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Post by coddle the infectionxxx on May 1, 2006 16:08:09 GMT -5
Ablack and grey swirled cat walked along the thunderpath. His short pelt was a marred tempest of black and grey,covering his lithe mcules. His eyes were souless black pitts, as he sat completely still, waiting for the looming owl to swoop. His dark eyes glared up at the beast daring it to near him. As soon as it plunged he leaped up, and with consise aim ripped out the animals thraot. Blood covered his muzzle, and he dropped the brown creature. He slowly began to eat it, then buryied his remains.
He lay out, and closed his eyes, letting the moon light wash over his pelt. His own scent lingered, a mix of blood and vanilla. His dark paws were dirty, htoguh the rest of him was clean, proof of a recent wash. He was sprawled on a rock, completely unmoving, with his eyes shut.
His mcules, however were tense, out ruling his dormant nature. The wind shifted the pelt on his neck, but he did not so much as twitch. The surrounding clearing was fresh with the flowers he hated, and the scent was that of a warm spring night.
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Post by icefang on May 1, 2006 18:22:24 GMT -5
Jade lurked in the trees, surveying the new tom with interest. Without coming out from her shallow shelter of oaks she said, "What brings you to the forest?" He had a peculiar smell about him... one smell she couldn't recognize, blood, and... fox. She had no idea why, but just his smell was intimidating her... perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to bring herself to this tom's attention.
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Post by coddle the infectionxxx on May 3, 2006 16:18:13 GMT -5
The grey tom turned to face her, slowly. He watched her for a long moment. His black eyes, pupils undistinguashable, took her in. It looked as if he didn''t have eyes at all. As if he had pits filled with shining, unseeing black ink on his face. The late afternoon wind whipped his pelt about lightly for a moment before it died, as if sensing he loathed it simply for being.
What inspires you to talk to me?
He said, curtly and icily. It was as if he was saving hsi words for another occasion. But the venom that was injected into his words was enough to brandish the whip of hate in a way his blank face and souless eyes were not doing. When he spoke, his voice was horrible, like a low thunder storm, or ice breaking.
When his lips opened to adress her, against his will, his pointed teeth flashed in the sun. They were bright white, the color of freshly fallen snow. It gave him a carniverous, threateinging air, and his long glinting claws did not do anyhtign to make him look the innocent kitten. [/color]
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Post by icefang on May 3, 2006 17:18:20 GMT -5
She was chilled to the bone by his tone of voice, but refused to show it. "I inspired myself to talk to you, now what brings you to this forest?" she pressed. She looked at him for a long moment, trying to be discreet. He bore no wounds of a battle, his scent was still a mystery. But paired with his large figure, hard muscles, and icy tone, he created a very frightening figure. She had never known a cat to make her feel the way she did from mere scent and one sentence.
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Post by coddle the infectionxxx on May 4, 2006 6:11:40 GMT -5
The wind and fox spirit called me here against my will. Pleased?
He sneered. His cold eyes glinted, but still no pupil was identifiable. He rose off of the rock, with ghost like movements. The only noise he emitted was the grating of his long, pointed claws on the rock he had been resting on. As the wind picked up again, almost hopefully, it blew his scent across to the toher cat.
His scent was one of the thunderpath, blood, and fox. There was also a hauntingly musky, vanilla scent that seemed oddly out of place. The wind bit at his swirling fur, but he did not care, and as his large muscles carried him to the bottom of the rock, they slid smoothly under his pelt.
In contrast to his dark pelt, his teeth flashed a bright white. They were small, and pointed, and truth be told looked like those of foxes. He had a cold, indifferent shell,but no one had penetrated it in the past seven moons. He also seemed so much like a ghost, nor did he seem catious, as if taunting and flirting with death. Unlike most cats in these parts, he did not carry the certain self assurance that the stars spoke to him. He belived in different spirits, and sneered at the idea that stars might be alive.
He didn't want to talk to this she-cat, but after all this time, his manners remained, so he stood, impatiently waiting for a chance to leave. A chance he doubted she would provide.
