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
-
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
_______________________________________________
Slender gloved fingers curled tightly around the length of chain, Aeron was on a mission today. He had a deadly sense of purpose in his stride and one could see it in the way his booted feet trampled the grass beneath them as the virus drew ever closer to where his victim lay. He had first begun to target this, this monstrosity, when the news of it’s doll reached his ears. Unlike his own precious Dolly, this specific doll was far from human or even living for that matter but still, a nagging sort of worry had arose in him at the news. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aeron worried that the mentally deficient creature that dared call it’s self a virus might grow bored of it’s little piece of plastic and come hunting for his breathing toy. The thought of the hideous man and his god awful hair made Aeron’s non-existent digestive system curl and the much worse thought, no nightmare of the AIDS virus with his Dolly made Aero want to kill himself. So that was why he ventured so far from his dark hideaway and out into the light of day so dangerously close to a large source of water. It unnerved him even more then H2O did to be away from his Dolly for so long when so many of his comrades could be scheming to tear the petite shifter limb from limb but he would have to place his trust in Mel, despite the viruses odd habit of dressing the butterfly shifter up in victims clothes. At least he could count on Dolly to be fed that way, for Mel was always trying to concoct the odd dishes shifters found appeasing. Before the female virus had not been able to judge the success of her burnt animal flesh mixed with a few odd plants but once she had snuck in and spotted Aeron’s Dolly, Mel had found a willing test subject. And Aeron didn’t mind her presence as much as most, perhaps it was because the girl hardly looked different from the shifters minus the de-hingeing jaw and armored plating on her back but who was he to judge, he had wings and horns. Most found him hard to distinguish from a demon.
The sound of rushing water made him hesitate, the roar of the falls was a lion’s call to him and he was the gazelle, caught between running for his life and facing the beast. He knew in his head, because he didn’t have a heart, that if he provoked the water’s wrath he would die as surely as if he was a deer that stood before the mighty lion. Still, the inexplicable thrill of a future kill drew him closer to the water like a moth to the flame and though he would never admit it, fear for his pet spurred on his steps as well. Cracking his chain as though it was a simple leather whip rather than heavy steel, Aeron watched warily as he stalked the failed virus. His weapon's familiar grip and weight comforted him some, giving him a bravado in the face of the enemy he now watched. The stupid creature was conversing with a shifter, of all things! Aeron’s lips twisted in disgust, he only talked with the vile things so he could cure their poor lost souls but this Sparkle, as they called him, was doing it on a whim. It made him sick and as the shifter fled in what Aeron thought was a very good call but a not so good exit, he stepped out of his hiding place, he was quite fed up.There were no redeemable qualities he could find lurking within this failure's shell, the keeper's would most likely be glad that Aeron had disposed of it. In fact he vaguely remembered a keeper mentioning how much the AIDS virus was loathed but perhaps they had been speaking of someone else, he didn't know or care. He smiled at the other virus, the gesture full of malice.“Hello Sparkle, Aeron believes we’ve never met before.” With that said in a tone that he hoped conveyed his false cheer, Aeron slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, searching out his duct tape roll. “However, that does not matter. For today, today you will be deactivated” Another smile as he fished the roll out, holding the gleaming tape up. The shiny silver tape made a satisfying ripping noise as he pulled some of it away from the roll, heading towards the other virus with a wicked gleam in his dark eyes. Someone was going to die today and it wasn’t him.
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Last Edit: Jul 2, 2010 23:30:37 GMT -5 by shirsharespie
THESE SCARRED EYES HAVEN'T EVER SEEN ANYTHING REAL
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xxxxx
Mmm... Calico idea changed quite a bit. Turned into a female for one, and the former personality changed to one quite different xD I usually don't get particularily excited for female characters, but I think this one will be fun if I make her. Her shift obviously changed to (because a friend was talking about blue-jays, haha)
Calico speaks!
Calico thinks!
xxxxx
BUT LIFE'S MORE NIGHTMARISH THEN THE ILLUSIONS
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the notes;; the muse;; the music;; the word count;; the marionette doll;;
I know I'm utterly and completely lazy. The colors are the same for the Calico table, but I honestly don't feel like changing them... and I kinda like them too <3
Whiplash speaks!
