leading them to what seemed a decent little hide out amongst the trees in a place she’d never even known was there. However, once they reached the spot Grey went down like a played out colt. She covered him as best she could with a blanket in the pack, and began a small fire.
It was a few hours later that an increasingly sleepy Roma had a knife heated in the coals. It was downright unnatural … all it took was her staring at him too long to wake him up. Creepy bastard, she thought with chagrin and a touch of disturbance. However her ‘cheerful’ side wouldn’t be put to rest with a smattering of injuries and a tuckered body hell no.
With a grin she perked up. ”Mornin’ sunshine.” It was not morning, and Grey certainly did not look happy to be awake. ” Ready to get barbequed?” At the last word she held up the now blazen knife that glowed in the dark like an absurd orange midget light saber. She wiggled it back and forth as her eyebrows waggled and the side of her mouth kicked up. ”Ayyyyee?” Occasionally, Roma was callus and strange.
Last Edit: Sept 22, 2014 15:44:51 GMT -5 by ROMA|RED
All things considered, he had slept in worse conditions. He had been in Mongolia for two weeks during the middle of winter. The Imperium agent stationed there would not allow him to sleep in the yurt and, instead, Grey had slept with the sheep. He reminded himself of this as he woke up, his neck and back aching from the hard ground. It could be worse.
Mornin' sunshine. He looked at her without humor. He could see the knife and it made his stomach twist; he knew what it meant and what it felt like. The wolf inside of him was whimper and, all of a sudden, it seemed like a very good idea to change his mind. He cleared his throat, thinking of how to word it. Well, I've decided that I don't want to get branded today, thanks. Stitch me up instead. With the way she was grinning he thought that that avenue led to just as much pain.
Grey swallowed and sat up, not without some grogginess that he pushed aside. "You look like you're going to enjoy this," he said dryly, hiking up his shirt to expose the wound. After a moment of consideration he decided that it would be better to lie down; when he sat it bunched the wound awkwardly. He did so, gingerly, with his ribs facing her.
Almost as an afterthought, he reached out and grabbed a stick. He broke it to a suitable length and wiped the dirt off onto his palm. "Do you have practice doing this, at least?" Grey asked, thinking that maybe--taking into account her drawl--she had worked with cattle or something at least. He scolded himself for using stereotypes again but, at the moment, he didn't care. His toes were curling against his boots and he put the stick in his mouth, gritting his teeth. Crazy redhead.
When Grey accused her of enjoying the aspect of burning him, it gave her pause. Did she? No. The internal reply was instant. Instead, it was more she was worried and in reflex always joked, or put of a devious front. It came as naturally as breathing. Watching as he made himself comfortable and fussed with the stick she took a deep breath and unbandaged bloody the wound. On the outside, her face was that of ease and lightheartness. On the inside …
Do you have practice doing this, at least? Thinking of how the calves tended to struggled, Roma reflected on if, and how she would restrain him. She was not as light as some girls. Her generous curves and height gave her a touch of strength and weight where a typical half-starved Menagerie female would not. On the ranch, they roped the calves, two men held one animal down whilst the third branded. Roma did not have two other people.
”Sure do,” she said as she levered herself atop him unceremoniously. Her shin went over the top of his thighs, and her off hand braced against his shoulder. ”Just try not to hit me too hard,” she said with forced humor, and without warning lowered the knife to the opening that all but gushed blood once it had been unwrapped.
Roma braced herself, fully prepared to take the force of his strike and following fury from being hurt … and by her. The pounding at the door, an angry voice booming. Roma’s back pressed against the door of her bedroom, praying the locks would stay. Tears of terror fall from golden eyes … He made a noise and her now brilliant tawny hues screwed shut as he bucked beneath her in agony.
Grey didn't know if it mattered one way or another. If she was experienced it would hurt like hell. If she wasn't experienced it would still hurt like hell.
"Are you coming on to me again?" he asked, his humor just as forced as hers had been. He looked at her eyes. Just her eyes. He did not want to see when her hand moved the knife downward because he thought that, if he wasn't expecting it, it wouldn't be so horrible.
Grey was wrong.
The knife touched him with a distinctive sizzle that he could not hear, for the agony of the touch wiped his mind clean of anything else. His body arched off the ground, his shoulders writhing; Grey's fingers clawed at the soil. He couldn't think. He could only feel the sharp pain and the way that it smelled. God. Was that him, making that animalistic noise, a feral but muffled scream? It had to be.
She finished and climbed off of him. His fingertips bled from just how harshly he had pushed them into the dirt and now he laid there, his eyes closed, heaving for breath. It throbbed. And then the wind shifted and he smelled it, his own burned skin. Grey knew that he was going to be sick. He managed to shift onto his knees by some act of God and stumbled toward the edge of the campsite, where he vomited.
His stomach was most empty and so he retched until his shoulders ached, his ribs throbbing more and more. After a second he wiped his mouth and stood on shaky legs, like a fawn. He turned back to Roma and staggered toward the camp, dizzy and nauseous. He didn't know what to say and so he said nothing, sitting cross-legged with a grimace. He was embarrassed for his reaction but at least he hadn't hit her, he guessed.
