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Post by † Demon † on Jul 6, 2009 10:57:08 GMT -5
That's an awesome video m'dear; what program did you use to make it? When the site's up and running, let me know, yeah? I'd love to try my hand at it...
I want to appreciate your story, I want to savor it. The words slammed through her auds and hit her brain like a nuclear warhead; a shiver shooting through her like lightning and her hackles flinching nervously. A small scoff lingered in the depths of her throat, but it did not materialize; instead Demon shuffled herself a little closer to the smaller varg, and never once removed her gaze from his. "My story?" The words barked outward like a laugh that had gotten lost along the way; dark clouds stealing her emerald optics, and a sly grin twisting over her lips. As the femme pondered on how her story would go, she couldn't help but laugh at the obscurity of it all - this was not how she'd planned her day to go. She had planned on miserably laying in some dark, stone room contemplating the quickest way to die and leave all her problems behind. Though, as many knew, Demon was rarely a coward - she just simply harbored guilt, which in turn ate her from the inside out, convincing her to leave; and then return once more. This was a repeat occurrence.
As her laughter subsided, she turned back toward the male; eyes narrowed, glittering with questions and poised like daggers. She smiled coldly; some would say Demon looked oddly similar to her old self. The cold, heartless wench who had ridden madness' dragon through hell and back and who had returned with only a single scar; the dark red mark that shone across her eye. For this was the cause of this strange situation; her scar had made her feel smaller than Iah. How very interesting...
"My dear," Demon purred; smiling as she did so; some kind of crazed glimmer in her eyes. "My story is simple; a lot of sex, blood and tears. A lot of pain and suffering. A lot of heartache." She paused, dwelling on the amount of trouble she had been through (and in some cases, put herself through for questionable reasons). The Balkar, List, Sarnes, Draeg, Nocturnia Diiore, The Vale, Frence, Kanis, Markaz... All these names and faces rushed through her mind as though trapped in a wind-tunnel, and captured in some remote wrinkle of her mind, that would only open on the odd occasion; and would often trigger some other unfortunate event. Demon snarled quietly, and turned her attention back to Iah; her face torn and twisted with emotion, much like the dead oak trees that littered the cemeteries and churches of the humans world. She smiled, sickly sweet. "To put it simply, Iah, I was born on the wrong side of the unfair scale. I am a true example of how madness forms, grows and overtakes. I am a genius in my own mind, a legend to myself; a bittersweet omen to all I come in contact with. I am a whore, a hussy, and a shadow among society. I am a plague to those who despise me, and a blessing to those who love me. I am Demon; a mistake to my father with his roaming paws and sick little games, a burden to the Balkar, whom I have tricked many times; and the last remaining family member of Kanis; the late proud Dragga of Frence, and my wonderful adopted father." She paused, flicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and turning her auds to the sound of the storm; she had momentarily blocked out all sounds around her, bar the thump, thump, thump of her own heart beating in her chest. She frowned to herself, and dropped her gaze; madness was indeed no stranger here.
Sitting atop her haunches, she sighed bitterly; sorrow back in her eyes, and a soft, saddening smile on her face. Rain spat against the stone floor; a welcomed guest in the valley, as the heat finally began to give way to the oncoming storm. She shivered; not cold, just anxious. A realization had set in, and it burned her heart like a forest fire that could not be defeated.
"Iah... I am alone, isolated and unwanted. I am a mess."
A really sketchy post; I was trying to go for a Morgra-style rant here, and it came out all weird. My bad..
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Post by i a h on Jul 6, 2009 11:46:29 GMT -5
Monday must have assumed that she had slipped into another façade of her being, as she no longer seemed downtrodden. A tacit transformation had turned her into laughter and an unwavering stare -- perhaps appraising his worth. The boy lifted his watch to the skies, behaving as if he was idly doing so instead of shyly averting his gaze. Demon had become threatening, he decided. This heat was oppressive.
He shook his head as if he had something to say, but instead he continued to lap up her story as a kitten laps up milk. Thank Fenris for beautiful women with personality. Not so intimidated now, the tiny whisper of fear vanishing as quickly as it had come, his hardened coals latched themselves to her emeralds. He was eternally drawn into states of social-order pervicacity; the varg would not once throw in the proverbial towel to hierarchy. With his own unwavering orbs, he would wordlessly grate against her -- it was his private contest which she was most likely unaware of.
