R/stop asking me questions,i'd hate to see you cry

[i a h]

WARNING. MATURE CONTENT POSSIBLE[/color]

Like a bitter taste on the tongue, the gods spat warm rain pitilessly for days. Vindictive and powerful, they hurled bolts of lightening and fear at the forest, yet they did not twist the branches of the trees nor shake their limbs naked. Fenris sought to drive righteousness into the wolves in the form of liquid bullets. And he pursued this storm into midday when the summer sky was made black.

Yet Monday was obdurate as a professional bearer of sins, intoxicating those around him with nearly all the biblical transgressions. Even since his strange confrontation with Demon, who he had promised a rendezvous, he had managed to bother several other lupes of Transylvania. Yet in his sleep, as he was shrouded in dreams (like the relieved exhale of a smoker, he loved to sleep,) he thought of Demon alone. He had been probing his mind for a day to go searching for her, the delightful aroma of her blood still pungent in his thoughts. It was a question whether or not he even wanted to see her again, let alone when.

His chocolate body was nestled at the base of an old tree, his body rising and falling with each breath, and the parade of rain hailed on him relentlessly. Eventually he would wake, but for now, his short rabbit's tail flinched as neurons fired in his brain, activation synthesis causing meaningless images to stir about his crest.




[word of the post: obdurate – unmoved and resistant to moral influence. lyrics from my c hemical romance]

[† Demon †]

I missed this! It's only been 6hours, but whatever. I still missed it

The rain had not let up for days now. The black femme had reveled in its warm, yet hydrating downpours. They had been on and off in weight, yet the rain had never stopped; the droplets were welcome on this land, as welcomed as the thunder that met her auds and the lightning that split the sky in two. An eagle circled the clouds above; calling out to someone, somewhere. It would appear to be lost, though to those in these woods, the eagle was simply exploring; or maybe even hunting.

This, in her mind, was what she was doing; exploring. Though Demon had been here a million times, she had kept walking for days and this seemed like the best place to rest. She dared not venture back to the safety of her damp stone den that hugged the sky in the distance; she could see its blackened walls from here, and even now, she thought of Iah. He was a plague; a disease nestled in her brain like a tumor. There was no cure.

Her pelt was soaked through; she was ungroomed, and uncared for. She took little notice of her appearance these days. Her return had not been a joyous one; Nocturnia had vanished, Koran was at war with her enemies, Dreogan ran down and desolate, and Iah had taken over her soul. Those pretty green eyes sparkled in the clouded woodland; the storm letting up momentarily, then crashing down upon her once again. Story of my life.

As she padded quietly through the trees, eyes to the floor, it had not occurred to her how she would react to seeing Iah again; nor if she ever wanted to. In her mind, he was a ghost. Just like Markaz. She snarled to herself, tassel brushing the ground as she walked. It was caked in dirt, muddy and pitiful. She was a sight for sore eyes, and unbeknown to her, she had begun to speak her thoughts aloud.

"You left me here with the coldest of feelings; weight, kind, depression. Blessing the floors with the places you've stepped in." They were whispers, but loud enough for any passerby to catch word of; such as Iah. The storm's musk had forbid his scent from wavering through her nostrils, and with gaze wearily to the ground, she had not noticed his sleeping form. If she had, she would call him a sleeping angel; though, looks can be deceiving. She was just the same; and her snarls foretold this in the bluntest of ways.

"Will they ever measure up to the way you left me? Marked by your words;Yes! I'm the joke, I'm the bastard!" Those whispers became snarls, increasing with each word. By the end, she was shouting. But there was nobody to hear them; or at least so she thought. Had she gone mad? Had she lost her mind? Not at all; they had all gone years ago.

Pausing by a rock formation, somewhat resembling a cave in the middle of nowhere, she launched herself atop it. Upon ebony haunches, her body shivered. Something bit her; it was a bee like sting, slow at first and then like fire. A sharp wheeze left her maw, as emerald orbs wrinkled. Iah's wound had healed badly; infected, painful. It would probably scar - and though, once a seer, Demon's knowledge of healing had vanished in this moment in time. Just thoughts of him; nothing more.

