``dead dreams dancing in front [open]

[Andarial]

"If I am a whore than I'd rather be that than stay with someone who only thinks he can control me and own me," Andarial dared to say. She had the brravery to make the one she lusted after, almost loved to posssibly hate her. Caring not what the jaguar thought she kept her attention on Kotori. Andee was ready to kill Kotori and yet she felt the need to love him, being owned by someone was almost nice, almost.

As his tail touched her her back leg came up and stepped on it purposefully. She ground her paw into the ground and the tail. The whole time keeping her furious eyes on Kotori. She hated him right now and yet loved him more than ever. She growled at him and hissed at the end. HEr eyes narrowed, keeping the look of don't mess with me.

She was a great fighter and Kotori had already learned that, mostly because she wasn't afraid of trying anything.She kept his tail underneath her paw and gave him a smirk that was half sweet half angry.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

Loyalty, fidelity, such fragile, fragile concepts in a world so harsh, such easily broken vows, so easily bent and broken and done away with; he says he’ll love her forever, but a prettier face, a more seductive body, and lust proves more powerful. And she? She promises unending faithfulness, unending love, but the little viper spits lies as well as poison, and when he thinks he has her most entangled is when she slips free most easily. Oh yes, fidelity is a fragile thing indeed, a dream struggling to survive in a world of harsh reality; the audience knows this story all too well, the rich maiden hiding suitor in form of a maid, the rich husband meeting his own seducing succubus in a motel down the street. He holds her tight and whispers sweet nothings, says she’s his only love, and back home she does the same; but in the back of both their minds, their spouse is screaming, yelling, throwing and striking. Violent altercations, they know, are all that waits for them when morning reveals the dark shadows of their treacheries. Oh yes, the audience knows this story all too well, and so does he. Every word a lie, trust is given all to easily by these romantics, their hearts so easily torn and ripped and cracked apart when the lies come calling, when truth rears its ugly, harsh face into their lives. And here? Here the story is no different; here she stands, striking and screaming, and they he stands, unabashed, uncaring; there is no love here, no fidelity; which one will break the bond first? That fiery bond of lust, so strong at first sight, in that first glimpse, yet so easily weakened by single misstep, single misspoken word. And he, the puppet master, pulling the strings apart, unraveling what she so easily fell into believing to be her perfect world, revealing her prince charming as the cheating demon that he is; truth is no stranger to this play, to these players, to him. And the audience quiets, grows suspicious, glances to their own mates, their own spouses; the story is always the same, always the same; can it spread from the stage? But he knows his part, and the audience is unimportant; all that matters all these fellow players, the script, those cold dark words typed out on a page, the scribbles and white-out marks and the rough, winding handwriting on the corrections.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Words; yes, simple, innocent words, twisted so drastically, formed upon palate so malicious as his, words become weapons, tools, picking at the strings and unraveling the lies, revealing, unfeeling, uncaring, merely truthful, blunt and honest. Words are his to play with, to shape and mold and twist and turn, phrases formed and picked apart and reformed into all new meanings; words are his weapons, more than claw and fang and muscle, for words, he finds, are far more effective, far more fun. And words are best used now; the violence he’ll leave to these fiery lusters, for his part is merely the instigator, the demon placing drops of discord and chaos, the world in which he lives and revels. ”Trash I covet, yes, but even trash has its uses; I’m sure you, my friend, can understand the needs she can so easily fulfill before I toss her aside. And she… she’s still fresh. I’m sure you can appreciate that. And I’m sure you can appreciate, too, how little claws across her face would make a difference; it’s not her face I’m after.” Gaze slides easily from brute to female, rakes slowly across her lithe frame, falls upon her face, and rests there, following her expressions, her actions, smirking all the time. The spotlight may well be on his fellow demon, but spotlights are so easily turned, so easily shifted, and he is not accustomed to being left in the shadows, nor will he allow it. ”That, my dear, is all well and good, for I’m afraid you’ve no choice; a whore you are, and shall always be, it’s merely in your nature. All the better you prefer it, perhaps you’d like to indulge in your truer nature?” Smirk reveals fang, gaze challenges fellow demon, slides back to her; again it is her, it has always been her, would always be her; but always is so fragile, so easily broken. When might this play end, when might forever end? ”Freedom, little viper, is that what you long for? I can give you that; can he promise the same? One thing I ask of you, one thing, so easy, so natural, one thing, and then freedom is yours; and what does he want of you, hm? Have you asked yourself that? Or can you see it in his eyes, as I can? Is he so much better than I, are you that blind? Will you be my toy for a day? Or will you commit yourself to him, give yourself time and again to him, until he tires with you, as he most certainly will? I think, my dear, it’s time you wake up, and make your choice with reality staring you in the face. Reality is all that’s left to you now.”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
869
lyrics © dashboard confessional
Decisions…decisions xDD Andee’s in quite the predicament between these two, haha}

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[' ' K.O.T.O.R.I.]

The Weaver must have known what she had done the moment she had taken their threads - violent red, brilliant yellow and black as obsidian - and corded them, braiding them even as a snake unraveled from her ministrations, colors vibrant and deadly, scales to coil about her fingers, to hiss and tickle her ear; the shears she held in her other hand, tucked behind her skirts, a symbolism that could not be lost on Kotori had he chance to view her with his mortal, flame sparked eyes. He was red; he was hot, heat, a passion tempered by the stillness of a pond, like liquid metal forged under a smithy's fire. He had been made, and beaten, molded into this shape, metal and dusty. Eventually he would rust, grow brittle with age and return to the earth he had been made from; eventually his mind would grow forgetful, addled by the years of living, of surviving, and would disintegrate in his very skull. He would fall, like all the cats before him, his eye to glaze over, milky-white and blind, his hearing to dim, to die as his fur stood on end feeling caresses in the wind that did not exist.

It would be extinction, the end to his life, as death clamped it's jaws fitfully about his head and drove it's fangs deep into his old, withered flesh. Scavengers once too afraid to even sniff at his trail would come and feast; maggots would breed in his flesh, and eventually the very trees which stilled at his oncoming would drive their roots deep into his bones and suck him into the earth. No matter how far, or how vicious he became, he would fall and it galled at him, knowing that no matter how he fought his battle with fate, he would eventually be wrestled to the ground. More so, looking at this beast who would force his paw as his soul shook with outrage, screamed with the desperation of one who saw a greater picture and could not bear to see it torn to shreds before it's very eyes. But it was fraying, this perfect anchor he had found in the beast, in the she-leopard that riled his loins, that whispered to the darker currents of his heart. Her youth was perfection, many years his junior he still had the ability to turn her, quietly, like a shark would circle it's prey before striking. Ever moving, ever spiraling -- a nudge here, a word there, a slow disjointed process that would lead to the end he had imagined.

This had started out as a small hitch, had morphed before his very eyes into something worthwhile, his muscles thrilling with pleasure at the game, the challenge which glittered and made ghastly those dulled jaguar eyes, faded like old coins left to rot in a child's pocket. Desire of a different kind pulsed in his own eyes, cut under his skin, made stiff what was once lax and at ease. Distant words rumbled from the stout creature, hollow compared to the pounding in his head, the mixed sensations as claws unsheathed, cut at the ground. Jealousy did not burn this time, but another emotion came up, spilling over the tendons in his mouth, his muzzle to curl back. Potent, powerful, it was its own inebriation as the dizziness set him on a new path he would carve out for himself. So shifting, oft-changing, as whimsical as the breed and as fiercely attached to that freedom, Kotori jerked his tail out from under Andarial's paw with a force that would make most wince; nothing passed his face, not even the irritation that must have pricked his heart. Yet it was nothing to the utter endlessness which opened new paths in his heart, like a river blocked from it's path, it digs deeper, forcing a new way when others would keep it locked and barred. Like water, his whims changed, like wind, his tastes altered.

Weakness, pride, distorted sense of honor -- were these things that created Kotori? That made him the beast he was? He was temperament, he was selfishness, madness, but passion stirred him, and while love was often beyond his comprehension, he felt it's distant cousin: lust. Maybe even believed lust for love, though he would never say it aloud. Choices had opened up for him - let the girl breed, to fall under the might of that jaguar and watch, in silence, as she was overtaken, broken and left behind like trash, or confront the male. Two choices branched off into consequences that petered out in his head: she did not want his help - could see it in the proud arch of her neck, in the way her eyes were ablaze with defiance. But he knew defiance was easily overcome, and as small and fragile as she truly was, he could see her falling so easily to the weight of jaguar -- heavier than he, shorter than he. He could protect, but she would not enjoy that either. So many options!

A sick smile at the idiocy of it all -- how Olya must be laughing, with her mad way of tilting her head, lips only half-twisted, mouth skewed but still agape. Ugly creature, wretched animal, and yet he had found a little bit to love in that madness, in the delirium which had ruled his childhood and some of his adult life. He had known no other and if it had been she standing in his paw-prints, he knew the path that she would take, could feel it itch where his claws were connected to earth -- as if she were reaching out to him from death through the only means she knew how.