Generally, Monday was not used to being lectured or being attentive speeches, but her soliloquy was a spilling of words he requested himself. Laden with emotion, the ebon mistress, the she-devil before him, seemed to utter her life in a single breath.
Her monologue was terminated with a sigh, and droplets of rain punctuated the wave of silence which welled between them.
Suddenly, the heavens opened and a torrent of rain, a mad deluge, nearly soaked him within the first few moments. The clouds had held in all their tears and had finally given them to the parched earth. The figure of Demon before him blurred in the downpour. “What a maudlin plea,” he began and then, “Not to say you made it up to stir pity. It just seems so surreal -- even though you had hardly elaborated.” He shook the water, futilely, from his coat and, “A girl like you shouldn’t think so poorly of herself. You say yourself that you are a blessing to those who love you. Forget the rest. Cast them away.” It was unclear whether or not his voice held a tinge of deceit or condescension. [word of the day: pervicacity meaning obstinacy. Basically … stubbornness]
godddd, i didn't mean for it to get that long. but i used windows movie maker. it comes with windows automatically. just beware. the text options suck, and when the program is open, it slows down your computer like idk what. also, i'll be sure to let you know. [: the other admin and i were talking, and he seemed to want you to be one of the moderators (a mob boss), but you can decide that whenever. [:
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Post by † Demon † on Jul 6, 2009 12:14:57 GMT -5
I'd be honored to moderate it, m'dear. I'm always up for power-trips and being nasty, haha. I'm kidding... -shifty eyes-... But yes, I'd love to help out. Oh, & amazing post dude; god knows if I can come up with something as good...[/size]
The rain fell fast, and it fell hard. It hit Demon's pelt like rocks, each one stinging her sweating body, a wrinkle in her face as though stung by a bee. Looking up at the sky, she admired nature's beauty and cursed it at the same time; Iah was just a blur in her vision now, and that, in some ways, was a bad thing. He was quite pleasant to look at; his frame was well poised, his muscles forming nicely. Demon knew his potential as the moons would pass; and she thrived off it. He would be great.
Torn from her thoughts, her auds lifted as the male spoke. Green coals flashed back toward where Iah stood; her eyes straining desperately to seek out a clear gaze; it resembled a sniper looking for that one clear shot. She smiled at his words, although unclear why. He played on her ego, and that was a good thing indeed - Demon loved her secret vanity; though, in all fairness, it was a secret. Hatred was greater than than her ego, thus the shame she felt was real - until someone told her otherwise.
Licking her maw, she slowly collected her thoughts and began walking toward the mann. His stubbornness was irritating, yet it was just like her. She questioned whether this meeting was a coincidence, and in a way, hoped it wasn't. She hoped this was a new beginning, but unfortunately, there was no way of knowing any different. "Your words are sweet darling," She was becoming somewhat attached to the little prince. She smiled; eyes draped in, what can best be described as, lust. "but you know not in what you're getting mixed up in." The smile turned inward on itself; a smirk replaced it, her eyes shifting with the change. They gleamed darkly; sadistically perhaps. She was in her element.
"I am a sin; one of the worst. No love can ever rid me of that title, and sometimes I pray, it never will." She was now positioned in front of the male; holding his gaze with vicious competition. She was stubborn, very very stubborn. She continued to smirk; dangerous was not the word. "I do not tell tales to please. I tell it how it is." Another pause, a lick of her lips, and a moment to enjoy the cooling, if not slightly brutal, rain. She grinned coldly, eyes flashed with some dangerous glow; she was scheming. From a once dehydrated poor soul had flourished a strong, headstrong female. This bitch was back, and loving it. Oh, happy days.
"...Thus, I have to say this; you're a fine specimen of mann."
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Post by i a h on Jul 6, 2009 13:01:06 GMT -5
The room was still warm, although it had cooled down considerably. In the center, contained by four walls, the fountain would soon be filled to its brim and overflow.
