YOU'RE [ n o t ] worth . it .

[*Roxie]

. Listen K I D .
you're just . n o t . worth it.
♥

-

Hilarious isn't it. Do you find it amusing that she's your petty little joke. Laugh it up, be selfish and use all of our oxygen. You're pathetic, and I don't want you hear your complaining anymore. Your breathing turns into wheezing. Your blood, it taste's so good.
Demonic isn't it? Deliciously demonic is this pretty little girl. Her duet colored pelt rippled under the burning out sun, aquage tinted occuli flashed over the horizon, smug grin placed firmly on her patterned mug, ivory enamels slightly barred as she watched in pure amusement as assholes tenderly vowed their love to dumb vixens that cooed to any moving being of the opposite sex. Such a pathetic name given to those of the female orientation. It was all a sad fairytale really, one she didn't want to be in anymore. Like a constant dream she just couldn't wake up from. Taunt muscles maneuvered sleek bodice fourth, shoulders swaying her back in fourth at an intimidating pace, cranium lifted to full height as the femmora saunterly muddled around the lands, silently critiquing every other equine in this horrid place. It was hell here, a living hell on earth. Most dark beings craved for their to be a hell on earth, but she wasn't like that. She wasn't strictly gothic and in love with lucifer herself. No, no, she would much rather show her own true colors to scare you. The poor dear was something that most feared though, so in the end it was really a win win situation, she didn't have to be a poser and pretend to be one of those hell tainted beings, she could just be herself and have everyone fear her. Ha, she had no complaints. Paper thins flared as disgusting scents mixed in the atmosphere. Spring. Sadly, that was the current season she was stuck in. A time of breeding and love. Love. Something she never had, and would have. She had long since given up on it, since oh so long ago she saw it blow up before her very eyes. But that's another tale for another time, and right now, she was all about concentrating on the task at hand. A foolish task, one quite embarrassing to confess to. The task of being adopted. Adopted in a much different way then you would think. By such a word, she means to be taken in, and in other words, 'claimed'. It was a horrible process, but if she wished to find a home before all hell broke loose in the lands, she would have to endure it. Now, for how long she would be waiting, she was unsure, but she did truly hope the process wouldn't take long. Just please god, don't bring her a little fake. Then, she just might have to rip his head off. Don't agree with her doing that? Then don't approach her.

-

Slender physique now picked up a lofty pace. Snarl now placed placidly upon her features. Pendulum swung back and fourth like that of a great clock's, ticking against her hinds in an almost numbing sensation. Iron flints cracked the soft lithosphere beneath her weight, innocently crying out for mercy, but none given. Submersibley the duet colored femora flew through the heavy lumber. Thick shadows making her pelt all the more disgruntled in the distance. A mere mimic of a feline her embodiment was, like that of a leopard with ebon and ivorn skin. Confusing to look at sometimes, yes, but oh so worth it too. She was unmistakable, and none could copy her. She had her own original and unique pattern, and she planned on keeping it that way. Uprooted sod planted itself firmly upon her lower wrappings. A slight russet tint covering her porcelain appendages as she continued through the shaded woods. Sunlight filtered through the canopy looking above and what little rays could pass through littered her corpse with a warm sensation. Blood pumped vigorously her veins, her heart thumped violently inside her chest which expanded and contracted with every breath. Crystal lanters were opened, exposed to the world around her. Like frozen water they were, and cold enough to freeze any in her path. She was like a living ghost, but she was oh so real. Unmanicured chasis coated her rock heart, and defined bone marrow held up this frozen wench. Muscular wrappings moved her fourth slickly, and an unknown beauty was carved into her creating as well, a beauty she just seemed to miss. Brow raised ever so slightly as the femmora pivoted around a chosen spot. Toward the opening within the dense foliage she traveled. She was here. The place she dreaded most, the lands of claiming. Sneer slowly faded into an unamused, and bewildered look as she crossed over the lines of sanity, and insanity. It was quite pathetic, or at least, she thought, how she had to be here. A waste of her precious time, but she had no other choice. Deep inhale taken as she gawked at the femmora's and steeds already being paired up. True love was thick in the atmosphere. It made her quite sick when she thought about it in great depth. Snort escaped flaring nares as she tried to concentrate on another deep memory, or anything other then love and being in these lands. Lanterns rolled and closed behind a cobalt curtain as she continued to fumble around the grounds. Dome bobbed in an unmistakable saunter beat, keeping time with her strides. So unenthused she was, this was an awful place, and she knew her experience here would be up to par with what she thought of the lands of claiming. It was also all slightly amusing to her, she never quite knew why she hated the whole claiming process so much, perhaps she was just following trend with all the dark jubilee's in the lands, or maybe it was bred into all dark beings. She honestly had no idea what so ever, but she knew she had a strong, passionate hate for the process, and that would never change, but she also hoped she would only ever have to come here once. Maybe twice, but after that she would just accept the fact that she was meant to be a loner for the rest of her life, even though the third time is suppose to be the charm. She would find it too pathetic to put herself into this position three times. No, twice was quite enough thank you, she would much rather be susceptible to rape and death then have to come here again. Crystal occuli locked on to a shaded area in the lands. Brow raised as she began to pick up face, appendages moving more swiftly as she brought herself near a large tree looming above her, the source of the shade. Chassis fixed under the lumber as she allowed her bodice to relax. Patterned embodiment was slightly hidden but enough of her was seen. Inaudible sigh escaped the demoness, hopefully this would be as painless as possible. Ha, as if that would ever happen.

