Title: Ykro
Description: No, he doesn't really have a name...
Description: No, he doesn't really have a name...
Ykro - June 27, 2008 12:46 PM (GMT)
.the roleplayer
Name/Nickname: Shadowheart. But you can call me Tad, Taddy, Taddle, Tadilion and all other known variants EXCEPT Tadpole. That got old. Like, seriously.
Where did you hear about us?: I don’t remember. Possibly from Aspen, but that was months and months ago. I saw the old Niche but didn’t think of joining because it looked inactive. Only recently I found it again while looking for wolf RPs in random forums, so I can’t remember specifically where I re-found the link. I’m sure its from one of your affiliates.
.the character
Name: Ykro (E-crow or Yee-crow or Eh-crow *like echo with an r in it*)
Nicknames: He’s not supposed to have a name anyway so I don’t think it matters.
Gender: Male
Age: Two and a half
Breed: 50% Grey wolf, 50% Mackenzie Valley wolf
Family: Mother (deceased), Guardian (deceased), Father (questionable)
Appearance: The earthy individual wears a pelt of hues ranging from the deepest mahogany to the darkest charcoal, a slew of greys and browns arranged in an indistinct array across his upper form, setting from crown to regal back and tail. The darkness and lightness of either hue appears to conform to the season that demands it- from summer and autumn’s relaxing rust to winter and spring’s quiet ash. In whichever state the cape assumes, the lower garments remain untouched, intermingling with the soft, untainted creams of his undersides. Beneath the frill and ruffles lies a solid, unyielding masculine form, forged and strengthened by the labors of vagabond life. The general structure suggests of a creature of immense proportions, elongated limbs and broad back rising higher above the earth than most, but the combination of inadequate nutrition as well as poor posture ruins much of this effect. Slender, almost considered skeletal, yet operating with a limber fluidity defiant to the unimpressive image he projects, with grace and ease and remarkable speed, comparable to the power within the muscles veiled by those tumbling dusky ruffs.
Defined façade of an aristocratic male with barely a layer of fat or substance to smoothen the harden features; a long muzzle tapering from the furrowed peak of his head, from the length of his neck where the hedge of a mane cascades upward to frivolous spikes in the valley between his shoulder blades. Twin jewels of ice and amber peer out from the creature, madness and calm reflected in their glimmering antithetic depths, and in the voice of the beast. Deep, tired, a gravelly sound purred from obsidian lips seeming to require more energy than necessary to create the singular, abrupt slur of his vocabulary, only rarely giving insight to the symphony of eloquence he is capable of performing.
Personality: Angry. An impatient wolf, hardly one of delicacy or conformance, a beast of the land that does what is necessary to survive with barely an inkling to whomsoever his actions may effect. Although considered arrogant and seemingly unhindered by morals, the male is well-learned and well-versed, guided by a lesser, obscure code of ethics that sets him apart from the ‘barbarians’ he is often accused of being, for in the wild kindness and humility is unnecessary, and has no reason to believe this is changed in the security of society. This is not to mean he is incapable of benevolence- it is mostly unwarranted, as he was raised all his life to believe the best path is one to be walked alone, but to those whom are worth his attentions would perhaps never know a kindlier soul. Some can spare leeway for his aloofness that comes almost as natural as breathing, and some choose to demand submission from a foe they deem a threat, to their pride or otherwise, in his intense simplicity of manner – he is equally unfazed by both circumstances, knowing no greater endeavor that to find his next meal and a place to rest undisturbed, though compromising these two luxuries may spur a more cunning creature to awaken. While vowing never to be bound to serve another, he is not so rebellious to be brazenly impertinent; can, in fact, be as much of a gentlemen when necessary, and uses his charm to achieve his ends, and to achieve females to his den as well…but mostly bearing such a facade for the latter.
The silent, uncomprehending image of the brute speaks of an untruth to the conniving mind that works beneath, aware of his own faults and naivety that lack of comradely has caused him to be, and becomes mostly the reason of this self-imposed isolation. Yet unquenchable curiosity and the need to venture to uncharted terrain keeps him unrestrained, free to roam and chance at first opportunity. Though the inner workings remain an enigma still, full of unrecognized desires and only barely a hint of what path it steers him towards.