“Who cares about the carnal, I mean cardinal sins anyway?” and his Freudian slip was entirely intentional. The cloudburst was of fat drops at first, but now they thinned to painful needles on Monday’s sleek brunette coat, easily penetrating him to his lean body. He withstood it, artfully fighting her in an unspoken standoff. “Oh, but I’m just trying to make you feel better,” and though his tone was almost jovial, his maw leaked implications of a mischievous plot. “And as a sin, you have to know that there are plenty of sinners.” What was he trying to do here by playing with his own subtext? His thoughts pendulated.
Monday did not even shift on his large crème mitts. He was being an awful, asexual tease.
This sport they played was a ludicrous one, the duchess of pain and sex head-to-head with the count of desertion and stultifying vexation. It was a treacherous road they were taking, but it was just like daredevils like Monday to fall head-over-heels for a little chance for trickery, a terrible consequence. The kerl, however he appeared, was not a bad boy, but merely a naught boy.
[word of the post: stultify meaning “to cause to appear foolish, ridiculous, or absurdly inconsistent.”] this thread is really moving. i love it. just as i love your posts. TT^TT thanks for the compliment, too. hm. do you want to talk about this on AIM or msn? it might be easier. D:
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Post by † Demon † on Jul 6, 2009 13:39:04 GMT -5
Yeah, certainly Hun. I have msn; if you can PM your addy, it'll probably be easier. I have the longest msn address in the world... :/ No problem, just being honest. & I'm curious to see where this leads.
His words met hers beautifully; their true colors painting the situation in shades of black, green and brown. Demon, who was truly in her element, thrived off the tension building in the air. It was electric, pure and simple. Hormones, though not out in the open, would probably spill into the room like fire; licking the walls, and casting shadows upon their hearts. If such events were to happen, she would welcome them with open arms; this was much more than a game of pride, wits and teasing. This was a battle of the sexes, and sex was the prize. She smiled knowingly to herself; watching Iah with an unblinking gaze. Bow to me, little prince. Know you shall not win.
She scoffed at his words; there are plenty of sinners. It was not as such to deny the remark, for Demon knew this all too well. Many a nights had been spent in the paws of different males; perhaps not always by choice, but even rape had its advantages. Sometimes a fight increased the hormones; she was a sick puppy at heart. Draeg came to mind at this point; her one night stand with him resulted in a cub. Damian... What a mistake that had been. One she had made sure didn't repeat itself with Fantome and Nocturnia. She had killed the entire litter shortly after departing her old pack lands; the guilt was too much of a burden, and the thoughts of Fantome had slowly faded into the night. Until now.
She growled proudly; this standoff was refreshing. It had been a while since she had found a varg on her level; their connection was riveting. The bitch spoke, quietly; the whispers of a tauntress. "You surprise me, little prince. Your wit exceeds your years. You are much like me; though without the vagina." Demon chuckled to herself; her words was sarcastic and twisted; her tone was curled around in poison; her eyes flickering as the raindrops occasionally fell atop her eyelids. She was a Cheshire cat; grinning, almost crazily. There was madness in her face.
"Thus," Her tone was a challenge in the making; this was his test. She would no longer test his words, for they were purely equal in that sector. Now it was a test of strength, mentally and physically. Would he or wouldn't he? Would they linger in the scent of recent sex and ponder on the future? Or would they continue their war of words and wit and let hormones fade into nothingness? Demon's eyes danced amusingly; her words slipped off her tongue with a deepened sense of sadism and masochism. She was a whore; and unless someone came and stole her heart (Markaz was dead, Nocturnia nowhere to be seen), she would remain as such.
"Iah," A dramatic pause, just for effect. "...Do your worst."
Oh, oh. She's a feisty little whatsit. & I <3 her for it. Oh, & maybe we should put "warning; mature content" on the thread title perhaps? or someone might bitch?[/size]
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Post by i a h on Jul 6, 2009 14:45:34 GMT -5
Beyond the walls, which seemed so thin, so much like glass that it was as if the whole forest watched their showdown, there came the harsh shridulations of that same hawk. It shattered the rain, causing Monday’s auds to perk even farther in attentiveness. In the same moment, he released a tender sigh; the air was no longer hazy with summer humidity but with pheromones that swarmed like the insects of the marsh.
