Title: Dino Valentini.
Dino Valentini - July 10, 2008 04:25 AM (GMT)
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DON’T WAKE ME CAUSE I’M DREAMING OF ANGELS ON THE MOON
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Blahhhh. I hate applications. : P The coding was done by hyppo on one of her
brilliant tables, and edited slightly by me. I hope you don't mind that I use it! <3
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<Br>WHERE EVERYONE YOU KNOW NEVER LEAVES TO SOON
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<p> .the roleplayer
<p>
Name/Nickname: Emma, nowadays. But, some of you may know me as Ivy. : 333 (pokes akira)
<p>
Where did you hear about us?: After taking a little break from the role playing world, I decided I’d go on a walk down memory lane, trying to find some of the old sites I played at. When I saw that you guys were still alive and kicking, I think I nearly died. I loved role playing with all of you lovely people last time… how could I not rejoin? ( by the way, I’m so sorry I disappeared on you guys! high school kinda exploded on me. : P )
<p>
.the character
<p>
Name: Dino Valentini. [ pronounced; dee – no. not die – no.
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Nicknames: none. dino makes sure of that.
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Gender: male.
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Age: three years.
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Breed: 25% mackenzie valley wolf && 75% arctic wolf.
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Family:
<p>
Bruno Valentini – father – alive.
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Giorgetta Santoro – mother – unknown.
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Ceasare Valentini – brother – alive.
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Ettore Valentini – brother – alive.
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Pietro Valentini – brother – deceased.
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Luca Lombardi (Valentini) – adoptive brother – alive.
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Serge Santoro – step-brother – unknown.
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Otello Santoro – step-brother – unknown.
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Dezi Santoro – step-brother – deceased.
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Zeta Santoro – step-sister – alive.
<p>
Appearance:
<p>
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, The Valentini-Santoro-Lombardi family could often be described one of three ways ; distinguished, intelligent, or drop dead gorgeous-in-an-totally-droll-and-stereotypical-way. Once upon a time, Dino would have considered the latter one of his best assets; with the brilliant ivory hue of his full and proportionally flattering coat, his inheritively massive and structured figure just short of being god-like in the eyes of countless females, and a pair of surprisingly average golden irises with an extraordinarily lively spark. Of course, seeing as when things seem to good to be true, and they are, fate couldn’t allow such a self confident, dirt-for-morals arrogant jerk to have such an enviously handsome appearance.
<p>
The niche seemed like a sufficient punishment.
<p>
Well, karma is a bitch, isn’t it?
<p>
So nowadays, Dino Valentini isn’t exactly what you’d call picture perfect, nor was he in any of the days following his awakening. His fur, no longer soft, full and glittering, now hangs in course clumps across his hardened frame, hardly resembling it’s afore mentioned pure ivory color, much less any certain distinguishable color at all. Sometimes, when the young Valentini works up enough enthusiasm to bathe it, his coat retains some of its acclaimed pre-niche glory, but in a tougher, grungier way. But much like his coat, almost every aspect of his appearance has been hardened with resilience and refusal to give in to the sufferable conditions of the niche… with unusual results. Dino’s build, strong and capable by default, although still structurally the same, is something indisputably changed. Although he had never been much of an eater in his days above ground, the somewhat sparse feeding conditions of his prison made it even more difficult for him to build up his health, and easier for Dino to melt away into skin and bones. His muscles may still cling to his being in abundance, still firm from his constant wanderings, but in a way that makes it easier to visually dissect all of the places that once used to store healthy doses of fat.
<p>
Despite his less than healthy weight, everything about him retains a brash yet deadly air. The way he walks without making so much as a shuffle (but really, making all the noise in the world with his snarky grin and animated gaze.), or the way his abnormally lengthy tail sways subconsciously back and forth when he studies another, and the angular, defined way his spine slopes gently in between his narrow shoulder blades; everything his is, in essence, is harsh, sharp, and alert. In an expression that feigns devilish, Dino Valentini’s face has, unusually, harnessed more of the male’s character over the many months he spent trapped in the niche that it ever had before. The flat, angular planes that display his uniquely bitter yet spicy features are encased by skin that seems to be stretched to it’s breaking point, extremely taut – making his cheekbones protrude and hooded brow bone even more potent.
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Dino’s ears, fringed with a soft layer of long creamy hairs, fan out drastically as his jaw steepens, ending in a small mesh of shorter stubble on his chin. At the crown of his ivory flared head, is a mass of subtly off-white fur that slopes gradually down to the tip of his moistened nose, and then further still up until the center of his underbelly. That same color, milky and rich as ever, takes another trip down the lengths of his lithe forelegs, complimenting the stark, if not ashen white that otherwise consumes Dino’s compact figure. A furry bundle of course hair and silver hues sprout from the youngest Valentini’s rump in the form of a long and tattered tail. The hair, although still flawless in color, wears thin around this region of his body, paling slightly in comparison to the classic volume of the average arctic wolf. Narrow, almond carved spheres of vibrant yellow peer out blandly at the world from behind Dino’s ivory lids, commonly idle and sharp in a way that almost steams with mockery and intensity. His bright and calculating golden stare is flecked with light hints of a tarnished bronze color, the same hue joining together in a thin rim around the exterior of his iris. With such a startling and stunning appearance, Dino’s eyes only multiply his haunted and deathly attributes to an even further extent.
<p>
Personality:
<p>
As far back as he can remember, before Dezi and Zeta, and even before the niche, Dino Valentini was always known for wearing his personality out on his metaphorical sleeves for everyone to see. He takes pride in the fact that he’s got nothing to hide and nothing to lose, and instead thinks that the best way to approach people is by bearing it all and being real. Perhaps this is a noble goal, being real and never hiding, but perhaps you’ve never met Dino. After all, some things are better left unsaid. But first and foremost, it’s very important to understand that this young brute is in no way quiet, meek, reclusive, bashful, nervous or anything reminiscent of such words. In fact, the brutally honest and in-your-face tendencies of this wolf are often described as, well… the opposite. Loud, aggressive, dry, sarcastic, vulgar, opinionated and shameless to an indecent extreme. Yeah, I bet you’re just dying to meet him.
<p>
Within his large, though albeit slightly dysfunctional family, there is an unspoken rule of thumb; if you want to be acknowledged, do something about it. There is nothing more servile and submissive in any Valentini’s mind that sitting back and watching your siblings up-stage you and leave you feeling helpless but to sit back and hope to deal with it. Dino has, over time, come to cope with this fact to a whole new level of understanding and realization. What with growing up surrounded by older, stronger, and no doubt more mature older brothers, Dino turns his odd-man-out status into quite the spectacle to behold… by being a total rebel. More famously known for his big and completely uncensored mouth, this ivory male actually has the guts to take pride in everything he says, without so much as a single regret. He often has tendencies to believe that he is one of the few wolves in the clan that’s truly brave enough to act in reflection to who they truly are, and doesn’t even try to bid pity to those who don’t. In fact, there isn’t much that you could ask Dino without getting a blunt and honest answer in return, and much more. He’ll tell you if he thinks you’re unattractive, if the way you flirt makes you sound desperate and pitiful, and even if the way that muscle underneath your eye makes you look older (usually with a selectively colorful language and tone that can leave even the most mature of ears blushing).
<p>
But Dino’s mouth isn’t the only thing that has a mind of its own. This young wolf’s body language, aggression, emotion and intensity have the ability to speak mountains more than his words ever could. To put it politely, Dino is in no way afraid to persistently invade your personal space to get his point across, whatever that thought may be. To up it un-politely, the youngest Valentini will not hesitate to back you up into a corner, in an all but violent manner, nearly (if not actually) slamming his head with the opposer’s with such intensity and proximity that if his companion wasn’t sure of his capability and willingness before, then they most certainly are now. Now this is not to say that every hostile encounter he has ever had has left his opponents paralyzed or emotionally offset, and Dino has come to find that a sick part of him enjoys when a simple disagreement escalates into all out emotional throw down. It’s almost sad and disappointing for him to think that these kinds of encounters are the only thing that makes him feel like he’s not a total freak of nature to be looked upon as a simple barbarian. But really, there’s no avoiding it; Dino is one emotional cannonball that’s come to the point where explosions are now one of the only things that can guarantee his peace of mind.
<p>
Pretty damn whacked up, right? Although it may surprise many to hear, this odd man out can slip in a few good personality traits between his rude comments and brash attitude. When he’s not breathing down your neck in pompous arrogance, one may find that Dino has but a single loophole for the rest of his less than desirable personality… intelligence. He’s always tried to hone this particular skill since day one, ever since the day he decided he wasn’t going to be just another Valentini, and holds a quick wit over the heads of his brawnier and less mentally endowed relatives. Once the yelling stops and sanities return, a surprising wealth of knowledge and civility can be revealed in the most unlikely of people. To those rare few that have enough will and self motivation to put up with him, Dino’s got a rare sense of humanity and approachability that he reserves for those few and far between occasions. Sarcasm too is often a popular method of reasoning when it comes to the cream colored male, and when uttered in the right state of being and good conscious, can be a very redeeming quality; almost making up for his complete lack of suave charm. Dino’s humor, however dry and scathing it ay be, has the eerie knack of making any situation seem a little less intimidating and a little more comical, and never fails to encourage a laugh.
<p>
“Well, forgive me if I ain’t exactly puking up rainbows and butterflies.”
<p>
Generally speaking, Dino isn’t exactly your average extrovert.