It was, to say the least, disorienting to see his desires, his plans so blatantly shared with his (until now) ignorant quarry. A rough growl scraped against the tenuous bonds of his vocal cords the moment he had sent the jab in her direction - he did not like having his wants so blatantly shared, for it made it a whole new game that was less interesting to carry out. He knew her kind, adored her kind for her ability to seek the good in the bad, to see the strength in all that distaste, and she would, inevitably, try to see past it, and amend his grievances as if it were he that had the faults. He did of course, but Kotori did not believe so. It was his strength, this blindness, as well as his hubris. Casting his gaze toward her, tail flicking a little painfully at the end, though only a tension in his brow would imply the injury she had given him, Kotori's hot gaze fell on the virile female.

She was still clean, and raw. He had left her so, waiting for the moment to truly make her his -- yet if he knew anything of the vibrant, tempestuous feline, it was this: she did not deal well with being cornered. "What a choice." he murmured, half-laughing. "Would you be his whore for a day?" and the passion in his eyes gave him away. In this, he had no control, and the flaw in his armor was shown. Lust: a powerful mistress. If Andarial felt the need to spite him, let her go to the beast, but there was a warning there, in the ripples of his fur. The moment she neared him, her throat would be his for the taking, and whatever had stayed his claw would be nothing but ashes, a bleak memory of what might-have-been.

word count;; 1274
tags;; inc, and
OOC;; .__.

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[Andarial]

As the tail moved from underneath her foot, Andarial couldn't help the fact that her smirk widened. Her tail ceased its lashing as she heard the jaguar's question about her becoming his whore for the day. Her lip curled in disgust. What made her even more furious was that Kotori asked her the very same question. She sawonly two answers at the moment, choosing her freedom and becoming the jaguar's bitch for a day or letting Kotori defend her. The last one made her recoil in disgust.

Then something dawned on her. A slow smile that was sickly twisted curled her features. She laughed, creul and darkly at both of them and began to turn. Then bending in a way that accentuated her natural beauty she laughed once again. "You think you are so much smarter than jaguar, but you are not. There are other ways for me to keep my freedom, and another answer to your question than the two you so obviouslyhave laid out. No, I will not be your whore and no I will not allow Kotori to defend me, instead I decide to leave both of you behind. So have fun talking or killing each other. I care not. But know this, neither of you will pass by me with out a good lashing."

With that she turned tail and left, careful to make her tail to swing in such a way to make hips all the more mountable. Though she seemed relaxed and languid her nerves were on edge and so her ears were rotated backwards to catch any approach they might try.

(left)

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

Exit, stage left. More directions, blocked in ink upon a page, written in where there was nothing before, another change unforeseen, unexpected, unfitting of the play in which they perform. The audience gasps; the audacity of her! But the script says it is true; there are no more lines for her, not today, not in this play; three parts reduced to two, and further words shall have to wait for a later date, another play, perhaps this one a two part one which he is so used to, so enjoys. Three part plays grow so complicated, so unnecessarily violent, when two part plays are so much simpler, so much more enjoyable, yet what of this one? Two parts, but two parts which leave no room for the fairer sex, for the part which he so sought after. Yet there was still room for interest, here in this play, between he and this fellow demon, this brute who so identified with himself. Lust bid him abandon this play, follow the girl, take her for what little she was worth; yet interest drew him into this play, anchored him to a script he did not yet know, to lines he learned as he went, to a plot line and ending so far ahead he could not know what to expect. This feeling, this not-knowing, made things so much more interesting than he would ever had expected. One simple change, one simple addition--or cancellation, perhaps?--and he found himself in an entirely new play, entirely new situation; everything had changed at last. The cycle remained the same, but he was no longer part of it--at least for the moment. For now, he and this brute had removed themselves from that cycle which both of them seemed so familiar with, so at home within, or perhaps it was the female who had thrown them from that cycle; after all, her leaving had been the cause, this was not of their own vocation, but should they remain, they merely removed themselves further from that familiar place. And where did they go? Where did this new path lead? He found himself drawn to the answer, drawn to discovering, to knowing; there was a new play to learn, new lines and, perhaps, a whole new part. There was no exit for him, not today, not yet.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

And so he does not leave, does not follow those swaying hips, that held-apart tail, that serpentine frame which he so ached to overtake. No, he does not, though he knows so well he could, if only he wished, yet he does not wish, despite the almost physical pain which leads him to do so. No, instead, he remains still, watching, following, until shadows overtake her ivory form, that feminine frame, and his dull eyes shift slowly to the male, this fellow brute, this fellow demon. Smirk stretches, pulls across raw flesh, flesh struggling to close paths opened by her claws. A quiet chuckle, and he's following new lines, lines he reads in a script known only to him, yet still so strange, so unknown, a script he reads in his mind's eye, while true eyes watch, and wait. Muscle shifts beneath coat of sable, stretching, contracting, pulling, and he reclines upon heavy haunches, sitting with tail entangling his form, wrapping about his side, relaxed, poised, unthreatened; he does not know this play, but what reason is that to worry? None, none at all; worry does not register in his mind, even now. "Well, well..." he mummers, half to himself, half to be heard, quiet, considering, "what a show, hm? So much spunk..." Glance is cast beyond the male, off into the distance, after the escaping female, only to return without bite, without tug, an empty line returned to the male. "Yet so hardly worth the trouble... or perhaps all the more worthy for it... I suppose neither of us will get to find out, at least not today. But let me guess, hm, you'll go running after her as soon as you're sure I'm not going to rake my claws upon your turned back, just to win her back." Another quiet chuckle, a tilted head, a considerate pause, and he speaks again. "Or are you really that type? The grovelling 'baby take me back' type? Will you lower yourself so far, for her? For that little viper? Such a shame that would be, to lower yourself only in the name of tying yourself to her, letting her own you as much as you own her? Will you commit yourself in order to force her to do the same? A shame, a shame, indeed. Well, if you want her that badly, I suggest you keep a better watch than you are right now; there are terrible people out here in the wild, and someone might just ruin her while your back is turned. Wouldn't that just be terrible?"

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
816
lyrics © dashboard confessional
sorry for the wait; I spent all day yesterday riding roller coasters (first time in my life, btw XD) and was in no state of mind for posting, haha}

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[' ' K.O.T.O.R.I.]

She seemed to have moved without moving; for certain, she was long gone, a shift of her hips, a parting raw scrape of her voice on his skin, but she was still so very there. It was as if her very psyche left a trail that he could follow, could wrap his nose around and drown in. Fiery, musky, it was the stench of a woman with a temper, of a creature so selfish she barely saw past her own folly and it was something that he could not retract his claws from even if his former self might have snorted in arrogant disgust and padded away. There was something here, taut between them that rippled even over the tension, the string he had pulled so tightly, had stretched to the point of breaking - and it was strong for it had not broken though she would deny any emotions for him.

Kotori smiled, a severe express that didn't look the least bit happy but was definitely content; smugness rolled the warmth of orange in his eyes, a ripple of pleasure that sparked through his one good, darkly burning eye. A fever was there, rolling him around in the flames of his passions, of his wants and desires, his head clouding over with it even as she departed, left him empty and wanting -- always with the wanting. Greedy, selfish, he was a beast that collected all that he saw that pleased him, horded and horded until it no longer did -- and became trash. Trash the big cat had named her, and he adored her for it.

Trash she will be then, but it would be his trash, his horded treasure that thrilled up the line of his spine, and spurred his loins, made them burn like a brand. The smile grew, a devious expression that wrinkled the lines over his eyes, his brow drawing down, the lines across his face that looked like dark lines of kohl wrinkled, seemed to ease as his weight shifted back to his paws, claws retracting. A flick of his tail, and like a blast of wind she was truly gone - her hips hypnotic, her temper riling his own, scraping his emotions and rising, rising: like a tide that only the moon can summon and he wanted it, wanted to rub his flank up against her, to destroy her with it. Oh, so beautiful!

But there was the other, darker anchor in his world, as the currents of thought shifted, reeled backward and eclipsed the dread that should have instilled his heart. Poor bastard, thinking himself omnipotent when in fact he might be so easily defeated by the squatter, the alien male in his fire's, his lust's, his child-goddess' territory. What did it matter to him? It didn't - and he was beginning to see how powerfully that would affect his darling dear. Darling dead, with her flesh beneath his fangs, writhing beneath his strength. Ownership tasted so sweet!

Ears flicked back, What a show, hm? So much spunk...Yet so hardly worth the trouble... or perhaps all the more worthy for it... I suppose neither of us will get to find out, at least not today. But let me guess, hm, you'll go running after her as soon as you're sure I'm not going to rake my claws upon your turned back, just to win her back.