Fatal Flaw(s): What one might consider his biggest flaw to be is distrust. He’s yet to learn to count on others, in a questionable world where harm and death are met all too easily at the slightest blunder. Apathy towards others is also another, as he cares very little of who crosses his path, and often regards others as minor annoyances, or, in the case of females, fleeting pleasures to slake his lust. He is somehow also driven to images of security or intimacy; a luxury denied from him all his life, although under the belief that his upbringing has rendered him incapable of such an ability, and undeserving of it.
History: The tale of Ykro in a nutshell:
Ykro’s upbringing was of little importance, if you count for the fact that he was orphaned and raised by a kindly older wolf. And kindly if you meant insane. Although most would perceive the subject of insanity as one of mental disability, wholly victim to primitive impulses and unable to make any reasonable cognitive judgment, hers was a different sort; silent, unfathomable, so cleverly disguised, insignificant enough to be ignored. Only her young ward had the misfortune of dealing with the brunt of her schizophrenic tendencies as he grew under her care, perhaps even adopting a few of them himself. She was not his mother, nor did she act as one; he was not a pup to her, but a simple, nameless entity to whom she whispered her delusions of the world’s prosecution against her. Their relationship was of indifference, co-existing under mutual benefit – she provided him the necessities to live while he provided her companionship. From what she would condescend to share with him, he learned, adapting to his own philosophic view of the world seen through her eyes. It was a twisted ‘survival of the fittest’ belief of hers, where the powerful were revered and abused by the weak, and survival depended on their ability to break the bonds of reliance and make it on their own four paws. From another’s viewpoint, it might be taken as arrogance, but the she-wolf’s fear of them was genuine.
“They’re jealous of us. They hate us cause we’re stronger. We don’t need to depend on them. They think to use our strength but we keep them away. If you let them, they will use you. Never let them.” It was one among many whispered warnings he was told, of nightmarish creatures who would drag him to their abysmal realms if he strayed too close to their outreached claws. Disguised in their image to give them confidence, security; offering kindness and expecting its return, taking hold upon them like relentless leeches and refusing to release as their victims continued to struggle and err against them, giving them reason to further to war and rage until they were inevitably overpowered and consumed. Such was the fate of those who pledged their life upon those beasts, citing his own mother as one of the foolhardy.
“A beautiful lady, a peeress among wolves. She paved her own path under her own rules, unbridled and controlled by none. She faced them on her own, lived among their ranks as a lowly subordinate and worked her way up, trampling the beasts that stood in her way. Within the year, she had the entire pack in the palm of her paw. The lowly louts groveled at her feet, for they depended on her, latched on as they do and couldn’t afford to release their guiding haven.
“But…she was foolish. I warned her, I warned her a hundred times over, but she never listened. She took them for granted…you –never- take them for granted. She believed they needed her; she believed herself so powerful they couldn’t harm her. But that is what they do, wolf – they make you believe they are of no consequence to you, while they played upon their victim’s strings. They got her, too – even she wasn’t strong enough. They raped and stole her life, and when her power was used and drained, they left her and her child for dead. Count your lucky stars, wolf, that I saved you from her folly.”
He never did register the implications of the tale until later in his life, when he learned the casually-spoken words veiled a world of angst and bereavement, of seeing a loved one so wrongfully disgraced in the paws of those she trusted. This realization been what hardened his heart to the cold, impersonal creature he was; though he disregarded the majority of his guardian’s admonitions, through them he pieced together the story she refused to tell, coming to better know the danger she warned him against. Danger not in the form of otherworldly creatures looking for blood, but of regular, ordinary wolves that would take advantage of anyone of their own to continue their own miserable survival, most especially those they regarded as powerful, seeking shelter under their wing and disregarding them almost as swiftly when they’ve exhausted their use. They were, as she had so succinctly put it, lowly, worthless louts, lumping the whole of the wolven race into one equally loathed, indistinct mass, and they, the ones who dared break the conformity lest they shared his mother’s fate.