<p>
Fatal Flaw(s):
<p>
So, I can assume that we all know by now that Dino’s mind isn’t exactly in the right place, but there a few aspects of his personality that prompt the notion that he was definitely not cast into the niche by accident. As if the extreme lack of control that he has over his emotions, his actions, and his mouth isn’t enough, Dino’s got about as much trust in everyone and anyone around him as a rabbit may have in a coyote. He unconsciously assumes the worst in everyone with little reason, and purposefully gives no one any reason to trust him back. Unsurprisingly, with the young Valentini being the die-hard pessimist that he is, Dino loves to get a negative rise out of others. His infamously instigating comments are somewhat of a reassurance for his own blemished self conscious, reminding him that, yes, no one is perfect and yes, deep down there is no such thing as being ‘pretty on the inside’. Dino’s got himself convinced that everyone lies, cheats, steals and lusts after unimportant things as he does, and attempts to exploit these flaws as a way of comforting himself in his own imperfection.
<p>
History:
<p>
private. You’ll see how messed up he is soon enough. : )
<p>
GOOD Role-play Examples:
<p><p>
uno. razael.
<p>
Fuzzy blades of frightfully water-deprived grass stood stark and still in the hot, breezeless night, crumpling pitifully amongst themselves in a broken mess of dried creams and drowns. All sounds, familiar to the territory or not, seemed far more scarce and muffled than the typical would-be commotion of densely wooded terrain. A black, almost unbearably thick blanket of hollow darkness had swallowed everything in the once recognizable territory of Amaraj that night, only adding to the immense strain that the heat held over its inhabitant’s heads. The noble, sky breaching mountains on the western edge of the dull horizon sat frozen in an ageless stupor, as always, blending easily into the impending night like solitary soldiers looming in the distance. Even the giant, crater marred moon appeared to dim gloomily as the clouds formed hazy barriers around its glowing form… The Amaraj pack lands, once so memorable and majestic, now stood in a certain silence that seemed so foreign and unrecognizable.
<p>
Had he really been gone that long?
<p>
Just for a moment, the blackened and charred appearance of the shadowy terrain blurred slightly before vanishing completely, only to reappear shortly once more in the emotionlessly indifferent gaze of another, similarly hued creature of the night. The shimmery, almost translucent golden color of the dark figure’s eyes shifted slowly across the ebony horizon line tartly, observing the high mountains in the near distance all the way to the dying vegetation beneath his feet. His lips, thin and pursed, twitched lightly at the corners of his mouth, tugging his stark expression into a mild frown; and as if on que, his obsidian brows creased and knit together thoughtfully. He could already tell his tail had begun to draw gentle indentations in the prickly grass below, calmly and cautiously, calculatedly and expertly—thinking. A heartbeat, soft and relaxing in its calming rhythm, thumped carefully against Razael’s ribcage like the gentle hum of a feline’s sleepy purr. One intake, a silent exhale. One breath, followed by another; each and every one just as refined and particular as the one before. It was an ideal stereotypical thinking position if there ever was one, but…
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This wasn’t right.
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Raz didn’t need to think.
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There was nothing- no one left in Amaraj.
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There was nothing.
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What else was there to dwell on? Perhaps… perhaps he should ponder the reason he was here, standing alone, in the virtual heart of his barren territory? Or maybe, he would wonder to himself how everything, from the fertile soil to the deep thickets, stank of the sweltering bitter scent of dead carcasses… And as an after thought, he could consider pondering why, exactly, his great pack was nowhere to be found. But Razael’s sharp common sense had given an answer to all of these questions only seconds after his hesitant return to the Timberline two nights earlier. Two forevers earlier. The smell, the initial sensation of wanting to hurl, and the overpowering feeling of dread—it was all there, just like it had been one and a half years ago. Raz remembered, ever since that day, the horror he had felt when he and Clea had found the mauled body of her father just outside the territory’s border, decaying and ridden by ants. Death had been such a big matter to him, back then; when his mind hadn’t fully developed to the point of maturity, and his stomach couldn’t begin to cope with the churning sensation… But back then, he was also stupid enough to make a thoughtless joke about it, a careless joke about a matter that clearly shattered a heart just moments after it was uttered.
Now things were different; everything had changed. Razael finally submitted to the fact that everyone has to keep growing up, no matter how much they think themselves adults—And he did try to grow up. Hard. In a time period of no more than a week, the young canine had successfully banned any and all traces of outward expression. He attempted, if feebly, to engross himself in his duties in hopes to redeem himself of some self pride, if not banish some of the swelling guilt that bubbled up inside of him whenever he saw Clea. Her face, simple and by no means stunning of hideous, had flashed through his mind on a near daily basis after the incident; everything from her cracked and defeated expression, to the heart dropping loneliness that spread across her soft emerald eyes, everything was still crystal clear in his memory.
<p>
‘I-I can’t,’
<p>
Somewhere, along the demanding and time consuming course of his life, he must have missed something. Like a small detail unnoticed and overlooked, Razael’s being as a member of the Amaraj pack, as a wolf in general, was missing something. It was as if something never clicked in his normally sharp and alert conscious; but, of course, he was far to busy pushing himself away from reality to notice. In his mind, he was all he deserved to be—a hard working Lead spy, always putting his best skills forward in order to get the job done… When in reality, there’s a little bit more to the story. In reality, he was the cold shouldered shadow that was known for his sneaky ways and smart tricks, but also for his diverted, self righteous blindness.
<p>
‘I can’t believe you.’
<p>
No one deserved to be treated like that. Not one person he knew. Not Clea, the chatty little bundle of stubborn shallowness. Not Syscla, Amaraj’s calm but insanely loyal Batess. And his alphas. No, Isrves and Astil most defiantly didn’t deserve to be stuck with a silently ignorant excuse for a member. Razael’s alpha male, the very wolf to grant him his lead position, surely hadn’t strived to become pack leader to be bothered with his very presence. Sure, Raz had his moments of polite formality, where in he would address his superiors with ‘sirs’ and ‘misses’, but he has never once uttered ‘thank you’ or ‘you’re welcome’. His mannerisms, barely extending beyond the barriers of the ability to carry a decent conversation, could never measure up to what his alphas, his beta, and the rest of his pack members deserved.
<p>
‘You jerk.’
<p>
Abruptly, Razael’s ebony figure stood, rustling the crumpled grass softly as he rose from his sitting position. A small, momentary blink of his obsidian donned lids was all it took to clear his sickly golden eyes of their dazed stare. His ivory claws, which he subconsciously knew he had been staring at intensely for the past minute of two, shuffled soundlessly against themselves as he turned his entire body slowly in the direction of the oncoming wind front. Therch Lake, so craftily hid by the starless reflection of the night’s sky sat as still as the creature himself, glass like and undisturbed by the usual brightness of the moon’s glow. Razael’s lithe body, sore and cramped in select places from his travels, quivered and shook as the intimate drop in temperature took finally took hold of his senses; but he stood, still and frozen regardless, gazing tartly at the black lake before him—A face carved by the devil but furnished by angels, etched firmly with regretless thoughtlessness. That was Razael Devnak Castello; Cold, indifferent, pack less and hopeless… And he had nothing to ponder but the question of weather his decision to return to Amaraj was really worth the trouble.
<p>
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<p>
That was nearly four hours ago; four fathomless hours of aimless wandering, something Razael had oddly become accustomed to, and unsurprisingly enough, the passing of time did little to antidote Amaraj’s dry and hazy atmosphere. But he didn’t even have to open his sickly yellow eyes in order to acknowledge the approaching dawn. The placid flicker of his ebony lids upon the twin pools of glassy lemon quickened gradually as the blossoming hues of pinkish violet opened the limitless sky into a silent symphony of light and color. However, despite the fluttering persistence of the early morning sunlight, Raz didn’t oblige; he, dutiful as he was, coincidentally found this the ideal time to catch up on some well deserved sleep. Here, below the thick canopy of willows and oaks that fruitfully made up the pack’s western border, was a part of his territory that was most famously known as The Timberline… And over the years, it lived up to its name decently enough. It was in this long stretch of sun-shielding foliage that many a wolf had come- for whatever reason, really; perhaps loners to seek acceptance, or pack members to find reprieve from the pressures of life. Razael could think of countless reason for just about anything in the mountainous territory, and for some peculiar reason, he had a stalwart hunch that it wasn’t just his subconscious that lead him to his current location.
<p>
“Hn.” The monotonous drone of his ear pleasing baritone echoed forignly on the tip of his tongue, somewhat summing his broken distaste for his current predicament into one syllable of useless sound. Even after the sound of his voice had disappeared into his still and foggy surroundings, the obsidian male couldn’t help scowl lightly at its stale tone. But… inwardly, he wasn’t surprised. To date, he calculated, it seemed he hadn’t spoken to anyone in at least an entire month—much to the chagrin of his under used vocals. And perhaps to the chagrin of his friends and family, he preferred it that way. In his eyes, upon discovering his distinct personality and disposition as a whelp, solitude was something one couldn’t seem to get enough of in the life of a pack. Growing up, there was something soft, quiet, and uniquely attractive about the thought of life as a lon-
<p>
Clunk.
<p>
And so came the day when our favorite spy discovered the true meaning of ‘speaking to soon.’
<p>
Suddenly, every aspect of Razael’s formerly dormant senses shone with pristine clarity, and the dull glow of his sleep consumed eyes transformed into his infamously known half-lidded glare. The sound was gentle, muffled even, but every part his consciousness told him that, whatever it was, it was close by. The glistening tuffs of Raz’s deep chocolate fur rose stiffly in self awareness as his perfect mask of cool indifference hardened across his muzzle, spurring the slight turn of his dark head in the direction of the disturbance. Clunk. Now he not only heard it, but he smelt it too; the sharp, pungent sent of a pack less rogue, seemingly just awoken from a deep slumber. The smell, so defined and stark against the diluted aroma of sap and dandelions, sent a small wave of curiosity racing up and down Razael’s spine as said wolf clambered silently to his paws. He knew he could have ignored it. He knew with all of his duty required sense, he should have turned and walked away… But now it was too late, for not moments after he had roused himself, did Raz find himself gazing idly at the wolf responsible for the brief racket. That, along with an oddly suspicious looking pinecone. This time when he spoke, the melody was clear barely a note above a whisper, and his brilliant knack for sounding almost a little to casual was seeping from the seams of his reply.