Oh! What a barb! Kotori's tail flicked, a slow lazy motion of his body as a chuckle rose up out of the thick barrel of his chest. No threat this, but an empty taunt, a long-retired dread of the future that he had never foreseen and had already discarded so simply to ease his mind. The laugh dribbled off in a low purr, rough and edgy with excitement, with anticipation. "You must think so low of me, to guess so wrong." his gaze rose then, no taunt, but speckled with energy, a contained motion that sizzled in the very air around him. He eased forward, toward the brute, the dark dull eyes interesting in their lack of sheen, their lack of anything which only further intrigued, dug the hook deeper under his skin and hauled his forward, mouth agape.

Fang tips rolled under the shifting motion of his lips as Kotori neared, his body oddly elegant though such a side was almost comical to witness. A challenging smile, ears up and forward as he caught the stranger's eyes with his own, his claws flexing into the earth, churning the upturned dirt beneath his paws as the excitement throbbed in his belly, curled his intestines. "I propose a game, between you and I." and he sat down, all dainty-like, a mockery in itself as he tilted his head in an imitation of their fiery companion of whom, though was gone from sight, was still not gone from their mind. Like a poison, she seemed to saturate their minds, and in Kotori's far more than that. His body ached for her, wanted her brutally, painfully. He shivered, his pelt rolling over in a wave of cruel intentions. Oh, he would have his prize.

"I won't contest my claim on her and you, nameless one, can do what you will with her -- whether she wants it or not. We'll see who has her first, and who," his voice dropped to an intimate murmur, fire flaring suddenly in his eyes, "can break her to their heel first." Another lazy circle of his paws, a rumbling turn of his lips, fangs, tongue -- eyes challenging, offering friendship in the way he knew how. He was not intimidated and she had not denied the jaguar entrance.

So perfect, so twisted, so beautifully wonderful; Kotori smiled a little, "Unless of course, she's no longer of interest... then I suppose you just walk on through the territory and never look back, but never forget," he stepped forward then, rose up from his haunches and stood close to the animal, knowing at any moment perhaps foreign claws would sear and tear away his only remaining eye. It didn't matter, he was being drawn, closer and closer to the darker flame, the temptation, the games, the intrigue -- all of it the depths of which he could never satisfy with Andarial. "That I offered this chance to play a game with a creature equal to you, who knows the rules, the script, the satisfaction."

Kotori felt it then, a powerful camaraderie, and knew that no matter where the jaguar roamed, no matter how much it loathed, or grieved, he would feel a part of himself cast away from him. It was as thrilling as it was disturbing.

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word count;; 1114
tags;; Inc
OOC;; I don't have time
to proof read >sneaking on< sorry!

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[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

Restless, they are, the audience about them, shifting endlessly upon seats which creak protest at the simplest movement, which bid them sit still, yet none can; this is not what they had expected, not the play the synopsis foretold; this is not what each has paid for, have they walked into the wrong theater, sat before the wrong stage? Yet these actors, these two sinister players, so similar, so a part of each other, both remain upon the casting list, both parts written into the script; the audience shifts, they shift and move yet dare not leave, enthralled, intrigued, confused, but not the point of disgust, dislike; this change, this shift, this unexpected turn of events sits well within them all, drawing them in, though they feel so…wrong for it. What madness is this, what treachery? Such malicious intent, such dastardly suggestions; is this what they bid their time to? Yet not one leaves, not one rises, and slowly, slowly, the cushioned seats fall still, quiet at last, as the audience settles down, prepared to see this play, however wrong, however unexpected, to the end. Within his mind, the gears do the same, the demon settling upon his throne, curious, interested, yet not unsettled; worry is still foreign to his mind, caution thrown far from his frame. Muscles seem only to relax with every movement the other makes, settling more as he unsettles himself, dull gaze watching, watching, waiting. Smirk, ever present, ever pulling across his maw, ever exhausting muscles which groan complaint, groan and are ignored, ever ignored; yes, his smirk, that signature twist of his lips, forever betraying a twisted mind, a twisted soul, a soul born of a creature of lust following the twists and turns of temptation and sin; yes, that smirk, that simple, innocent, yet so very guilty smirk, meets the approach, the words, greets them all upon the doorstep, welcomes them in with a wave, a smile, a hug and a handshake; inviting, ever inviting, for only the cautious turn strangers from the doorway, and caution has no place to his world, banished long ago by the demon sitting upon the throne of his mind, that dark, twisted entity. Smirk pulls, too, across that sinister keeper’s mouth, for he is one and the same, a demon leading the mind of a demon, forever linked and entwined in his form, gifted upon him by the demon of his father, smirking as he does, lusting as he does, sinning as he does; forever one, forever the same, the demon of his mind, and that of his body, merely two mirrored forms of the same image, the image which paints his bulky frame, the image shown to the gazes which fall upon him, the image which he knows himself as. And yet, so distinct, so much his own, this image he finds, all the same, reflected back to him in negative, in reverse, right before his eyes, smirking, chuckling, taunting with that single burning eye, an eye as bright as his own is dull; so different, so separate, almost opposite, their two forms, and yet the image is so much the same, so much his own. The audience, so confused, trying so hard to see, to discover, misses so obvious a fact, are shocked by the words which fall from that ivory mouth, but he, so aware, so entranced and entangled in an image so like his own, feels no surprise, but rather, satisfaction, the satisfaction of a prediction fulfilled before his eyes; only fitting, these words, of a demon to his own likeness, run by lust and sin and a demon upon a throne within the darkest, most prevalent corner of the mind.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Obsidian tinted ears flick forward and stay, capturing words set upon him by the breeze, the wind, the very breath of this fellow brute, this creature of lust akin to himself. He does not rise, does not shift to meet him, though the action crosses his mind, is considered briefly, before tossed aside; a creature of lust, he is, but also so much a creature of pride; let the lesser demon, as he sees him to be, come to him; he need not exert himself in this other brute’s honor, however interesting, however similar and akin to himself he may be. A chuckle is all which meets the first comment, a taunt in and of itself, if only because it does not deny, does not refute, but accepts, even agrees with, the claim set forth; oh yes, he thinks low of him, this fellow demon, this brute which can be so very much more. Yet satisfaction seems to crawl upon his pelt and upon his skin at the thought of this game, of what it could make them, of what it could make her. Oh yes, he thinks low of this brute, but he is not above being proved wrong, at least, not this time; a creature of pride, so set in his ways, yet so drawn to discovering this demon so much the better than expectation deems him to be, curses him to be. A challenge; that is the key; so easily disinterested, so easily bored, yet always awaiting interest, intrigue, yes, a challenge; it is that threat, that test which he sets his sights upon and which churns within him and shakes his personality, which reorders his priorities, which shoves downward his pride for the sake of the game, the hunt, the fun. Chin lifts, shoulders roll, loosening, slackening, allowing neck to part itself from them, lifting his head, placing him upon level, though stance suggests above, the leopard, dull gaze considering, though his brain, and that demon within it, has already answered, has already decided; all that remains is for his lips to form the words, for the declaration to be set forth upon the wind, yet he cannot appear so eager, cannot degrade himself so far; he waits, anticipation building and bidding him speak, yet it is lust, and pride, which run him, not anticipation and eagerness. ”Hm…” quiet, thoughtful, and so easily slain by a chuckle, churning the air, as though preparing a nest for the words he would speak. ”Prove me wrong, will you? With this little game? So proud… but I wonder, will you defend yourself all the more to her, next time you meet? Spout falsities to purge from her mind the memory of who you truly are?” A pause, heavy, taunting, inviting, but all too short to invoke a response. ”No…no I see now, you know that would do no good, don’t you? Because you’ll know who you truly are, you’ll always know, and as long as I stay—and, hm, who knows how long that might be—you know that she’ll know, too. No, I don’t think you will defend yourself to her…you know how futile it is, don’t you? Yes, yes I think you realize that. Maybe you know it as well as I do. But that doesn’t matter anyways, now does it? A game, you want; well, I do believe I am in the mood for a bit of fun. But the games I play have no rules; I trust that won’t be a problem…” But it is not a question, and the trailing of his voice is turned from silence long before protest could be given, making way instead for his words to break the air yet again. ”Very well, then, my friend, you’ll have your game. But one request, if you will indulge me: you know her name, I’m sure, and I would hear it.” So simple a thing, a name, so worthless a thing, he knows, and yet, so rarely does the script drag on so long, and perhaps this time, this one time, it might be of use to know the name of his fellow player. ”I’m sure it will bring no pain to you, proud one, to start on equal terms.”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
1325
lyrics © dashboard confessional
Ahaha, this is fantastic XDD and Incubus’s muse is loving all this attention, lol}

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[' ' K.O.T.O.R.I.]