Monday could not refute her attractiveness, but he felt as if he judged as a third party maybe. He felt no throbbing but from his heart, and his soaked hackles did not even lift from his nape. “I have wit?” and he had still not smiled genuinely or perhaps at all. A dead heat threatened his pride, yet he did not consider that he may lose. Her fantastic derangement, bubbling beneath that glistening scar, did not daunt him at all. So perhaps he was not the centripetal force, but nor was she. “I could haunt you.” These words were soft as a velvet promise laced in arsenic.
“Ladies first.” And his cropped, burst of fur of a tail twitched. [word of the post: stridulation meaning “to make a high-pitched sound”]
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Post by † Demon † on Jul 6, 2009 15:27:17 GMT -5
Power-played a little at the end; couldn't find any other way to write it. If you want me to change it and direct this into another path, let me know, and I'll change it asap. x
Ladies first Her mind jumped at this remark; if she could, she would have done a back-flip. This was the test, and in her mind, he had failed. He had not the gut to take her willingly, or by force. This was not a disappointment, just simply a pause it what would come. She was sure of it; so sure that her back had automatically begun to arch in an aroused fashion; she did love the fight, the foreplay was magical.
Smirking, she flashed her canines at the male; eyes dancing wildly in their emerald casings. Her mind raced with possibilities; ideas that she could in turn twist to her advantage, yet one stuck in her mind like absinthe to an alcoholic. She smiled coldly, twisting her forepaws to Iah's direction, and watching him closely. If only...
At this moment in time, she thought that he momentarily resembled Leohlic; not so much the colors, but the expression. She shivered, yet not enough to be noticed. How she hated him; his sly, egotistical ways, and the betrayal he had brought upon her father. Him and that cast-out female, whose name she didn't think upon. That would ruin the mood, and that, to Demon, meant that even in the grave, Shatocwnn was winning. She snarled; yet it didn't erupt aloud, it simply rattled in her stomach, and caused her heart to skip a beat. Proud of such a move, attention rolled back over to Iah, and she stared at him - emotionless, blank, empty.
"As you wish, your majesty..." Snarled, cold; unhinged. Her words bit the rain like a rumble of thunder; the hawk scuttling away as the echo seemed to react like an earthquake. Her mind raced, but her body moved faster. Within seconds, she had tensed her muscles and leapt toward the male. Her teeth grasped his neck; soft enough not to draw blood or cause pain, but hard enough to see no plausible escape. With a snarl, eyes shining brilliantly in the rain-soaked room; darkness slowly setting atop the pair, she attempted to flip him upon his back; submission? Maybe. Persuasion to rape her? Definitely.
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Post by i a h on Jul 6, 2009 15:55:16 GMT -5
Although his face betrayed not a single thought, the tight, lithe muscles of his tall pistons and his powerful haunches strained, and the breath was drawn out of him. Inhale. The tendons in his forelegs were visible as he flexed those able stilts, opaline spheres absolutely binded to hers – cemented, inseparable from hers. Exhale. A hind paw moved, repositioned.
Thoughts oscillating, tumbling across his mind, and he would just see which his body would obey. He nearly shivered in some sort of ghoulish, jackal fancy; Monday was tickled with the situation hinting at blood, inangelous salvation, and salivating. The castle shook around them with another boom of thunder, a crack of lightening. The gods were displeased, casting frightening shadows and sheets of rain, and the unfolding fairytale.
If his frame had not already been tensed, her growl would have started him into it. “As you should address me,” with a shadow of pleasure in his quivering maw, maybe he was excited, maybe he was fearful.
And she launched herself at him, effortlessly fastening her orifice around his throat and tossing him like a deathroll, his build relaxed entirely. His lids dropped halfway, hooding his dark orbs with either a sultriness or a menacing attitude – or both. Rolling onto his back awkwardly, his back curved into an “s” shape, forepaws drawing up towards his bodice like a cub at play. “I see you like it rough...” he commented flatly before, with a little more emotion, “Demon... do you think I am a pushover for letting you do this to me?” Finally. A smirk. It brooded a horribleness, a smoldering, devilish shadow behind a perfect set of dents. i'm liking this post of mine. :3 and no, i'm happy she got violent. [word of the post: isangelous or equal to angels. ]
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Post by † Demon † on Jul 6, 2009 16:30:30 GMT -5
Momentarily stunned; I see you like it rough. She had not expected such a reply. Her grip loosened, then tightened again. She wouldn't let her guard down; he was toying, and she was not a toy. Her mind searched the passageways, winding through them, searching for the next step. But in all honesty, there was nothing. She hadn't contemplated this far ahead, and she could feel her grip weakening; she didn't want to hurt him, but she did want him. She wanted to taste his sweat on her fur; she wanted to lay next to him in the musk of sex and pheromones; she wanted lust, attention; she wanted him.