<p>
“Something you want?”
<p><p>
dos. akira.
<p>
“Rebo…” The smell tumbled into his nostrils so suddenly, he almost winced. A suffocating aroma of dried copped fused with an unmistakable dose of scorched fur rose from the volcano’s base with the forceful pull of the storms deadly up draft.
<p>
“Akira-sama…”
<p>
It smelled like blood, pungent and fresh. And through the thick stench that curled itself around his suddenly ridged and faltering constricted, Akira could just make out the muffled thunder of one of the Newfoundland’s earth quaking breaths. The ivory hued male only hesitated for the slightest moment after he received an encouraging nod from Rebo before twisting on the spot, silver irises wide and alive with adrenaline, His mud coated claws splashing murky rainwater in his wake as his powerful sprint morphed into a dead run… But he had only managed to wear away a couple more minutes of relative solitude before he was accompanied again, by yet another shadowy canine. Almost as if a small patch of the night’s black abyss had been parted before him, a massive, greatly muscled shape peppered with alabaster and obsidian had literally appeared out of know where to match Akira’s determined stride. Neither of them spoke, or even attempted to verbalize over the angry howl of the monsoon’s storm, and the Hokkaido prodigy didn’t even require the assistance of the far of flash of lightning to tell who had gained him.
<p>
The rich, shinning golden eyes gave it away almost immediately.
<p>
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<p>
Just as soundlessly and as gracefully as it had come, the small tendrils of peachy sunlight had slipped out of sight, and the underground network of stone caverns were once again shrouded in inky darkness. The otherwise commonplace din of the chattery ravens and soothing owls had been replaced by an eerie and surreal silence; accompanied only on a rare occasion by the repetitive trickle of some far off water source. A vast, swimming sky of blackened and age worn marble extended much farther than he would hope to see, weaving itself through the awe inspiring Heaven’s Eyeglass and all the way around the gaping mouth of the great Main Cavern. That same rocky substance, Akira had earlier noticed, began to grow duller and increasingly more ashen as the gloomy tunnels shrunk and narrowed, their once sharp stalagtites now blunt and garbed with moss. Unsurprisingly, this new, musty and humid environment helped little to better the male’s commonly sour mood. As his journey progressed, his could feel the ivory fonds of his own fur dampen and deflate, clinging to his toned figure like a second skin. The slick and distinctive way Akira’s voluptuous tail curled nonchalantly against his hind legs had dissolved, and in its place remained an almost unnatural stick-straight posture that hung menacingly level with his broad shoulders; Oddly enough, the ‘no nonsense’ expression plastered on Akira’s defined features didn’t help to soften his appearance either.
<p>
But the pinning adrenaline pounding in his ears wouldn’t allow him to care. His insistently urgent pace, the pitiless scream of his memories, and the sole knowledge that Roquelle Kerue, mystery subject extraordinaire, might not be quite as mysterious as Akira thought kept him moving…
<p>
Because he remembered.
<p>
He remembered everything.
<p>
The spur-of-the-moment recollection had sent Akira into such an advanced state of shock, he may as well have been hit by a ton of bricks. In the back of his mind, though he was always thinking back to the surreal oddity of the honey eyed female’s scar, there had always been a bitter sweet familiarity about the clearly intentional infliction that pulled at the Hokkaido’s conscious from the very beginning. And now he knew why. Ever since realization had dawned, and ever since he had unintentionally strayed from Basha’s side in his silently baffled reprive, countless images of Kerue’s bubbly face danced in Akira’s mind; The way her vibrantly exuberant disposition initially clashed with his stiff, significantly cooler attitude. He was constantly reminded of how the female’s open and outgoing presence had initially stirred something raw and familiar somewhere in the back of his mind, while her soft greeting skipped and danced over his memories like a broken record. ‘Konichiwa… Konichiwa… I think a very large male may be here… Kinda big and stupid-looking… you've probably heard of him, With the Xecca Ichimi?’
<p>
Oh God, she knew him.
<p>
Up until now, Akira’s wanderings throughout the labyrinth of grimy tunnels and shale walls had been painfully fruitless, but the dull pulses of light emitting from a small gap in the distance drove him forward. The ivory male could tell by the enticing silver light seeping through the cracks above his head that night seemed to have fallen once more upon the world above, allowing only a few teasing bits of starlight grace the fathomless underworld below. At least, fathomless to anyone but the one’s who were trapped within it; as it was becoming very clear to Akira, he suspected that Roquelle and Basha were beginning to find the whole experience very, very real. However, his attention began to spiral almost immediately from the dark, dew covered walls of the tunnel when the caves mouth itself opened up into a staggering archway that could easily house an ocean. Bits and pieces of the wide stone room’s ceiling appeared to have given way over time, unconsciously allowing the ominous skies of what Akira was beginning to refer to as, ‘the real world’, stare down spitefully upon The Niche’s inhabitance. Coupled by the overwhelming stench of salt water, the landscape (or rather, seascape) that surrounded the Ivory male was a sight that took his breath away. An ocean, as vast and endless as the Pacific, seemed to reach far beyond his line of sight; stopping abruptly against the strangely sunless backdrop at least miles away. But the monstrous water body took little away from the beds upon beds of sea grasses and kelp forests that surrounded it.
<p>
<span title= ‘God…’> “Kami…” </span>Akira’s damp coat of dense alabaster glistened and sparkled against the bold reflection of the stars as he descended from the cave’s mouth, his sharp silver eyes flickering back and forth across the landscape in consistent rhythm with the clicking of his claws against the granite. He pushed himself forward into a lush meadow of reeds in the midst of his newly found curiosity, needless to say far too wrapped up in the amazing visage before him to notice an unlodged rock tumble into the black water below. Splash.
<p>
After hearing the unforgettable melody dance circles teasingly around his brain for the past few quiet hours, Akira couldn’t mistake Roquelle Kerue’s giggling voice when it split the caverns eerie silence, barely above a whisper. It sounded better out loud, he mentally admitted, its tune softer and much more gentle against his ear drums than the one within his memory. “Akira-kun?” This time when the female spoke, he wasted no time nosing his way through the weeds and cattails to meet here face to face, his formerly stiff and ridged nerves oddly put top rest by Roquelle’s suddenly close presence. Akira had only just begun to fought his way across the merciless vegetation before he caught sight of her petite figure stumbling backwards (rather gracelessly), into a small tide pool behind her. The incident, so very innocent and clumsy in proportion, didn’t cease to bring a tiny smirk to the Hokkaido’s lips in remembrance; the image of Roquelle’s tumble through the bushes upon their first meeting still fresh in his mind. 'Konban wa misutaa bikkuri shimasu san!'
<p>
The smirk grew. “Likewise, Kerue-chan.” He acknowledged the water logged harlot with a decidedly calm expression; lips sloping gracefully into a content but cool grin, his posh stature tall and commanding, with a lightly bemused light glittering in the back of his twin pools of silvery gray. His weight was fair and evenly distributed between each of his powerful limbs as he stood, light footed before his companion’s dripping physique… But, If anything, acting aloof and confident was the one skill the ivory male had truly honed in his favor. When in doubt, there was almost no one that could penetrate Akira’s cold bubble of practiced façade; it was reliable. Whenever there was a problem back home that needed solving, or an unforgivable tragedy that needed to be overcome, Akira Hokkaido could always pull out his trademark ‘nothing to it’ smirk with a presence the screamed of certainty even when, on the inside, he was screaming in panic. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Roquelle.” When He felt himself cock his head to the side casually as he beckoned to her with his nose, he felt his insides clench with anxiety simultaneously. “About you’re scar… and this, ‘Xecca Ichimi’” A calm pitter patter of nails upon stone, a series of vicious thuds in his ribcage.
<p>
“… You wouldn’t happen to know any Fletchers, would you?”
<p>
All he hoped was that his acting was as good as he thought it was.
<p><p>
tres. deirdre.
<p>
“Hmmmm.”
<p>
“…”
<p>
“Hmmmm.”
<p>
“… ah.”
<p>
“Mmhmm…”
<p>
“Hey, Moog, you’re doing it wrong.”
<p>
Beautiful rainbows of glistening sandy hues stumbled gracefully to the fertile forest floor, crumpling violently under the immense pressure of their host’s bony build. A mildly coarse and unbelievably filthy mane of rusty cream shook feverishly in bitter frustration as another set of agitated shivers danced across the figure’s spine unwillingly. Slanted, tightly clenched orbs of a blackened gray flittered and twitched under the pressure of their closed lids; screaming silently at that obnoxious twittering near the back of his mind. The bright, steamed flash of pearly ivory canines glittered dully in the sun baked clearing, all the while clattering against one another as Jacque “Moogle” Sedgwick bit back one more of his throughty growls. A sullen, non-pulsed feeling of recognition twisted and churned gloomily in the pit of the scrawny male’s stomach as he felt the jubilant hum of his ‘partner’s’ mocking chuckle quake a feet to his rear. With only so much time to clear his head of all obscene thoughts and curses, he stood upright swiftly, futily hoping to delay his next confrontation by sucking in a few more calming breaths. Maybe he should just ignore her. Maybe it would just be best to simply…
<p>
Sharp and nearly colorless eyes of peppered gray peered tentatively at his sun bathed surroundings from the protection of his acutely narrowed lids. The blurry, tear diluted shapes of the huge oaks and timeless pines swayed gently within his vision until they, finally began to take form. The shimmering glare of the mid-day sun bounced idly around the small plane of lush grass in a flurry of colors and light, drenching the many boulders and stray stumps with a warm, summery glaze. The soft buzz of the unseen locus rose steadily from an invisible speaker somewhere in the distance, dying just in time for the pleasant squabble of chickadees to soar above Jacque’s head in a small package of feathers and sound. With his head resting comfortably upon his set shoulders, coal esque eyes widened generously as they themselves became accustomed to the light. Jacque could still feel the fiery amber gaze of his slender counter part boring questioningly into the small of his back, leering silently at him with every bit of burning passion that was Roxanne. He could only imagine her sly smirk glazed with amused pleasure, and he could clearly see the light hearted bounce in her step as heard her dainty footsteps amplify behind him... But he dared not to look, for as painfully obvious as it was, Moogle knew that behind this façade, something was definitely wrong. “Jacque, look at me.” Her soft, velvety tone compelled him to do just that. It was always easy to tell when Roxanne “Dimond” Augustana needed someone’s attention. It was like this compulsive twitch at the center of his heart would tear at his insides until he submitted to her commands, mercilessly and harshly.