"You're a selfish little whore; I'm the selfish little whore. If I had my way, I'd crush your face into the floor." Another snarl; her response to the ache in her veins, the sting of the wound; the obsession that ate her insides and knotted her stomach. She hadn't eaten in days. Could she? Would she? It was a mystery. Her heart was bleeding. This was the final cut. "Curse you Iah, I'm in love."

Honesty was a bitch, and she'd revealed all. If only she'd notice his presence. If only...

Lyrics by Coheed & Cambria; slightly modified for use in this situation, lol. <3

[i a h]

First words, groggy-eyed, and she should be embarrassed she was talking about him, “Did you miss me that much?” His voice was tired, his snout buried in a tangle of lean stilts and big paws. Unfolding himself, he stretched his long, catlike body with what could have been a purr of satisfaction. Though only the last string of words, the most important of her stanza, had graced his ears, intruding on his dreams. Something about bashing in his head and love. But having been wrapped in his nap time, he had no way of knowing whether or not she had been watching him, blurting out her secrets purposefully, or if she had not known he was even there, curled up against a trunk.

He was smug and different than he had been that first evening with the emerald-eyed queen. The patronage of his company to Demon was visible in the opening slits of black orbs. Those jewels of ink seemed liquid and capable like he would hold a dish of milk over her head and say oh, kitty cat wants some milk? As this concept rolled around in the confines of his dome, the rain began to wane into a light shower, almost a mist.

It was the quiddity of his character, his lounging form now draped across the buttress-like knots of tree roots; his unseen, his unheard arrogance. He ravished her in a strange way, the curve of her spine and the flocculant, wispy onyx cloud of her tail. Instead of sexually devouring her, he picked apart every possible meaning any of her words could potentially contain. Semantics, diction, syntax, rhetoric, linguistics – it was not his forte, but he was entranced in her blatant language. She was raw as steaming venison in the snow. “I can't say I wanted to see you again,” and he licked his jowls lazily. “But I was going to go looking for you tomorrow.” He was going to covet her reaction.

[ word of the post: quiddity-- a trifle, an eccentricity, a hairsplitting distinction, or a distinctive peculiarity of a thing ]

[† Demon †]

We may need an R/mature content warning Hun. We might get kicked again, lol...

His words broke the silence like the crack of a whip on naked flesh. It burnt her eardrums, sent a jolt through her mind and a shiver down her spine. Yet, the reaction she wanted to give was not what she would do. Surprising herself, she rose to her pads and turned casually to face the chocolate-coated master; he was a master of her world, holding her strings and linked to every action she made.

As her orbs fell loosely into Iah's gaze, she let an insignificant smile steal her lips. She had missed him; but this she wouldn't admit. He had heard enough already. Though feeling a little stupid, Demon wouldn't let it get under her skin. He was invading her enough already; this she would control.

"Well, well, well..." A purr; like a sly fox who had just tricked some poor soul into falling into a well, or a stalker who had kidnapped his victim and was about to violate the poor soul in some twisted, sadist way. "Good to see you, my dear." She was calm, collected. Yet on the inside, her heart raced; banging in her skull so hard, she felt dizzy. "It's been a while, don't you agree?"

I was going to look for you tomorrow... He had said that. Demon's heart skipped a beat; her face winced. It was almost painful. At this notion, the female realized that her wound was now fully displayed to the male; oh, how he would relish in his victory. A mark on the legend, the she-beast, the whore. She was his property now, and deep down, the bitch knew that he knew this. She was losing this battle. Slowly. But losing nonetheless.

"Did you miss me then?" That was all she could muster. It was a direct response to Iah's statement of looking for her. Oh, she hoped he'd say yes. Oh, she wanted him to reconsider. Yet, something in her gut told her no; it would never happen. He was different, unique; prince of deceit. She loved him for it, praised him. Envious; she wanted to kill him like they do in the movies. "I didn't miss you one bit, you bastard."