Snarling, she released her grip, but as she did so, positioned her paws over him. Her forepaws by his shoulders, her hind legs on each side of his tail; she glared violently, yet somewhere in those eyes shone a playful nature. Her spine tingled as the hormones began to overwhelm her; she flicked her tassel against his, smirking as she did so, and letting out a sound that resembled an egotistical chuckle.
Do you think I'm a pushover... The words had lingered in her mind since they were spoken. She didn't know what to think; her mind was racing; it was on the fast track, never slowing, and there was a dangerous bend coming up. She smiled at Iah, seductively sly; her optics flashed momentarily, as she held his gaze - if it was glass, it would have shattered in the tension of the moment. She felt his breath on her maw; their breaths mingled. She wanted to kiss him. You're a disease; one the world can never get rid.
"A pushover?" She laughed as she spoke; bitter, spiteful, beautiful. "Not in the slightest." A pause; her muscles rippled; her insides knotting. She was eager. She wanted to eat him alive. "You're methods are simple. You wish to toy with me, make me believe that you're bending to my will - then you'll strike when I least expect it." She smiled, her canines flashing, and her claws tightening against the stone floor. "Iah, my dear; you are the opposite to a pushover. You are a god in your own mind - a weapon in the world of the vargs. You're just like me."
Her words trailed off; she had suddenly noticed how his eyes glistened. Markaz... She had seen that shimmer once before; just once. But that was enough. Unbeknown to Demon's conscience, she was now bent to Iah's will; those eyes, that smirk. She was his to do what he wished, yet she would still put up a fight. Chaos killed the dinosaurs, darling...
Sketchy post; I was at a loss for descriptive words I hadn't used already. Meh... [/size]
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Post by i a h on Jul 6, 2009 16:54:28 GMT -5
“You have me all figured out,” he confessed with a guilty varnish to this statement, though it may or may not be falsified like the rest of him. “If you’re expecting me to do to you what you’re essentially begging me to do, then will you ever ‘least expect it?’” To challenge the starless beast, to taunt her evil insides, was his real gratification. It was what he did intend to do, of course, but why not now? What was lacing his jaws together and holding him back from snapping his teeth, from tearing another scar across her eye?
Without any outward context, “‘X’ marks the spot.” His heart pulsed like the palpations of wing beats, like his hot breath the air blown by those pure feathers, mind twisting the image of twin crossing over her jade eye. He coiled his body upright, forcing her paws to slide off of his young, athletic body. It was getting clammy in there and the rain was letting up at the same time and he could hear his heartbeat hot in his auds.
Demon obviously throbbed, her inexorable grin frustrating him and enchanting him in a bat of her long lashes. Not wanting to touch her, not quite yet, Monday dipped his muzzle in concession. “But you are to right about that one part. I do think that I’m pretty great.” It was a boyish way for him to deliver his beliefs. Now that he put some lengths between their lips, his soul slowed to an acrotic state. He was not inhuman by any means, but he preferred to disassociate himself physically -- it was upsetting for some reason. [word of the post: acrotic meaning “without pulse” or with an extremely weak pulse.]
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Post by † Demon † on Jul 6, 2009 17:59:51 GMT -5
Is it me, or are my posts getting worse and worse? My descriptions are Shiite today...[/size]
She snarled bitterly as he shifted his weight from beneath her; it wasn't so much the move that upset her, but the remark he had spoken just before. X marks the spot... The ebony female had known the precised direction of it, and it stung deeply. She frowned, her muscles tightening; anger rumbled in the pit of her stomach, yet she kept it at bay for the moment. She wasn't quite ready to tear out this male's throat; that, or maybe she just didn't want to. He was a masterpiece.