Despite the hatred against them, the pair could not always survive on their own, pure necessity forcing them to seek membership in nearby packs for the time being. Through these infrequent visits, he also learned of the way of packlife, though his earlier bias more often than not created a barrier between him and the wolves that housed them. It then became necessary of the guardian to teach him the proper ethics, to blend in and act as one of them. “Never let them know you know, wolf, of what they truly are.” He never did; verily, his mentor was adept in the art of deception, assuming such guises to suit the satisfaction of those who watched with critical glares, and he quick to pick on the intricacies, not for his own survival, but to meet his own desires. With fluent charm and somber demeanor, wolves were inexplicably drawn, honored and humbled by his brutal honesty and complete disregard to the rudiments of courtesy, though also solidifying the insurmountable wall that kept them from getting too close. Ironic that most wolves would look down upon creatures like him, unguided by morals, their vulgarity and guiltlessness considering them too barbaric to exist in modern society while it became the very thing that caused him climb their ranks. Had the she-wolf not insisted on their swift departure, he would have occupied the recently vacated Betan seat, his opposition gently but firmly dissuaded.
Life trundled on, of two vagabonds making the most of themselves. He grew stronger and she grew weak, age wearing upon her as the days counted down her inevitable end. The insanity worsened; she became completely inept to care for herself, much less him, but he had enough training and insight to take over the role of caregiver in her stead, feeling duteous enough to return the kindness given to him, if one would be so bold as to call it such. The new arrangement didn’t last for long, however. By some nature of accident, the she-wolf met her untimely end, her body splayed against the stones that tumbled the silvery thread of a river. Savaged, her once pristine white coat and powerful form decimated by the claw and fang of a larger predator. He was unmoved, staring for a time at the grisly scene before feasting on the cold meat (the activity was by no means enjoyable, but by the very law of nature it would be unforgivable to waste such on sympathies and respect), and followed the river down this new, lonesome path.
GOOD Role-play Examples: I apologize beforehand if I take this requirement loosely as using any RP example from any previous RP rather than an example for my own character, or at least another wolf. Unfortunately, the last RP site had a major overhaul and deleted their old threads and such, and much of it included my best RPs. I’ll will make one for Ykro if it becomes necessary (obviously, I’m too lazy to bother now. <3 ).
Example 1:
From: http://z10.invisionfree.com/Pokemon_Legacy...dpost&p=1993678
Name/Nickname: Shadowheart. But you can call me Tad, Taddy, Taddle, Tadilion and all other known variants EXCEPT Tadpole. That got old. Like, seriously.
Where did you hear about us?: I don’t remember. Possibly from Aspen, but that was months and months ago. I saw the old Niche but didn’t think of joining because it looked inactive. Only recently I found it again while looking for wolf RPs in random forums, so I can’t remember specifically where I re-found the link. I’m sure its from one of your affiliates.
.the character
Name: Ykro (E-crow or Yee-crow or Eh-crow *like echo with an r in it*)
Nicknames: He’s not supposed to have a name anyway so I don’t think it matters.
Gender: Male
Age: Two and a half
Breed: 50% Grey wolf, 50% Mackenzie Valley wolf
Family: Mother (deceased), Guardian (deceased), Father (questionable)
Appearance: The earthy individual wears a pelt of hues ranging from the deepest mahogany to the darkest charcoal, a slew of greys and browns arranged in an indistinct array across his upper form, setting from crown to regal back and tail. The darkness and lightness of either hue appears to conform to the season that demands it- from summer and autumn’s relaxing rust to winter and spring’s quiet ash. In whichever state the cape assumes, the lower garments remain untouched, intermingling with the soft, untainted creams of his undersides. Beneath the frill and ruffles lies a solid, unyielding masculine form, forged and strengthened by the labors of vagabond life. The general structure suggests of a creature of immense proportions, elongated limbs and broad back rising higher above the earth than most, but the combination of inadequate nutrition as well as poor posture ruins much of this effect. Slender, almost considered skeletal, yet operating with a limber fluidity defiant to the unimpressive image he projects, with grace and ease and remarkable speed, comparable to the power within the muscles veiled by those tumbling dusky ruffs.
Defined façade of an aristocratic male with barely a layer of fat or substance to smoothen the harden features; a long muzzle tapering from the furrowed peak of his head, from the length of his neck where the hedge of a mane cascades upward to frivolous spikes in the valley between his shoulder blades. Twin jewels of ice and amber peer out from the creature, madness and calm reflected in their glimmering antithetic depths, and in the voice of the beast. Deep, tired, a gravelly sound purred from obsidian lips seeming to require more energy than necessary to create the singular, abrupt slur of his vocabulary, only rarely giving insight to the symphony of eloquence he is capable of performing.
