``the last n i g h t | [alice]

[Trench]

♠ The last night… Yes, the last, the last, the last, the last; never again, never, no, not ever; the last, he’d be sure of that, the last. Last of many things, yes, the last, the last time her face would haunt him, last time guilt might stab through him, last time he’d be useless, last time he’d fail. For him, for her, always, always for her, but he’d purge his mind, rid himself of those thoughts; useless, useless things, ever useless, ever burdensome; he’d repent, repay her, bring vengeance she couldn’t exact herself, but never again, never again would he think of her, or her. A new life, a new home—home? just what the hell did that mean. No home was home, no land would open its arms to him, no land would he open himself to, if it didn’t have her. Damn it! He tosses his head, violent, sharp, tosses the thoughts out, throws them away, garbage into a dumpster, useless, toxic, dangerous; and out they go, away, away. So sure is he, so sure this time; yet still she returns, red stripes, white beauty, ghosting through his mind, before his eyes, turning his sight red, red, red, ever and always red, a film of blood seeping across cerulean eyes, tainting, ever tainting, ever tormenting, a permanent ache, endless, ever growing, ever seeping, changing, but never leaving. Just what the hell? Damn it, damn it! Dancing, smiling, laughing, ever happy, as she always was, ever intoxicating, making him throb with every pleasant emotion, every desire which could possibly pull across his frame, and yet hollow, all hollow; his lips do not twist, do not return her smiles; dead, just as she, just as he, dead and gone and buried, useless. But the last, the last; he couldn’t force it, couldn’t win; still the red crept before his gaze, damned color as it was, tinted his gaze and tainted his mind, his thoughts, that blood-and-water sludge which clogs his brain, his head, churns about and distorts sense, distorts and ruins sanity; but just what the hell was that, anyways? Sane and insane, what damned difference did it make, what did sanity do for them? For all of them, rapists and murderers, the so-called sane ones, so intent upon bringing sanity to her, so intent until fragile mind lay broken within a cold, lifeless body left to rot in sanity. Damn sanity, leave him his insanity; he’d rot beside her before he thought as they did, would rot beside her regardless, but not yet, not yet, not just yet, not till they rotted, too, as was only right, only correct, only fair.

your touch is what i’m missing

♠ Head drops violently, meeting upturned claws, muscles rippling and pulling taut, dragging ebony daggers harshly through ivory fur, through crimson muscles—damn that color, always present, ever waiting before his eyes, spilled upon his paws, always with him! Droplets form up, torn from skin, from vessels, dragged out against will, pooling upon fresh gashes, rough wounds, but with the red comes relief, for her, for her! Her pain, his pain, all his now, carried for her, a burden his alone, thrust upon shoulders, across withering feathers, broken cerulean wings tainted crimson and ebony by dried blood which tipped the ragged edges; his burden now, his alone; leave her be free! Claws pull free, leaving wells of blood spilling over—red gold struck at last!—down his face, the pools dripping down beneath his ears, tainting white fur, pooling on the ground, drip-drip-drip, just one more sound, one more distraction, one more comfort away from her! Claws recede, drag themselves back within his paws, hide themselves from so disturbed a display, ashamed of their part within it, yet ever his to command, ever condemned to aid his insanity, to relief his rampant thoughts, ever slaves to paws all his own, paws which drag his frame now across ground which submits to torment of his burden, his weight, upon its earthen face. Silence, sweet, calming silence, an utter darkness within his mind, the red recedes slowly from his eyes, all the while advancing upon the white of his face. The last time, the last time, he purges his mind, his thoughts, and an empty hole gapes within his skull, consuming thoughts before they form, before they taint his conscious. Yes, silence and darkness, and into darkness he walks, roaming, unthinking, meandering, no goal, no path; peace, false as it is, yet peace indeed, caressing his frame at last. He merely walks, seeing without seeing, hearing without hearing, merely acting, thoughts consumed with the movement, as though each muscle must be told to work, each breath consciously taken, each step an exhausting job in and of itself. And, when thoughts at last pull away from muscles and bone directed each individually, when sight focuses at last, he stands before them, and his gaze moves frantically across them, wide and wild. Yet moments later, a blink and a breath, and they are gone. Gaze narrows, lips pull slowly back from fangs, tongue pressing painfully against slightly agape fangs; not even a feather, not one damned black feather. A growl rips from his chest as he suddenly launches himself upwards, claws raking harshly through bark, hauling himself onto a broad branch. Claws turn from bark to air, as though he would reveal invisible forms by slicing through them, yet no resistance meets his swipes, no blood spilled by his claws, and his paws fall still, landing roughly upon the branch, curved daggers lodging themselves into the wood as he sways slightly, chest heaving, eyes dull as he merely stares. But they are gone—no…not gone, for they were never truly there—gone without a single feather left, truly gone, and his eyes slide closed, plunging himself into darkness as he merely waits. If only waiting could summon to him the flock, could bring back to him guides so long absent, could lead him from misery, from revenge. But the only flutter of feathers springs from his own ragged stubs of wings; the crows are gone as surely as his own wings, and so he waits in vain. Within the silence, in the darkness, the red creeps back across his gaze, leaping across the chasm of his mind, and plaguing his thoughts once more.