Watching him, her eyes curled into a glare; a snarl firmly on her lips. Her sharp, short breaths causing a growl to erupt with each exhale, her body arched downward; ready to strike. She didn't know where this was heading, and she didn't like it. Demon wanted control, power; to be the Alpha, and in this particular moment, she was no closer to that goal. It sickened her.
"Very good Iah, very good." She spat her words out like poisoned meat; quite obviously a compliment yet frustration, anger and hormones are never a good mix; oil and water one would say. Pacing a little to the left, her head never turned away from him; her glare fixed as though with glue. The temptation had never been greater. If only he had struck her face, reopened her scar; or perhaps left another. If Only. Then such lust would have faded as quickly as it appeared; she would be left with only hate, for such an act would slide in the ghost of Shatocwnn to her memory, and thus trigger her greatest kill to date.
"You learn quick; if a little too quick." She smirked. "That, my dear, can be a great weakness if put in the wrong situation." Her auds flickered; silence. The rain had stopped. Humid, thick air began to flood the room like a gas chamber ready to go. She mumbled to herself; cursed the weather, and probably herself as well. How do you get yourself in these situations darling?
"If you so wish to strike me, do so now." Her lips curled into a dark, knowing smile; canines peering from their blackened duvet. "I won't stop you." Her heart raced; would he do such a thing? Perhaps so; for if he was truly like her, sadism was one of the traits that held great power over the mind. Pain was pleasure; it was foreplay before the main event. "But know this..." Her heart was in her throat; her tassel held high. Egotistical bitch. "It may be the last thing you ever do."
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Post by i a h on Jul 6, 2009 18:38:43 GMT -5
Monday’s words were perjorative, sharp but padded with that smile that never flickered and had yet to fade. “There are no wrong situations for me, okay? To me, there is always satisfaction to be had and my last laugh. Even if you were to shame me, hurt me, torture me and publicly demoralize me, I would still say to you: ‘Demon, do I matter that much to you? Did I upset you? Am I special?’ If you ignore me, I will know it is because you have forfeited and that you love me hard” and there was an unpleasant, unnerving silence which followed. His lips failed to hold their charming and disengaging smile. He could either be entirely loyal to his words, believing every breath of it, or he could just be trying to convince her into further fury.
“I just want it to be clear to you: you are beautiful, and you are strong, but you are not ultimate, miss.” Was he even sure what he meant? And breaking his stoic posture, he began to circle her as a boxer practicing in the rink, a prowling wildcat around the unfortunate prey; this was a game, and she was his toy. “I like strong wolves. I like to chase their tales.”
He half-lunged towards her like he was faking her out, poker face. “This is my favorite dance. A Spanish she-wolf, pretty girl, taught me the salsa, among other things. But I didn’t like it. Or her This is much more fun . Who should lead?” (Yeah, the salsa. That’s what she called it.) Unsure of whether or not to strike, he let her work herself into a hard frenzy -- she seemed to be good at that…
[ word of the day: perjorative which is a noun or word that implies disapproval or contempt in order to be insulting or unkind.]
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Post by † Demon † on Jul 6, 2009 18:57:54 GMT -5
Demon's auds flinched slightly; his words burning into the silence, lapping up every inch of the room with a ghostly echo. Her hackles rose; on their ends now, firm and tall. She was twice her usual size, almost; she was dangerous. As she watched him pace around her, his game face almost a match to her own, she let a sly smile steal her lips. His half-lunge barely moved a muscle of her frame, it just made her chuckle. Her laughter fell across the room like a dark cloud; maybe even louder than the thunder than had recently come and gone.
"My dear Iah," she barked, still laughing; it was no secret that she was laughing at him. "You think you can intimidate me with your wits, sarcasm, and insignificant knowledge of dance? You are wrong, my friend." She continued to laugh; her sides aching, her eyes glazed over with some psychotic glimmer. "You know me no more than I know you; and your petty excuse of a diversion is not worth my time. If you wish not to fight, nor to express your hormonal urges as a varg, then what; dear Iah, what is it you seek?"