Personality: Angry. An impatient wolf, hardly one of delicacy or conformance, a beast of the land that does what is necessary to survive with barely an inkling to whomsoever his actions may effect. Although considered arrogant and seemingly unhindered by morals, the male is well-learned and well-versed, guided by a lesser, obscure code of ethics that sets him apart from the ‘barbarians’ he is often accused of being, for in the wild kindness and humility is unnecessary, and has no reason to believe this is changed in the security of society. This is not to mean he is incapable of benevolence- it is mostly unwarranted, as he was raised all his life to believe the best path is one to be walked alone, but to those whom are worth his attentions would perhaps never know a kindlier soul. Some can spare leeway for his aloofness that comes almost as natural as breathing, and some choose to demand submission from a foe they deem a threat, to their pride or otherwise, in his intense simplicity of manner – he is equally unfazed by both circumstances, knowing no greater endeavor that to find his next meal and a place to rest undisturbed, though compromising these two luxuries may spur a more cunning creature to awaken. While vowing never to be bound to serve another, he is not so rebellious to be brazenly impertinent; can, in fact, be as much of a gentlemen when necessary, and uses his charm to achieve his ends, and to achieve females to his den as well…but mostly bearing such a facade for the latter.
The silent, uncomprehending image of the brute speaks of an untruth to the conniving mind that works beneath, aware of his own faults and naivety that lack of comradely has caused him to be, and becomes mostly the reason of this self-imposed isolation. Yet unquenchable curiosity and the need to venture to uncharted terrain keeps him unrestrained, free to roam and chance at first opportunity. Though the inner workings remain an enigma still, full of unrecognized desires and only barely a hint of what path it steers him towards.
Fatal Flaw(s): What one might consider his biggest flaw to be is distrust. He’s yet to learn to count on others, in a questionable world where harm and death are met all too easily at the slightest blunder. Apathy towards others is also another, as he cares very little of who crosses his path, and often regards others as minor annoyances, or, in the case of females, fleeting pleasures to slake his lust. He is somehow also driven to images of security or intimacy; a luxury denied from him all his life, although under the belief that his upbringing has rendered him incapable of such an ability, and undeserving of it.
History: The tale of Ykro in a nutshell:
Ykro’s upbringing was of little importance, if you count for the fact that he was orphaned and raised by a kindly older wolf. And kindly if you meant insane. Although most would perceive the subject of insanity as one of mental disability, wholly victim to primitive impulses and unable to make any reasonable cognitive judgment, hers was a different sort; silent, unfathomable, so cleverly disguised, insignificant enough to be ignored. Only her young ward had the misfortune of dealing with the brunt of her schizophrenic tendencies as he grew under her care, perhaps even adopting a few of them himself. She was not his mother, nor did she act as one; he was not a pup to her, but a simple, nameless entity to whom she whispered her delusions of the world’s prosecution against her. Their relationship was of indifference, co-existing under mutual benefit – she provided him the necessities to live while he provided her companionship. From what she would condescend to share with him, he learned, adapting to his own philosophic view of the world seen through her eyes. It was a twisted ‘survival of the fittest’ belief of hers, where the powerful were revered and abused by the weak, and survival depended on their ability to break the bonds of reliance and make it on their own four paws. From another’s viewpoint, it might be taken as arrogance, but the she-wolf’s fear of them was genuine.
“They’re jealous of us. They hate us cause we’re stronger. We don’t need to depend on them. They think to use our strength but we keep them away. If you let them, they will use you. Never let them.” It was one among many whispered warnings he was told, of nightmarish creatures who would drag him to their abysmal realms if he strayed too close to their outreached claws. Disguised in their image to give them confidence, security; offering kindness and expecting its return, taking hold upon them like relentless leeches and refusing to release as their victims continued to struggle and err against them, giving them reason to further to war and rage until they were inevitably overpowered and consumed. Such was the fate of those who pledged their life upon those beasts, citing his own mother as one of the foolhardy.