So worried with the task at hand she’d not even heard his jest. The red-hot knife to skin was horrible to feel, to smell, to witness … it was even worse to experience it. In an awkward location on her back, she bore a half crescent circle, and a partial P at its center where she had been branded for punishment, she’d managed to scramble away.
It was a shock to her when no blow came and she quickly maneuvered off of him. When he turned over, her arms automatically reached out to him but she stopped herself mid-step as he stumbled to the edge of the small clearing and threw up everything he’d ever eaten. Roma looked down to the ground at the knife that no longer glowed. It was still hot though and she stared at it for a long time before Grey’s noises of return snapped her back and she picked it up quickly.
Setting it on a rock she let him sit an collect himself for long minutes before she grabbed the flask and some clean gauze. What she did know was they needed to cover it again. The water would at least help a bit, and when she approached him it was slowly. Lowering to her knees she ooched forward until she was within touching distance, and it was a few minutes after that before she slowly raised brown hues to his pain filled, bloodshot grey eyes. Her hands held up her offerings, the side of her mouth lifted in a mix of chagrin and distress.
When he nodded she handed him the flask to drink, then took the rest to pour onto the burn. He shifted here and there, and once his arm had moved to support himself better and she paused in her work. She had been sure it was to strike her but he did not, so she continued until he was bandaged up. At eye level and finished with hurting him for the time being, she let out a shuttering sigh and smiled almost sweetly. ”Hurts like a bitch, don’t it?" She couldn’t help the tone of experience trickling through the words and she shook her head as her shoulders sagged. It would continue to hurt like a bitch for weeks, but he knew that.
”I'm ... I'm sorry," she said, looking down at the flask as she slowly screwed the lid back on.
He took the proffered flask with another grimace, although the alcohol helped to erase the taste of vomit from his mouth. When it was splashed against his wound, further disinfecting it, he bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he could taste blood. His fingers clenched again, scraping against the rock he sat against until his knuckles were white from the pressure. He did not cry out--he was too proud to do it a second time--although he flinched more than once until the wound was properly bandaged and he sat shirtless in the cool autumn air. He curled his knees up and rested his forearm (the one opposite of his injury) against them, observing her and her change in expression. Grey wondered if she felt bad for him and, if so, why? "Yeah, it does."
It sounded like she knew from experience although Grey did not ask. "Why are you apologizing?" His eyes settled on hers; his expression was almost apologetic in and of itself. He knew that it was unpleasant--he had done it before, and for someone he had known. He didn't really believe that she enjoyed to cause people pain, something that was obvious in the wake of what she had done. Grey was surprised that she had stuck with him for so long when she did not have to and the kindness was strange to him.
Grey shifted into a more comfortable position against the nearby packs, resting his back against them. He was worn out and tired and the continuous pain was something that he would grow wary of quickly. "Thank you, by the way." His hand rested gingerly against his abdomen. He felt lightheaded and hated that; Grey still did not trust her and he felt uncomfortable being so weak.
His confusion over her apology did not inspire her to remind him so she simply shrugged, and set back on her heels to stand up. Across the fire, she lowered herself back down to the dirt, deciding they both needed some space. Taking a deep breath and settling in, she relaxed more once there was some distance between them. The air still smelled of burnt flesh, and the scent of pain and fear sparked Sister’s already overtaxed tolerance to the edge.
Inside, Sister Wolf was defensive and unnerved. Roma’d had such a difficult time keeping her fear out of her own task when she needed to remain calm that she’d completely ignored her lupine half; which was something Roma had not done in a very, very long time. As a consequence, Sister was frantic and unpredictable which was not good. Only the recent sense of control that Roma had was what kept Sister Wolf from taking over this instant and putting as many miles between them and the injured, angry, and scared male. Roma might have forgotten the beast he could shift into, but Sister had not. She could smell it on him, and unholy bond of feline and lupine that caused the wolf to bristle and shake.
Roma sighed, stretching her aching muscles and settling down. She understood her concerns, but he was half unconscious already and from the way he seemed to regard her was much improved from when she was practically sitting in his lap in the cave. Well, and a few weeks back on the border. Funny how you ran into people-
Thank you, by the way. That caused her to start, and she looked over to him stunned and blinked stupidly before she hunkered down again as if nothing had happened. Her whiskey-red curls were pushed to one side as she spread out, her hips shifted into comfort as her palm supported her head. ”Don’t mention it. Jes’ keep it in mind next time you think about slittin’ my throat or find me too close to that pretty border a’ yours,” and she winked.
”Why don’t you try and sleep some. I can take first watch.” There was no way in hell she would sleep if there wasn’t at least a half trustworthy person to keep watch, or Sister Wolf was loose. There had been an incident in the past that had gotten them knee deep in trouble and Roma had learned her lesson. Later, perhaps … when he had gotten some shut eye she’d take a nap and he could take a turn but for now, she suspected he was exhausted and desperately needed sleep. Tomorrow morning, she’d hunt. Or, well … Sister would. Said half perked at the prospect and settled anxiously. For now, there was nothing for the wolf to do but wait.