<p>
More importantly, Jacque could always tell when she needed his attention. Badly. He knew the looks of earnest insight and strained smiles that nervously consumed her enigma every time her resolve was lost, or her confidence shaken. Her silent urgency in dire moments of need or condolence would always bite him so hard, that it even he wasn’t surprised when she never let on that she was upset. He supposed it was her constant presence that kept him locked into her emotions and emotional insecurities. But the coyote hybrid preferred to think of himself as one of the gifted few that could even know the true meaning of her cherry giggle and smooth commands. ‘Jacque, look at me.’
<p>
“I’m fine, Roxy.” He didn’t cradle her would be pleading words so much as counter them with his own, bitter growl. A light, honey hued limb swayed idly in the wayward tug of the Japanese slip stream, rearing up hungrily as the late afternoon sun rocked gently in the sky, hidden under a thick layer of foggy haze. A long grove of late bloom Mongolia’s stretched monotonously in a scattered line against the horizon, shedding thousands of rich emerald leaves in the afternoon breeze. Moogle could only watch as the brief tremor in the atmosphere shook the branches with a gusty blow, cruelly tossing the small, un-bloomed buds into the air. ‘Help me.’ They screamed, ‘I need help.’ Or perhaps it wasn’t the violent shudders of the trees that pined for aid, but the doubtful smirk of indifference upon crimson vixen’s face had distress seeping from it. She gracefully forged a look of mock offence in reply to his blunt argument, taking a deep intake of salty sea air before delighting herself in gazing at him once more. Her twin pools of miraculously mischievous amber sizzled with an amount of certainty that hadn’t been there but three minutes before; dancing wildly as a torrent of cool knowingness flooded her eyes with a smoldered glaze.
<p>
“But you aren’t.”
<p>
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
<p>
Dee could taste it in her mouth.
<p>
Dried and evaporated, she could feel it. The cracked, raspy sensation of a sandpaper-like substance stung the back of her delicate thought like the unholy breath of the desert; Hot and dry. The feeling, vaguely interrupted by her spurts of consciousness, was coated with countless layers of thick sandpaper, clawing and tearing into her insides like wildfire lashing out at an innocent field of trees. Sizzling fumes of muggy closeness clouded and dulled the brittle fea’s already thin awareness in a thick haze. It was a heavy fog, hanging blandly above her head. She could feel the clammy fingers of the dreamy substance wrapping itself around her fractured consciousness like a blanket threatening to suffocate her last educated thoughts, memories, and over all being. No, Baz, don’t go… Don’t go…
<p>
“Don’t.” Deiadre couldn’t tell if it was her who gave the command, of the ominous cavern surrounding her. The voice seemed too incredibly loud in her head to have possibly come from her own marquee of minimal thoughts and awareness. At any one moment, she would believe it to be anyone. Dee remembered her mother there that night. Ohwen was there too. As vague as her bearings were, a certain familiarity wound up replying over and over in her head; they were all saying it. They were screaming, pleading and begging Baz not to go. ‘Don’t go, Baz, don’t!’ Why were they yelling? The small, long limbed female could only tremble slightly as a whimper escaped her gaped maw. She could tell they had all watched her as she ran in the opposite direction; crying, cursing, and running. All Deiadre could pretend to do was ignore them, skillfully ignore them as their accusing stare burned diligently into her retreating back. The gusty atmosphere of that brooding July morning had whipped the trees from their usual positioned and twisted their branches into wayward, awkward arches and dips. She remembered noticing through her tear distorted vision how the normally gentle sway of the old willow tree, Kito, had flared its long slender fingers angrily as she darted past. The bluff, the one just beyond the orchard, could barely be recognized as its green carpets lay victim to a massacre of sick and dying animals, all of them ill with the disease…
<p>
The same disease that was killing Baz.
<p>
Dee’s mind shuttered violently under her last thought, quaking and rocking mercilessly as the deafening thunder of the back waves crashed against the cliff’s face. ‘Don’t go, Baz. You can’t…’
<p>
Sleep rimmed eyes of glistening emerald opened hesitantly as the distant punch of the ocean’s vibrations drew her from her painful memory. The blurry, un defined acres of fuzzy space before her shivered for only a moment before clearing into a distinguishable mass of shale and granite. The scene had shifted, and now she could feel her throbbing headache pound against the back her head as the fea’s adrenaline mounted, coursing through her weary body in painful spurts. Deiadre’s fine coat of flaming red silk rose and fell with her inconstant gasping, deasperately attempting to fuel her frantic lugs with oxygen. Her pounding head, so blurry and incoherent, was only just beginning to make the gradual ascension into full consciousness. Searing pain, like wildfire, had grasped her swindly torso in a confined funnel of feverish heat; so dry and hot that she remembered the relative bitter taste in her mouth, if only for a moment. At any one moment, it felt as if she was to burst. But then there was the cool trickle of gentle moisture that seeped through her fine fur, soaking her face and chest in a thick, salty paste. As the slight flush of her dreaming features faded silently, Dee, with her eyes still open and poise, stared blankly upon the vast expanse before her. An ocean, large and endless, rose to meet the cave like horizon that consumed her, the dark water spitting as it lapped the shoreline at her side. A soft, sandy substance shifted and slid beneath her unmoving figure as a gentle tide swelled slightly against her trembling forepaws. She was sure she wasn’t sleeping anymore, yet this unearthly cavern seemed to only hinder the thought of night, before it came back with full force.
<p>
It was dark.
<p>
Delicately and tenderly, she rose to her paws. Surprisingly, they felt firm and solid below her heaving torso, they didn’t quiver or fail like she anticipated. There was no hesitation in her slender limbs as she stood, no dream like sensation, or false reality; she definitely wasn’t sleeping anymore. Carefully, she could feel the wind pick up somewhere to her left, puffing and venting from an unseen source in the darkness. Dee’s ebony charred lobs swayed lifelessly atop her small and angular head, flopping against her snarled crest of likewise obsidian hued crest. Her chipper, normally thoughtful expression had since faded away, leaving only a slightly pained look of blank emotion; the full effect of her memory bouncing around in her fairly tangled mind. The blackness, she decided, wasn’t so bad after all… for even as she rose from her watery bed, she found that it hadn’t really been the ocean at all. It had been her own tears that coated her face in that salty sheen, and she may as well be dead before she let anything in this pit see her cry; much less, herself. Willing herself inwardly, Deiadre silently began her migration into the stark expanse of mirthless stone. The female’s small paw steps left brittle indents in the moist sand as she blindly progressed, her tear stained enigma grimmiced as her pounding headache hurdled to an all new level of unberability. Maybe if she just kept walking, maybe if she kept walking…
<p>
'Go. Away.' The tone was dry and cracked, like she remembered hers to be. It’s bland and ominous mumble bounced noisily about the walls of the vast tunnel, spurring up a whole new element to the darkness’s empty solitude. Surprised and slightly shaken by the silence splitting sound, Deiadre felt her parched thought clench anxiously as her dull orbs flashed warily. She paused abruptly in mid-step, carefully scowering her unfamiliar surroundings in an attempt to locate what had spoken. A murky, opaque outline of a large massive stone crevice drooped like a victim of optimal depression over her head. Small, hardly visible ropes of fine, twine-like vines wrapped themselves around it’s exterior like some sort of a constricting snake. A grotesque combination of slick moss and damp treebark emerged eerily from the inky blackness, sagging in a frail manner; attempting to support it’s branches between a small crevice in the cool slate. Tiny, nearly invisible dribbles of moist water droplets fell on periodic intervals from the narrow gap, sending a dull ‘plip’ echoing throughout the widely untamed cave. Dee’s eyes, growing more and more accustomed to the endless abyss of black nothingness around her, found great relief in that fact that it wasn’t actually as deserted as she first thought. There, not too far ahead, was a body. It’s whole, she could tell, was covered in a thick pelt of sandy brown, decisively stuck up at strange and unusual angles, as if he by some odd possession, had been inclined to take a nap. His face, a broad and defined collaboration of rich moca and soft cream, was contorted into a detesting scowl; topped only further by the sheer and undying defying ambition in his stormy azure gaze. The male wasn’t looking in her direction, she could tell; the way his eyes seemed focus on some insignificant article to her far right, while any recognition of her presence was filtered. Liquid obsidian paws lifted and stilled restlessly, caught somewhere in the center of her pending decision; should she say something? For whatever reason, she could have been the thing he was snapping at… But unfortunately, this possibility held no attention within the outspoken, unbroken, and free willed spirit that was, entirely, Dieadre ‘Dunne’.
<p>
“I’d love too, Blue. You wanna tell me where?”