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Post by icefang on May 4, 2006 20:05:26 GMT -5
"No," she said. "But I suppose I can't get any more out of you, can I? Well, I won't die if I don't know." She had no idea what the wind and fox spirits were. She could feel sweat spiking her fur. She turned and licked it away, relishing the chance to not have to look at him.
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Post by coddle the infectionxxx on May 5, 2006 15:34:12 GMT -5
Would it not be most unfortuante if you did?
The tom spoke in a cold, sarcastic voice. He fixed her with his eerie black stare, and his face was twisted with contempt. Somthing about him was snake like, or fox like. He had a sly, dirty air, as refined as it was, as if he was about to play a dirty trick on anyone near him. His cold outer shell was reinforced with the stormy colors of his pelt.
However scrawny he was, it could not be noticed that as he walked, his meacingly taut muscles slid under his pelt with ease. He was not diasesed, nor particularly ravenous, which marked him as a good hunter. His slim silhoute was smaller than some forest cats, but he carreid himself as if he mattered more than anyone else.
As the afternoon darkened a slight shade, the lights and shadows that palyed across his pelt became more evident, but his eyes never flashed once. It was as if they were shadowy pits not even the sun would venture to light up.
When the tom walked, he almost slunk, renforcing the snakelike sense about him. He seemed the sort of cat that depened on slight of word and paw, and clever speeches to get him places. But any word he uttered was short, and icily curt. He spoke as if those he spoke to, were not worthh his words.
This shortness was distracting thouhg, because he had a light accent, and spoke this language oddly. He did not seemafraind she would attack him, nor did he show the least curiosity in who she was. It was like he hated her without knowing her; hated her without ever seeing her.
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Post by icefang on May 5, 2006 16:15:05 GMT -5
"What's your problem?" she asked, looking upon him rudely. "You haven't even been aware of my existence for more than five minutes and you already hate me?" She felt very brave for taking a tone with him.
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Post by coddle the infectionxxx on May 6, 2006 9:20:28 GMT -5
[Ergh. He's so hard to RP because all mypost with him must be atleasst 200 words. Lemme go write this thing on word, then i will post it here.]
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Post by icefang on May 6, 2006 11:56:19 GMT -5
OOC: O.O take your time O.O
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Post by coddle the infectionxxx on May 7, 2006 15:45:01 GMT -5
You have not given me a reason to like you
The tom’s voice was curt and icy. His eyes burned into her, their soulless black depths trying to sear her with his hatred. He took another step forward, sinking into his shoulders, not unlike foxes. As the dusk’s wind blew across the meadow, his scent mingled with that of all the other cats and flowers that had ever been present. He had an omnipresent vanilla and blood scent, mixed with that of fox. It baffled many cats, making them think he had recently fought a fox or something unreasonable like that.
He did not flinch in the least at her hostile tone, looking boredly indifferent at it if possible. Blithely, he shook out his grey and black swirled pelt, watching as two strands of his fur broke free and floated off, carried by the wind. He flexed and then re-sheathed his claws ad he arched his back in the slightest bit of a stretch.
Back when he was the second, proud master of a novice, he had possessed the most beautiful silver eyes his pack had seen. They had been molten silver, lighting up his entire face, making him one of the best looking toms. His tempest like pelt had attracted females, along with his hard, lithe muscles. But as time went on, and one by one, his loved ones dropped off the face of the earth, his eyes had darkened. They had gone from electrifying silver, slowly to slate grey, then more quickly to pitch black. And right now, it was almost as if his eyes had been gouged out, and nothing remained. Like he was a blind, seeing ghost of a cat.
When this she-cat had walked up to him, deciding to talk as if she owned him or the world. Walking up to strangers and talking to them. How very rude of her. Like every cat he had ever met. All of them were traitors, not to be mingled with. He also had to grudgingly admit that he himself was a cat, so perhaps he should sympathize with those he hated.