Grey's mind was not on her words, a weakness that he could easily hate himself for. He had been trained to withstand this sort of agony, had he not been? Mental discipline was more important than any other discipline as far as his father was concerned. At twenty eight, Grey still cared what his father thought of him and a part of him knew that he would grimace at seeing his son so frail before an "enemy".
There was nothing he could do for it. His vision swam and the wound throbbed as his heart beat a wild rhythm. His fingers clenched against the fabric of his shirt and he relented to his own exhaustion, tilting his head back. The movement made everything spiral; he could see only the sky and the trees above, gnarled together. He closed his eyes and struggled against an inherent urge to deny her first watch. I'm fine, he wanted to say. I can do it, he wanted to say. I don't trust you, he wanted to say.
But he could say none of those things. Grey managed a begrudging, "Okay." He was surrounded by the darkness of his closed lids, listening to the distant chirrups of crickets. He could hear the wind through the trees and he remembered somebody from somewhere saying that it was a voice speaking in a tongue nobody understood. Just listen, they had told him.
Listen. Grey couldn't. He was serenaded to sleep by the lullaby of the woods and the manic cackle of the fire, his dreams full of branding irons and southern drawls.
The night had settled over them with a deep sigh, as if it were at last able to relax over the suddenly still campsite. The small firelight crackled from the branches’ bitter sap, sending the woman’s brown hues to flash with each pop as she watched the man painfully and fitfully settle, then doze.
More at ease for Grey’s slumber Roma let out a long breath, and finally uprooted the mental fence that she had kept Sister behind for too long. Now free, the wolf retreated into the darkness of the girl’s mind, hovering on the edges elusively. It was a strange relationship they had, but one they could not be parted from. The very natures that fashioned each half of their soul created the same dynamics that allowed the freedoms that each needed. It was not something either had ever considered; rather, it was evident in how they lived each day.
However, there were unspoken rules and lines that the girl and the wolf kept to, and this was what shaken Sister Wolf so significantly … Roma, had broken one. Never before had Roma railed so arrogantly against Sister’s instincts and warnings, and never had the girl pushed her wolf half so far away. Panic had wracked the lupine in the man’s presence, but instead of tending to her sister and soothing her as she normally did, Roma had shoved her away … and that made Sister anxious and mistrustful.
Sister watched the shifter across the flames, causing Roma’s hues to morph into a miasma of browns and golds, undulating from one to the other freely. A wolf’s mind was not one of deliberation in respect of safety; it was an instinct of the oldest lore: Fight, or Flight. Any creature boiled down to its simplest form, from humans to insects, were bound to the same law and it was the latter that the cunning wolfess would have preferred. She was no fool, and in a bare fight between herself and the striped wolf-cat … Sister Wolf would end up the loser (even despite the male’s current condition).
The red head’s thoughts were not on these things however, and not for the first time Sister thought her human half a fool. He didn’t smell right, even on their first meeting. There was an edge to this man that was not to be trusted. It was in his eyes, the smell of his sweat, the tiniest shake of his hands. The wolf’s sharp golden eyes surged past the blindness that was Roma’s vision in these things, and called them Wrong.
A wolf is a sensible creature. She had already tried to warn Roma against the dangers that this man presented for days unsuccessfully. It was now time for the wolfess to break her own rules, and in Sister’s mind, for a greater reason than Roma’s inclinations. To Sister, it was to save their life.
But she would not divulge her thoughts, no. Roma had left her mind utterly exposed, intending to eventually make peace between them, but there was time for that later. Now, the astute wolf would take after the coyote’s side of her bloodlines, and take advantage of Roma’s undoubtable assumption that Sister was quiet because she was sulking, and not because she was planning.
Sister settled comfortably in the back of Roma’s mind, radiating relaxation from being free and begrudging Roma the satisfaction of her gratitude. The girl would soon learn what a dire mistake she had made in caging a Wolf. Roma’s actions had pushed her animal half into a place Sister Wolf rarely went to and in fact, had not since the night of their capture. She would wait, wait for Roma to sleep. It was then that Sister would act.
Stillness. Other self dreaming. Breathing? The wolf-cat-male in deep sleep. Darkness. Cold. The fire gone. Good. Strange. Two legs too shaky. The want of pads and claws. The want of smell and sight. Not safe. Must move. Fingers are strange. Without fur it is strange. Wind on bare skin strange. Sound! Freeze. Nothing. Move. Building dangerous, head east to the desert. Old scents. Fresh scents. No threat.
Sister Wolf had literally hijacked Roma’s human body. To shift would have altered Roma in her slumber and waken her, and to shift would have changed their scent. This way if male had awakened and found them gone it might have been forgiven as a trip to relieve herself. Silly humans and their customs.
With Sister in charge of a human body, that body now obeyed the Wolf’s every command. Her movements were pure, unhindered by laziness, want of easy comfort, or bad habits. She hated the boots. She could not feel the ground and it was difficult to travel quietly. She managed, but only the echo of familiarity through Roma’s experiences kept Sister from taking her teeth to them, human or not.
