Post Traumatic Stress [RF]

[Dane]

The usual silence that engulfed the unforgiving swamp was disturbed by the careless crunching of branches and rustling of brush. Making his way through the overgrown undergrowth, the disgruntled male cared naught for stealth; his mind was too preoccupied with memories that had developed recently with the help of the few mislead cretins he referred to as 'family'. His rampage through the muck and foliage was induced mostly by the newest addition to the pack; a disruption of sorts that made living his life harder than it should have been within his new and supposedly improved situation.

The male's eyes flashed dangerously in the impending twilight; their hues contrasted about as much as the freshly painted sky differed from the rank and repugnant swamp that tainted the ground below with its existence. One orb was a listless amber, while its brother was a piercing tint of steel blue. Both eyes were narrowed to match the attitude of the male's muzzle, which was now, as it was always, on the verge of a sneer. The pelt of the brute also contradicted itself; it began as a light cream on his legs and underbelly, and promptly darkened to a series of deep browns and grays on his sides before abandoning itself completely to darkness along the whole of his spine. His tail was held parallel to the ground, having no need to show respect to anyone at the moment, he was too upset to display any sort of reserve.

Slowing his pace from a near-run to more of a trot, he continued on in his hasty fashion for a few moments before finally coming to a stop. Peering to either side of his vision, he was sure that he was indeed alone, figuring that anyone who might have normally wandered past was still stuck interacting with the remainder of his packmates. After the motley crew had split up, he did not doubt that they had regrouped in their own little mobs to discuss the nasty turn of events. Never before had he heard of a pack so poorly organized with so little respect for their superiors and eachother. So this is the path you have chosen, he scolded himself. The faces of all who had been present at the less-than-pleasant get-together flashed in his mind, from the taunting grin of the seductive bitch Zukozu, to the edgy snarl of his previous acquaintance Ember Lily, to the stern and demanding gaze of his Drappa. The most famous of these appearances however, was the condescending leer of the ebon brute, Awiergan. Since his arrival, Dane had known nothing but distress and unadulterated hatred. To think that he might be slowly escorted out of his position of security and comfort by the ever-so popular, dirty dealing man-whore was enough to bade off all thoughts that might otherwise be considered content. Lashing out in a fit of pure anger, he spun his body around and snapped at the air, a snarl erupting from his split maw as he attempted to relinquish his anger in the only way he was able, all the while imagining that the flesh of a certain male was giving way beneath the force of his jaws.

((Hope you can work with this))

[Red February]

{RED FEBRUARY}
Every night I dream of you.
With my teeth wrapped around your neck.

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Exasperation pierced her like a poisoned needle, frantic distemper consuming each cell of her body. Pricked with disdain, her stiff tail was held completely upright as her all-hearing audits were conversely pinned down. The disease called anger sickened her like a pandemic with each stitch and tug of the thread, her disgusted eyes betraying this internal infection.

At first the femme had simply moped, her ebon lips taut in a pout at her defeat in front of Sarnes – no one put a name to her mug but her trampy sister and the “death-dealing” acquaintance. Not the alphess nor the new, vile additions to the pack could hack anything from their repulsive throats except a discriminatory tag and at that, the returnee bowed, crestfallen. On the night which followed, the foolish maiden sought amends with yet another loose member to hear only mocking cackles in reply. It was as if a vendetta was woven into their individual minds (as the pack had none as a whole); they had sewn a clear stigma overtop her ripping scowl. But now! On the third day, a brilliant fury rose in this bitch called Kiora.

She was an ardent spectator of rage herself, allowing it to wrack her bones and rattle inside her hellishly muddled skull (at least it wasn’t as damp as these marshes and the brains of her cohorts, eh?) But that’s not to say that Kio could do anything to contain the reasons within reasons that knitted themselves a pretty little mess of oh-so-cliché tumult… And speaking of the ill-tempered, the duchess paused as the vehement clapping of jaws lifted her stubborn ears. Rich and alluringly loud, Kiora’s little, splashing paws (why was she not like Shunke or Zukozu? The godly striders of swamp muck!) swept her to the vessel of sound for it harbored a similar anger as she.