Whiplash thinks!
xxxxx
PLAYING THE WAITING GAME
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the notes;; the muse;; the music;; the word count;; the marionette doll;;
[center][color=Black][font=New Times Roman][size=2]WE ALL WALK ON THIN ICE[/size][/color][/font][/center]
[color=8198F7][center]xxxxx[/center][/color]
I know I'm utterly and completely lazy. The colors are the same for the Calico table, but I honestly don't feel like changing them... and I kinda like them too <3
[color=194A7E]Whiplash speaks![/color]
[color=8198F7][i]Whiplash thinks![/i][/color]
[color=8198F7][center]xxxxx[/center][/color]
[center][color=Black][font=New Times Roman][size=2]PLAYING THE WAITING GAME[/size][/color][/font][/center]
The line of scarlet streaked across the pallor of pale flesh—beaded ruby droplets descended the elegant curve of a forearm, ran tickling across the palm of his hand and curled about the tips of fingers. It wasn’t that deep of a wound. No—it was shallow, just a slight slit in his flesh momentarily. The only reason it bled so much was, perchance, because of the precarious position of the slit, across his forearm just at the crease of his inward-elbow. Lyric stared at the wound, brows slightly furrowed and eyes cast into shadow, wondering as to whether or not he had just cut a vein. Doubtfully, considering a moment or so later the blood flow slowed. It was think that he raised his hand, fingering the wound slightly. Doing such sent a sting of pain, though nothing near enough to deter him. Focus, Shikov… He told himself, somewhat heedlessly. He was already focusing, golden optics turned suddenly intent. He could accomplish this meager task. The Scout focused whatever energy he could muster upon the slight injury (one that didn’t even annoy him), wanting it to heal. Demanding it too. Had Lyric not watched it heal on its own, he would have never thought it possible. But keen amber eyes interpreted the movement, the way the skin healed itself and left him feeling drained, tired, feeling like he simply wanted to lie down. Shoulder slouched, but nonetheless an exhale of wonder was given. He looked at the healed skin… feeling somewhat accomplished. It was just a small cut… but… He was momentarily distracted by how his own blood gleamed against his skin, despite the fact the wound no longer remained. Hm. Interesting—arm raised, along with his hand. Tongue flicked between pallid lips, and in one motion the blood was cleared from his forearm and hand. Another lick and the crimson liquid surrounding where the cut had once been also disappeared into his mouth. Lyric tasted the copper in his mouth, a mixture between pleasant and metallic. The knife he previously had balanced between the three fingers he hadn’t used to press to the wound, now spun about in his left hand. The bladed tip was dyed slightly red, and thus Lyric lowered the blade to wipe it across the worn surface of his dark jeans. And then, despite unobvious fatigue curling within him, Ly started to walk forward again. His thoughts wondered—wondered back to the strange healing power he’d received after a “visit” to the Keepers. It was so utterly draining… But it captivated him nonetheless. It left him bemused, and interested. The first question that had surfaced was to whether or not he could heal himself. Something that went far beyond physical body and reached into mental acuity. Of course, the thought in question had been quickly dismissed for a wayward wonderment. Foolish and childlike—naïve: never outwardly admitted was the fact Lyric was broken. He himself knew it to be true—he had fractured, somewhere or another to never be repaired.