It's rather hard to describe Kotori's feelings when the strange, foreign cat lifts his muzzle and speaks to him, reacts to him in a way that was too familiar, an echo of something that he had once loved, had once conjured up for the sake of hating it, of loathing it with the passion that only love can truly manifest in his heart. He was embers, a fire that had blazed, and still does from time to time but it was flickering, dying with each stroke of his claws against another's throats, against the world which had closed down on him and shunned him for his birth. One burning eye. One torn ear. Scars, thick and puckering on the one side of his face. These things made him, were pieces of a broken image that had created the epitome of who he was, and what he was. A monster in terms that were unique to his own creation: the birth of the self hidden under the darker currents of the thoughts, the selfish greed that turned his blood putrid, made him bleed black, bleed dread, bleed evil. Not like this creature, though Kotori was too arrogant to see it. No, he was not the same exact flavor, for he was not quiet, not silence that slowly suffocated, but loud, a crash of thunder that took out it's target with sheer, unalloyed pleasure, unadulterated satisfaction that hummed in his very bones.

The steps it took him to get to this spot were gone, faded from memory as if they had never taken place. He was nothing of the past, nothing of the future, just this awning, frightening desire to be that made him flicker between the shades of light that colored their world and made him so much part of the present. His eyes rarely looked up to see the horizon with dreams, and though his mind was wont to take Olya's beautifully wretched face and carry it in his heart, and before his eyes, he did not often look back. He was a creature chained, a creature sinking deeper, one of his own making and it was alright, it was good that way for it meant he was in control of his misery. Selfishness made him arrogant, power in the flexing of his muscles, in the pelt which shifted over his shoulders made him potent with contained violence, a thing that usually ruled his moods. He felt too much and it would forever be his downfall.

But this creature, this hateful beast that taunted him, tried to provoke when there was no need to provoke, when Kotori simply could not dredge up enough emotion to feel, was an element all of it's own. In his face he saw himself, a sliver of himself broken off and reflected in inverted colors, of a size only slightly different. Such a strange sight and yet it twisted him closer where the other simply did not move. He held himself close, uncaring that his face was exposed, that his body was under potential threat: knowledge was more weighty, more powerful in his mind as he stared at the cat, the jaguar, the creature of his dreams that seemed to have manifested with the same desires, if slightly different. A different game, a different level, but it was the same rules, the same target and the same, utterly defeated consequence that would taste just as sweetly on his tongue. The creature purred at the dulled edge, the stillness: a rough sound of pleasure that rippled over his sides. This flavor tasted delightful. A spark of familiarity made him comfortable when there was no need to be.

For sure the other brute must have thought ill of him; for certain hadn't Kotori felt the same? But then, hadn't he glimpsed something first, the first scent, the first drop of blood that tied them together throughout their lives - no matter that the other would balk at such a chain, such a claim of ownership. Oh yes, strange cat, do not think otherwise! Kotori has claimed you for his own, has stamped you as important, sorted out the category that divided his mind and lay ownership on your flesh, on your unique mind and sought nothing more than your companionship. Beware, arrogant thing, for though you know freedom, you are no longer alone, no longer the only one who knows of your power, your games, of your mind which much think along the same wavelengths.

Andarial would not know, could never know the true depths of their game, their desires, and it was alright this way; it was how it should be and Kotori could only savor the touch of deceit which made of his tongue a salty muscle, bitter but perfect. Of all things, perfect. There was no deceit in his face though perhaps there should have been: some form of wariness but then that was the face of Kotori's arrogance. He did not fear this animal. Had not feared him when he had found his scent entangling with Andee's, had not when he had first laid eyes on the colorful beast, and still did not when there was so much more information soaking into his mind; a sponge that pulled all the knowledge of his scent, his motions, the patterns that made him live, made him appear to be nothing more than a base beast when in truth a demon rolled under the skin. Different flavor, different flavor, Kotori snickered, a thick sound as his muzzle rose. Constant motion! He knew how to sit still but it was not in him to simply remain in one place when there was game afoot, when there were other, more delightful things to be doing.

So he moved; a torn ear twitching to the side, catching sound where there was little sound to be heard, nose twitching, catching the stench of excitement which must have combined both his own and the strangers for it was intoxicating: familiar and strange at once and it left an aftertaste on the roof of his mouth that begged to find more. A craving, at last. Meat, real meat -- but they were speaking of different prey, of stalking a creature for other purposes than the one that had slithered through his mind's current of thought. Oh yes, how delightful. Andarial, my dear, my darling dead, stay strong! Stay strong in the face of this duel hunt, this affectation that would render you weak when the world needed you to be strong. Impregnable.

"Regardless of that. I can live with deceit." His tail tossed over his backside, the thick rope the length of his body, flicked up and around, twining around his own back paw. "It's the boredom that I cannot stand." A snort, a trickling of mocking laughter as his shoulders rolled in response, his body shifting away from the creature, the cat who agreed to the game and it's target. A rival, a challenger - how brilliant!

Turning his face in the direction of Andarial's exit, he inhaled her sweet, musky scent that still lingered potently in the air as if she remained, as if she were fiercely staring at them, judging them. Oh beautiful one. You never did understand did you? You never knew the carrion that you had taken into your lands, that you had let through for a whim that you were just starting to regret. Alpha male? You took him in because he was strong, and it is his strength which will slowly turn you over, will slowly encompass your own flame and make it brighter, darker, sensible where you are simply rash and young. "You misjudge her, I think, if you believe I will have to follow her. She will come to me, when she feels she has enough courage to reprimand me, and from there ... " he flicked his tail, the end rising up in motion that filled the end of his sentence, who knows where that little tryst will end.

So little fear! Perhaps that was to be his downfall as well. He did not fear her either; could not find fear in any but the one creature he had killed. Ah, who knew he still dreamed of her? Hah! "As for her name, it's Andarial." a twist of his lips as the name slipped off of his tongue. Such a strange name. And-ar-ree-ahl. Andee. Like nothing he had never come across. Pity she would die at the end of this game. Not physically, but her spirit would never be the same. A shift of emotion in his rust-edged, burning eye, then death came.

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word count;; 1441
tags;; Inc!
OOC;; I just realized
they don't know each other's
names. I tried to incorporate it,
but I don't know how
Do you think it would be better
for them to remain nameless to
each other? lol! btw I just
skimmed through it so
please ignore the typos.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

A gasp—the audacity! A chuckle, cut short, forced down, silenced—is this what passes as comedy? Yet humor, sick, twisted, torn and ravished by the demons upon gilded thrones of bone within each mind, yes, humor, or some sick, horrible parody of it, some horrid imitation of it, mutated, deformed, twisted by the cycle upon which he sets his paws so steadily, so readily; yes, humor, harsh, truthful, blunt, humor rings within his words, entraps them, entangles them, pours from them, tendrils reaching, reaching, grasping the audience, curling about their feet, up their legs, twisting and twisting and entrapping, pulling at their morals, their values, pulling them apart, absorbing them and purging them from their souls, turning them to this sick show, these demented players, the demons and sins and lusts which run them both. Yes, humor pools in those words, that arrogant display, that surety which flows so readily beneath the skin of this ivory hued player—so deceitful, indeed, this player. White, that ivory hue, that lack of color, of taint; white paints his form, the form of purity, of innocence, and yet, so sure are they now, that neither live within his form, twisted and tainted and sinful as much as he, this dark brute, this demon who walks so boldly, who reveals to all exactly who he is. He does not hide, does not disguise himself, his intentions; yet neither, now, does this white companion; night and day, dark and light, both one and the same, smothering between their two forms the hopes which plague the minds of those who hide themselves from the truth; truth is their realm, their weapon, for truth is no stranger to their dark, twisted minds. After all, was not the first sin that of knowledge? The forbidden fruit…so sweet, so tempting…yes, it is that fruit, that fruit so much sweeter than all the rest, the sweet knowledge which fills their minds with lust and desire, yes, it is the forbidden fruit which these two demons have tasted of, temptation so severe, so forbidden, which they have given into, have surrendered themselves to. And why? Because he told them, that serpent upon the branch? No…no, these two demons, so proud, so arrogant, absorbed so fully unto their own whims, no, these two demons listened to no voice but their own. Within their minds, upon those gilded thrones, each demon spoke, so strong, so loud, so very, very persuasive, and so much a part of themselves, so much the same as their own voice, yes, it was this voice which led them, step by step, to that tree, which forced their paw upwards to grasp that fruit; yes, yes, their own voice, voices tainted and toned in the scales of desire, of lust, of their own need to be more, to fulfill those arrogant views. Ambitions, yes, ambitions of a different name, a different type; not to rule others, no, not at all, but rather, ambitions to rule themselves, to rule those demons sitting so solidly upon those thrones; the very demons which led them upon the pursuit to their own downfall; from the beginning, yes, even then, those demons have been engrained within them, so much a part, so much separate, yet always one, always the same, ruling and being. And so they listened, to themselves, to the demon, had followed step by step the path of temptation, of sin, following lust and desire and ambition, all things wrong, wrong, so very, very wrong, lifting paws upon the branch, laying claws into the fruits, and feasting, feasting, making of themselves gluttons, gorging themselves upon knowledge never meant to be known, to be shared, until, at last, all that remained was truth. And so it happened, driven by some simple act, so first sin—for him, the demon, the dark one, that first time, that first time he followed the paw steps of his father; for the other? Who knew, who knew; why, of course, he knew, yet what bother in sharing such knowledge, what matter, what matter, what matter is it at all?—yes, by that first act, that first time in which lust came to rule, the symbolic feasting of the forbidden fruit which was so sweet, yes, by that act alone, each was thrown into the light of truth, or perhaps into the shadows of the same, one for each, yet no different from the other, darkness and light, two sides of the same, and between them, all those who remained naïve, who hoped in vain, who sought the light; if only they knew, if only they knew, that in the light was only more of the dark, a mirror image in negative colors, no different, no different. And through it all, never moving from their seats, the audience seeks further and further into the same pits which clawed from their rim these two sinister players, just as she, when either reached her, would be dragged down, down, into the light or the dark, into the truth.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

