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Post by .cay on May 21, 2011 21:25:21 GMT -7
one shot two shot
[] skeleton babylon []
three shots four shots
[] baby []
all i hear is gunshots
[] two full season changes ; one month []
this is where the fun stops
[] wolf []
bodies drop
[] sandy white ; white eye patch []
hit the floor
[] grey wolf []
music's off
[] fae []
parties stop
[] darq []
everybody hit the door
[] Like china, delicate and spindly. With their curved spines where sweaty human hands grab flailingly at so as to appear cultured. Gold rimmed, patterned with hand painted fowers and little sceneries of cottages in the country, or quaint little houses in the suburbs. It could be in monotone chromatics, or painted in a million pastels, but that does not change what they are. They are there for show; perfect little masterpieces created by someone to show off to another. They are small and delicate because that is what is valued in society. So, like me, I was created to be a masterpiece, shown off by my reaper father. I was hand-crafted to be delicate and precise, cultured and effeminate. My little legs are skinny and weak, only there to hold me up in a proper pose and to look pretty. I am gold rimmed, both in characteristics and in colour; my mannerisms are made to entertain and to please. My coating is a soft white, like porcelain that has been stained by the sun, and is tipped with a gold flicker.
Around my delicate cranium I'm sure my father envisaged a halo of Omega. My pale white face is littered heavily with dark gold makeup. At the tip of my innately pointed harks, almost like fox radar, they turn to the darkest of golds. However, on the inside they turn to a soft, babyish fur, of pearl. As you trace down my canvass, you'll notice my one optic surrounded by a pool of snow. White fibres are predominant over my left eye, threading slowly into my other sandy threads as they go outwards on the contours of my facial map. My nose is baby pink, strange for a wolf, but entirely in my beauty-painted features. It is small, like my muzz, and delicate, quivering.
I have a small bodice, packaged up neatly into an almost pup size. I am very small boned. When I was little my father used to joke that I had the bones of a bird, that I was so small with any light puff of breath I might fly away. Maybe this is why he held onto me so tightly, his gem. I am the size of a mature fox, maybe just a hair larger. This is probably how large I will always be, at the height of my growth. And yet, my father had the highest hopes I would spawn large, beautiful pups with golden fur. Maybe he wished to sell them, those golden pups. But my small bodice (or at least, I thought,) would not bear very many litters. What a shame, to my father at least.
My paws are also snow white, turning this cold colour as you creep down my spindly legs. My pads are dappled pink and brown, but hardly used and not very rough at all. Trophies are kept in a case of glass, treasured, never used, and never broken. Like my paws, the very tip of my tail turns ivory, quite like a foxes, in fact.
Well, I never really did care much for my looks. Sure, I was a beautiful breed of wolf, but who really prided themselves on beauty these days? I know my function. I survive only as the tool for breeding, and that will ever be my only function. So be it; I was never raised to look anywhere else.
But one thing I always hated, was the wolves my father would bring by to see me. Like he was auctioning me off to the highest bidder. I didn't like that. If I was going to be bred to make beautiful pups, I would find a handsome stag, or none at all. You can't expect beauty if you breed it with a beast.
Like I said; I was bred to please. All my mannerisms and idiosyncrasies are made to entice the senses, to lull you into security, to boost your ego and your pride. I am a shiny bauble that you can wear on your arm and show off to the world, look at me, look what is mine. Don't I look smashing? I will always be an accessory. I will always be polite, bend to your will, your every desire. There is nothing about me that ever says "defiance," or that ever contradicts your words. I am here to reinforce your fantasy, and will always say yes. I am yours, should you take me. I will bear whatever you wish to put me through, for I am your toy. And toys can be played with, or broken. []
somebody's licking shots off
[] He went through everyone he could find. No one seemed suited enough for his tastes, and he was an artist. And the artist had to have the best materials, or that man could not create his masterpiece. His paintbrush must be clean, pure, and he canvas must not have been painted on before. His paints had to be made of the most beautiful materials in the entire world, and they had to be the most vibrant that any man could have. Then, he needed to clean his hands, and work on his creation. It might take days. It might take years. But, it would pay off in the end, when he had created the most beautiful thing in the world. As was my fathers' search for the perfect mate. It did take him years, but not past the years of his prime. Finally, his search was ended as he found my mother. The perfect mate. So, they had a litter of pups, and my father was rewarded with his gorgeous offspring.
He was so overtaken by how beautiful my older siblings were, that he mated again with my mother, with the same results. This time, the litter revealed only two pups. Me, and my twin brother. We were both gorgeous as ever, golden pups with eyes bluer than the glaciers themselves. We were their two trophies, the envy of our older siblings.
