★BITE MY TONGUE!, open4one

[percival]

w e ' r e sick like animals,

Moonlight broke through the trees in shards, draping the dark scenery in asymmetrical sections, making the vale a curious mix of dark and light. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled in an area where almost all of it's residents were fast asleep, having survived one more day in the treacherous world. The low hum of insects was serene, making the entire scene laughably picturesque, like a page out of a fairy tale, what with the fireflies ambling about in the warm darkness.

Percival ignored the instinctual tug that urged him to hide in the shadows; it was useless, considering that his eyes glowed even in the dark, the fire-like light flickering and rising off his orbs like smoke, slowly fading in the dark in two distinctive strokes of ice blue and cheese yellow. He blinked, momentarily cutting off the soft trails of color that his eyes emitted. It wasn't like having white fur helped-- it was like the gods (whatever was out there, really) were having some sort of cruel joke, expecting him to hunt and survive with this miserable get-up. At least he wasn't as disgustingly gaudy as some of the other wolves in the area he had spotted (and thankfully hadn't been seen by).

Percival crossed the soft grass with a cat-like silence, a ghostly air of elegance to his predatory gait. He paused in a patch of moonlight near the center, his ears swiveling as they strained to prove that indeed, he had heard someone approach. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, turning his head slowly this way and that, his gaze darting about as the lazy glow struggled after them the way a pup followed it's dam, the gold and blue swishing with each movement of his neck. Taking a breath, he decided that, fuck it, it wasn't like he hadn't been detected yet, had he? "I don't suppose," he called out in his lilting, smooth dulcet of a voice, "that the 'oh please kind sir or madam, don't hurt me' plea is going to do any good for me, is it?"

we play p r e t e n d ★

[vixen]

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[bg=030303] REALLYFUCKEDITUPTHISTIME ! Didn't I, my darling? It is the censorship of sound that allows only the demons still breath to be heard. The trees, so ugly and drab only plague her eyes, much like a disease she wishes to be rid of. It is the night- moonlight allowing a defence against any and all, it is a barrier of safety. A safety that is unwelcomed, as the lady, moving with a dangerous saunter wastes no energy hiding herself. It is pride that fills her lungs, for she is a blessed member of the Ilahlari now and fears none. Her eyes, belligerent in nature seek to kill simply by their rough gaze. Vixen, was already in an unpleasant mood that day, for no particular reason of course. Her paws held a natural elegance that could only be attained by her breed of wolf. It was a gentle gait, in which each paw lightly grazed the ground, before being gently lifted again. Although this elegance was simply on the outside, and it definitely did not follow inside. The horns upon the queens crown shook furiously, trying to sate the chill they had picked up from the brisk nights air. It is a scent, that that makes her stop sharply in her tracks. The coarse scent is interesting, and her russet ears pin to the peak, her cranium swirling to wonder temporarily. She wasn't exactly in the proper mood for chitchat, but perhaps she could cause a little havoc, and instil some fear in whoever this wolf was. Her body moves on it's own accord, slipping into the shadows of the trees, her mouth pulling back, black lips curling in a malice grin. Her body fuels itself with curiosity, and as she moves onward Vixen holds her crown high, flashing the two horns that threaten any and all who might object to her ego. It is then that she realizes a voice is calling, just outside the barrier of tree. She listens, and it is as if this man is challenging her, she sneers padding off toward him. It is then that she sees him, directly in front of her, she emerges from the shelter of tree. I am not one to show such mercy. Her voice is hollow, devoid of any sentiments towards the man in front of her. Her eyes take in the stark whiteness, disgusted by the pure blanket of ivory. It is too simple, Vixen has seen many flamboyant designs in her time, and it is blinding in her blood hue'd eyes.

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[percival]

w e ' r e sick like animals,

And so she appeared. Just his luck, Percival supposed, his heart beginning to pick up it's beat, he'd die some poor, unpainted wretch with not a ounce of power to his legacy. Sighing, he turned to face her, trying not to wrinkle his aristocratic little nose in distaste. Not one to show mercy? Oh dear gods, now here was a dictator to rival his own ego. Maned wolves were notoriously easy to topple (though he had not the pleasure of meeting one himself; he was only assuming based on the tales his dam and sire had told him before his untimely banishment)-- not to mention, he thought to himself with a confirming sweep of the female's body, if one was to believe in such chauvinistic ideas, she was a girl. Surely he'd be able to take her should she be yet another rabid, raving mad wolf.

"If I may ask," he articulated dryly, "do you happen to bath in the blood of innocents and feast on a whelp's intestines every other night, or is that only once a month?" he asked noncommittally. It was ridiculous how many of these types were wandering around. Perhaps it'd be in his favor to waltz into one of those cult-like packs and suggest a madwolf hunt. It certainly seemed like a valid enough idea. Or, rather, the outcome of such a suggestion seemed like a good time, should Percival survive such a thing.

He held back a laugh. It would be the pot calling the kettle black if he just randomly started into peals of laughter. Besides, he wasn't mad, was he? He declined to answer his own question. "Quiet night, isn't it?" Percival asked dully, somewhat tempted to turn tail and just flee before he said some trigger word that would send the fae into some fit of rage or something.

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