It is this sinking, this revealing, this learning, this knowledge, this truth which forced that laugh, that chuckle cut short, and yet, though still so naïve, clawing for the top, the audience cut it short, refused to feed this darkness growing within them, he is no stranger to these shadows, and so he throws fuel to that dark, burning flame within him, giving rise to the chuckle which pleads within his chest to be released, allowing it to grow, to rumble angrily and yet so full of amusement within his broad chest, launching it forth upon breath and wind at a joke so vulgar only he would laugh so openly. Oh yes, he could imagine, could envision what happened at the end of that statement cut short with the flick of a tail, that statement which even this fellow demon—lesser, lesser, again and again, yet still so much like himself, so very, very much akin—dare not speak of, dare not put to voice. But he knew, oh yes, yes, he knew, so well, so well, so very, very well; he knew where that statement lead, where the thoughts behind it must be running through that dark, twisted mind. Creatures of lust, they are, run by it, warped by it; oh yes, he knows where that statement ends. And within the twisted canals of his own sinful mind, thoughts find the same destination, the same ending, yet altered, changed, to his favor, always to his favor, arrogant creature that he is; he, on top, and her, below; darkness entangling that form of white, dragging her down into the shadows of truth, forcing away this light adversary who would entangle who in the light which revealed truth for what it was; always him, always him, arrogant, arrogant and proud, always seeing his own success, for success is his world, is all he knows, is all which his mind may accept, all that the demon will allow within. Failure, yes, failure and loss, these things exits, have plagued his existence before, yet all instances prove twisted, tangled within that web of pride, and turned to success, or else purged from his mind completely, forming a parody of the truthful creature he claims to be: perfect, or so to his mind, without fault, without weakness, eternal, immortal. Oh, proud one, when will you learn, when will truth at last purge those dark, arrogant corners of your mind? Truth, so much a creature of truth he is, and yet truth lies before his eyes, and not behind them; so wrong, so wrong, so very, very proud. Chuckle falls quiet, falls silent, and in silence he revels in thoughts which neither would voice, or perhaps they merely felt no need to voice, though he knew, he knew so well, that both shared them so deeply. Dull eyes slide closed, to envision and imagine and allow lust to take hold within him, plaguing him as always it does, yet even this does not last, for silence is never complete, so fragile a thing it is, and is so easily slain, so easily annihilated, so easily forgotten. Dull gaze falls again upon the face so alike his own, his ears shifting to capture words which again fall from his lips, as smirk again spreads across his own, taking it proper—or, perhaps, improper—place upon his dark face. ”Mm…” quiet, simple, yet so complex a sound, filled and overflowing with lusts, the lusts which fuel his thoughts, which twist the memory of her face, her body, to his own sick desires. ”Andarial…” he rolls the name across his tongue, as though tasting it for the flavor which is so uniquely her, but which, within his mind, is so entwined with his own, so twisted with him that she is no longer separate, no longer an entity of her own, no longer free. Tainted, tainted, and made his own; this is what he see for her, what the cycle decrees is and must be her future. Yes, his. But which he, which his? To his mind, only darkness succeeds in consuming her, but is it to be so? Arrogance does not let the converse be considered, but is the cycle so set as his own desires? Yet her future leaves only one variable, and that is left to which; no matter of if, not even of when; his she will become, but all that is left is to determine who he is to be, whether light or dark shall succeed in their plot, their deceit. No longer free, no longer herself, no longer even her own; this is what lies for her, for that taste, that name, which rolls so succinctly upon his tongue. ”A sad creature she is, if she will come crawling back to you…all the more sad, if she believes she can change you, fix you. But you know that, don’t you? It is that pity which draws us, is it not? For are they not all the same, these women who drive us mad with our own shifting desires? Sad, pathetic, helpless… pitiful. A shame, truly, that we lower ourselves to them, even if, in doing so, we place ourselves on top…” The smirk flickers, fades, is gone, as though serious has come at last unto his vocabulary, and yet, only a moment does it last, only a breath’s mark does he consider this, before smirk grows again, returning all the stronger upon its throne, his lips. ”Yet it cannot be helped, can it? And they are so tasty, don’t you agree? I wonder, will we find ourselves disappointed, when at last she submits? I suppose that is the price we pay, for walking such a line as our own… and even that, that knowledge, must be reward enough… Very well then, my friend, shall we get to it? The game must begin soon enough, in any case. And I, for one, prefer sooner.”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
1830
lyrics © dashboard confessional
O.O Wow. Incubus really is loving this attention; I never get this long a post with him, haha.
And hmm, I dunno; Incubus doesn’t really place much stock in names, but I’m sure he’d humor Kotori if he asked; it’s up to Kotori if he cares enough or not, hah. By the way, your post was full of win; I absolutely love the idea of Kotori ‘claiming’ Incubus, haha. These two are so fun together XD What’s sad, though, is that this is pretty much Incubus’s idea of a friendship, lol}

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[' ' K.O.T.O.R.I.]

She was destined to be consumed, and he, oh he was destined to consume, to envelope, to suffocate and burn, to burn so brightly her flame would disappear beside his, become his, become nothing but a flickering memory of her brightness in his own, until there was nothing but embers in his soul, a smoldering anger at her disappointment, at her death which she had caused. She must be born to deal with fire, to hold it to her face and purr as it ravaged her flesh, as it licked along the white, sleek lines of her body and ate along the marrow of her bones. She must melt with him, die with him, dance with him in the fire, in the desire which he would pull tautly around her neck and choke her with. Oh sweet desire! Carnal pleasure will reap the rewards of their struggles and his voice would add to hers -- for he would make her speak -- and he would die in her again and again, little pieces of himself fracturing off and burning within her, eating her from her womb, to poison her blood, her guts, her existence.

He was more than a fire; he was pestilence, a gross disease that would use her, abuse her, destroy her and every moment of this abandonment, he would love her. Love her as the succulent creature she was, love her for her submission to him, for her yielding, her bones breaking beneath his body, his jaws, his claws. Take her? It was so much more than that. Fucking? Mating? Gods, no one knew the depths to which this creature had sunk. He did not fuck. He did not mate. He took her in a fashion that would stamp her, violate her, poison her, so that even if he let her live, even if she managed to roll herself out of the fires of his passion, of his hatred, and his loathing, she would never be touched again. No one but he would want her, desire her, and it would be he that the craven wanton would crawl to, would seek out when he was no longer around. Oh how sweet this slow, painless breaking. Gentility, a nudge of his nose here, a brush of his fur there and she would follow as she has always followed, would forgive his claims as she had always forgiven because she saw someone else when she saw his one burning eye. She saw a purpose there, a weapon in which she would harness, not knowing that with each step she took toward him, he wound the collar tighter and tighter about her neck, that his tail was sweeping over her side, was sliding under her, guiding her, bringing her forth into the darkness that her morals kept her from.

Kotori would show her things! Things she had never before been opened to; the way his body moved, the way her own body would move, the way he would make it move. A dance of flesh, and blood and cruelty as he ground her to the earth, usurped her precious power and showed her again and again that it wasn't she who was in control, that though he had let her prance around, it had always been a matter of when and not if. Never if.

The moment he had seen her, witnessed the fire in her eyes, the anger there, the petulance of a child, he had known, had felt his heart hooked by the hills and dragged forward. He would pin his heart to hers with stakes and let it bleed on her. So easily amused, so easily thwarted, her paltry anger was a glorious thing, her arrogance, her flimsy pride a stack of cards on a picnic table waiting, just waiting to be blown over and it was this temptation that first drew him, this semblance of Olya's stupidity written in mocking beauty on her face. Emotions churned within the barrel of his breast, seeping down into his lungs like a long dormant consumption that would eat him from the inside. No, not yet, not yet violent shade, decaying ghost! You cannot take him from the world yet! And he shivered, his pelt thriving in the motion, in the ecstasy that simply thought invoked of her flesh parting beneath his claws, red blood -- he saw red, smelled red, tasted red; Kotori even heard red though there was no red to be found but for the broken corpse of the fawn just a few paces behind the jaguar. The darkness. The beauty.