It was a curious task this. The human’s instincts were wired to different things than the wolf’s and only Sister’s strength of mind overpowered it’s natures. There was feeling to return to the man and restart the fire. A want of bed and house. A gut wrenching need … for pizza. Sister couldn’t help her mouth water at the thought, for they were always hungry. In the wolf’s own body her physical needs manifested into something entirely different. A gut wrenching need for rabbit, and her mouth watered again. Food could come later, now they needed distance.
All of these thoughts and fancies passed in but a few moments before without warning something grabbed her shoulder from behind with bruising force, and twisted to slam her back into a tree painfully. The Wolf’s reactions took over, and her head reared around to snap her human teeth desperately at the arm that held them. A quiet cry of alarm and spitted growl escaped before all ceased in the face of a very angry wolf-cat-male.
Only time watching faces through Roma’s eyes gave the wolf enough experience to recognize his expression. Paired with the smell of pain and sound of heavy breathing … not to mention his death-grip on her shoulder, the wolfess could not misinterpret.
Her red hair seemed dark in the night, framing tanned skinned dusted with freckles. He was close, his nose almost touching hers as he glared at her. Eerily, Sister Wolf’s golden gaze met his solidly for almost a full minute before her eyes dropped and she looked away. He had caught her, but it was not the only danger. The second, was that her other half might wake up. The third and most precious, was that there was more than just Roma behind those eyes.
Her only hope now, was that there was only moonlight and maybe … just maybe she could fool him as she had Roma. He had startled her, but now she was in control of herself. She didn't like talking, it was as stupid and useless as a human's lack of proper ears and tail, and, Sister had no understanding of the nuances that human speech took. Tone was utterly unfathomable, and her ability to use it beyond her. But basic words and body ... she had those and for a clever Wolf in a woman's body - she hoped she'd need little else.
"Sorry," she whispered. It came instinctively, and as Sister understood it's meaning would funnel ridiculous amounts of words into a narrow fault of just one. "Sorry," she said again a bit stronger.
Last Edit: Sept 8, 2014 0:29:05 GMT -5 by ROMA|RED
It was not sound that woke him; it was aching silence and he knew, even half-asleep, that she was no longer there. He bolted awake, stretching the taunt edges of his wound as he rolled to his knees, hurting in a way that caused his teeth to clench and his eyes to water. His eyes seized on the fire, dead in the dark, and Grey knew that was what had drawn him from sleep. She had to have been gone for hours, if the fire had eroded into black coals.
Grey was up from that moment onward; his eyes were bright and so where his thoughts. He immediately fell into action. She had already put miles between them--in Grey's state, it would be difficult to pursue. He resolved himself and shifted, feeling the rip and tear of the wound. As a wolf he attempted to steady himself a second time, panting in the dark.
Damned woman.
He began to make his way meagerly in the direction of her scent. Once he became assured of her direction, Grey transitioned into a lope rather than a walk, his mind quickly going blank of pain as he fell into a mile-eating pace. It was easy to remind himself that he had had worse.
It was also easy to remind himself to never, ever trust a red-head. Was betrayal a simple part of their genes? Grey ran for two or more hours, focused only on the task at hand. The scent weaved at times but his keen nose never found it difficult to track. It seemed, to him, that she had not anticipated his chase. That was her first mistake. Grey did not leave "unfinished business". He did not allow for loose ends, or foolish mishaps. His teeth were set to edge, his hackles bristled, his long tail coiling inelegantly and ireful behind him.
He saw her, at long last, through the darkness. Grey slowed his pace and took the moment to shift, silent in the face of the pain now. It hurt. It hurt like he had it branded all over again, his body sweating from the effort to withhold his groan of pain.
Grey began to move toward her, utilizing all those hard years of practice to remain as silent as possible. The trick, he knew, was not to stay silent. It was to allow his noise to become a part of his surroundings, mingling with the other sounds of night. Like that, it was easy to grip her and twist her around--wound be damned--into a tree. Grey did not stop there. He pressed himself flush against her, knowing well that the redhead was full of unexpected surprises. He would keep her trapped there, his forearm braced across her jugular. Grey's expression, pinched with pain and savage rage, showed his teeth and his gleaming eyes.
"Sorry?" Grey repeated to her, his lip curling. The tone was derisive, mocking. He shoved against her, momentarily cutting off her breath. He saw her eyes. Bright, even in the dark, and they enraged him. "You're sorry? You don't just... You don't leave someone you said you would watch." It was betrayal, like the lash of a whip, sharp and biting. Grey was illogical in the face of his anger. He should never trust a Rogue, he knew. He should never trust anyone, ever, that reminded him of her. Perhaps his anger was equally directed inward, at himself, because Grey knew now that he had been a fool to give this girl the benefit of the doubt. His touch shifted almost tenderly, until his calloused hand caressed her throat. His eyes, narrowed and vengeful, held no such gentleness and it became clear why not when his hand tightened with choking pressure, rutting her head against the tree and pointing her chin up, so that Grey could see her eyes.
Sister felt no obligation to this man, and was unmoved by his disgracing. She certainly had never promised such a thing, and Roma had been a careless silly cub for giving such a vow. The wolf’s essence bristled under the freckled skin of the young woman - demanding to be set free, but Sister would not release herself.