“A beautiful lady, a peeress among wolves. She paved her own path under her own rules, unbridled and controlled by none. She faced them on her own, lived among their ranks as a lowly subordinate and worked her way up, trampling the beasts that stood in her way. Within the year, she had the entire pack in the palm of her paw. The lowly louts groveled at her feet, for they depended on her, latched on as they do and couldn’t afford to release their guiding haven.
“But…she was foolish. I warned her, I warned her a hundred times over, but she never listened. She took them for granted…you –never- take them for granted. She believed they needed her; she believed herself so powerful they couldn’t harm her. But that is what they do, wolf – they make you believe they are of no consequence to you, while they played upon their victim’s strings. They got her, too – even she wasn’t strong enough. They raped and stole her life, and when her power was used and drained, they left her and her child for dead. Count your lucky stars, wolf, that I saved you from her folly.”
He never did register the implications of the tale until later in his life, when he learned the casually-spoken words veiled a world of angst and bereavement, of seeing a loved one so wrongfully disgraced in the paws of those she trusted. This realization been what hardened his heart to the cold, impersonal creature he was; though he disregarded the majority of his guardian’s admonitions, through them he pieced together the story she refused to tell, coming to better know the danger she warned him against. Danger not in the form of otherworldly creatures looking for blood, but of regular, ordinary wolves that would take advantage of anyone of their own to continue their own miserable survival, most especially those they regarded as powerful, seeking shelter under their wing and disregarding them almost as swiftly when they’ve exhausted their use. They were, as she had so succinctly put it, lowly, worthless louts, lumping the whole of the wolven race into one equally loathed, indistinct mass, and they, the ones who dared break the conformity lest they shared his mother’s fate.
Despite the hatred against them, the pair could not always survive on their own, pure necessity forcing them to seek membership in nearby packs for the time being. Through these infrequent visits, he also learned of the way of packlife, though his earlier bias more often than not created a barrier between him and the wolves that housed them. It then became necessary of the guardian to teach him the proper ethics, to blend in and act as one of them. “Never let them know you know, wolf, of what they truly are.” He never did; verily, his mentor was adept in the art of deception, assuming such guises to suit the satisfaction of those who watched with critical glares, and he quick to pick on the intricacies, not for his own survival, but to meet his own desires. With fluent charm and somber demeanor, wolves were inexplicably drawn, honored and humbled by his brutal honesty and complete disregard to the rudiments of courtesy, though also solidifying the insurmountable wall that kept them from getting too close. Ironic that most wolves would look down upon creatures like him, unguided by morals, their vulgarity and guiltlessness considering them too barbaric to exist in modern society while it became the very thing that caused him climb their ranks. Had the she-wolf not insisted on their swift departure, he would have occupied the recently vacated Betan seat, his opposition gently but firmly dissuaded.
Life trundled on, of two vagabonds making the most of themselves. He grew stronger and she grew weak, age wearing upon her as the days counted down her inevitable end. The insanity worsened; she became completely inept to care for herself, much less him, but he had enough training and insight to take over the role of caregiver in her stead, feeling duteous enough to return the kindness given to him, if one would be so bold as to call it such. The new arrangement didn’t last for long, however. By some nature of accident, the she-wolf met her untimely end, her body splayed against the stones that tumbled the silvery thread of a river. Savaged, her once pristine white coat and powerful form decimated by the claw and fang of a larger predator. He was unmoved, staring for a time at the grisly scene before feasting on the cold meat (the activity was by no means enjoyable, but by the very law of nature it would be unforgivable to waste such on sympathies and respect), and followed the river down this new, lonesome path.
GOOD Role-play Examples: I apologize beforehand if I take this requirement loosely as using any RP example from any previous RP rather than an example for my own character, or at least another wolf. Unfortunately, the last RP site had a major overhaul and deleted their old threads and such, and much of it included my best RPs. I’ll will make one for Ykro if it becomes necessary (obviously, I’m too lazy to bother now. <3 ).