It was another impulse that he must check and he was irritated by the necessity of it. Oh, how much power influenced him, made him drunk off of the omnipotence of his younger days! He had lost an eye, had lost his ear and still he felt himself swelling with potency, with a strength that was gained through the ages, through the hardships of his life; beautiful lover, beautiful mother, decaying fucking bitch. He hadn't moved, couldn't move from the fixation of his thoughts -- like a compass that could not help but stiffen and point north, his body would not react but in the direction in which the thick, watery current of his thoughts had shifted, plowed down, ahead, spiraling, spiraling, gone from the world and into the deadness of the other.

The jaguar; he fixed himself on the spot of yellow, of tawny fur stretched over muscles and bones, of black rosettes that bloomed like sunflowers along the length of his shoulders, his flanks, his spine. Gaze locked, slid to the side, down the length of that flank, of the strength which shimmered just below the surface. Blood thrummed, heart beat, breath slipped through his nose; so easy, so quiet the line between life and death: nothing but a pause as the indrawn breath kept on going and going, silence as terrible as it was sweet as it lasted for the rest of eternity. Lust was just a tool, though it was a powerful one and it often got out of control and led him down paths where quarry was less than perfect, less than necessary. A pup cries out in his memory, a strangled, whimpering sound that sent a scythe through his mind. Tender flesh, musky fur. Perfect, perfect. Such a word! Such a place that he lived in, bereft of morals, of a compass that showed him the way -- only north, only the way in which his mind was weaving, dipping, slipping under the reality and into the surrealism of his wants and desires, the sickness in his blood that craved tender flesh, that craved the destruction of their mother's ground, broken heart, of her eyes as they stared at him. Death, so close a line that he could smudge it with his paw if he wished but he didn't and instead he sank, fell down to the line where life and death was nothing but a mirror, a reflection of a different world, a different life that reflected the other one, poorly but unmistakably the same.

Was it true here? Was he simply the deathly ghost of this creature's life? Was he the shadow, the hollowness that echoed dully in comparison to the vibrant life? But no, no there was something strange in those coin-faded eyes, something different that called to him. Was Kotori the life and he the shadow? Who knew, who knew and he ached to find out, his bones grinding together as the watched the Jaguar, seemed to taste the very bile and lust that rolled off of his tongue with her name on the edge. Another twist of his lip, another terrible tremble of desire as it pulsed through his heart, rendered his soul into tatters, it's flame flaring up with passion, with want, with a visceral knowledge that no matter what he did, he would still win, he would still have her body beneath his, and this creature, this phenomenal creature made him burn for her, for anything.

Unknown chaos began to roll around his paws where he was standing, where he wanted to run, to walk, to climb -- anything to make the restlessness in his body ease, to make of the world a semblance that made sense, that made of it a better place albeit a darker one. Words; dizziness followed, a disorientation as the soul slid back into the flesh, as it reunited with the earth bound and gave it back it's eyes, it's foul, burning eye. He grunted, heavy, separate though he felt so very chained to the earth, so very barred from the sky as if he truly could have spread wings. Stupid cat! Think straight!

It did not matter for the fever had consumed him, as he had wanted to consume and it was simply another tool that had governed his life, had carved the roots from the earth and let him plant in it's stead. What would he do? What could he possibly do as he turned his eyes toward the other, his ears already tilted in his direction. Sweetness, what was this crawling oil that eased over his flesh, made him limber and excited when there was no quarry within sight, unless, unless.... don't Kotori! Don't look toward the other the way you would another. He is the same, you have admitted it himself, but there is nothing in him that commands camaraderie, nothing in him that can instill a friendship other than the one in which he had sewn himself, connected at the hip, at the loins to the she-leopard which has left. Would he have followed her had the jaguar not been present? Probably not. He would have let her go, as he had, and laughed, but now, but now. His appetite had been wet and he was discontent to let it unsettle him further.

A sad creature she is, if she will come crawling back to you…all the more sad, if she believes she can change you, fix you. But you know that, don’t you? It is that pity which draws us, is it not? For are they not all the same, these women who drive us mad with our own shifting desires? Sad, pathetic, helpless… pitiful. A shame, truly, that we lower ourselves to them, even if, in doing so, we place ourselves on top…

A rumbling purr that seems so much a part of him. He was not Kotori without the purr, as the jaguar was not truly the jaguar without that smirk which strained the corners of his mouth. He was always smiling, always watching, always mocking; Kotori was always moving, always teasing, always waiting for the chance. The change to strike, the chance to pounce, to fuck, to dominate -- it did not matter their tactics, but the outcome was the same, and their pleasure was the same and it was truly all that was registering in Kotori's mind. He had purred, a low thrumming sound that slowed down to a low tick catching in his throat. A stalking purr, a satisfied, smug sound that droned out for only scant heartbeats before like that heart, it slowly, irrevocably stopped and never resumed again. But death had become part of him, and he did not die, only tilted his ears in the jaguar's direction, catching the sound, the roughness of his voice, the oil in his eyes, the slickness of his muscles as stillness seemed to take hold of him, become him.

Yet it cannot be helped, can it? And they are so tasty, don’t you agree? I wonder, will we find ourselves disappointed, when at last she submits? I suppose that is the price we pay, for walking such a line as our own… and even that, that knowledge, must be reward enough… Very well then, my friend, shall we get to it? The game must begin soon enough, in any case. And I, for one, prefer sooner.

So much impatience it surprised a laugh out of him, unfettered, deeply amused. A creature who had not moved, who's life seemed to revolve around the stillness, the waiting, as if by mere curiosity the others were drawn closer to his waiting claws, his jaws gaping wide. Amusement, indulgence burned the edges of his eyes, darkened the iris to a deeper hue of orange, to an almost staid brown. Strain of orange, circles that tightened around the pupils which could slit but did not, did not simply because in his admission he had eased the restlessness in his own feet. Pride floundered where once it would have reigned supreme. So foolish to remain still when all the body wanted was to run, run, run! Yet he didn't and only lifted his paw, a thick, heavy thing, muzzle dipping down as his tongue slid over the fur, arranged the fur in the meticulous way of cats, -- most cats at the very least -- and wove through the toes, the muscle folding over itself. "If you feel you must chase after her to get her attention, by all means, rush out of here and start the game."

A rumbling purr, as he placed his paw back on the ground, claws flexing as his shoulders rolled, pelt moved. "I'll most likely sniff around that carcass of yours." He snorted, "Trash you called it?" he asked as he padded past the Jaguar, his tail twitching at the very end as seemed to be another habitual gesture of his, one paw extended as his claws sank into the carcass' remaining flesh, "Well, no harm in that then, since you seem so impatient to sniff around my own Trash."

Kotori rolled the fawn over to expose it's gorish belly. How contrite.