<br>
<img src="http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i74/XColdFireX/hadeees0.jpg">
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DON’T WAKE ME CAUSE I’M DREAMING OF ANGELS ON THE MOON
<br>_____________________________________________________
<br> <p>
Blahhhh. I hate applications. : P The coding was done by hyppo on one of her
brilliant tables, and edited slightly by me. I hope you don't mind that I use it! <3
<br>
<Br>WHERE EVERYONE YOU KNOW NEVER LEAVES TO SOON
<br>_____________________________________________________
<br>
<p> .the roleplayer
<p>
Name/Nickname: Emma, nowadays. But, some of you may know me as Ivy. : 333 (pokes akira)
<p>
Where did you hear about us?: After taking a little break from the role playing world, I decided I’d go on a walk down memory lane, trying to find some of the old sites I played at. When I saw that you guys were still alive and kicking, I think I nearly died. I loved role playing with all of you lovely people last time… how could I not rejoin? ( by the way, I’m so sorry I disappeared on you guys! high school kinda exploded on me. : P )
<p>
.the character
<p>
Name: Dino Valentini. [ pronounced; dee – no. not die – no.
<p>
Nicknames: none. dino makes sure of that.
<p>
Gender: male.
<p>
Age: three years.
<p>
Breed: 25% mackenzie valley wolf && 75% arctic wolf.
<p>
Family:
<p>
Bruno Valentini – father – alive.
<br>
Giorgetta Santoro – mother – unknown.
<br>
Ceasare Valentini – brother – alive.
<br>
Ettore Valentini – brother – alive.
<br>
Pietro Valentini – brother – deceased.
<br>
Luca Lombardi (Valentini) – adoptive brother – alive.
<br>
Serge Santoro – step-brother – unknown.
<br>
Otello Santoro – step-brother – unknown.
<br>
Dezi Santoro – step-brother – deceased.
<br>
Zeta Santoro – step-sister – alive.
<p>
Appearance:
<p>
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, The Valentini-Santoro-Lombardi family could often be described one of three ways ; distinguished, intelligent, or drop dead gorgeous-in-an-totally-droll-and-stereotypical-way. Once upon a time, Dino would have considered the latter one of his best assets; with the brilliant ivory hue of his full and proportionally flattering coat, his inheritively massive and structured figure just short of being god-like in the eyes of countless females, and a pair of surprisingly average golden irises with an extraordinarily lively spark. Of course, seeing as when things seem to good to be true, and they are, fate couldn’t allow such a self confident, dirt-for-morals arrogant jerk to have such an enviously handsome appearance.
<p>
The niche seemed like a sufficient punishment.
<p>
Well, karma is a bitch, isn’t it?
<p>
So nowadays, Dino Valentini isn’t exactly what you’d call picture perfect, nor was he in any of the days following his awakening. His fur, no longer soft, full and glittering, now hangs in course clumps across his hardened frame, hardly resembling it’s afore mentioned pure ivory color, much less any certain distinguishable color at all. Sometimes, when the young Valentini works up enough enthusiasm to bathe it, his coat retains some of its acclaimed pre-niche glory, but in a tougher, grungier way. But much like his coat, almost every aspect of his appearance has been hardened with resilience and refusal to give in to the sufferable conditions of the niche… with unusual results. Dino’s build, strong and capable by default, although still structurally the same, is something indisputably changed. Although he had never been much of an eater in his days above ground, the somewhat sparse feeding conditions of his prison made it even more difficult for him to build up his health, and easier for Dino to melt away into skin and bones. His muscles may still cling to his being in abundance, still firm from his constant wanderings, but in a way that makes it easier to visually dissect all of the places that once used to store healthy doses of fat.
<p>
Despite his less than healthy weight, everything about him retains a brash yet deadly air. The way he walks without making so much as a shuffle (but really, making all the noise in the world with his snarky grin and animated gaze.), or the way his abnormally lengthy tail sways subconsciously back and forth when he studies another, and the angular, defined way his spine slopes gently in between his narrow shoulder blades; everything his is, in essence, is harsh, sharp, and alert. In an expression that feigns devilish, Dino Valentini’s face has, unusually, harnessed more of the male’s character over the many months he spent trapped in the niche that it ever had before. The flat, angular planes that display his uniquely bitter yet spicy features are encased by skin that seems to be stretched to it’s breaking point, extremely taut – making his cheekbones protrude and hooded brow bone even more potent.
<p>
Dino’s ears, fringed with a soft layer of long creamy hairs, fan out drastically as his jaw steepens, ending in a small mesh of shorter stubble on his chin. At the crown of his ivory flared head, is a mass of subtly off-white fur that slopes gradually down to the tip of his moistened nose, and then further still up until the center of his underbelly. That same color, milky and rich as ever, takes another trip down the lengths of his lithe forelegs, complimenting the stark, if not ashen white that otherwise consumes Dino’s compact figure. A furry bundle of course hair and silver hues sprout from the youngest Valentini’s rump in the form of a long and tattered tail. The hair, although still flawless in color, wears thin around this region of his body, paling slightly in comparison to the classic volume of the average arctic wolf. Narrow, almond carved spheres of vibrant yellow peer out blandly at the world from behind Dino’s ivory lids, commonly idle and sharp in a way that almost steams with mockery and intensity. His bright and calculating golden stare is flecked with light hints of a tarnished bronze color, the same hue joining together in a thin rim around the exterior of his iris. With such a startling and stunning appearance, Dino’s eyes only multiply his haunted and deathly attributes to an even further extent.
<p>
Personality:
<p>
As far back as he can remember, before Dezi and Zeta, and even before the niche, Dino Valentini was always known for wearing his personality out on his metaphorical sleeves for everyone to see. He takes pride in the fact that he’s got nothing to hide and nothing to lose, and instead thinks that the best way to approach people is by bearing it all and being real. Perhaps this is a noble goal, being real and never hiding, but perhaps you’ve never met Dino. After all, some things are better left unsaid. But first and foremost, it’s very important to understand that this young brute is in no way quiet, meek, reclusive, bashful, nervous or anything reminiscent of such words. In fact, the brutally honest and in-your-face tendencies of this wolf are often described as, well… the opposite. Loud, aggressive, dry, sarcastic, vulgar, opinionated and shameless to an indecent extreme. Yeah, I bet you’re just dying to meet him.
<p>
Within his large, though albeit slightly dysfunctional family, there is an unspoken rule of thumb; if you want to be acknowledged, do something about it. There is nothing more servile and submissive in any Valentini’s mind that sitting back and watching your siblings up-stage you and leave you feeling helpless but to sit back and hope to deal with it. Dino has, over time, come to cope with this fact to a whole new level of understanding and realization. What with growing up surrounded by older, stronger, and no doubt more mature older brothers, Dino turns his odd-man-out status into quite the spectacle to behold… by being a total rebel. More famously known for his big and completely uncensored mouth, this ivory male actually has the guts to take pride in everything he says, without so much as a single regret. He often has tendencies to believe that he is one of the few wolves in the clan that’s truly brave enough to act in reflection to who they truly are, and doesn’t even try to bid pity to those who don’t. In fact, there isn’t much that you could ask Dino without getting a blunt and honest answer in return, and much more. He’ll tell you if he thinks you’re unattractive, if the way you flirt makes you sound desperate and pitiful, and even if the way that muscle underneath your eye makes you look older (usually with a selectively colorful language and tone that can leave even the most mature of ears blushing).
<p>
But Dino’s mouth isn’t the only thing that has a mind of its own. This young wolf’s body language, aggression, emotion and intensity have the ability to speak mountains more than his words ever could. To put it politely, Dino is in no way afraid to persistently invade your personal space to get his point across, whatever that thought may be. To up it un-politely, the youngest Valentini will not hesitate to back you up into a corner, in an all but violent manner, nearly (if not actually) slamming his head with the opposer’s with such intensity and proximity that if his companion wasn’t sure of his capability and willingness before, then they most certainly are now. Now this is not to say that every hostile encounter he has ever had has left his opponents paralyzed or emotionally offset, and Dino has come to find that a sick part of him enjoys when a simple disagreement escalates into all out emotional throw down. It’s almost sad and disappointing for him to think that these kinds of encounters are the only thing that makes him feel like he’s not a total freak of nature to be looked upon as a simple barbarian. But really, there’s no avoiding it; Dino is one emotional cannonball that’s come to the point where explosions are now one of the only things that can guarantee his peace of mind.
<p>
Pretty damn whacked up, right? Although it may surprise many to hear, this odd man out can slip in a few good personality traits between his rude comments and brash attitude. When he’s not breathing down your neck in pompous arrogance, one may find that Dino has but a single loophole for the rest of his less than desirable personality… intelligence. He’s always tried to hone this particular skill since day one, ever since the day he decided he wasn’t going to be just another Valentini, and holds a quick wit over the heads of his brawnier and less mentally endowed relatives. Once the yelling stops and sanities return, a surprising wealth of knowledge and civility can be revealed in the most unlikely of people. To those rare few that have enough will and self motivation to put up with him, Dino’s got a rare sense of humanity and approachability that he reserves for those few and far between occasions. Sarcasm too is often a popular method of reasoning when it comes to the cream colored male, and when uttered in the right state of being and good conscious, can be a very redeeming quality; almost making up for his complete lack of suave charm. Dino’s humor, however dry and scathing it ay be, has the eerie knack of making any situation seem a little less intimidating and a little more comical, and never fails to encourage a laugh.
<p>
“Well, forgive me if I ain’t exactly puking up rainbows and butterflies.”
<p>
Generally speaking, Dino isn’t exactly your average extrovert.
<p>
Fatal Flaw(s):
<p>
So, I can assume that we all know by now that Dino’s mind isn’t exactly in the right place, but there a few aspects of his personality that prompt the notion that he was definitely not cast into the niche by accident. As if the extreme lack of control that he has over his emotions, his actions, and his mouth isn’t enough, Dino’s got about as much trust in everyone and anyone around him as a rabbit may have in a coyote. He unconsciously assumes the worst in everyone with little reason, and purposefully gives no one any reason to trust him back. Unsurprisingly, with the young Valentini being the die-hard pessimist that he is, Dino loves to get a negative rise out of others. His infamously instigating comments are somewhat of a reassurance for his own blemished self conscious, reminding him that, yes, no one is perfect and yes, deep down there is no such thing as being ‘pretty on the inside’. Dino’s got himself convinced that everyone lies, cheats, steals and lusts after unimportant things as he does, and attempts to exploit these flaws as a way of comforting himself in his own imperfection.