Her laughter slowly subsided; her eyes regained their natural shine, with her scar as vivid as ever. His games were good, there was no denying that, but to Demon, she was better. Always better. She was ultimate, no matter how hard he tried to tell her otherwise. "You don't know who you're dealing with, wolf." The word, wolf, rolled off her tongue with spite; she was frustrated. Angry, a little. Hormonal, a lot. Just down right irritated, definitely. She snarled quietly to herself; watching, waiting.
"Strike me, goddamn you!" Her tone was harsh; a command. This bitch was seething. She wanted to taste blood, she wanted the foreplay before the main event. She wanted pain. She still wanted him. "And make it count."
I like this post; not sure why, but I do. :][/size]
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Post by i a h on Jul 6, 2009 19:22:03 GMT -5
If someone were to walk in on them, they would probably assume Monday was losing bitterly: his face was solemn while Demon’s was almost rabid. Just as he was an erratic character, she was a bathetic queen at times. Taking each of her arguments, her insults like a crack of a whip, he kind of liked the idea of her flogging him while he just bore the smarting welts. But her aggravation was comically obvious though she giggled on, almost uncontrollable as a schoolgirl. No matter how deep she dug her talons, he would not cry mercy.
Release. His muscles sprang like tight coils liberated, sinewy beams not yet at their prime, but certainly at teenaged capability and endurance. During the split airborne second, he bit his tongue, tasting blood and the scar tissue which streaked the warrioress’s visage. The entirety of his weight, all muscle and bones, collapsed against her withers so that they tumbled together against the fountain; he leaned against her so that he was almost sitting awkwardly in her lap. Much like a lively cub, he raised a forepaw and pressed it to her eye, though gently. A noiseless snarl mangled his young maw.
Monday’s pads stilled, his coal orbs not once losing their revolting sparkle, and his dial lifting up sincerely princely. When she told him to do something, he was pressed to oppose her. He loved the steam which rose between them, the chaffing wills like rams butting heads. “If I am so wrong and I am so threatened into hitting you, which I have to say is strange, then why do I feel like you like me? I don’t want to listen to you.”
[word of the day: bathetic -- meaning insincerely emotional like ridiculously sad poetry.]
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Post by † Demon † on Jul 6, 2009 19:47:07 GMT -5
Had to be done. Haha.
He came upon her almost instantly; her side slamming into the fountain. She winced, but it didn't hurt. It was just an automatic response, much like when someone says 'ouch' to a video game. They were tangled; a knot that was almost unwilling to be undone. She snarled as his paw rested against her eye; she could feel his claws resting atop her scar; cold metal. Though unsure of whether he would tear her flesh and unleash her soul to the world, it sure gave her one hell of a rush. The adrenalin was phenomenal; her senses heightened, and her hormones boosted that little bit higher. This was definitely a good day for the bittersweet princess.
With her one opened eye, she watched his own optics glimmer. Sadist; yet even as her mind spat the word in his direction, she felt no hate. She was proud of him, if not slightly bemused. He had bent to her will, done as she had asked, well - almost. He had halted at the most critical moment; paused like a cliffhanger in a film or book. His words had rolled into the silence like a prayer in a church; echoed, mystical, wondrous. She snarled at his words; selfish little boy.
"Like you?" Scoffed, almost a laugh. She was good at hiding her true feelings; yet something told her she shouldn't. Something in her mind hinted that honesty would play out just as well as lying. She wasn't so sure; she would stick with the path she knew best. Deceit. "I barely even know you... I despise you, Iah."
Demon had little control over her words; even as they rolled from her maw, she questioned their sincerity. She was a liar. Her pure eye; the one unmarked, glimmered wildly. There was fire in her gaze; and it was ready to explode. Yet, it didn't; she just smiled. Smiled as innocently as she could. It resembled that of a cub who had accidentally killed a butterfly, or traveled too far out of their mother's sights. You're twisted, don't you know?
"Of course I like you Iah," she slurred; sarcasm was a great gift, and one she showed off well. "Why wouldn't I?" Her grin widened, that single orb speckled with the look of a teasing school girl who wore nothing but a mini-skirt, blouse and no underwear. "After all, you pin me down, toy with my hormones, and torture my mind? What's not to like?" A pause, an even bigger grin; her green coal was brilliant now, almost ecstatic in its shine. There was a sick, sadistic tone in the words to follow; this was no longer a game.
"Oh Iah, I do love you..."
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