Example 1:
From: http://z10.invisionfree.com/Pokemon_Legacy...dpost&p=1993678
| QUOTE (Shadowheart) |
| Down the windswept path they watched, facing fate as black as the shadows that engulfed the horizon, Hell’s army nearing in a steadfast march, the rumble of their steps echoing the turbulent discord in the chests of every mortal to witness their approach. Lightning flashed and wind howled, and the sky wretchedly wept, begging the peoples to recant proud notions, to flee, to spare this day the rage of battle that would paint crimson the earth the blood of its denizens, mere puppets in an unworldly power struggle beyond comprehension. Inconsequential, ephemeral creatures in the face of antiquity as old as time itself, to what strength did they hope to possess that could possibly compare to or, lord forbid, outmatch those that were like unto Gods before man? Did one dare fight a God? And if so, then was destiny in their hands, for them to defy the facade of pure power that promised inevitable destruction? Perhaps some things were worth trying the hand of fate, to make one move, however insignificant, that would make right the imbalance, that would change the world. This was the fundamental drive of all live- to survive. By any means necessary. Even when desolation was all that stared back. Into the palm of the executive slipped the slender, softer one of those who didn’t fear power. Her hair swept behind her in a billowing cloud, slave to the wind and rain as it tossed about erratically around them, reflecting the ancient one’s ability to move the very elements against them. While her eyes were cast on the horizon on the approaching hoard, the radiance of their emerald glow reflected undaunted determination. Nothing else on her features spoke of fear nor confidence, but simply resigned; knowing her task, and determined to accomplish. Her voice was low, her words likely to be stolen by the wind before any could listen, but she fixated her superior’s attentions to her so he would not miss them. “It’s too convenient here, concentrated to a single point, directing the entirety of their attacks on us. Our goal may be to hinder their pursuit, but it doesn’t mean we have to make it easy on them.” Her eyes narrowed on him with a conniving glint. “I’m going to take them out on the blindside. Circle their ranks and stab them in the backs. If the others are too occupied with the rest of you, knowing us positioned at the front to keep them from advancing further, they wouldn’t think to account for an attack where they least expect it. Our small troupe shouldn’t threaten enough to merit that sort of confidence.” A spherical orb appeared in her other hand, and she released the creature she was confident enough to rely on. It held a grace as ethereal as any, draconic majesty mingled with avian blood. Her plumage- once a soft, unmarred white, with the likeness of clouds- was a disheveled mass of black that was akin to the abominable darkness that infested the sky, almost as if her form was part of the heavens and adapted to its current state. All the more in aiding to what the Altaria did best- stealth. She perched on the girl’s arm, apprehension reflected in her dark eyes at the sight of her airborne sanctuary defaced, feeling the tension of the impending cataclysm. “Aura’s going to serve as watch over the group,” she informed Jolt. “She’ll oversee the action, alert anyone in danger, relay messages to you…it shouldn’t be too difficult to understand her. She would only approach anyone if another of us is in danger, and would only approach you if I needed you for anything.” She passed a hand over the soft blue of her head, the color of the feathers there unchanged, reminding her of the infinite blue of a clear day. Although it struck a marked contrast to the surroundings, she could just as easily hide herself as she took flight, masquerading as another passing cloud, if only floating a little lower, and was vastly more mobile. No one would think to look twice at her as long as she did none of her more flashy attacks that gave away her position. The lightning that was more constant than normal would have posed a problem had she not gained the superior dragon element upon evolution, withstanding the majority of damage and now able to recover should she sustain too much. Hailing as a Pokemon bred and trained to serve the Legacy Police and uphold justice nationwide, Aura was specifically learnt in acting on her own accord for the benefit of her commander and her group. She couldn’t think of anyone more capable. With a nod, Jemilie sent her off, gaining altitude, soaring above the trainer’s heads. Pulling her head and limbs and tail out of sight, she was gone, another part of the sky. She finally let go of his hand, finding it sore, unaware she had been squeezing it. Her unfazed demeanor belied the anxiety behind it. She turned away before he could make comment. “I guess I’ll leave the fun part to you, then,” she finished cheerfully. |
| QUOTE (Shadowheart) |