_{♠ ripshank
♠ 1047
♠ lyrics © skillet
♠ o.o he has no idea what he’s doing XD rippy should not be left to his own devices. like, ever. XD}
[/size]

[_Miss{Alice}]

So Let Mercy Come . . .

Icy orbs glow as the large cat prowls as she stalks her prey. Though it was nothing more then a rabbit, it was still something to eat. The she-cat pinned her ears against her head getting ready to pounce. Her motions were as quiet as a moth landing on a leaf. She took little steps closer and closer. Just as the Tigress was about to take her finally step, Crack! Though it wasn't very loud, the rabbits high senses heard her and raced off. Crap, she hissed then sprinted off after her prey.

And Wash Away . . .

Her patiences soon ran out then pounced on the rabbit. She felt the ruffled fur of the rabbit against her muzzled and bit down hard on the skin that entered her mouth. After helpless thrashing and attempt to get away, the rabbit suddenly went limp. A successful smirk formed on the she-cats face and she 'pranced' along to find a good place to eat her kill.

What I've Done . . .

Her large paws made tiny thudding sounds against the earth as she made her way to the Old Climbing Oak. As the cool Spring air blew into her, a familiar yet uninviting scent swept over her. God, he is practically everywhere! Alice hissed. She dropped the rabbit and shook her coat, putting on her somewhat bitchy attitude. "Well lookie here. The Broken-Wing King all alone fighting off a tree." She mused. The she-cat's tail swayed back and forth as she made her way over to the Traitor. She had strong dislike for the so called Alpha but he was true entertainment and was bound to bring some spice and drama.

occ ; sorry for zee crappy-ness. Ali will probably just annoy the crap out of Ripshank so beware of the short and crappy posts. O.O

_{Lyrics From What I've Done By Linkin Park}

[Trench]

♠ Gone, gone, gone as she, gone with she, yet he waits, waits and waits, eyes resting closed, drawing darkness upon his mind, as though darkness can protect him, can shield him from the red, from that accursed color, from that damn color, that damn fog, the all-encompassing haze which drifts so readily across his eyes, closes in upon him—indeed, how is he to know that the color is confined solely to his own gaze, how is he to know it does not surround him, entrap him, a cloud of red drifting about his frame, entangling his limbs, winding about his tail, so that everywhere he looks he must look first through it, first through it and then upon her, upon the subtle curves, the soft fur, those gentle shades, so soft a color then, so loving, and so loved, oh yes, those stripes which he cared so much about, which he longed to see before him every moment, which he wished so much to find entangled about his own form, to mix and bind with his own cerulean stripes—such beauties they might have produced! Yet now she stands, every moment, before his gaze, ever smiling at him, and yet the dream has become nothing more than a nightmare, haunting and plaguing his mind, his vision, tainting his sanity—indeed, what sanity is left? But tainted it is, tainted it all is, by the red, the red, that bloody haze, the inundation of crimson fluids which taint his gaze, crimson haze which winds itself about him, surrounds him, separates him from them, from her—might she be a beautiful, as beloved, were it not for the haze? But he cannot know, cannot know, and so he hides, shielding himself from the red by the black of darkness, but is black any better? If only it were, if only he might blind himself permanently to the red, yet blackness would haunt him all the same, and so he grows ill, sickened, impatient of the black as much as the red, and at last, at last, his eyes lash open.