[i a h]

“Good, I see I left an impression. Now everyone will know I've had you under my paws.” It was unclear whether he was pointing to the scar or her emotions, Demon not a kitten mewling at the stoop anymore, but now a domineering lioness. He, the bel-esprit, would engage in battle with her once, Monday the huntsman. They were poor sports, really, but it made for a fantastic chase. She would break under his force like a bad cop ramming down a door; he was going to turn her upsidedown and rattle all her insides clean.

Like a captain of a sinking ship, like a proud skipper posing (captain morgan style) on the stern of his boat, Monday could ride her to the rims, but not in a dirty way of course. “Well, I don't miss people who don't miss me. Don't be stupid,” and his immature word choice was oh-so irresistible in its own way. Undeniable like mud on your paws and your own personal raincloud. Somehow, he conjured the image of himself poking his tongue at her. Monday was a child in his heart, full of mischief and identity crisis. Erikson would say that he is suffering the stage of identity vs role confusion.

[ word of the post: bel-esprit – a witty or clever person with a fine mind. haha]

[† Demon †]

Black tassel danced behind her; his response was interesting. Yet to Demon, everything about him was interesting. Everything about him was intoxicating. He was her opium, and she was hooked. She'd inject him like a virus, and strain out her fix for as long as possible. It was an obsession.

For a moment, she fancied the idea of pinning him down (much like she had done in the castle), yet the idea passed. She was too lazy today; she wished she was sleeping, like he had been only moments before. She wished she was lying next to him; basking in the smell of sweat, sex, and addiction. It was like standing in a pub full of cigarette smoke (trying to quit), she wanted to taste it again, she wanted him more than ever. She wanted to claim him for herself, but knew that would never be. For he was not her only love; there was the spirit of Markaz, and the Houdini of the vargs, Nocturnia Diiore. They still haunted her, and she still wanted them. Just as much as she wanted Iah.

"So you did then?" Bluntly spoken; a confident slide of words into the silence between the two wolves. Their connection was stronger now, and though neither would admit it; they had both fallen pretty hard. Love was a too stronger word, but they were both stalking each other; both waiting to violate each other's minds, and reach into their souls to the deep dark corners, and lurk like a nightmare in their minds.

"Come now Iah," A sharp breath, the wound throbbed; her eyes flashed with a momentary glimmer of pain. It was too quick to notice, thus Demon remained calm. "How often did you think of me? At least a minute every day?" A direct reference to the statement made in the castle walls. She had promised he would; and she knew that if his mind worked in such similar paths as hers, it would be over a minute. At least an hour every day.

[i a h]

Her words were an ice pick to the coldness he harbored for her, a fissure in his patience crackling as it began to crumble. The little kitten could swat him playfully with her paws, but in the same movement she could draw out her claws and put an eye out. Was it odd that all that filled his mind was the unknown pasts of the wolf in front of him? Monday never cared much about himself and his boring story; a king from Arabian Nights, he desired a virgin Scheherazade of his own.

Immeasurable boundaries of confidence, gritting wills, kept him far from her full bodice and able limbs. Monday didn't imagine himself in the spotlight, because he was only a cameo or a guest star in an episode of someone's life. But there must be some significance to him, the trickster, not the king but in fact Barmecid the insincere promise who must be the moral of a fable somewhere.

“Do you get off to my name, saying it that much?” but this was more a statement that a question, the remark sizzling. Distaste clotted his veins, his life force coagulating into lead which weighed down his sprawled build, practically nailing him to the sticks and stones of the earth. There was no retaliation to her inquiry, the demanding accent which dribbled down her chin displeasing him so. It was her drawl which curdled the blood pumping through his heart.