word count;; 2297
tags;; Inc
OOC;; WHOA~
Serious muse flow

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

A split, a chasm forms, breaks open, shifts them all, divides them all, and all without moving a single one. Yet neighbor to neighbor they feel it, see it, know it. Oh yes, they know it has occurred. This play, this sinful, hellish play, with this two demon-lead players and their sinful ways, oh yes, this play, so very wrong has seeped into their thoughts, their minds, their hearts, their souls. And yet never can it reach them all; even in the face of the brightest light, the blind still cannot see, or perhaps, will not. The darkest shadow cannot reach them any better, and so they stay in their own darkness, a darkness made not of the cruelties of the world, of the cold, harsh, unforgiving truth, the truth which swims and twists within the shadows of his dark, demon-ruled thoughts, but rather a darkness of not-knowing, of ignorance, naivety, of falsities and lies, all things far from the truth, from reality, the reality in which he tread so easily. Yes, even the brightest, most revealing light, and the darkest, most choking shadow could not touch these souls, these pour, pitiful souls. And so, the rift forms. Laughter, loud, raucous, unrestrained, yes, laughter, at last, fills the audience, roaring from the half who have seen, who have given themselves at last to the darkness, the light, the truth. His shadow, those grasping tendrils stretching forth from his intoxicating form, that noxious disease which is so contagious, spreads so readily from those whose lives are condemned to sin, yes, his very essence, demon that he is, has spread into them, choked off morals, replaced them with knowledge, with truth, with a whole new outlook, and it is this, this twisted sense of humor which fills their thoughts, which evokes this laughter. Oh yes, this is, indeed, comedy; they see that now. Biting comments, audacity, arrogance; this is, indeed, humor, for it is truth, and what better can one do than laugh at life, when all life does is laugh at you? Oh yes, they see it now, as he does, as he always has, and laughter spreads where his smirk taints his lips. Yet these souls, this newly tainted followers, are not alone; upon the other side of the rift, daring not even to share dinner with those who have given themselves to sin, separating themselves so far so as not to catch the same infectious disease which has caused them all to fall so hard, so fast, into the pits which had tainted these two players, aching to leave, yet still enraptured by the infectious acting of these two players, yes, on the other side of that rift, lies the blind souls, those cut off from both light and darkness, condemned to ignorance, to what they perceive as a higher life, a higher existence, and yet, he know, oh yes, he knows, they are so much further beneath them all. Ignorance, ignorance and the simple disease of not-knowing, these things are no excuse, never have they been an excuse, and so they are looked upon with contempt, yet they, too, look back with contempt. Why have you fallen so far? Why do you refuse to see the truth? So is the conversation behind that laughter, behind their condemning stares; they see no humor in these biting taunts, in this twist of words, of intentions; they see only audacity; again and again the word arises. What right have these two to treat each other as they do, to act as they do? What right gives them to behave as such hooligans, as such brutes? Yet the answer is so simple, so simple, so very, very simple; always is it staring them in the face, but the blind cannot see even that which lies right before them. But the others see it, oh yes, they see it so well; what right, what right? The right of being, of course; they act as what they are; because they are brutes, they act as such, for what else can they be? Whether they hide behind pelt of black or pelt of white, a demon is a demon all the same; what right have they to hide their nature, to act as anything but what they are? Oh yes, they see it, and so they laugh, while, among them, yet still so separate, the others look on, shaking their heads, condemning, condemning, forever condemning. Judgments pass so easily from their eyes, from their thoughts, yet so blind, so blind, so blind are they; what right have the blind, in leading the blind? what right, all the more, have they in leading those who see? Why none, of course, none, no right at all. Yet they refuse to see; righteousness is so blind a fault as arrogance, as pride, turning from truth the mind of the faulty, the faulted. What right, what right; always tossed around, always seeking to turn others from their course, but he knows, he knows, for truth is he game, that what right is naught but an empty question, a question which can be finished in only one way: what way need anyone to do anything at all? None, of course, none at all; people do as they will, right or wrong makes no difference outside of their head, outside of their thoughts; judgments passed have no say outside of the head of those who will judge, no opinion is ever as important to others as it is to the opinionated. What right have they to judge him, what right have he to say they cannot? None, none, none at all. He knows, oh yes, he knows so well; and so he is, and always has been, and always will be, himself, for what else can he do, what else would he do, what else should he do? And now, they too, begin to see it; the laughter dies down, but they have not changed; the change has already been done, and never can they change again, for now they reside upon the same cycle as he, forever following step for step along its curves, all to the same destination, to the same end, which leads again and again back unto itself; change is obsolete once one perceives it in true light, in true dark, and now they do, and so they are, as he is, merely them, and nothing more. Silence falls, and the rift falls apart, though still felt by all, as those still blind seek to separate from those who see, fearing contact, fearing proximity, yet all seek the same: the show must go on, the show must go on, and they all wish for nothing but this, nothing beyond or apart of the end, for the discovery which awaits at the end of this cycle; and so they wait, and he, proud one that he is, is only to happy to oblige, to perform for the sake of attention, attention, attention.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Oh yes, he is happy to oblige, and yet, it is for so much more than his own pride, his own arrogance, his own need to be within the spotlight, the center of attention; lust, it is, for he is a creature of many things, but so much more of lust than any other, and lust drives him onwards and onwards upon that cycle. Yes, arrogance guides when lust fails, but here both share within his thoughts, for again he is torn, divided, and the demon indecisive, considering, willing to be persuaded; lust and pride, interest drawing him to this male, to this brute, this demon, his mirror, his negative, brother and kin and yet still complete stranger, built in the same image while appearing in opposite; drawn, as always, as always, to him; yet had they known each other long enough for anything to always be happening? Yet he knows, he knows; change is unimportant, is useless, and change will not plague this relationship, this kinship; he need not see the future to know that this script will always demand his being drawn to his fellow player. Yet pride and interest and kinship combined only barely rival the lust which has again taken hold of his body; the mere mention of that name, the images his thoughts conjured so readily, so easily, the feelings, the rush which accompanied them all, each individual one; oh yes, lust plagues him again, coiling restlessly beneath surface of pelt, pulling and dragging and vying for attention, for obedience. Lust conjures all the more readily the images back within his mind, bringing with them the feeling, the smell, the taste; so practiced, is he, so many times has he walked this path upon this cycle, so many times has he enslaved himself to lust and given in, in order to force her, always the generic her, to give in to him, to submit, or to writhe, fighting, fighting, forever fighting, beneath him; so well he knows, so well he knows, and so readily does his mind bring back the feeling, the sensations, and lust rolls all the more strongly, all the more thickly, beneath his pelt. Would she fight, would she writhe and kick and strike, try to throw him from her, try to free herself, to stop him? Or would she resign, submit, lie still and dumb beneath his weight? Would it make any difference, would she feel just the same? What difference could their be, between she and that generic her of years before? Yet no matter how his lusts conjured the image, conjured her movements—or perhaps, lack of—beneath him, he found himself drawn, so strongly, always so strongly, to the idea, to the action, to seeing those thoughts, those desires come to fruition. Lust bid him hunt her down and force her down and feel her for himself, discover exactly what she felt like, whether or not she moved any differently from those before, whether or not she felt any differently beneath him, whether or not she was even worth the effort, worthy of this hunt, or if she was, as he had already so easily concluded, merely trash, to be tossed aside in a heap, broken, useless. And yet, creature of lust that he is, so intent upon fulfilling his desires, will it even matter either way? If she writhes and fights, will it be any more pleasurable? If she lies still, stands rigid like a donkey, or falls loose like a doll, will it be any less fulfilling? Oh, creature of lust, do you even care? He knows, oh yes, he knows too well, he does not; a hunt is a hunt, and whether the prey be rotten or not, old or young, still it is nourishing to the body, still it fulfills the need. Oh yes, the need, for he is, of course, a brute, a man, and men have needs, needs far beyond eating and drinking, and far more demanding, once given into once. And yet, so often has he given to them, given himself to lust and temptation and sin, so often has he taken his pleasure of pretty faces and dainty frames, so often has he placed himself above that ever-generic her, so often has this happened, has always happened, that it is all the more easily denied this time. Yet never can it truly be denied; he does not deny it, but rather, pushes it aside, demands patience, forces it to wait. And so he does, giving himself instead to the spotlight, fulfilling his pride and his interest, bidding his paws remain still, and so they do, and his form remains motionless, a shadow, a pit, unmoving, stationed within the ground as much as upon, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Yet motion comes, as though the slow shifting of a shadow as the breeze disturbs the leaves which cast it, and another chuckle pulls itself from his chest. Head shifts, casting dull gaze beyond his shoulder, lowered to make way, to leave within his sights his fellow demon, yet no other move turns himself towards him; what matter, what matter, why bother turn his back from this lesser entity? Chuckle dies off, slowly, as though it clings to life and wishes not to be given into silence; yet silence is not to claim it, but words, for he is, at last, prepared to speak. ”A bit hypocritical, don’t you think, my friend? For you to think so little of me, when clearly you detest the idea of my doing the same? Or is it payback, for earlier misjudgments? Have we sunk so low, to trade such petty treatments? A shame…” voice fades, slower yet than the chuckle, clinging to life in order to prolong itself into the next sentence, as though his voice has learned, or perhaps has always known, that he always has more to say. ”Help yourself, of course; if that slowly rotting corpse can slake your lust and distract you from her, then who am I to judge your tastes? As for me, I never suggested I meant to rush to her; after all, she is so very little different from any other; who is to say I won’t make a few stops, discover how many other warm bodies I can bed within this forest of hers… after all, I’m sure I have nothing to fear in granting you a head start; what was so easily broken already will surely be easy to discard of again.” Another pause, considerate, pondering, slain by a short laugh, cocky, arrogant, proud, and so very, very sure of himself. ”So easily you show your true colors… are you so sure she will be receptive of you at all, this time? Perhaps she will claw you as she said…or perhaps she’ll simply send some new love-struck fool to do the job for her; would you fight for her, I wonder? Or are games your only trick? I suppose it makes no difference, I don’t intend on letting this drag long enough for you discover that, as I’m sure you are not, either. Still, there is, of course, always time to renew one’s skills… I trust you’ve not laid claim to any other female here?”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
2373
lyrics © dashboard confessional
Of course, Incubus can’t just tie himself to one girl, even for a game; he’s got to be more difficult than that XD}

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[' ' K.O.T.O.R.I.]

What he truly wants cannot be assuaged by anything in this grove, by this stream, in this world; it is a thing that has offended him, haunted him, shouted in his ear when he sleeps and denies him dreams of things he would slake, of the things he would do if he had but the time. Always the time -- he is dying, though he does not know it, holding onto this knot of rage that tightens in his bowels and feeds him poison until the world turns and he'll one day find himself too stiff to move, too dead to even open his eyes, though his heart would continue to beat on and on and on in a soundless drone that only he, Kotori, shade and ghost could hear. Who would he haunt, he might wonder, but does not for it would only speed up the slow process and in any case the beast is ignorant of the chaos that wars in his body, of the disease which will be his undoing. His tastes, the jaguar might mock, might even find in himself a measure of satisfaction at teasing free the tightly knotted thread of truth that he hides behind his bravado, behind his carrion-eating ways.