Breath escaped her in pants between clinched teeth and set jaw, every inch of her insides squirming beneath an unfearful face. When her head hit the tree her eyes squeezed shut against the pain before glaring at him with hate. The threat of her exposed throat was enough but the touch of his fingers to the tender place almost had her undone. It was all her fault. The grip at their throat, the silent escape, being tethered to this abomination in the eyes of nature – all of it was Roma’s fault. Again, it was Sister’s task to get them out of hot water – just as she had done all their life.
The pressure grew until it was difficult for her to breathe, and out of nowhere her brow relaxed and she choked out grunts that after a second could be called … laughter. It was a mocking hilarity. One that Sister Wolf had never before felt, but perhaps in this human form it caught her attentions in a way she had never considered before.
“So far just to kill her?” He was offended; his pride hurt, and he felt the need to make her pay? It had taken hours for him to hunt them down, and he was in no condition to. He really had trusted Roma, and how stupid of him. Well, not stupid to trust Roma really – the girl was a fool, but aside from her recent treatment of Sister, a loyal fool.
“She never would have left you,” growled the wolf – her golden eyes bright in the darkness. Roma never would have left Grey like that, and it irritated Sister irrationally. She cared more to watch this creature than to save their hides? This moment was inevitable to Sister Wolf ... the moment Roma had decided to stick with him, Sister knew no matter what that this would end up right here. Words boiled to the surface, supplying themselves to ply a translation she’d never before thought she would need. Her voice was different from Roma's, monotone and a hair deeper.
“Wolf-cat male dangerous. Untrustworthy,” she almost spat. “Trust made better now by vengeful claws?” The hold around her neck had not lessened, but it had halted in its constricting. His eyes were pinched into a glare, but a new consideration surrounded by confusion lingered there.
Sister Wolf was cunning especially in a tight spot. He never would have bothered to go after Roma if he had not felt an attachment of some kind. If he’d not cared, he simply would have let her go or killed her before she’d seen him coming - and Sister would play that to her advantage. There was not a whole lot she wouldn’t do to keep them alive.
Last Edit: Sept 8, 2014 0:34:36 GMT -5 by ROMA|RED
Grey's upper lip curled, exposing a bright row of teeth in the darkness. The lines of his face were made harsh by shadow; it was that vicious and carnal display of his teeth that made it so much more savage, extremely fitting of the Menagerie. In the silence there was pure, unaltered rage. He could not contain himself. She had promised. He had trusted her. Why was it, Grey wondered, he insisted on repeating his past errs? It was his fault for believing her... Now he held the perpetrator in his hand, as well, with her life so easily cupped there.
His jaw twitched. His eyes burned. Kill. Oh, how the idea pleased him. He would love nothing more than to see the froth of blood on the soil, so hot it would steam. Such violence was in his nature. He wanted to enact his revenge, he wanted to show her just what betraying one such as Grey really meant. It was a mistake that most only had the pleasure of making once. His knuckles grew white with the restraint he now demonstrated to keep from taking such extreme action. It would be a simple matter for him to crush her jugular beneath those quivering hands; even the muscles of his arms strained for it, veins forming prominent ridges against his skin. Grey did not speak. He listened with a low growl forming in his throat, a bass rumble that rattled his bones.
He was blind with it. Her words, irrational as they were, did not penetrate into his coherent mind immediately. "Shut up," Grey snarled. His grip tightened. He did not wish to hear her speak and so he would not tolerate it. He moved forward, crushed against her, aware only distantly that his wound had cracked. Grey did not remove his eyes from her's. The fact that they were burning orange did not concern him at first. He could not overcome the anger. She had left him. She had left him. Just like the rest! He was a fool to have believed her... a stupid, stupid fool. Grey was not only angry at Roma. He was angry at himself, something that made his wrath all the more dangerous. "Shut up, you bitch."
The fact she had stopped talking did not occur to him. His grip tightened and tightened--when it seemed as though something would certainly give, perhaps her life, he loosened his hold and thrust her roughly to the side. His foot swiped out simultaneously, an endeavor to take out her legs and send her crashing to the earth below. He was swift to move despite his injury, seizing the favorable position on top. His thighs straddled her hips, restraining her ability to move. Her arms were almost simultaneously captured with his hands, pinned to the earth above her head. He could not see for a moment. His mind was black with pain, a horrible and terrible pain. When he was once again able to see and think it was only around the throbbing, unpleasant agony of his wound. He felt the sticky hotness of blood tracing a line over his naked rib cage and abdomen.
Suddenly it clicked. What she said made more sense. The color of her eyes became abnormal to him. Why was it Roma had used second person? What was it that she had called him? "Who would never have left me?" Grey inquired. His voice had gone from one extreme to the next. It was no longer a growl but, instead, a purr.
In many ways that was worse. He was no longer an unthinking, unfeeling animal. His eyes had become calculating. This was a puzzle that needed to be solved. It was strange to him that she had left--it had a feeling of wrongness about it. Grey had always been an individual of intuition despite his better judgement. He became aware of his rasping breath and waning rage. He simply did not have the energy to sustain this endeavor--he held on to the threads of it regardless, every muscle in him reduced to trembling. "What are you saying to me, Roma? Your eyes look wrong." It was a trick that had always worked with Nycole. Cruelty, and then proffered kindness. His grip softened only slightly on her wrists.