A male, calicoed in a triple dipping of ebon, cream, and mahogany, bopped about only a little ways before Kio. The distinguishing markings and burly frame allowed him to be easily identified as Dane. Knowing nothing of the warrior brute but that he had been seized by a frank loathing of Awiergan, the halian had not even enough evidence to infer that he was the beloved “son” of the dear Fourth. Taking this opportunity to examine him now, the rancid fae felt her anger recede just a bit, as if his flailing actually freed her from the cords of her own rage. But at the end of a few seconds she was no longer comfortable with peeping, the approval of spying flitting as a passing shadow. Not exactly wanting to speak, she instead padded forward a few paces and cleared her itching throat, only hoping he was not in too much of a flinging frenzy to overlook her presence.

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It's poo-y! I did it at school. Forgive me? Dx[/blockquote]

[Dane]

Too engulfed in his own freedom of expression, he took no heed of the approach of fellow swamp-dwelling fiend. Had she not made her presence known by her own accord, there was no doubt that he would have gone right on lacerating the air all around him. As it turned out though, between his growls he caught her voice in his ears; the clearing of a throat as if to say, "just what do you think you're doing?" Eyes wide with surprise, he whipped his body around in the direction the petite cough had hailed from, his bi-hued eyes meeting with the form of a wolf whom he only recently had been introduced to. Dipping his head in a bow more suited to hide his lack of composure than a display of respect, his face grew hot with embarrassment at having been caught in the act of relieving his intense frustration. From what he had gathered at the last 'family meeting', this blood-kissed Fae was a returning member of the swamp and sister to the one pack member besides his mother he felt he could trust. He was unsure of just where this Fae's loyalties were held, though he had a feeling they shared some common enemies.

Though he had seen her before, he could not recall a name to go with her face. He was sure he had heard it before, uttered from the lips of the very sister she seemed to despise, though he had been too caught up in other affairs to pay much mind to anything outside of his own strife. Awkwardly his gaze rose to meet the citric optics of the bony Fae, excuses for his unsightly behavior flitting through his mind and fumbling on the tip of his tongue. "I didn't see you there," he finally stammered, though he gave no explanation for his actions. He guessed that she could come to her own conclusion, based on the tumultuous get-together the two of them had the pleasure of experiencing.

Unsure of whether or not this new acquaintance had formed a deep dislike for himself, as she had seemed to on more than on occassion for various other pack members, he kept his eyes from lingering too long on her features to prevent initiating any form of aggression. Subtly as he could manage, his eyes examined her thin frame, noting the reddish tinge to her pelt and sneaky look in her eyes. "I'm Dane. We met previously though circumstances didn't allow much room for pleasantries," he stated with another short bow, hoping that the off-white female would offer up her name in return, along with any thoughts she might e having.

[Red February]

Eternally freckled in scarlet, Kiora was both stained by her kills and her genetics to create the illusion that she had always just slurped up the remainder of her last victim. Vulgar shirring of fur growing wrong on her forelegs added an element of the battle-scarred, her recent scuffle with Takhi and Alice imprinting her with neat rows of scabs (my, they looked just perfect, as if the glinting pink scar tissue was sewn straight on!). In spite of her murderer’s crimson sheen, under the topical dressings and rather austere markings, she was actually a wolf of soft crème-white. Glints of her mother’s lustrous ivory pelt often visible in fair lighting, Emberlily not the sole recipient of Tarkah’s angelic genes. But Kio didn’t seem to tend to the meticulous preservation of her coat, especially since she lived in the muddy gutters of Transylvania. So, her image of filth and carnage was instead sustained. For example: Never to be seen running her rough, pink tongue over her ivory mitts in grooming, the Sarnes mud that caked her talons could be perceived as the crusted entrails of that not-so-fresh-anymore slaughter.

Standing there in all her begrimed and foul glory, Kiora flexed her ebon barbs deeper into the icy sludge. Not thinking he had embarrassed himself, she argued soothingly against his faltering excuse. “Obviously you were aware of nothing but your infectious anger,” and she lingered on the hint of the madness-trend, “for it seemed to have tied you in complete knots. A symptom of this contagion of the heart is increased blind spots.” Aware that no one was immune to the viral panic of resentment, she signaled sympathy with a weak grin.