your touch is what i’m missing

♠ And there, there she is, before his eyes, behind the haze, red upon red as even her ivory fur, that pure pelt, is stained by red which is all he can see, and he turns, violent, sharp, his movements jerky, spins upon the branch, claws grasping, embedding themselves, sacrificing the branch for the sake of his own balance, yet again she is before him, waiting beside the life-giving trunk, the stronghold of the tree, and she stares and smiles, brother! A ragged growl rips from his throat, pulled up by a hatred not truly a hatred at all, but rather a love diseased, tainted and ill as the dream which poisons his gaze, and he turns away, only to find another altogether before his gaze, watching him, staring back with anything but a smile upon her face, and yet, and yet, just beyond, watching him, just over her should, she stays, staring, staring, and he concentrates upon the newcomer, searching, raking violently through the haze, who is this, who is this, but he grasps a face, yet not a name, no, never a name—that’s right, that’s right, that bitch of a maggot, the sarcastic one, and one without name, for name she forgot to give. A number, a number, what number to suit? One, perhaps, for she was first, though not first, not first, not within his mind, far from, oh yes, and he opts for this instead. But that face, that face, full of anger and hate, so much the better, far preferable to that smile, that damned haunting smile, and muscles bunch and roll within his frame, claws dislodge from bark and wood, rip free and down he goes, landing heavily upon his paws, gathering himself upwards, looking down upon she, for she is subordinate, is less-than, a maggot upon the ground, and he, fallen indeed, yet still superior, ever above, and he watches, considers, pushes back the haze and sees her truly, only to speak once the haze has fallen securely back into place, tainting as only it can. ”Far superior prey than yours, I see,” he mutters, gives a contemptuous huff, refuses even to glance upon the source of the stench which caresses his scent glands, ”And what of you, number nine? Are so poor a hunter that the best you can catch is some damn rabbit? Or perhaps no hunter at all, can you bitches do nothing useful besides nursing cubs? Pathetic.”

_{♠ ripshank
♠ 757
♠ lyrics © skillet
♠ Meh, rippy needs to wake up his muse xD And haha, let the annoying begin XD}
[/size]

[_Miss{Alice}]

Erase myself. . .

Oh no that asshole didn't! The tigress thought, bitchy attitude screaming for her to fight back. No, never should she let her anger ravage her over some complete idiot. A quick, high laugh escaped the large she-cats mouth as if the brute had made a humorous joke. Crystal orbs glowed with amusement as she sat on her back haunches. The males comment still burned inside her making her violent side want to rip out of her and murder the poor lost soul. Sharp claws dug into the ground, trying to control her anger. The Fae's auds pinned back against her crown and she soon regained some self control. "Well, this bitch has a name but a stuck up asshole like yourself is to arrogant to remember such a tiny detail." She said, eyes narrowing. "And the rabbit is just a snack. Amusement comes easy when you kill something." She added. Her eyes flickered from the tree and back to the brute. This one needs serious help, the mental kind. And just like that, the anger disappeared. For now. Curved claws dug into the ground as snarls rip through the cat. Icy orbs glow with amusement as the cat's auds pin back against her crown. She opened her mouth slightly to breathe in the air and clear her head. The cat's scent intoxicated the air and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Let go of what i've done . . .

One moment she was all about to rip his throat all and now she was being that little cat witch with the attitude. She started to circle him, getting closer and closer every time around. She asked, a small laugh escaped her maw. She was going to play a few mind games and then have her fun. She enjoyed humiliating pathetic males and watch them drown in their own pride. Confidence was nothing more then a false drug, it did nothing to you and would eventually kill you. Cocky-ness on the other hand was more of a force of nature then a drug. It just came naturally. The large cat bit a large piece of the rabbit off and threw it up and caught it in her mouth and started to chew at it. After she swallowed her prey she looked at the male. "So I hear you found yourself a little alphess." She laughed. "Do you really like her, or are you just using her for your entertainment? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if you were just using her. All you brutes ever care about is blood and sex." She scoffed and took final bite of the blood covered rabbit.

occ; ...Ali has major mood swings

_{Lyrics from What I've Done by Linkin Park}