The suffocating grip around her throat tightened again as the hard planes of his body pressed her into the tree. Shut up, he snarled. Shut up you bitch. He was naught but muscle and bone and rage. The bark of the tree bit into the back of her skull and tender skin as every inch of him seemed determined to squeeze the life from her. Her eyes widened in terror, her fingers and nails clutched and scratched savagely as her feet scrambled and her body bucked. Saliva was working its way from her parted lips because she could not swallow, and her stomach heaved. The brilliant gold of her eyes reflected the sparse moon, but all she could see was Grey and the promise of death in his own eyes. Darkness began to take her, but somehow a small desperate fragment still enforced the wall that kept her sleeping human half away from it all.
It was a duty she maintained effortlessly and always would: to protect Roma from the harshness of the world. Brushes with death were not something Sister Wolf was unaccustomed to. Though being in Roma’s body instead of her own was always strange it was not something new. It had simply been a very, very long time since she’d had to. In addition, she’d never had to do much more than endure what was quite usually this very thing: abuse and beating.
Roma’s father had a malicious temper, and though Roma had taken plenty of hits herself, Sister Wolf always cradled her away into the warmth and safety of their mind when things got bad. Though Roma might feel the bruises and broken bones later, it was Sister that took the brunt of the violence and held on so tight it was even Sister that was the one to wake up if ever she could not hold on to her consciousness.
This was not new, however it was only a fool that would think that a person become use to it. That was in books … when someone had felt so much pain they were numb to it. There was no such thing at least, not in Sister Wolf’s experience. Instead, it was as if she were more sensitive to it – knowing what would happen next and panicking all the more because she knew, she knew what was coming and she didn’t want it to happen again.
Sister Wolf did not take the beatings because she was stronger. Her ability to conquer fear, and endure pain was no better or worse than Roma’s … it was not because she could do it better. It was because there had to be a part, some part any part of them that remained unfearful of life. There had to be a part that enjoyed life. A beaten person was simply that … beaten. Sister Wolf was the cautious and high-strung, mistrusting and flighty part of their being that took the bad so that Roma could see the good. Sister Wolf no longer could.
Her eyes acquired a faraway look, and her fighting stopped. Whether it was because she was giving up, or because she couldn’t do it anymore she didn’t know but suddenly she hit the ground hard. A deep, heaving gasp escaped her throat and she turned to her side, trying to curl into a ball but Grey had other ideas. Her chest pitched with her panting breaths and coughs as he moved atop her – trapping her trembling body beneath him. His hard grip found her wrists and he thrust them to the ground above her head.
She didn’t care … all she could think was that she could breathe. It was the same with Roma’s father; fight too much and he’d be happy enough to make you pay. Fight too little, and he would have no enjoyment in it and make you hurt worse. Crying or whimpering never did anything but fuel the fury, so the only noise she made was the gasps and coughs (which she could little help.)
Suddenly he eased his grip and the tension in his body faded if only a little. The wolf remained still, her neck exposed and her body limp as she panted for breath through parted lips and watched his movements with wide eyes.
What are you saying to me, Roma? Your eyes look wrong, he almost cooed. Sister Wolf remained where she was for a long moment, her mouth suddenly paper-dry. She licked her lips and swallowed painfully. Words, words, words … she needed words, but the wolf was too tightly wound for thought. She watched him and breathed and surprisingly he waited patiently for her to respond. Finally ...
“I am not she, and you will not have her,” she said almost covetously as her head weakly lifted from the ground. That simple sentence held more emotion than she'd thought she was capable of. “You only hurt, as I knew you would. So I take her away,” her shaky odd words were biting and startlingly strong, and aside from the first ardently noted sentence - not lacking in the depth or lack of tone they’d had before. In exhaustion her head dropped to the ground and she looked away. “He will take what he wants, but he will have her,” she said defiantly and did not look at him again.
Last Edit: Sept 22, 2014 17:48:34 GMT -5 by ROMA|RED
The transformation from man to beast had not yet been completed.
He waited. Patient. Savagery brewed beneath the surface, a toxic concoction. His lip curled and his eyes expressed a profound loathing. He wanted to see her fear; he wanted to see her regret. Grey was extremely disappointed at its absence and thus she merely kindled his rage. It was a tempest beneath the surface of his facade, cracking composure which was typically kept so tightly in check. Grey had never been adept at handling his wrath; that was the reason they both ended up on the ground, her wrists like bird-bones beneath the crushing grip of his fingers. He wanted to kill her. He regretted ever having become involved with this scarlet-haired woman, this vixen, so intent on ruining his faith. Grey was hurt. He was hurt and betrayed, the emotions thrown out of proportion by the circumstances.
Her guttural words struck a chord in his soul. The calmness he had demonstrated briefly shattered in face of her comment. Grey did not understand. He could hardly stop to register the state that she may have been in; it did not matter to him. Only one thing remained clear. He was not talking to Roma. He was talking to someone else entirely, a fact that was frustrating and confusing. "I have done nothing," Grey seethed. "To hurt her."