As his two-toned optics investigated her stature, Kio’s own pale lemons flirted across his build, another dip to her muzzle in reply to his. “Well, then Dane… Kiora is what my mother proclaimed, but a Red February is what I am blamed,” and yet again, her tongue stilled to a hiatus, unsure if she should question him on the activity of the pack members. Ultimately, she nosed for not really gossip, but just an update. “Indulge me some though, without any shame. Disclose to me the pack’s new aim; verse me about my dear Ember’s latest flames; learn me in the policies of our regal grande dame! I’ve been gone for so long that I do not even know all my colleagues’ names,” she blurted out.

Omg, yay for my referencing my own metaphors from my first post?

[Dane]

During his investigation of her off-white bodice, multiple scars made themselves known to him amongst the relative traces of gore and muck form the depths of the swamp. It was clear that she was no stranger to violence and conflict, and from the last family get-together, he was under the impression that matters need not be important in these lands to lead to less than pleasant circumstances involving claws and fangs. Battles were prone, in this vulgar society, to escalate beyond the petty affairs that instigated them.

Sweet lyrics brought his attention back to the Fae's face. Rather than judge him outloud and embarrass him further for the frenzied stunt he had just pulled without regard for another being, she simply justified his frantic behavior. Perhaps she had been on the verge of something similar herself, the madness tugging at every corner of her brain until it was more than she could take. Little was left to do in such a situation but to offer the rage a release, often leading to the destruction of something nearby, or something unrepairable that you once held dear. He had seen no such outburst from this Fae, and concluded that she must have let her anger show in other ways, or she was just more careful about being caught. Either way, she seemed to understand his present situation and frustration, and for this he was extremely grateful. His maw was pulled into a small smile in reply to her own.

Had that been a rhyme in her voice? Unsure of what he had heard, he passed it off as a mere coincidence, though as she continued her introduction, it became progressively difficult to do so. With every sentence she uttered, he noted the rhymes that flowed effortlessly from her maw. Unable to hide his bemusement, his jaw parted a mere fraction in disbelief before he was able to catch himself in the act. Forcing his mouth to click shut, he didn't want to be caught staring, for fear of looking more like a fool than he did already, or of bringing up his petty discovery into the existence of their conversation. He supposed that if she always spoke in such a fashion, then he surely had not been the first to notice. To point it out to her now would be pointless, and so he would remain silent on the matter, privately admiring the way her voice drew him.

The female's last stanza was a line of questions regarding pack-life updates. As it stood, she was a returning member of Sarnes, and though she had been absent, he had a feeling that she had far more experience and knowledge of the pack than he. The fact of the matter was that she had been gone, and anything that had happened from the time he was admitted until now, she was in the dark about. It was unnerving for him, to say the least, to be the sole confidant regarding such matters, for his own knowledge of the pack was lacking. He would try his best to elaborate though, and after he had gotten past the initial spell of her lyrics, he parted his maw and began. "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Kiora." He had settled on her former title, for she had said that the latter title of Red February was what she was blamed. he had taken this to mean that she must have done something terribly wrong, and then deemed as such, though in the time he had known her he had seen nothing of the sort. He would not, then, curse her by addressing her as such, unless, of course, she wished it to be so.

"Regarding the pack's aim..." he began, almost hesitant to go on should he accidentally reveal false information, "I only know what I have seen thus far; I don't know what things were like before you took your leave, though I imagine that the inhabitants of this swamp are as vile and rotten as you could ever recall." He assumed from the pack's reputation and from his own encounters with his packmates that their personalities did not spoil the moment his paws crossed the border, but that they had probably always been as they were. "I know nothing of your sister or her flings; she hasn't acted in such a vulgar manner around me." He had taken Ember to be one of the sanest members of the swamp, though he kept his mouth shut in that respect for fear of looking even more naive. "Our Drappa is doing her best to maintain order, and as far as I can tell she's been doing a good job at it. The exception being the brief mutiny that only recently occurred. I'm sorry I couldn't enlighten you further," his tone was one of defeat at having failed to recap the pack's activity. He, too, was in he dark about the members he had failed to mention, having kept mostly to himself or the company of Shunke when she was available.

((Oh god, I'm so sorry. This sucks, 'specially the ending.))