________________________________________

[/size]

WC 1200
NOTES Icky, it's really bad, but I'm terrible at beginning posts.[/color] [/blockquote]

[*Roxie]

Finally finished!

[/color]

[nyx]

Spring. The most grotesque, flamboyant and above all degrading of seasons, causing souls to bend and break in search of ‘love’. Such a light hearted emotion, one of the attributions of life itself, surely?
Not for one such sire. Give him Summer, he liked heat. Give him Autumn, he liked the dullness. Give him Winter, the bitter suited him. But produce Spring… the sire was not for the frills and etiquette of the season. It was too pliable; there was never quite enough matter to sink ones disposition in to, and thus he loathed it. And to add insult to injury, as powerful and obnoxious as he himself could possibly amount to, no force on Earth could shrug such a season off his bulk. It was immovable.
And yet it was Spring he found himself in, his coating barely recovering from the last episode of his epilogue, as it were. There was no beginning to Titan; he simply was, and always had been. Of course, there were years to the vagabond; let’s not be idiotic enough to assume that even he could produce attributes of the immortal and ignore the sands of time… it was simply that with beasts such as he, no one asked for such monotonous actualities. They became inconsequential. And Titan was not such a character to trifle with…
So, to reiterate, it was Spring Titan found himself in. Sturdy pillars carried the majority of his bulk forward, paper thins taut and ready for any aural vibrations the zephyr could carry. Pelt, always dense with crescent markings of ashen, was a mesh of pleated follicles. Recent exercise of the most demonic kind had caused the stag to break out into quite a sweat, the perspiration weaving his hide into a mass. The scent such excursions produced was quite heady, a cocktail of hormones, pheromones and blood. Muscles writhed with tiredness under this course coating, juddered into action as granites were placed steadily onto the unseen foundation in a repetition worthy of a pendulum. Rudder initiated tresses on the baron’s hide, tiny beads of the body’s fluid piercing and protruding through his pores.
And yet there was some light relief for this foray – there was a prize at the end of it, after all. A young damsel… perhaps one in distress? A smirk anointed the sire’s façade at this proposal, and it was at once that his character became one with his mass. Perhaps it was better for such characters to be kept in darkness… or is it that in darkness we are more afraid of what might be lurking? In any case, Titan was an arrogant creature, a beast who above all lusted after lust itself, the kind of stag who would jolt another just to gage its reaction. Distressed or serene, the damsel Titan sought would be conquered. After all, the sire did have a reputation to attend to. Grin cracked visage further, crania barely compensating for the organ it beheld – a treasure so precious, it was very rarely used in situations such as these. He preferred to move in a mechanical and simplistic motion, no thought involved, no need to think… matter before mind.
Enamels bared in the devil’s grace, our equine Beelzebub enjoyed the simple pleasures, the predictable aligning of silhouettes to prop themselves on his sightline, convex iris reflecting their obscurity amicably. Focus switched onyx axis, riddles of cells multiplying under the scrutinizing bathe of the Sun. Audits twitched back once, twice… and larynx was kick started into action as capriciously a clamour irritated the labyrinth inside his barrel, and manifested itself as a call. The simple amplification of this banter was not focused at any such dames as were obtruding themselves in the distance… it was a casual call, to anyone who would listen.
The lengthy vegetation tickled his underside, though if any gratification was taken through this Earthly affection, it was not shown through Titan’s expression. A benign raise of the brow was only to masquerade what lay beneath; the complex plotting of a hunt. While claiming grounds may seem simplistic to some, for the rules have already been set and the scene inherently undemanding, Titan sought a character. He had no interest for the dull and needy mares that were usually magnetised towards such open grasslands. And the natural pull that would bring him closer to his prey was through scent…
Titan extended nape, drawing crania to it’s full zenith momentarily, olfactory passages widening as barrel expanded to accommodate the sudden influx of oxygenic particles Titan wished to sift through. Over the pungent toxicities of his own ore, there was the undertone of something greater, something equally powerful… and it was drawn through the pores of a vixen nearby.
A pace picked, Titan began to focus his twin globes on the greater being that inhabited his presence. The magnetism that drew him was extraordinary – pheromones are matched in the naturalistic world, an attraction drawn to the scientific endeavours of reproduction. Whether this produced a good mate, a fellow friend or even lover seemed unnecessary to Titan… adoration was not important to the stag, but a simple bodily compatibility was.
And who was to argue against that science, particularly considering its current ambassador was none other than a robust ashen equine baron? Twin audits were immediately poised forth, lids caressing gently over their glassy orb counterparts. Adrenaline drowned every sinew in Titan’s carcass, rudder held at such a peculiar angle it seemed of a regal disposition.
It was then the pincer movement ensued, the gradual decrease in the distance between to two. A slight bow of his crania was not meant as any admittance to the traditional expectations of etiquette – it was another ploy to make the prey seem at ease, and weaken them once more.
Titan could not bargain for the ease of any such capture; it was only now that optics could observe the striking beauty of the specimen at hand. Sure, Titan was lustful. But when was Titan not lustful? And when, if ever, could the specimen become more of an entity? Another reverberation irritating his larynx, but in pausing and becoming stationary, the canvas was laid bare for her lyrics, and not his own.

Word Count: 1037
Status: Complete
Comment: Quite unhappy... but still trying to get into character. Am soon going to have a picture for this sire, and that will really help my muse :] Hope it's not too bad *cringe*