[ no word of the post, but instead literary references to Arabian Nights as far as Scheherazade and Barmecid. ]

[† Demon †]

My post sucks. 'Nuff said.[/size]

His statement amused her. His wit had increased since their last encounter, thus tickled the black femme's mind even more. Though his cocky nature twisted the fury inside, Demon had begun to adapt to Iah's nature, and her posture remained casual and collected. He would not get under her skin this time; if anything, she would return the favor. Or at least, attempt it.

"Oh, always." Sarcasm; it painted her words as thick as bleach. Emerald eyes bright and alert. "And what about you, hm?" The question seemed undirected, as though it was out of the blue and completely random. Yet, the female was simply questioning his thoughts on their companionship. "What gets you off?"

She smirked coldly, sitting back on her haunches; her tassel darted confidently from side to side; the wound's ache had subsided. Watching closely, she fancied that he was admiring her stature, her muscles and her mental strength. Whether this was wishful thinking or the truth remained unseen, yet Demon remained confident in her belief that this male would succumb to her needs; whether it be friendship, sex, or otherwise.

The smirk shifted smoothly to a smile; her false innocence shining through like oil on water. She was a queen in her own mind, deceit was as easy as striking the sikla of a herd. "Tell me, pup..." She cooed, her words charismatic; smooth. Her eyes gleamed with an icy stare; she admired his growing body. She remembered his taste beautifully; she longed for his perfume to meet her nostrils. Wait, just wait; you never know. "What is it you dislike about me so much? Is it the fact I could never love you with all my heart? That there is much more to my heart than meets the eye?" She shuddered slightly; the tension was riveting. She basked in his gaze; wanting to pin him down and taunt his insides until they spilled out in front of her. "Am I beautiful to you?"

[i a h]

The spirit which thrilled her twin jades flushed her features with a vengeance. She too was different from a few moons ago, her structure bursting with that dominance that he had only briefly tasted before. Betwixt and between staying and going, he confirmed his initial plan: he would endure her and win this war. Like an angel mislead, he was being sucked into an infernal world of stygian champions. A battle to life, a battle to death.

Monday rolled puplike onto his back, squirming and arcing his back in a fastforwardrewind playback of the scene where Demon plowed him to his knees. He spoke like the world was in slow motion, the words coming out frame-by-frame, “As if you have standards. But honestly, I like pretty, weak little girls. With tight asses and small mouths,” and he actually laughed, genuine and innocent. “But really, I'm not so sure. I've been told that I like who I shouldn't.” The skin around his eyes unwrinkled as his smile receded, a tide of ivory departing.

“I do dislike that about you, but I also don't like stalkers in general,” yet there was detectable sigh in his reply. His thick, yet sleek mocha auds flicked atop his crown before his white thistle tail thumped once on the ground. The fit, suppleness of his tight muscles were visible through his thin pelage, a warning of the physical force that he was capable of. “I still can't decide whether or not I find you terrifying or pitiful. Breathtaking or dull. Ghastly or divine.”

[word of the post : stygian – of or pertaining to thre river styx or hades]

[† Demon †]

"Well," she barked coldly, his words cut through her like a knife across an innocent wrist; spilling hatred through her veins like blood across a laminate floor. "If it's any consolation," pause, wait, breathe. "I like you just the way you are." She smirked, eyes aglow; genuine and honest, a rarity all on its own.

Her haunches rocked slightly; balancing was a weakness when sitting. As she watched the male on his back, she pondered how easy it would be to trap him, bite him; watch him die. But as much as the idea pleased her, she couldn't do it. He was an infatuation, an addiction. And the little runt knew it. There was nothing she could except watch. Watch and want. Forever.

"Grow up Iah," she whispered slowly; her wisdom shining through as bright as her optics. Her auds turned to his direction, her gaze burning into his form like fire. "The world is not how you see it. It's cruel, harsh; a place not worth living in. Yes, some might say 'it's how you make it,' but that, my friend, is crap. Life is simply the stepping stone into a newer, harsher place - and you're gonna get yourself killed." There was a hint of care in her tone, but mostly adult wisdom. Though not much of an age gap between the two, she was clearly more world-adapted. After all, her history was a colorful one.