Little did she know, however. Stupid, like most unfortunate felines. He hated all cats, simply for being. Any time he saw or scented a cat, he remembered all those he had lost. His mother, sisters, mate, kittens, master, leader, deputy, friend, and his herd. All made up of those traitorous cats. And then he had been tricked into the worst curse the gods had in store for him. His lives. All thirteen of them intact, keeping him alive for as long as they possibly could. They probably mocked him, and taunted him about how he had fallen prey to their trickery. Now he was anchored to this world, full of cats until some animal had the pity to kill him thirteen times.
He had heard that the cats in this forest were wimps, and that a mere growl would scare their bravest cat off. But he had also heard of their cracked up star clan, and insane rituals. But he envied the leaders in this forest. They only got nine lives, while he would live longer than any of them, most likely. He would laugh when they died, but he would hate them for it. Why did they die, and stay dead, while he knew that if he died, all that would happen was that he would come right back, into the same messed up life.
This embittered him, and made him hate all cats. Why did they have the ability to die? Did they not know of the greatest of the five boons of life? Death was the greatest, no other getting anyone anywhere. But most cats feared death, thinking it frightening. But he himself loved death with a gentle love that one might have for a mate. He watched the other cat in disgust. She could probably die, then spend the rest of her life in the silent bliss he craved. Instead, she probably feared it, feared him. He himself feared nothing. If he wanted to die, what was there to fear? He looked forward to death, and did not fear it, or anything.
[/color]
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Post by icefang on May 8, 2006 18:02:39 GMT -5
"You don't like anyone," she said. "I can't say why. But you don't seem like the compassionate type... and when I say compassionate, I mean 'able to tolerate the presence of others.'" Again, she felt brave for saying this, and in the way she did. It almost drove away her fear-scent.
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Post by coddle the infectionxxx on May 8, 2006 19:21:46 GMT -5
Are you versed in your wisdom and observation? No I do not relish the company of other felines; a traight you have diligently picked up, I am sure. As to your inability to see a reason, all I can say is I am most sorry, and send my regrets to your intellectual confidence on this mystery of your sciences
The tom spoke wiht a bitter mocking tone to his icy voice. As it was carried across the wind, it could be noticed that he really did have a cold voice. In the dusk, it seemed to fit. He had the strange likness to a vampire; cruel and dark, and seen at dusk rather than dawn.
If she spoke threats, the tom would not react to the other’s voice. He was not intimidated by other living things; he had nothing to fear of them. All they had to give for him was death, and that was pin pointedly what he wanted. So if this cat attacked him, he wouldn’t care. He might even relish it. Letting out all his anger, and letting that monster in the back of his head take over for him. The one that as soon as something attacked him, he couldn’t help but free.
A monster he found lived in many, though they fought it down, labeling it as instinct. But he saw it for what it was, a blood thirsty tool that if unleashed would win all battles. He was not afraid of killeng or dying, and that was his greatest strength. His other strength was also his weakness. He had all but lost his ability to love, and therefore felt no remorse stealing and killing. But if the slihgtest threat to his son was brought up he would see red.
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Post by *Simply Seasle* on May 9, 2006 16:59:45 GMT -5
Seacross had walked over towards this place because she had smelt a strange scent, and being bored, decided to go see what it was.She had watched the scene in silence, and decided that the ghost loner was haunted by a horrible past.It wasn't hard for her to figure that out, as she too was haunted by her past.She shook her silver fur, and walked out into the clearing, her blue-green eyes watchful."Hello, my name is Seacross, would you mind telling me where you came from?" she meowed, making her voice ice cold to match his.
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Post by icefang on May 9, 2006 17:25:35 GMT -5
OOC: mmmmmm..... Jade's gonna leave now... >.< she doesn't like Hauntedstar!
IC: "Okaaaaay..." said Jade, most unJadeishly. "I guess I'll be going now before I get my heaed bitten off." She slipped away into the darkness, ignoring Seacross. Once she was in the forest, she sprinted far away before even stopping.
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