A sigh was blow out through nostrils, expelling any gathered scents into the air before an equally deep inhale of breath was taken. That single knife remained dangled in his grip, fingers curled about its hilt nondescriptly as though it where an everyday event. Lyric was bored, quite frankly. He preferred it when his mind was unable to wonder, and was instead focused upon one thought. Now was not such a case; instead he seemed incapable of focusing upon any one thought. His mind kept flipping through different words and images as though sorting through a deck of cards. It kept landing on his brother and the annoying girl he’d encountered. Frankie, was her name he thought. A slight smirk curled at the edges of his lips due to the fact Dmitri had practically mauled her… whereas Ly had stood by unharmed, just as he always was. Although… his damned shirt was still ripped. Subconsciously his unpreoccupied hand raised to his shirt, fingers toying about the thin slit in the fabric, briefly gracing over the curve of his collarbone before lowering. His head snapped up, suddenly acute. What was that sound? The slap of flesh against water and the spray of said liquid against itself? He remained answerless, standing somewhat frozen. He’d simply been doing a run over of the boarder, greatly hoping for some sort of preoccupation. Honestly, he turned lackluster when it came to socialization with his own Ring. Lyric knew not why—perchance it was simply clashing personalities, and despite the fact he acted unbothered he truthfully was. The Carna-boy plunged forward, towards the direction of the sound. After a moment of walking, he caught a glimmer of water. After a moment more he caught site of a human shape. He squinted at the silhouette, standing stationary. The knife was still grasped securely in his left hand, whereas his right twitched towards the twin blade. Ly started forth once more, fully aware that the stranger was now glancing about herself. It wasn’t as though he attempted to obscure his approach—in fact, he strode directly towards her. Posture spoke somewhat of hostility, though inwardly Lyric was hollowly amused. Why was she soaking wet, and in Carna territory? Surely that went against anybody’s decent senses. At his approach he decided against immeadite offense, and thus he sheathed the knives into his belt (albeit somewhat insecurely, do the fact they where balanced between his belt loops and the belt itself, it was a makeshift sheath due to the fact he seemed unable to find any proper ones) and cautiously made his way towards the girl. Caution curled within his muscles, stoic expression directed towards the stranger as he would come to crouch only a few yards away. He continuously gazed towards the stranger, snake-yellow eyes intent. His eyes where monotone—desolate even, though his lips quirked in the slightest to express a sense of amusement. Odd greeting for a trespassing Fulsi, for he know understood that this stranger was a Fulsi.
”Look at what the cat dragged in.” Expression remained the same, his kneeled position adjusting slightly as his elbows where leaned into knees. His town was spoken in a murmured drawl—dripping sweet, honey-laced, but the acid was unmistakable in those few words.
Lyric Shikov speaks!
Lyric Shikov thinks!
xxxxx
i want to know how to live
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the notes;; the muse;; the music;; the word count;; the marionette doll;;
"And so he beat you." The words slipped smoothly from his lips but held no emotion; he was observing Adison's expressions and the underlying emotions that hid just beneath the surface. It seemed to him that he was screaming something on the inside that wasn't 'man' enough to seep out. Adison was scared, and, Manic thought with a bemused grin, with good reason. Seraphim and he had an...interesting relationship, to say the least. Manic feared no man nor beast that walked the earth but Seraphim was worthy of respect, no matter the hatred that ran between them. Eyes narrowed as the thought crept upon him, snaking its beastly head from side to side, searching the recesses of his infinite mind, sniffing out the shadows and demons that lay dormant and hidden in the past - his body stiffened and his eyes glazed, his jaw slack for a moment as agony tore through his mind and body.
Something caught his eye. Adison's pale face staring up at him in it's pitiful, pathetic state. So vile. So vulgar. So utterly human. Disgust was evident in the furrowed brow and menacing reptilian eyes disdain suddenly pouring with vehemence from silent lips. "So he beat you?" The words were soft-spoken, though were laced with the anger that caused them to tremble slightly - a phenomenon not often seen in this perfectly controlled beast. "Child, have you no inkling as to what pain truly is?" the words grew in fervor though stayed the silent undertone. "Can your simple mind truly comprehend what it is to suffer?" He leaned forward and glared into his son's pale eyes, seeing nothing but the incarnation of man - the thing he despised above all else. "I do not believe so. You have not suffered a single day in your life. Not truly." A low snarl erupted in his surprisingly thick chest, wide shoulders squaring as he struggled against the memories.
"Alkaos broke your arm. You watched the murder of your father. Seraphim beat you." Manic paused, taking a shallow breath to regain control. "This is your pain? This is your suffering? Your agony? Child, you cannot be mine! To have suffered so little for your sins. For you are deserving of what little agony you have suffered." He observed the hurt in Adison's eyes, perhaps the flare of defense. "Insolent human," he hissed, standing and pacing the floor, bare feet slapping the tile angrily as he stalked to and fro, seeming more and more beastly with each step. "Unjustified sorrow! You have no right to feel sorrow. You came here seeking comfort, nay, pity!" He stopped and faced the child turning slowly, surely, to glare the human creature in it's face. He loomed over the beaten thing, eyes seeming to glow in the iridescent light. "Pity. You undeserving creature."