Rising off her throne, she slowly padded toward Iah; never shifting her line of sight, never moving her auds. Even when a shriek rolled through the trees (someone, somewhere was dying; that's what she hoped), it was ignored. She wanted to curl next to the younger varg, whisper wisdom in his ears, make him big and strong; yet as much this thought seemed hopeful, she knew he would never listen. He was just like her; headstrong, arrogant; a legend in his own mind. Oh, how she loved him.

[i a h]

omg this sucks. while watching a movie

A pup would have thrown himself into a puff of dust and temper tantrums, whining and squealing his arguments into nullibiety. Monday was a little better than an infant, at least, because he could get up and get his own food, clean himself without Mommy's pampering. Maybe he should pull out a Freudian defense mechanism of regression and kick his paws about. Instead, he scoffed at Demon, smiling inwardly at how she thought her opinion could matter to anyone, let alone a kid like him.

“Talk, talk, talk,” he mocked, inflecting and undulating his tone like she had. “I'm just so young and stupid,” but he somehow drew upon ideas of her immaturity, her childish wants and fears. His orbs cradled her body like a swarthy fog, his stare bedimming her vision. “Why would anyone want to kill someone else?” he ventured then, saying someone else in a way that sounded much more like why would anyone ever want to hurt me? How could they do that?

The misting stopped completely, though Fenris still held a blanket of clouds over his powerful beams. “Do you want to fight me then? Are you the one who wants to kill me?” The kerl's innocuous (yeah, right) set of fangs, canines, incisors, the works were visible as his mouth parted in a play-snarl.

[word of the post: nullibiety – the state or condition of being nowhere]

[† Demon †]

"Are you completely stupid?" Her words brutal, bitten; growled. Her eyes were thin, narrow; resembling needles of green in a black pelt. Claws dug into the earth, her muscles rippling eagerly beneath her fur. As her hackles rose and fell with each sharp breath of air, she questioned how much life this young male had actually had; how much hurt and anger he had been through. "You know nothing of the world you exist in."

Looking over at the horizon, her vision focused upon the stone castle. Deep in her mind, in some crevice somewhere, she pondered on the idea of walking away; leaving Iah to his own devices, and never seeing him again. Yet this thought passed as quickly as it appeared, and her head turned slowly back to the chocolate-coated varg. "Wolves kill wolves for higher ranks, territory, pleasure..." She paused, counting how many wolves she had killed in her time here; how many were accidents, how many were on purpose. The number was high, but he didn't need to know that right now. "It's survival, Iah. It's our way of living in this valley." She frowned, canines peeking out from her lips. Her muscles quivered.

Auds flickered; why would she want to kill him? The question provoked an irresistible urge to strike his beautifully young facade; to leave a mark similar to that of Shatocwnn's scar. Then maybe his tone would not mock her advice. Demon growled, she was only trying to help him. Wasn't she? "I don't wish to kill you, Iah." Sigh. Pause. Breathe. Her eyes fell to the floor; a dark cloud rolling across her face. Something psychotic lingered in her mind; that bitter voice which haunted her. Herself. The memories that ate away the corridors of her brain, tauting, teasing; begging her to do something stupid so she could feel the madness once more. The torture was unbearable, but it was how she got by. It was why everyone left her alone, left her to her own devices.

"But if it's a fight you want, I'll take up your offer." A snarl on her lips; anger in her eyes. She really didn't want to do this. "I won't kill you; but you will be scarred. And you will suffer." She tightened her claws into the dirt; watching, waiting for some sort of response. "For living is suffering, and this you must learn."

[i a h]

Conflict was stashed in a flask by his side, and boy, did Monday like to drink. His ears swallowed the words like shots of whiskey, the threats (not promises), burning hell's trails down his throat. No sane varg could contest the kiss of death which curled her lips, and in the stone den, the delinquent had been pumped full of adrenaline then as well. There was a tiny tremor of excitement, a little spike on the Richter scale, as her facts hit the fan.