His hands, her wrists. The weight of his body keeping her pressed, helpless, into the earth. The vivid memory of his hands pressed to her throat had already been forgotten, tossed aside as irrelevant. Grey had not hurt Roma. It was this realization that made his grip slackening on the vixen's wrists. He withdrew into himself once more, albeit slightly, so as to regard the woman with a look caught between distrust, hate, and bewilderment. "Let Roma talk to me," he coaxed, following gut instincts rather than intellect. He had been reduced to an impulsive animal. He had one goal and one goal alone; he wished to talk to Roma. "If I had wanted to hurt her, I would have done it already. I would have done it before I ever met you." In his mind, there was a sudden and undeniable line. This woman was different from Roma. It did not matter if he hurt this woman.
His side throbbed, a pain so brilliant his eyes danced with blackness. Grey played a very dangerous game, pushing his body to the edge of what he was capable of. Sweat broke lines across his forehead and temples; it ran down his sides and dotted his shoulders. His face was pale and colorless, clammy to the touch. He was not aware of this, too preoccupied with the situation at hand.
Steady golden eyes watched him carefully, ready for a reaction of ridicule, incredulity, or fury. She received none of them. His voice tracked fire through her mind, each word emblazoned. Her anger rose like the phoenix. He had done nothing to hurt her? He was mad. Who would feel this pain tomorrow? Who was he hunting down? Had Sister Wolf never said a thing, it would be Roma he would be beating and killing. How dare he, how dare he.
Instantly her lip curled and a soft, dangerous growl rumbled from her. Utterly forgetting her human state, her comparably stubby canines were bared regardless and menace radiated from her eyes. Concepts such as lying did not occur to her, he was wrong she knew it and she wanted to tell him. No. Talk was for humans. She wanted to take her teeth to his throat and tear and tear until she saw and felt nothing but his warm red blood spill from his body. To hurt her.
Her shoulders hunched and her chin tucked down so that she might look away. She had to calm down, she had to get him off of her. He was weak, but even in his compromised state he was far stronger than her and they both knew it. Being made to feel weak and exposed made her feel panicky and it was getting hard to think. Her anger simmered to a smolder. She had to think.
Sister’s soul bargaining piece was exactly what she knew he would want, which is why she had gambled and revealed herself in the first place.
“Her pain is my pain. One creature, two sides. Mine,” she said in a barely contained tone. The growl rumbled in her depths and she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. Her throat hurt fiercely, as did most of their body and especially her head. “Shield,” she wheezed and took a shuttering breath before looking at him again. “Mine to protect, you proved your danger. She is safe now. One may be cut. Both bear the scar.” It was the only way she could describe it just now.
It was hard to tell whether she spoke so strangely because it was her nature, or because she was rattled in the head. Perhaps a bit of both. Her mind was not working like it usually did, and there was a flashing in the corner of one eye that before now had gone unnoticed.
Last Edit: Sept 27, 2014 21:37:28 GMT -5 by ROMA|RED
Grey matched her lupine snarl; one bubbled in his chest and from his drawn lips. This was the reason shape-shifters were kept in the Menagerie. This was proof that they were dangerous, uncontrollable, and that they always had been. Grey would think of that later, perhaps, once he had calmed and found some sort of placidity. He would regret his behavior, resenting the fact that he had suddenly become the archetype for animalistic freak. It did not matter to him in the moment. Her eyes flared gold; his remained the same cool gray for which he bore his name, pupils dilated and whites bloodshot. The twisted grimace he wore resembled the wrinkled snarl of a wolf, certainly, with the pink of his gums showing and the sharp lines of his teeth exposed.
This was him at his most basic. This was him at the core, past pretenses and past reason. This was the Grey that had destroyed Cole. This was the Grey that had taken her memories without care and this was the Grey who had killed without a semblance of regret, doing what he believed to be the right thing. This was the Grey that hated humans for being human, regardless of age or nationality or character. His looming shape shook with the aura of brutality, of violence just contained. His trembling touch spoke of barely contained power, raw in nature.
A single question remained. What held him in check? It certainly was not the disdain curdling inside him, an acidic snake in his gut. t was not a sense of morality, of right and wrong.
It was curiosity, disdainful as it may have been. Grey refused to take her betrayal without inquiry. There was a reason for it and Grey lived to understand why people did what they did. He had to know.
Her words were taken in without a shift in his expression. He continued to growl, low in his throat, matching the feral nature of the beast he held with complete abandon of his own. Face demons with demons, he believed. The manner of her speech (as well as the content of it) gave Grey insight to the situation. He had met many types of shape-shifters; however, he had never met one that appeared to have a split identity. He had been required to study psychology for the Imperium, to learn how best to manipulate people in order to get the result desired, and the result was that he had a broad (if sometimes vague) understanding of different mental defense mechanisms and personality disorders. He licked his dry lips--not calm but no longer so treacherously angry. It made sense. The words made sense. People subjected to abuse were able to create a separate mental "identity" in order to cope with what they suffered from. Dissociative personality disorder, it was called, although Grey doubted such a mundane disorder could be transferred into a shape-shifter.