He shook his head and leaned in close to grab the things fragile little face betwixt his metallic fingers, the cold metal digging into his flesh. With the other he grabbed Adison's bloody hand and touched it to his chest where the deep, jagged scars where especially gruesome. "How do you imagine I received these? Do you think I was blessed? Do you think I fought for these? That I earned them with valiant heroism?" He touched the pale, trembling hand to a particularly deep scar that ran horizontal across his throat, the cut so deep it seemed a trench. "No," he growled, his voice dripping agony and rage. “I did nothing but toil endlessly over fields that bore no fruit. I was a slave to humanity; I had no thoughts. No emotion. No passion. No freedom.” He laughed, the harsh, pained tones ringing painfully clear. “I suffered more than you could ever imagine. These scars, son, are from your dearest Uncle Alkaos – my brother – and from my father. I have seen the face of death and reached desperately for the safety and sanctity of his arms. But there was no mercy. There was no sanctuary for me to turn to, no father to hold my head as I bled and as I wept.” He released the human with disgust and paced once again, scars coming to life and gushing blood onto the floor below as he saw, again and again, the cruel grins of the men who whipped him relentlessly.
Manic pulled up short, standing rigid in his place as if he were rooted to the spot. “I woke each morning not knowing whether I would die that day. I prayed for death and it would not come.” He paused, limbs trembling. “I begged for mercy and all I received was agony! The whip, human, the whip! It tore and it tore and it ripped and slashed and gnashed and destroyed everything!” He slammed his fist into the wall, the stone crumbling around the robotic limb. “…and I could do nothing!” He whirled suddenly and grabbed the child by its hair and ripped it up to face him, eyes livid with pure hatred. “AND SO HE BEAT YOU!” The bellow echoed through the room, thundering violently as screamed, the gut-wrenching bellow tearing from his lungs, ripping from his throat and erupting from his soul as it echoed down the halls – it was an unimaginable scream, one that he had contained for the entirety of his life; one of eternal suffering. The throaty roar died down to a snarl as he tossed the boy onto the chair, turning his back to the human.
His breath came ragged and harsh, but he managed to snarl out a few words. "Bandage your wounds. Heal. Then fetch the child of Seraphim” He looked over his shoulder at the pitiful human creature, his eyes glinting with familiar hatred. “I would very much like to meet her.”
________________________________________
ooc; I DON'T LIEK THESE COLORS RAOR...I guess they're okay o.e
He awoke peacefully for once, all was well. The sun was shining with nary a cloud in sight, the sand were pleasantly warm on his back, and there was a light breeze cool his neck. Wait, where was his scarf? There should be no breeze, pleasant or not on his neck because he always wore that precious green and white scarf! Jolting up into a sitting position, he clawed at his neck, trying to feel for the soft wool but just grabbing air instead. Slowly his hands settled into a position normally used to signal that one is choking and in a way he was, not having that long strip of fabric wrapped around his throat was like not being able to breathe. His shock soon gave way to fury, he would find the moron who had taken his scarf and he would make them regret being born, he’d give then cancer so bad they’d have two head for him to kick in. Leaping up from his sitting position, he was on the hunt.
***
Seven hours had passed since he’d awoken without his most prized possession and he’d yet to find it or even a hint that might lead him to the thief. So he had counted his losses, which would explain why he was sitting on a rickety barstool nursing another bottle of the harsh whiskey that was the only form of hard liquor he could find. Dmitri was determined to get stoned out of his mind, he planned to drink until he could no longer stand up and that was a hard task for someone with his tolerance. He’d been drinking ever since “the incident” and that was what, since he was eight? He couldn’t exactly recall anymore, too much alcohol running though his veins. Another swig of the dusty bottle and Dmitri felt the room begin to spin, it was finally taking affect. Lowering his head onto the cool wooden bar, he looked at the collection of empty bottles that lay haphazardly on the counter, there were only two so far but that would soon change, he intended to drink himself to death, perhaps literally. There was no point in living if he couldn’t even care for something so important. He was an idiot, worthless, and also done with this bottle. Tossing it across the room, he laughed bitterly as he heard it shatter against the far wall. He almost wished he was that bottle, living was hard, dying was so easy.