| The girl’s jaw effectively dropped along with said pants, along with whatever confidence she managed to gather up to this point. Oh wow, oh god, oh damn it, damn it damn it he opened his pants DAMMIT. Notgoodnotgootnotgood! She wasn’t expecting that. Well…actually, she was sorta expecting it in about three for four more trades of sexy banter, but she apparently overestimated the man’s intelligence. Or patience. Didn’t these people ever heard of foreplay? She had the misfortune of turning her attention momentarily to his shadow, which was- how fitting- a Machoke, with an equally garish build and an expression that so matched his trainers that her trepidation heightened to unbearable levels. He’s gunna freakin’ rape me! “Uh…wow. That’s…uhm…wow.” She forced her breathing back to normal: deep, calm, even breaths. So it’s a…a…well, all men had it. Big deal! She used to wash with her brother (although they were still kids back then) so its not like its anything new. Although it was a whole lot bigger than what she was familiar with…those things can grow that big?! Hold! She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this. She was supposed to be manipulating him! For something…she couldn’t remember anymore. Must not have been important enough in light of new events. What’d she do now? He said something about ‘needs’…that did not coincide with anything she shot at him. Guessed it was true the male brain only thinks what it wants to think, cutting off anything else and twisting the words into ones that fit its one-track understanding. So another tirade was just going to be talking to a crumbling wall. Should she press the matter further? He might not be willing to wait another second more. Fight? Could she actually handle that equally huge and frighteningly creepy beast he had with him? …The Machoke. She was referring to the Machoke. Decisions, decisions. She had to think hard about what she’d been telling herself the last few days: Things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Although that was inviting trouble, it was also a reminder that she had thus far only taking little leaps of faith and came out reasonably fine. She could do this. Alrighty. Here we go. “I guess that sounds fair…” she said carefully, toying with the dark lace straps on her shoulder, the façade of calm working back on her face and eyes carefully averted above his waist. She hoped to god she wasn’t flushing. “Although…” fingers pulling lower. “I…don’t know what you like to see. Maybe you can come here and…help me?” Her back turned, coyly looking over her shoulder and drawing a strap downwards. Oh boy, she was asking for it. The Pokemon were giving her questioning looks, unsure of the situation. Her face was obviously distressed, but she was hesitating. She stuck out her chin, giving all of them a small, straight command. “I want…” All eyes raised expectantly. Yes? “I...want you all…to RUN!” She shot ahead. The others reacted a precious second afterwards, close on the heels of a girl shrieking madly and running like hell hot on her heels. “HE'S GUNNA RAPE ME! Oh, god help, he’s armed and he’s not afraid to use it!” ...Jemilie, the queen of smoothness. |
| QUOTE (Glitch n' Glide) |
| Gyro was exactly where she had expected to find him; lounging on his private hilltop that overlooked the vast ocean surrounding the island. It was his favorite haunt and Star knew how he felt about it…as well as having unexpected company intrude while he enjoyed such peaceful splendor. Still, she had come for a reason, and he knew her visits were rare enough that she would not simply drop by without something of merit to his attention. And she was still his granddaughter…he wouldn’t be so heartless to deny her his company, even if he was, at his age, getting pretty grumpy. The old lion was at ease on the grass, a pipe betwixt his furry lips releasing a stream of smoke in the air, while old cerulean eyes gazed placidly into the golden-hued horizon. The song of seagulls floated in the distance, along with the undertone of the ocean’s whisper as it rolled and crashed and rose and fell in an unending dance of infinity. One would have to be heartless to disturb such peaceful splendor… “You’re here. Might as well sit down.” Gyro patted the grass beside him, never once moving his eyes away. Star sighed. Old cat was still sharp. She barely made a sound and already he knew she was there. Silently, she sidled up to him and brought her knees to her chest, less interested in watching the sunset than he was. She did not speak immediately, however, letting the scene overtake her senses in hopes of calming the unrest inside her before she began. She discovered it didn’t really help much when her grandfather finally commented, “You’ve got a disturbing aura there, girl. The world can’t reflect the peace when peace isn’t in your heart.” She begun to wring at her fingers now, wondering if she should just leave the matter alone. She knew her grandfather didn’t like talks of topics of this subject matter, and was usually implied, if never explained explicitly, to be forbidden to. She knew that well enough without him having to explain, but the silence was eating her up in the inside, and just now, as she awaken from her nap, it reached to a new