<p>
History:
<p>
private. You’ll see how messed up he is soon enough. : )
<p>
GOOD Role-play Examples:
<p><p>
uno. razael.
<p>
Fuzzy blades of frightfully water-deprived grass stood stark and still in the hot, breezeless night, crumpling pitifully amongst themselves in a broken mess of dried creams and drowns. All sounds, familiar to the territory or not, seemed far more scarce and muffled than the typical would-be commotion of densely wooded terrain. A black, almost unbearably thick blanket of hollow darkness had swallowed everything in the once recognizable territory of Amaraj that night, only adding to the immense strain that the heat held over its inhabitant’s heads. The noble, sky breaching mountains on the western edge of the dull horizon sat frozen in an ageless stupor, as always, blending easily into the impending night like solitary soldiers looming in the distance. Even the giant, crater marred moon appeared to dim gloomily as the clouds formed hazy barriers around its glowing form… The Amaraj pack lands, once so memorable and majestic, now stood in a certain silence that seemed so foreign and unrecognizable.
<p>
Had he really been gone that long?
<p>
Just for a moment, the blackened and charred appearance of the shadowy terrain blurred slightly before vanishing completely, only to reappear shortly once more in the emotionlessly indifferent gaze of another, similarly hued creature of the night. The shimmery, almost translucent golden color of the dark figure’s eyes shifted slowly across the ebony horizon line tartly, observing the high mountains in the near distance all the way to the dying vegetation beneath his feet. His lips, thin and pursed, twitched lightly at the corners of his mouth, tugging his stark expression into a mild frown; and as if on que, his obsidian brows creased and knit together thoughtfully. He could already tell his tail had begun to draw gentle indentations in the prickly grass below, calmly and cautiously, calculatedly and expertly—thinking. A heartbeat, soft and relaxing in its calming rhythm, thumped carefully against Razael’s ribcage like the gentle hum of a feline’s sleepy purr. One intake, a silent exhale. One breath, followed by another; each and every one just as refined and particular as the one before. It was an ideal stereotypical thinking position if there ever was one, but…
<p>
This wasn’t right.
<p>
Raz didn’t need to think.
<p>
There was nothing- no one left in Amaraj.
<p>
There was nothing.
<p>
What else was there to dwell on? Perhaps… perhaps he should ponder the reason he was here, standing alone, in the virtual heart of his barren territory? Or maybe, he would wonder to himself how everything, from the fertile soil to the deep thickets, stank of the sweltering bitter scent of dead carcasses… And as an after thought, he could consider pondering why, exactly, his great pack was nowhere to be found. But Razael’s sharp common sense had given an answer to all of these questions only seconds after his hesitant return to the Timberline two nights earlier. Two forevers earlier. The smell, the initial sensation of wanting to hurl, and the overpowering feeling of dread—it was all there, just like it had been one and a half years ago. Raz remembered, ever since that day, the horror he had felt when he and Clea had found the mauled body of her father just outside the territory’s border, decaying and ridden by ants. Death had been such a big matter to him, back then; when his mind hadn’t fully developed to the point of maturity, and his stomach couldn’t begin to cope with the churning sensation… But back then, he was also stupid enough to make a thoughtless joke about it, a careless joke about a matter that clearly shattered a heart just moments after it was uttered.
Now things were different; everything had changed. Razael finally submitted to the fact that everyone has to keep growing up, no matter how much they think themselves adults—And he did try to grow up. Hard. In a time period of no more than a week, the young canine had successfully banned any and all traces of outward expression. He attempted, if feebly, to engross himself in his duties in hopes to redeem himself of some self pride, if not banish some of the swelling guilt that bubbled up inside of him whenever he saw Clea. Her face, simple and by no means stunning of hideous, had flashed through his mind on a near daily basis after the incident; everything from her cracked and defeated expression, to the heart dropping loneliness that spread across her soft emerald eyes, everything was still crystal clear in his memory.
<p>
‘I-I can’t,’
<p>
Somewhere, along the demanding and time consuming course of his life, he must have missed something. Like a small detail unnoticed and overlooked, Razael’s being as a member of the Amaraj pack, as a wolf in general, was missing something. It was as if something never clicked in his normally sharp and alert conscious; but, of course, he was far to busy pushing himself away from reality to notice. In his mind, he was all he deserved to be—a hard working Lead spy, always putting his best skills forward in order to get the job done… When in reality, there’s a little bit more to the story. In reality, he was the cold shouldered shadow that was known for his sneaky ways and smart tricks, but also for his diverted, self righteous blindness.
<p>
‘I can’t believe you.’
<p>
No one deserved to be treated like that. Not one person he knew. Not Clea, the chatty little bundle of stubborn shallowness. Not Syscla, Amaraj’s calm but insanely loyal Batess. And his alphas. No, Isrves and Astil most defiantly didn’t deserve to be stuck with a silently ignorant excuse for a member. Razael’s alpha male, the very wolf to grant him his lead position, surely hadn’t strived to become pack leader to be bothered with his very presence. Sure, Raz had his moments of polite formality, where in he would address his superiors with ‘sirs’ and ‘misses’, but he has never once uttered ‘thank you’ or ‘you’re welcome’. His mannerisms, barely extending beyond the barriers of the ability to carry a decent conversation, could never measure up to what his alphas, his beta, and the rest of his pack members deserved.
<p>
‘You jerk.’
<p>
Abruptly, Razael’s ebony figure stood, rustling the crumpled grass softly as he rose from his sitting position. A small, momentary blink of his obsidian donned lids was all it took to clear his sickly golden eyes of their dazed stare. His ivory claws, which he subconsciously knew he had been staring at intensely for the past minute of two, shuffled soundlessly against themselves as he turned his entire body slowly in the direction of the oncoming wind front. Therch Lake, so craftily hid by the starless reflection of the night’s sky sat as still as the creature himself, glass like and undisturbed by the usual brightness of the moon’s glow. Razael’s lithe body, sore and cramped in select places from his travels, quivered and shook as the intimate drop in temperature took finally took hold of his senses; but he stood, still and frozen regardless, gazing tartly at the black lake before him—A face carved by the devil but furnished by angels, etched firmly with regretless thoughtlessness. That was Razael Devnak Castello; Cold, indifferent, pack less and hopeless… And he had nothing to ponder but the question of weather his decision to return to Amaraj was really worth the trouble.
<p>
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<p>
That was nearly four hours ago; four fathomless hours of aimless wandering, something Razael had oddly become accustomed to, and unsurprisingly enough, the passing of time did little to antidote Amaraj’s dry and hazy atmosphere. But he didn’t even have to open his sickly yellow eyes in order to acknowledge the approaching dawn. The placid flicker of his ebony lids upon the twin pools of glassy lemon quickened gradually as the blossoming hues of pinkish violet opened the limitless sky into a silent symphony of light and color. However, despite the fluttering persistence of the early morning sunlight, Raz didn’t oblige; he, dutiful as he was, coincidentally found this the ideal time to catch up on some well deserved sleep. Here, below the thick canopy of willows and oaks that fruitfully made up the pack’s western border, was a part of his territory that was most famously known as The Timberline… And over the years, it lived up to its name decently enough. It was in this long stretch of sun-shielding foliage that many a wolf had come- for whatever reason, really; perhaps loners to seek acceptance, or pack members to find reprieve from the pressures of life. Razael could think of countless reason for just about anything in the mountainous territory, and for some peculiar reason, he had a stalwart hunch that it wasn’t just his subconscious that lead him to his current location.
<p>
“Hn.” The monotonous drone of his ear pleasing baritone echoed forignly on the tip of his tongue, somewhat summing his broken distaste for his current predicament into one syllable of useless sound. Even after the sound of his voice had disappeared into his still and foggy surroundings, the obsidian male couldn’t help scowl lightly at its stale tone. But… inwardly, he wasn’t surprised. To date, he calculated, it seemed he hadn’t spoken to anyone in at least an entire month—much to the chagrin of his under used vocals. And perhaps to the chagrin of his friends and family, he preferred it that way. In his eyes, upon discovering his distinct personality and disposition as a whelp, solitude was something one couldn’t seem to get enough of in the life of a pack. Growing up, there was something soft, quiet, and uniquely attractive about the thought of life as a lon-
<p>
Clunk.
<p>
And so came the day when our favorite spy discovered the true meaning of ‘speaking to soon.’
<p>
Suddenly, every aspect of Razael’s formerly dormant senses shone with pristine clarity, and the dull glow of his sleep consumed eyes transformed into his infamously known half-lidded glare. The sound was gentle, muffled even, but every part his consciousness told him that, whatever it was, it was close by. The glistening tuffs of Raz’s deep chocolate fur rose stiffly in self awareness as his perfect mask of cool indifference hardened across his muzzle, spurring the slight turn of his dark head in the direction of the disturbance. Clunk. Now he not only heard it, but he smelt it too; the sharp, pungent sent of a pack less rogue, seemingly just awoken from a deep slumber. The smell, so defined and stark against the diluted aroma of sap and dandelions, sent a small wave of curiosity racing up and down Razael’s spine as said wolf clambered silently to his paws. He knew he could have ignored it. He knew with all of his duty required sense, he should have turned and walked away… But now it was too late, for not moments after he had roused himself, did Raz find himself gazing idly at the wolf responsible for the brief racket. That, along with an oddly suspicious looking pinecone. This time when he spoke, the melody was clear barely a note above a whisper, and his brilliant knack for sounding almost a little to casual was seeping from the seams of his reply.
<p>
“Something you want?”
<p><p>
dos. akira.