The other bottles he’d found, he had left laid out on one of the speakeasy’s tables for easy access but as he tried to pull himself up and off the stool he found that he’d overestimated his drunken self’s balance. Stumbling over to the table after falling on his butt and having several unsuccessful tries to haul himself back up, Dmitri finally made it. However that short lived moment of success was overshadowed by his lack of depth perception. He over reached as he went to snatch another bottle of whiskey and went hurtling forward, crashing into the old table. The alcohol went flying as the table flipped over yielding to the added weight and Dmitri found himself laying on the wet floor covering in strong smelling whiskey, several large buries, and pieces of yellowed glass. Brushing the wet hair from his face, Dmitri watched the ceiling boards multiple into twin pairs and swarm as he wondered when god would just decided that it was time for him to go. Hadn’t he drunk enough for it to be fatal yet? Reaching to grab a half broken but still whiskey filled bottle, he pressed the jagged glass to his lips. Sour whiskey mixed with blood but it wasn’t like he could taste it anymore, alcohol was alcohol, all that mattered was it made him forget.
Ooc: "I'M STILL AWAY! Just got some Internets for a bit! Will try to post, promise!"
The line of scarlet streaked across the pallor of pale flesh—beaded ruby droplets descended the elegant curve of a forearm, ran tickling across the palm of his hand and curled about the tips of fingers. It wasn’t that deep of a wound. No—it was shallow, just a slight slit in his flesh momentarily. The only reason it bled so much was, perchance, because of the precarious position of the slit, across his forearm just at the crease of his inward-elbow. Lyric stared at the wound, brows slightly furrowed and eyes cast into shadow, wondering as to whether or not he had just cut a vein. Doubtfully, considering a moment or so later the blood flow slowed. It was think that he raised his hand, fingering the wound slightly. Doing such sent a sting of pain, though nothing near enough to deter him. Focus, Shikov… He told himself, somewhat heedlessly. He was already focusing, golden optics turned suddenly intent. He could accomplish this meager task. The Scout focused whatever energy he could muster upon the slight injury (one that didn’t even annoy him), wanting it to heal. Demanding it too. Had Lyric not watched it heal on its own, he would have never thought it possible. But keen amber eyes interpreted the movement, the way the skin healed itself and left him feeling drained, tired, feeling like he simply wanted to lie down. Shoulder slouched, but nonetheless an exhale of wonder was given. He looked at the healed skin… feeling somewhat accomplished. It was just a small cut… but… He was momentarily distracted by how his own blood gleamed against his skin, despite the fact the wound no longer remained. Hm. Interesting—arm raised, along with his hand. Tongue flicked between pallid lips, and in one motion the blood was cleared from his forearm and hand. Another lick and the crimson liquid surrounding where the cut had once been also disappeared into his mouth. Lyric tasted the copper in his mouth, a mixture between pleasant and metallic. The knife he previously had balanced between the three fingers he hadn’t used to press to the wound, now spun about in his left hand. The bladed tip was dyed slightly red, and thus Lyric lowered the blade to wipe it across the worn surface of his dark jeans. And then, despite unobvious fatigue curling within him, Ly started to walk forward again. His thoughts wondered—wondered back to the strange healing power he’d received after a “visit” to the Keepers. It was so utterly draining… But it captivated him nonetheless. It left him bemused, and interested. The first question that had surfaced was to whether or not he could heal himself. Something that went far beyond physical body and reached into mental acuity. Of course, the thought in question had been quickly dismissed for a wayward wonderment. Foolish and childlike—naïve: never outwardly admitted was the fact Lyric was broken. He himself knew it to be true—he had fractured, somewhere or another to never be repaired.