Would he be a crow in his next life? Or was he once one of those creatures? It didn't matter, for those lives are many and span out behind him like ghostly faces that haunt his dreams, whisper in his heart and blur his sightless eye. Sometimes he fancies he can see, did you know? Shame, shame, but what a nerve to be stroked! What a thing to pin on him, unknowing, a dart thrown in the dark without realizing the import of this statement, this fire which the jaguar would unleash without knowledge, without thinking, without a semblance of recognition to the danger they tread. Kotori is spun, though he does not really move; his gaze is fixed on the carcass though his body tenses, though his soul seems to shudder and to move through the worlds that overlay one another. In death he would understand, in life he simply wanders unknowing of the source, the wanton desire for a thing that makes no sense but wets his appetite and fulfills those which the jaguar does not even hold. Cannot possibly hold.

Twitching, his ears slid down against his skull, a moment of stillness, a lifetime of doubt, of wonder. Does he know? Do they ever know when they speak of this, when they pin a harmless phrase on the thing he covets most fiercely in the world: his thirst, his hunger pangs, the tender flesh of the youngest, the lullaby of their whimpers, the rage of their mothers, their fathers, their sisters and brothers. So terrible a thing to want, to have, to slice his fangs through a vulnerable throat, to coddle them, and reassure them, then frighten with a whiff of his scent, with a purr that cannot possibly be canine and terror, terror as he lets them run, lets them collide with walls as he chases, forces himself down and eats flesh that is sacred, that is blaspheme to eat, and he enjoys it. Tastes! Such a benign phrase and yet it spears through the leopard, holds him in a world that is neither reality nor death, neither in the plain of his mind, or in the physical realm where his body hovers. Time stretches out in his mind, out, out, mind casting farther away from where he is though only a heartbeat or two would pass, while only a moment's breath eases out of his mind.

And yet, and yet, as time slows and dies, his mind is fractured, memories pouring out onto the dirt as muscles tense, claws extend, puncturing dead flesh, wishing it were other, wishing it were live and squealing and frightened, wishing it were other than prey but predator, the youth of the predator. He's bred before. They too have become part of his blood, part of his strength returned to his body, to be where it must be. The mothers, the females he has taken have died with it-- Andarial, Andarial, do not open yourself too soon to his ministrations, to his desires and his lusts, or your own. Keep them leashed tight or suffer the futility of constant death, of cubs eaten, of a father's ultimate betrayal as he consumes that which should not be consumed but celebrated.

This fixation with death, this constant desire to stop life from growing, from filling out and becoming stronger, what is it, what is it? He doesn't understand the impulse, does not know why he must sicken himself on the lives of others and put himself in danger of ravenous mothers' grief and throw himself against Fate and her multi-hued quilt. They must die, they must all die.

He should have died.

Perhaps that is what it is. Perhaps it is that needling truth in the midst of all this sickness that pollutes his mind when he forgets to remember, when he forgets to realize, to hide himself. It is not in Kotori to hide what he is, to be shamed of that which should have been killed but wasn't. Their own fault, he would say and he says it now, lifting his muzzle, a wildness in his eyes, a flame that was not there before. A feral, visceral anger that is not truly anger at all but holds the same bite, the same heightened senses. He smells the jaguar's sweat, the jaguar's life on his tongue, sticking to the roof of his mouth and knows himself untouched by it.

He cannot know, he does not know and the hackles which roll over his shoulders, which move forward like the tides summoned by the moon, beckoned to hardness, to stillness, to a semblance of threat wash away; a moment's heartbeat from the jaguar's words to the next where the instantaneous conflagration has died, smothered by the cruelty in his smile, but the embers of his eyes which smolder but no longer burn, which brand without heat. His own, he must remember. A new toy, a dangerous toy and in this he would not show his hand, the cards the holds in his mind, knowing which to pull, when, where. Oh yes, oh yes, this was starting to become interesting, this half-hearted throw in the dark which had pierced so true. Taste, such a vile sense.

Let him think it is his sensitivity to the girl, to the she-leopard who has departed, who has stalked away and left them for dead. Such a silly threat to tear her claws through their flesh. Almost tempting to test it, to throw himself against her fire, her hatred, her anger and see who is the winner. So tempting, so tempting, but Kotori's mind flows past the rock of desire, cutting to the side and molding around it, cutting a path through the ground, a new path, a new path. He would not be led. A smile, sickening, beautiful, maddening. "True enough from where you're standing. My tastes aren't your business."

The snow leopard falls to the ground, a graceless motion as his belly touches ground, haunches curled, one fat paw tilting the leg toward his face, jaws gaping as he snaps the bone, slicing through flesh, through hardened muscle and dried, brown blood which gushes over his lips, released from a hidden pocket yet untouched. Nostrils flare at the sudden release of blood but he does not mind, and instead rolls the leg over, cracking open the bone, tail ticking with his heart, ears flicked down. A momentary pause, a companionable smile as he admits, "Don't presume to know my tricks. She has ever known me for what I am. If she plays the victim, it is her way of striking sympathy in your heart."

His tail flicked up, a waving gesture of indifference, ears curling to the side. "Take what you want. If you take something of mine, you'll know soon enough." a chuckle, resonate of amusement, a challenge in and of itself as he bent his fangs to the shape of the bone and tore flesh from it's smooth curve.

word count;; 1374
tags;; Incubus
OOC;; XD

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

Restless, suspicious, judging; the audience is in disarray, ready to leave, yet drawn, ever drawn, held and trapped to this play. Yet how long, how long? Again the chairs squeal and scream their protest, forced to move against their will, begging stillness, begging to be left be, begging that the show be allowed to continue; the show must go on, the show must go on. Not long, not long now, they plead and plead, and now they settle; very well, if it is not long now. This show has gone on long enough; the blind have tolerated this disgusting display of sin and temptation and wrong for long enough, and the seeing, the truthful have put up with these lovers of lies for as long as they now can tolerate. But they settle now, reluctant, yet the show must go on, and the audience must remain, for what good is a show without spectators? The enjoyment of players, however great, is empty without the audience, and so they remain, and so they remain. Yet he, too has grown restless, and it is true; not long, not long now. For he is a creature of lust, and his lusts point towards one sex, and one alone; no unnatural thoughts linger within his mind, and interest alone is felt towards this male; nothing further can be gained, nor does he wish to try. Yet lusts must be fulfilled, lust has battered against his mind, battered and battered, screamed and shouted within his head, clawing at his defenses, stealing his attention, and now, now he cannot fight it any longer. The will to turn from his normal life falls apart, and he wishes now only to return to the cycle from which he has been so long removed, that cycle which he knows so well, and which lust bid him return to, whether he keep hold of this new goal or not.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

The cycle calls, and he cares now only to answer the call, to set paws upon the ground and drag himself away from this male who would enslave his attention to distract him from the girl; an impressive ploy, to be sure, yet he has seen through it, as the script bid he should, yet he cannot just leave, cannot lower himself to appearing eager, to running away or fleeing as a coward, a pup; he cannot, he will not. And so he stills himself, forces himself to remain, against every will within him, for the last to remain has fallen away. And so he waits, patient, or playing at the appearance, gaze tossed lazily over his shoulder, ears turned to catch the words his rival would speak, preparing to send his last words, to capture the last laugh for himself, as it is only right for him to do so. He listens, and his smirk grows; oh yes, he has struck a nerve, hasn’t he? How interesting, indeed; and the demon files it away, placing the knowledge within his memory, should he ever meet again, should the game call for a future appearance of his fellow demon, this companion player. Parting comment draws a chuckle, lazy and quiet; a challenge, hm? As if they have not seen their share today, yet the comments cannot grow old, and even the audience is stirred to further interest by this single phrase. Laughter falls away, dies, is slain, murdered by his words, just as his presence is soon to be, his muscles pulling and shifting beneath his pelt, dragging his mass from the ground, rolling into loose readiness, waiting, waiting to move, waiting for his words. ”Indeed, they wouldn’t be, would they? Until they conflict with my own; well, then they just become bothersome, but we have already discovered how troublesome that is, haven’t we? And yet still you leave me to discover for my own what else you have laid your paws upon as your own… risky, don’t you think? Well, my friend, I do hope you prove fast enough, otherwise you may find that what you thought was yours has simply been stolen away…or perhaps just broken; I don’t imagine I’ll find much use in keeping anything which is yours.” Muscles pulse, shaking his body, loosening muscles further, before he throws one last smirk-ridden glance at his fellow demon. ”Enjoy your meal; I do believe I’ll fulfill my tastes on something…just a bit fresher. I’m sure there’s plenty here for me.” One last laugh, and at last he gives in to lusts, freeing his muscles to restlessness, allowing his paws to pick up into slow trot, carrying himself away, unhurried, though his body bid him faster, denying the urge to pick up pace, lest he disgrace himself to his fellow demon. And, with his exit, the audience, too, are freed, making their exit in the darkness left by the final dimming of the stage lights. Exeunt all. And he is gone.

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
820
lyrics © dashboard confessional
Bleeehhhh, Incubus muse suddenly died. He’s a jealous little bugger, and not at all fond of Keloid, haha. At least he has Andee to play with for a while until he stops being so difficult XD}

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