I grew up alongside my brother so closely. He was Skeleton Tribylon, and was much larger than I was, even as a pup. Ever since we were born, he always played the part of older brother. He was perfect to me. Always kind, always loving (as we had been bred to behave), but not in an insincere way. And, even then, I knew insincerity, because I had been raised to be that way. Of course, in the most polite, kiss-up, lapdog way possible. But, whenever our older siblings got angry with us for being so delicate, or so pretty when the wandering wolf happened to stay with our small family pack for the night, he would take the beatings from them. He would push me into the mud pile or the dust and twigs and I would never understand until our siblings came and decided to punish us for our vanity.
He always made sure that he was the one who shone. Not me. So that I would be spared. I really loved him.
Then, the unexpected happened. Because of our traits, we were obviously noticed within the community. One day, Tiby and I were playing in the field, when suddenly he shoved me into an old gathering of fallen stones. Tiby, I whined, unable to squirm out. Tiby, I'm stuck! Why'd you go and do that! Tiby! He growled at me, like he never had before. I was scared, and whimpered once before quieting. Tib...? All was silent. I don't know how long I was holed up in that rock formation. I laid there for days, waiting for my brother to come save me.
I started to lose hope. I cried, being only seven months old.
Then, when I was almost expired from heat, cold, starvation and thirst, a ray of hope. I heard a howling, and I recognized that howl. It was my fathers call, whenever he would be searching for us. I returned with my small yowl, crying into the night. Please find me, I begged Omega to grant his pawsteps wisdom. And then he found me. I was never so happy to see my creator. I whimpered and yowled and whined and begged and licked his toes and his chest and touched noses and howled and yipped and stole away into the warmth of his fur. If I hadn't have known better, I could have sworn that the noise he made in our mutual happiness was close to a purr.
After a joyful reunion, he curled around me in our makeshift nest, and while grooming my cold and matted fur, filled me in on the details of what happened. I was horrified. A gang of dark forcers had made their way through the land. Like my father, they ached after beauty, and when they heard there was a clan filled with as much beauty as you could get your paws on, well of course they were interested. They stole through our terrace, and made their way to my clan. First, they took and forced my older sisters, and my mother. Then they shoved them into a cart and beat my father and my older brother.
They had almost passed out of our territory through the field where Tiby and I had been playing, when they caught our scent. Tiby must have heard or scented them, and then acted fast. Apparently, he headed off the pack and fought with them, to lead them away from me. I cried, when my father told me my twin had been brutally massacred. I broke down even further when he told me that my older brother had died from his injuries as well. I was torn apart.
That night was the most cherished for me in a very long time. I revelled in my father's warmth and in the rise and fall of his breath. Maybe I was too young to know, to notice, or to understand how shallow and ragged it really was. Maybe I chose to ignore the fact that blood was still coursing from his veins. Either way, when I woke up in the morning, he was gone.
I stayed with his body for over a week.
Then, I left. Never to return. I vowed to be the perfect plaything. The perfect toy. To just sit, and sit pretty. Maybe, just maybe, that way, I wouldn't experience the same amount of heartache and horror that I had to face as a seventh month old pup. I would never lose anything again. That was my promise. []
one shot two shot three shots four shots
I sit carefully on the rock. It juts out from the centre of the river, a precarious perch in the raging tides. However, I am at ease. I lift a paw gently, and dip it into the chilly water. Holding it there for a few moments, I raise it once again and draw the glacial water over my muddy pelt. A few more times and most of the mud is gone. Taking a deep breath, I slide into the river and follow the current, paddling just enough with my snowy paws to keep my head above water. I am directed over a small fall, and into a natural pool.
A sigh escapes my lungs, and I dive. My body contorts as I spin underwater to try to remove all of the dirt. I brush up against the bottom and run my paws over everything I can reach. Gasping, I surface, and then dive again; I am eager to escape this cloud of dirt. After a few more dives, I am suitably clean. Like most areas along this river, there are sunning rocks that form platforms out of the bank. They catch the heat and start to steam in the sunlight. I slither onto one of these, and start to groom. Laying in the comforting rays of warmth, my fur begins to dry and shine in the light.
Birds flee their dens and perch on the trees around me, serenading with their song. I could not tell you what attracted them, if anything other than the simple glean of my gold bodice in the shining daylight. But, as I yawn, I find no solace here. My tiny body streches, and I relax just enough to nap. As I nap, the past comes to me in dreams. And, once again, I am happy. For once, I don't mind being somewhere other than the present. There is a face that I miss among every one I have ever seen.
And it will never be seen again.
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