It had to be infinitely more complicated, as it so often was.
Why was it not possible for it to manifest in the form of an "animal" in a shape-shifter? Grey reasoned this in a manner of seconds. He was nothing if not a problem solver--this was what he had done, for years. He had learned to figure out difficult equations, to solve problems that were illogical. Shape-shifters did not make sense. It was something that UNIT would never understand. There were too many variables involved; too many possibilities, unique to individuals.
Grey had never seen anything like this.
"I would have done nothing to Roma," Grey argued. "Had you not run away with her. She promised." The way he said the word declared the weight that was placed upon it. Grey held promises close to heart. His stare was intense, lupine, the solid gaze of a predator. "What is your name?" He demanded, wishing to address this creature directly. He had to find Roma. It was not a matter of sentiment; it was a matter of tying up loose ends.
The intensity of the wolves would have been entirely overpowering to an audience; palpable even from a distance in the darkness. If he were not straddling her, pressing her back, making her submit she would never have given herself up like this. She’d done worse in her life to survive, but this was pretty low on the totem. Submitting was hard. Even harder for Sister Wolf, as she was not submissive by nature.
However, he did not frighten her the same way he might frighten another. Indeed there was a part of her that feared him, but it was more of what he could do, what he was capable of, than afraid of him for his own sake. He could kill her right now. Right now. But he didn’t. So in an underhanded way, it was Sister Wolf who held the power. The scales were shifting back and forth, each side weighing in and finding more to put on their side as they teetered.
Sister Wolf was under no delusions. When Roma woke up she would have a fight on her hands on the inside too … getting them out of this scrape was going to be a hell of a row to hoe. She promised. A noise between a snort and a grunt escaped her as she rolled her eyes and let her head roll to the side. A high amount of anxiety and stress like this did strange things to Sister Wolf. Breaking his gaze meant little when he was already atop her, breathing down her neck and a second away from snapping. She'd had no right to make that promise, but she'd never tell Grey that. He likely wouldn't understand anyway. Grey?
What is your name?
She looked back to him, an odd look of astonishment on her face. My name? What is my name? She’d never had a name. Oh, Roma had called her Sister Wolf since she was little … but no one but Roma had ever known of her existence. Could she pick one? Did she want one? She certainly was not Roma.
She closed her eyes again, a name. Such a human thing to need a title, but if Grey was going to interrogate her she’d rather choose something herself. Grey, such a simple name itself. In this human body her mind worked differently than as the wolf. As the wolf her focuses and priorities were different. She could feel the change and didn't like it. This was certainly the longest she had ever been ‘human’ and she wasn’t confident she liked it all that much. The negative association little helped, she always ended up bloody.
Blood. Its beautiful rich red color. Life giving. How she longed just then to run under the light of the moon, her mouth crimson and warm from a fresh kill. Is blood a name? No. Grey eyes … red blood. Red.
“Red,” she said it so quietly it was almost a whisper. When she opened her eyes he was looking at her in a very strange way. Her lashes flicked as she blinked. “You can call me, Red.” She liked it. Roma and Red, with Grey unceremoniously sitting on them.
Last Edit: Sept 28, 2014 0:19:12 GMT -5 by ROMA|RED
As if she had not done enough. As if she had not had him chase her halfway across the Menagerie.
As if she had not already pushed Grey to the edge of his self-control.
He did not respond. He stared at her, an intense stare, eyes bright with something that could have been malice. In the darkness of the night, lit only by the pale moon, the shine seemed to suggest that he might be on the edge of tears. This was not the case. Grey's jaw was hard with anger, teeth gritted against an insurmountable rage as it swelled inside, demanding to be felt. He stared. It was all he could do.
Her name was Red. Of course her name was Red. He should have known. That single three letter word evoked more emotion than the creature could have known possible.
Little Red Riding Hood, he had called Cole once. Little Red. With her vibrant hair and her unique shift, always red. Imperium, during a more lighthearted season, had a Halloween party at their New York, New York station. She had gone as Little Red and he had gone as the big bad wolf. He remembered the color of the lipstick she wore and the way that she smiled, all mischief, as Grey pursued her across a dance floor. It had been a game. A big game. Everyone had known what would happen the next day--they had raided a very large shape-shifter family. It had been false happiness, false charm, a fairytale in the midst of a life-long nightmare.
He spoke through his teeth. "Well, Red..." Grey rumbled. "You have made a very, very stupid mistake." Animal stubbornness far outweighed that of a human. He did not believe that this "Red" would relent and allow Roma to take control. In one very smooth motion Grey removed one hand from her wrists and held it down against her mouth and nose. His weight suddenly dropped, all 205 pounds of him. Before he had held himself slightly off of her; now he did not. He pushed her slight body into the earth as he smothered her, intending to force her into a state of unconsciousness.
The gesture was not controlled by ire. He controlled himself and remained calm, perhaps even professional. From the way he held her mouth and body it was clear that he had done this, likely many times before. Grey would relent only when she sagged into unconsciousness and then and only then would Grey rise. He tore the bottom of her shirt into two long strips and proceeded to use the fabric in the binding of her hands and the hobbling of her feet. She would not escape from him again.