A sigh was blow out through nostrils, expelling any gathered scents into the air before an equally deep inhale of breath was taken. That single knife remained dangled in his grip, fingers curled about its hilt nondescriptly as though it where an everyday event. Lyric was bored, quite frankly. He preferred it when his mind was unable to wonder, and was instead focused upon one thought. Now was not such a case; instead he seemed incapable of focusing upon any one thought. His mind kept flipping through different words and images as though sorting through a deck of cards. It kept landing on his brother and the annoying girl he’d encountered. Frankie, was her name he thought. A slight smirk curled at the edges of his lips due to the fact Dmitri had practically mauled her… whereas Ly had stood by unharmed, just as he always was. Although… his damned shirt was still ripped. Subconsciously his unpreoccupied hand raised to his shirt, fingers toying about the thin slit in the fabric, briefly gracing over the curve of his collarbone before lowering. His head snapped up, suddenly acute. What was that sound? The slap of flesh against water and the spray of said liquid against itself? He remained answerless, standing somewhat frozen. He’d simply been doing a run over of the boarder, greatly hoping for some sort of preoccupation. Honestly, he turned lackluster when it came to socialization with his own Ring. Lyric knew not why—perchance it was simply clashing personalities, and despite the fact he acted unbothered he truthfully was. The Carna-boy plunged forward, towards the direction of the sound. After a moment of walking, he caught a glimmer of water. After a moment more he caught site of a human shape. He squinted at the silhouette, standing stationary. The knife was still grasped securely in his left hand, whereas his right twitched towards the twin blade. Ly started forth once more, fully aware that the stranger was now glancing about herself. It wasn’t as though he attempted to obscure his approach—in fact, he strode directly towards her. Posture spoke somewhat of hostility, though inwardly Lyric was hollowly amused. Why was she soaking wet, and in Carna territory? Surely that went against anybody’s decent senses. At his approach he decided against immeadite offense, and thus he sheathed the knives into his belt (albeit somewhat insecurely, do the fact they where balanced between his belt loops and the belt itself, it was a makeshift sheath due to the fact he seemed unable to find any proper ones) and cautiously made his way towards the girl. Caution curled within his muscles, stoic expression directed towards the stranger as he would come to crouch only a few yards away. He continuously gazed towards the stranger, snake-yellow eyes intent. His eyes where monotone—desolate even, though his lips quirked in the slightest to express a sense of amusement. Odd greeting for a trespassing Fulsi, for he know understood that this stranger was a Fulsi.
”Look at what the cat dragged in.” Expression remained the same, his kneeled position adjusting slightly as his elbows where leaned into knees. His town was spoken in a murmured drawl—dripping sweet, honey-laced, but the acid was unmistakable in those few words.
Lyric Shikov speaks!
Lyric Shikov thinks!
xxxxx
i want to know how to live
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the notes;; the muse;; the music;; the word count;; the marionette doll;;
And now to take up more space! Text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text"Tempest table! :D My sweet little Bellator in the making! ....MAKE MORE HORSEYS PEOPLE!THEY NEED LOVE TOO!" Ranted an Ali~Cat. text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text
Yaaaayyyy! Lyric table with my new background-making skills :D ... haha... Just kidding. Mostly. I've been trying to figure out how to make background-thingies for quite a while, and I do believe I have finally (at least partially) suceeded at it.
TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT
Lyric speaks!
Lyric Shikov thinks!
xxxxx
the notes;; the muse;; the music;; the word count;; the marionette doll;;
Yaaaayyyy! Lyric table with my new background-making skills :D ... haha... Just kidding. Mostly. I've been trying to figure out how to make background-thingies for quite a while, and I do believe I have finally (at least partially) suceeded at it.
TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT
If you all haven't noticed, I am greatly enjoying making these And I really wish there where gray jaguars in real life D: They would look so awesome... Of course Sarco also has no fur and shark skin soooooo... I dun know how that would work xD
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Sarcoline Argent speaks!
Sarcoline Argent thinks!
xxxxx
the notes;; the muse;; the music;; the word count;; the marionette doll;;
If you all haven't noticed, I am greatly enjoying making these ;) And I really wish there where gray jaguars in real life D: They would look so awesome... Of course Sarco also has no fur and shark skin soooooo... I dun know how that would work xD
TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT
TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT RAMBLINGS HERE
Keller speaks!
Keller thinks!
xxxxx
the notes;; the muse;; the music;; the word count;; the marionette doll;;
Text here, text here, text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here, text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here, text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here, text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here. Text here, text here, text here, oh yes indeed the text goes here.
”Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, food for thought .”
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