<p>
“Rebo…” The smell tumbled into his nostrils so suddenly, he almost winced. A suffocating aroma of dried copped fused with an unmistakable dose of scorched fur rose from the volcano’s base with the forceful pull of the storms deadly up draft.
<p>
“Akira-sama…”
<p>
It smelled like blood, pungent and fresh. And through the thick stench that curled itself around his suddenly ridged and faltering constricted, Akira could just make out the muffled thunder of one of the Newfoundland’s earth quaking breaths. The ivory hued male only hesitated for the slightest moment after he received an encouraging nod from Rebo before twisting on the spot, silver irises wide and alive with adrenaline, His mud coated claws splashing murky rainwater in his wake as his powerful sprint morphed into a dead run… But he had only managed to wear away a couple more minutes of relative solitude before he was accompanied again, by yet another shadowy canine. Almost as if a small patch of the night’s black abyss had been parted before him, a massive, greatly muscled shape peppered with alabaster and obsidian had literally appeared out of know where to match Akira’s determined stride. Neither of them spoke, or even attempted to verbalize over the angry howl of the monsoon’s storm, and the Hokkaido prodigy didn’t even require the assistance of the far of flash of lightning to tell who had gained him.
<p>
The rich, shinning golden eyes gave it away almost immediately.
<p>
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<p>
Just as soundlessly and as gracefully as it had come, the small tendrils of peachy sunlight had slipped out of sight, and the underground network of stone caverns were once again shrouded in inky darkness. The otherwise commonplace din of the chattery ravens and soothing owls had been replaced by an eerie and surreal silence; accompanied only on a rare occasion by the repetitive trickle of some far off water source. A vast, swimming sky of blackened and age worn marble extended much farther than he would hope to see, weaving itself through the awe inspiring Heaven’s Eyeglass and all the way around the gaping mouth of the great Main Cavern. That same rocky substance, Akira had earlier noticed, began to grow duller and increasingly more ashen as the gloomy tunnels shrunk and narrowed, their once sharp stalagtites now blunt and garbed with moss. Unsurprisingly, this new, musty and humid environment helped little to better the male’s commonly sour mood. As his journey progressed, his could feel the ivory fonds of his own fur dampen and deflate, clinging to his toned figure like a second skin. The slick and distinctive way Akira’s voluptuous tail curled nonchalantly against his hind legs had dissolved, and in its place remained an almost unnatural stick-straight posture that hung menacingly level with his broad shoulders; Oddly enough, the ‘no nonsense’ expression plastered on Akira’s defined features didn’t help to soften his appearance either.
<p>
But the pinning adrenaline pounding in his ears wouldn’t allow him to care. His insistently urgent pace, the pitiless scream of his memories, and the sole knowledge that Roquelle Kerue, mystery subject extraordinaire, might not be quite as mysterious as Akira thought kept him moving…
<p>
Because he remembered.
<p>
He remembered everything.
<p>
The spur-of-the-moment recollection had sent Akira into such an advanced state of shock, he may as well have been hit by a ton of bricks. In the back of his mind, though he was always thinking back to the surreal oddity of the honey eyed female’s scar, there had always been a bitter sweet familiarity about the clearly intentional infliction that pulled at the Hokkaido’s conscious from the very beginning. And now he knew why. Ever since realization had dawned, and ever since he had unintentionally strayed from Basha’s side in his silently baffled reprive, countless images of Kerue’s bubbly face danced in Akira’s mind; The way her vibrantly exuberant disposition initially clashed with his stiff, significantly cooler attitude. He was constantly reminded of how the female’s open and outgoing presence had initially stirred something raw and familiar somewhere in the back of his mind, while her soft greeting skipped and danced over his memories like a broken record. ‘Konichiwa… Konichiwa… I think a very large male may be here… Kinda big and stupid-looking… you've probably heard of him, With the Xecca Ichimi?’
<p>
Oh God, she knew him.
<p>
Up until now, Akira’s wanderings throughout the labyrinth of grimy tunnels and shale walls had been painfully fruitless, but the dull pulses of light emitting from a small gap in the distance drove him forward. The ivory male could tell by the enticing silver light seeping through the cracks above his head that night seemed to have fallen once more upon the world above, allowing only a few teasing bits of starlight grace the fathomless underworld below. At least, fathomless to anyone but the one’s who were trapped within it; as it was becoming very clear to Akira, he suspected that Roquelle and Basha were beginning to find the whole experience very, very real. However, his attention began to spiral almost immediately from the dark, dew covered walls of the tunnel when the caves mouth itself opened up into a staggering archway that could easily house an ocean. Bits and pieces of the wide stone room’s ceiling appeared to have given way over time, unconsciously allowing the ominous skies of what Akira was beginning to refer to as, ‘the real world’, stare down spitefully upon The Niche’s inhabitance. Coupled by the overwhelming stench of salt water, the landscape (or rather, seascape) that surrounded the Ivory male was a sight that took his breath away. An ocean, as vast and endless as the Pacific, seemed to reach far beyond his line of sight; stopping abruptly against the strangely sunless backdrop at least miles away. But the monstrous water body took little away from the beds upon beds of sea grasses and kelp forests that surrounded it.
<p>
<span title= ‘God…’> “Kami…” </span>Akira’s damp coat of dense alabaster glistened and sparkled against the bold reflection of the stars as he descended from the cave’s mouth, his sharp silver eyes flickering back and forth across the landscape in consistent rhythm with the clicking of his claws against the granite. He pushed himself forward into a lush meadow of reeds in the midst of his newly found curiosity, needless to say far too wrapped up in the amazing visage before him to notice an unlodged rock tumble into the black water below. Splash.
<p>
After hearing the unforgettable melody dance circles teasingly around his brain for the past few quiet hours, Akira couldn’t mistake Roquelle Kerue’s giggling voice when it split the caverns eerie silence, barely above a whisper. It sounded better out loud, he mentally admitted, its tune softer and much more gentle against his ear drums than the one within his memory. “Akira-kun?” This time when the female spoke, he wasted no time nosing his way through the weeds and cattails to meet here face to face, his formerly stiff and ridged nerves oddly put top rest by Roquelle’s suddenly close presence. Akira had only just begun to fought his way across the merciless vegetation before he caught sight of her petite figure stumbling backwards (rather gracelessly), into a small tide pool behind her. The incident, so very innocent and clumsy in proportion, didn’t cease to bring a tiny smirk to the Hokkaido’s lips in remembrance; the image of Roquelle’s tumble through the bushes upon their first meeting still fresh in his mind. 'Konban wa misutaa bikkuri shimasu san!'
<p>
The smirk grew. “Likewise, Kerue-chan.” He acknowledged the water logged harlot with a decidedly calm expression; lips sloping gracefully into a content but cool grin, his posh stature tall and commanding, with a lightly bemused light glittering in the back of his twin pools of silvery gray. His weight was fair and evenly distributed between each of his powerful limbs as he stood, light footed before his companion’s dripping physique… But, If anything, acting aloof and confident was the one skill the ivory male had truly honed in his favor. When in doubt, there was almost no one that could penetrate Akira’s cold bubble of practiced façade; it was reliable. Whenever there was a problem back home that needed solving, or an unforgivable tragedy that needed to be overcome, Akira Hokkaido could always pull out his trademark ‘nothing to it’ smirk with a presence the screamed of certainty even when, on the inside, he was screaming in panic. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Roquelle.” When He felt himself cock his head to the side casually as he beckoned to her with his nose, he felt his insides clench with anxiety simultaneously. “About you’re scar… and this, ‘Xecca Ichimi’” A calm pitter patter of nails upon stone, a series of vicious thuds in his ribcage.
<p>
“… You wouldn’t happen to know any Fletchers, would you?”
<p>
All he hoped was that his acting was as good as he thought it was.
<p><p>
tres. deirdre.
<p>
“Hmmmm.”
<p>
“…”
<p>
“Hmmmm.”
<p>
“… ah.”
<p>
“Mmhmm…”
<p>
“Hey, Moog, you’re doing it wrong.”
<p>
Beautiful rainbows of glistening sandy hues stumbled gracefully to the fertile forest floor, crumpling violently under the immense pressure of their host’s bony build. A mildly coarse and unbelievably filthy mane of rusty cream shook feverishly in bitter frustration as another set of agitated shivers danced across the figure’s spine unwillingly. Slanted, tightly clenched orbs of a blackened gray flittered and twitched under the pressure of their closed lids; screaming silently at that obnoxious twittering near the back of his mind. The bright, steamed flash of pearly ivory canines glittered dully in the sun baked clearing, all the while clattering against one another as Jacque “Moogle” Sedgwick bit back one more of his throughty growls. A sullen, non-pulsed feeling of recognition twisted and churned gloomily in the pit of the scrawny male’s stomach as he felt the jubilant hum of his ‘partner’s’ mocking chuckle quake a feet to his rear. With only so much time to clear his head of all obscene thoughts and curses, he stood upright swiftly, futily hoping to delay his next confrontation by sucking in a few more calming breaths. Maybe he should just ignore her. Maybe it would just be best to simply…
<p>
Sharp and nearly colorless eyes of peppered gray peered tentatively at his sun bathed surroundings from the protection of his acutely narrowed lids. The blurry, tear diluted shapes of the huge oaks and timeless pines swayed gently within his vision until they, finally began to take form. The shimmering glare of the mid-day sun bounced idly around the small plane of lush grass in a flurry of colors and light, drenching the many boulders and stray stumps with a warm, summery glaze. The soft buzz of the unseen locus rose steadily from an invisible speaker somewhere in the distance, dying just in time for the pleasant squabble of chickadees to soar above Jacque’s head in a small package of feathers and sound. With his head resting comfortably upon his set shoulders, coal esque eyes widened generously as they themselves became accustomed to the light. Jacque could still feel the fiery amber gaze of his slender counter part boring questioningly into the small of his back, leering silently at him with every bit of burning passion that was Roxanne. He could only imagine her sly smirk glazed with amused pleasure, and he could clearly see the light hearted bounce in her step as heard her dainty footsteps amplify behind him... But he dared not to look, for as painfully obvious as it was, Moogle knew that behind this façade, something was definitely wrong. “Jacque, look at me.” Her soft, velvety tone compelled him to do just that. It was always easy to tell when Roxanne “Dimond” Augustana needed someone’s attention. It was like this compulsive twitch at the center of his heart would tear at his insides until he submitted to her commands, mercilessly and harshly.