There was not a drip of anything other than anticipation, because it couldn't ever be faintheartedness; the chocolate-slung mascu was not afraid of her. But instincts, natural selection, had driven his four chambers into third gear. Circulatory system began to throb with hormones – not testosterone, but those responding to stress. His cardiac output wasn't extraordinary yet, but oh, thinking of her heart in his paws made his spirit soar.

These veneries wouldn't yield to anything. “I'll take you,” with his husky murmurs like hot breath in the night. “Show me what you've got,” pause, “baby.” He could have cried at his own humor; he found that last bit absolutely hysterical.

Yet his face was stoic, remorseful even.

[word of the post – venery. Interesting word with two different meanings. The sport of the chase and the indulgence in sex...]

[† Demon †]

His voice slammed into her auds, each work sending a shiver down her spine. Her muscles rippled, tightly grasping her organs, and her breaths twisting into snarls. Those emerald eyes fell into a sliver of black, her iris's fading into a pit of midnight anger; canines glimmering at her would-be opponent.

Raising her tail above her frame, her posture remained sleek, calm; collected. Though her insides were drowning in a lust to tear him limb to limb, her outside was casual. Shifting her body, Demon began to circle Iah; a vulture searching for the next cadaver. Paws hit the dust in unison, her fur molded into the shape of her muscles; she was tense and ready, her face emotionless; eyes fixed atop her victim. She smiled calmly.

"So be it!" A small purr, a sliver of sarcasm. In her logic, she would easily over-power this mann. He was smaller, less toned; undeveloped. She had the upper hand, though knowing what she did of this varg, she guessed submission would not be fully given, no matter what odds. He would fight until death, and when death began to stalk, he would leave. Though this left a doubt in her mind about the nature of this fight, Demon would not let it weaken her. She wished not to fight him, but the challenge had been given, and such a headstrong female would not forfeit her strengths.

Gaze upon his back, she felt her body arch. Her talons gripped the dirt, a growl erupting like a once-dormant volcano from the pit of her stomach. There was emotion, feeling; but only ones that wished to watch his heart and soul spill out on the alter before her. This woods was a battlefield once again; and who would live or die, it was a question of wits. And both were equally matched.

Without a second thought, all doubts around hurting this male leaving the corners of her mind, Demon's body rattled into energy. Pushing herself off the dirt, her forepaws left the ground at an alarming rate. Jaws falling open, saliva atop her lips, her canines ached for his blood; heart pumping, adrenaline rushing. This was it. As her body reached a point of height, she began to fall toward Iah. Would he jump? Would he move? The suspense was an orgasm all of its own.

Dun, dun, dunnnn![/i]

[i a h]

Growls like funneling clouds touching the ground, a tornado from the pits of her stomach and the back of her throat – she was a real threat to him now, and a silent snarl tickled the cave of his own orifice. Like a wildcat she prowled around him, and Monday observed the thick muscles of her shoulders as well as the sharp blades shift and push with each step. Little kitty puffing her tail, he thought, and he noticed that his dome had dropped considerably, chin brushing magnum paws.

His velvet sonics folded against his cranium, blending and nearly invisible as bark on a tree, but his soft muzzle not curling or furrowing at all just yet. Aside from the altered carriage of his head and the involuntary slendering of his auds, he was as unaffected, unperturbed. The hackles along his nape had bristled but an undetectable centimeter from his supple skin. The rest of his coat remained flat, sleek against his streamlined body.

Monday mirrored her advances. Wither muscles contracted and catapulted his forepaws into the skies as a cat pawing at a feather above his head. He would give her not a high five, but a high ten with his flexing digits and hooked talons. Lissome poles flailed upward, his jowls fell open and equipped with teeth, neck muscles tense. He had sprung upward and forward seconds after her, a reaction, and he thought for a moment if he could bear her weight when they collided.