intolerable level…in her dreams. For her sanity, even if it risked incurring her grandfather’s ire, she had to say something. “Maybe…because its not peace my heart recognizes,” she stared shakily, carefully avoiding his eyes. An inquiring hum was his response, and she looked morosely before her. “The seagulls sound like the shrieks of women and children being slain, the ocean’s whisper like the march of hundreds of murderers in the distance. And the sunset looks more to me like the afterglow of a thousand lives lost in the course of the day.” Gyro make a choking sound and pulled out the pipe, staring at her as if she sprung a new leak in her head. “What the hell…do you even know what your blabbering on about, girl? Answer me!” “That’s just it! I don’t know!” She buried her head in her hands, a sob shaking her small form. “I just know I had a dream about it. A dream where I was on the battlefield, in a land I knew was my home. The houses around me were burning and people were running for their lives, from enemies that struck down anyone that got within their reach. No one was spared…they were trying to fight…I was trying to fight, to protect them…” She opened her eyes, stared at the grass between her fingers, imagining the barren ground from her nightmare, flickering orange red from the burning buildings and stained dark with blood shed from her blade. “I...I was killing them grandpa. Those people that were killing my people. I…wasn’t sure why I was. I thought I was doing it to protect them, to defend my homeland… “…But I was enjoying it. Making their blood spill on the ground. Watching the life drain from their eyes. I did it again and again, just to see how differently the next one would react. I don’t think I even cared if I suddenly cutting down my own people. I think…I think…I killed you and mom, too. I saw your bodies on the ground. I think…I-I-” she choked, unable the stand the ugly image her words painted and looked pleadingly at Gyro, whose façade had become stormy. She knew she was treading on unstable ground now, but she couldn’t back away. “…It didn’t feel like just a dream, grandpa,” she said lowly. “I felt like I was really there. The heat, the grit, the blood on my skin…is there something wrong with me? What if I’m just like….m-mom? Maybe I should’ve left with her too…” Mom…she wouldn’t have stood having her at her side. After her defeat in grandpa’s hands, she probably would have found it fit to redeem herself, if even to a small degree, by killing her own daughter, another disgrace in the face of her life. Her swift rejection still bore a deep, bleeding hole in her heart, one that time couldn’t heal. What if it worsened enough that she ended up repeating what her mother had done: let the anger and hate eat up at her so much to want to make others suffer as much pain as she did? And would she feel regret…or enjoy their suffering, just as she enjoyed the massacre in the dream? The silence was no longer calm, rife with the same silent turmoil that had been storming against her insides some moments ago. Her grandfather no longer looked at her, staring into the distance lost in thought, puffing hard on his pipe. Star shrunk away from him and curled back in her knee-chest position, wishing she could just disappear. She knew telling him would be a bad idea. He probably thinks I’m psycho now. And why not? I think I am, too. Before the last of the light disappeared over the dark waters, the great lion finally stood. Leaning heavily on his cane, he turned and headed straight for home, without a single word or comment to her. She felt her heart sink, watching his massive form turn away, and felt a stinging familiarity that threatened to choke her. Just like mother… “You’re just going to walk away without saying anything?” she shouted after him, desperation making her voice raise a pitch. “You’re just going to turn your back on me like mom did, am I right? Couldn’t you at least tell me to my face that you don’t want me around? Or if I’m crazy. Just say anything, please…” The old lion stopped in place. Turned. Looked directly at her, old blue gaze holding hers in an imprisoning lock. And he told her to her face, toneless and without malice: “It was just a dream, girl. It means nothing. Now its dark and I wanna go home. Stay up here all night and ponder for all I care. What you do is your own decision, and no damn dream or anyone else is going to tell you what to do. Grow up, girl!” His voice hadn’t been loud, but the power they commanded held her breath for just a moment. A moment was all he needed to continue his departure undisturbed, and before long he had disappeared over the hilltop’s curve. Around her, twilight descended, and with it the chill of the coming night. Somehow, she found the darkness comforted her more than the sunset had. |
Maya Vechita - June 27, 2008 01:23 PM (GMT)
It looks good! Please wait for Hyppo or Zephy to also confirm your acceptance and give you your wolf's new marking. Please be sure to get a table. If you don't have one, request one in the Painted Paws forum, someone will get to you shortly. ^_^
Vienna Ri - June 27, 2008 04:49 PM (GMT)