<p>
More importantly, Jacque could always tell when she needed his attention. Badly. He knew the looks of earnest insight and strained smiles that nervously consumed her enigma every time her resolve was lost, or her confidence shaken. Her silent urgency in dire moments of need or condolence would always bite him so hard, that it even he wasn’t surprised when she never let on that she was upset. He supposed it was her constant presence that kept him locked into her emotions and emotional insecurities. But the coyote hybrid preferred to think of himself as one of the gifted few that could even know the true meaning of her cherry giggle and smooth commands. ‘Jacque, look at me.’
<p>
“I’m fine, Roxy.” He didn’t cradle her would be pleading words so much as counter them with his own, bitter growl. A light, honey hued limb swayed idly in the wayward tug of the Japanese slip stream, rearing up hungrily as the late afternoon sun rocked gently in the sky, hidden under a thick layer of foggy haze. A long grove of late bloom Mongolia’s stretched monotonously in a scattered line against the horizon, shedding thousands of rich emerald leaves in the afternoon breeze. Moogle could only watch as the brief tremor in the atmosphere shook the branches with a gusty blow, cruelly tossing the small, un-bloomed buds into the air. ‘Help me.’ They screamed, ‘I need help.’ Or perhaps it wasn’t the violent shudders of the trees that pined for aid, but the doubtful smirk of indifference upon crimson vixen’s face had distress seeping from it. She gracefully forged a look of mock offence in reply to his blunt argument, taking a deep intake of salty sea air before delighting herself in gazing at him once more. Her twin pools of miraculously mischievous amber sizzled with an amount of certainty that hadn’t been there but three minutes before; dancing wildly as a torrent of cool knowingness flooded her eyes with a smoldered glaze.
<p>
“But you aren’t.”
<p>
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<p>
Dee could taste it in her mouth.
<p>
Dried and evaporated, she could feel it. The cracked, raspy sensation of a sandpaper-like substance stung the back of her delicate thought like the unholy breath of the desert; Hot and dry. The feeling, vaguely interrupted by her spurts of consciousness, was coated with countless layers of thick sandpaper, clawing and tearing into her insides like wildfire lashing out at an innocent field of trees. Sizzling fumes of muggy closeness clouded and dulled the brittle fea’s already thin awareness in a thick haze. It was a heavy fog, hanging blandly above her head. She could feel the clammy fingers of the dreamy substance wrapping itself around her fractured consciousness like a blanket threatening to suffocate her last educated thoughts, memories, and over all being. No, Baz, don’t go… Don’t go…
<p>
“Don’t.” Deiadre couldn’t tell if it was her who gave the command, of the ominous cavern surrounding her. The voice seemed too incredibly loud in her head to have possibly come from her own marquee of minimal thoughts and awareness. At any one moment, she would believe it to be anyone. Dee remembered her mother there that night. Ohwen was there too. As vague as her bearings were, a certain familiarity wound up replying over and over in her head; they were all saying it. They were screaming, pleading and begging Baz not to go. ‘Don’t go, Baz, don’t!’ Why were they yelling? The small, long limbed female could only tremble slightly as a whimper escaped her gaped maw. She could tell they had all watched her as she ran in the opposite direction; crying, cursing, and running. All Deiadre could pretend to do was ignore them, skillfully ignore them as their accusing stare burned diligently into her retreating back. The gusty atmosphere of that brooding July morning had whipped the trees from their usual positioned and twisted their branches into wayward, awkward arches and dips. She remembered noticing through her tear distorted vision how the normally gentle sway of the old willow tree, Kito, had flared its long slender fingers angrily as she darted past. The bluff, the one just beyond the orchard, could barely be recognized as its green carpets lay victim to a massacre of sick and dying animals, all of them ill with the disease…
<p>
The same disease that was killing Baz.
<p>
Dee’s mind shuttered violently under her last thought, quaking and rocking mercilessly as the deafening thunder of the back waves crashed against the cliff’s face. ‘Don’t go, Baz. You can’t…’
<p>
Sleep rimmed eyes of glistening emerald opened hesitantly as the distant punch of the ocean’s vibrations drew her from her painful memory. The blurry, un defined acres of fuzzy space before her shivered for only a moment before clearing into a distinguishable mass of shale and granite. The scene had shifted, and now she could feel her throbbing headache pound against the back her head as the fea’s adrenaline mounted, coursing through her weary body in painful spurts. Deiadre’s fine coat of flaming red silk rose and fell with her inconstant gasping, deasperately attempting to fuel her frantic lugs with oxygen. Her pounding head, so blurry and incoherent, was only just beginning to make the gradual ascension into full consciousness. Searing pain, like wildfire, had grasped her swindly torso in a confined funnel of feverish heat; so dry and hot that she remembered the relative bitter taste in her mouth, if only for a moment. At any one moment, it felt as if she was to burst. But then there was the cool trickle of gentle moisture that seeped through her fine fur, soaking her face and chest in a thick, salty paste. As the slight flush of her dreaming features faded silently, Dee, with her eyes still open and poise, stared blankly upon the vast expanse before her. An ocean, large and endless, rose to meet the cave like horizon that consumed her, the dark water spitting as it lapped the shoreline at her side. A soft, sandy substance shifted and slid beneath her unmoving figure as a gentle tide swelled slightly against her trembling forepaws. She was sure she wasn’t sleeping anymore, yet this unearthly cavern seemed to only hinder the thought of night, before it came back with full force.
<p>
It was dark.
<p>
Delicately and tenderly, she rose to her paws. Surprisingly, they felt firm and solid below her heaving torso, they didn’t quiver or fail like she anticipated. There was no hesitation in her slender limbs as she stood, no dream like sensation, or false reality; she definitely wasn’t sleeping anymore. Carefully, she could feel the wind pick up somewhere to her left, puffing and venting from an unseen source in the darkness. Dee’s ebony charred lobs swayed lifelessly atop her small and angular head, flopping against her snarled crest of likewise obsidian hued crest. Her chipper, normally thoughtful expression had since faded away, leaving only a slightly pained look of blank emotion; the full effect of her memory bouncing around in her fairly tangled mind. The blackness, she decided, wasn’t so bad after all… for even as she rose from her watery bed, she found that it hadn’t really been the ocean at all. It had been her own tears that coated her face in that salty sheen, and she may as well be dead before she let anything in this pit see her cry; much less, herself. Willing herself inwardly, Deiadre silently began her migration into the stark expanse of mirthless stone. The female’s small paw steps left brittle indents in the moist sand as she blindly progressed, her tear stained enigma grimmiced as her pounding headache hurdled to an all new level of unberability. Maybe if she just kept walking, maybe if she kept walking…
<p>
'Go. Away.' The tone was dry and cracked, like she remembered hers to be. It’s bland and ominous mumble bounced noisily about the walls of the vast tunnel, spurring up a whole new element to the darkness’s empty solitude. Surprised and slightly shaken by the silence splitting sound, Deiadre felt her parched thought clench anxiously as her dull orbs flashed warily. She paused abruptly in mid-step, carefully scowering her unfamiliar surroundings in an attempt to locate what had spoken. A murky, opaque outline of a large massive stone crevice drooped like a victim of optimal depression over her head. Small, hardly visible ropes of fine, twine-like vines wrapped themselves around it’s exterior like some sort of a constricting snake. A grotesque combination of slick moss and damp treebark emerged eerily from the inky blackness, sagging in a frail manner; attempting to support it’s branches between a small crevice in the cool slate. Tiny, nearly invisible dribbles of moist water droplets fell on periodic intervals from the narrow gap, sending a dull ‘plip’ echoing throughout the widely untamed cave. Dee’s eyes, growing more and more accustomed to the endless abyss of black nothingness around her, found great relief in that fact that it wasn’t actually as deserted as she first thought. There, not too far ahead, was a body. It’s whole, she could tell, was covered in a thick pelt of sandy brown, decisively stuck up at strange and unusual angles, as if he by some odd possession, had been inclined to take a nap. His face, a broad and defined collaboration of rich moca and soft cream, was contorted into a detesting scowl; topped only further by the sheer and undying defying ambition in his stormy azure gaze. The male wasn’t looking in her direction, she could tell; the way his eyes seemed focus on some insignificant article to her far right, while any recognition of her presence was filtered. Liquid obsidian paws lifted and stilled restlessly, caught somewhere in the center of her pending decision; should she say something? For whatever reason, she could have been the thing he was snapping at… But unfortunately, this possibility held no attention within the outspoken, unbroken, and free willed spirit that was, entirely, Dieadre ‘Dunne’.
<p>
“I’d love too, Blue. You wanna tell me where?”
<br>
<img src="http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i74/XColdFireX/hadeees0.jpg">
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Maya Vechita - July 10, 2008 03:40 PM (GMT)
IVYYYYYYYYYYYY! *glomp* Welcome back!
Fayruz - July 10, 2008 06:17 PM (GMT)
-hyperventilates-
Vienna Ri - July 10, 2008 06:48 PM (GMT)
You're back! <333 D'Awwwww we missed you lovely! And Dino looks like a total hotttttie! I love his family's Italian names - go Italians! (I'm half-Italian half-Scottish)
THIS is your symbol for easy editing. <3
THIS is your symbol for easy editing. <3