A new beginning

[Upsidedown]

I stopped abruptly. Days, weeks, years, how much time has passed since I've had a family, a home. I have no memories of my journeys, no tales of what I have seen or where I have been. Nothing but an empty numbness that somehow manages to throb every once in a while. But that must stop now. I have been alone for too long and despise myself for hiding in the shadows. I am not a lone wolf, I thrive on a pack, a family... I shook my head vigorously in attempt to rid my mind of these sinking thoughts. I have emerged myself in sorrow and remorse for too long and have gained nothing. I must leave my old companions and start anew. A new life. My parents would not want me to mourn their deaths for the rest of my life. No, they'd want me to live on, to learn from their experience. Learn, live, love, that is my plan. I will not be able to patch the wounds that have been dug deep into my heart. They are too deep and jagged. But, I can create a new life for myself, something better, something more. I don't know what shook my from my trance but I will take advantage of what it has shown me. Something I hope to never see in myself again is to give up. Yes, a home, a family, sounds like a good change.

I lifted my head up to a new high, past the drowning black ocean and into the sunshine. Had the world been this beautiful before, or had my slumber amplified to beauty in life? The warmth of the spring sun pelted through my coat and tickled my skin. It warmed my whole body from it's icy coldness. The rays danced of my light pelt, giving the impression that I was glowing. Internally, I know I was. My emerald eyes scanned my surroundings, taking in the large forest surrounding me in a small clearing. Trees towered above me to where the birds flew and nested. I had no idea how I got to this place or when. Basically a tree here, a river there all blended into some common place, but this, this was different. It had an emotion of itself. It was greeting me, welcoming me back from my sleep. I sighed a happy relief; the sorrow weighing on my shoulders was lifting, slowing, but surely.

I sat down on the soft grass which tickled my thighs and mirrored the pigment in my eyes. I had a good feeling of this place. I felt if I stayed here, something will come or point me where to go. Yes, this feels like a good change. My new life starts now.

Words: 464
Status: Complete
Character: Accalia
OOC: I stole my rp sample and there's little muse involved, sorry!

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

Plans are made and broken, are planted and destroyed -- people are birthed into the world and killed, their blood feeding the earth, the wretched earth which cries only in silence, when the moon is highest in the sky. Who mourns, who cries? Only the creatures of night, only the sons and daughters of the moon, all brothers, all sisters, all part of each other, bound in sorrow, in death, in life. It is a physical thing that pulls at each others' minds, makes of them nothing but an image to be reflected in the cool lapping waters of the lake, of the pond which stretches wide after rainfall. Who else cries when there is nothing but stony silence? Who else can feel when there is nothing but death biting at their heels? Cats? They know nothing of sorrow -- only of their self-centered phantasms that delude them into a false prowess. No, it is wolves and wolves alone who thrive on the earth as it has been meant to be lived on.

It is wolves and always will be wolves who are the cherished creatures, the howling creatures, the beloved creatures of night who stalk in the shadows and praise the very mournful presence of the moon. It is their cries that hearten the moon; it is their fur which glistens with her touch. No cat can ever be called so perfect.

From the very lean angle of the jaw, to the triangular ears, to the rounded, barrel of their flanks, wolves were a dream, a wisp of perfection given flesh, given life. It is this precious thing that Armageddon wishes to fight for, to hold up over the demons that cats have made of themselves. Self-serving, they are nothing but a plague that ravages the very land given to wolves to live on -- and that none have risen up to fight them off is an offense that Armageddon was not likely to forget. Especially not on this night, when his thoughts were far away, lingering on the physicality of their own birth, launched farther out as the night called to him, became him. Yes, the Black-And-Blue was not his usual, vibrant self. He was not the bastard which taunted your dreams with the flick of his ear, or snorted through his nose in condescension when questioned by his underlings. No, no. There was only a little glimpse of that self buried under the many faces of selves which created this complex, yet so impossibly simple wolf. Armageddon was alive.

The night called to his very soul, stirred the memories there of his wings, of the beginnings of his delusional fanaticism. Yes, his wings -- his glorious black wings which arched even now from his back, flaring from the joyous touch of the wind on his back, calling to his flesh. He would fly, if he could, but there was no need in him. His heart was the thing which soared, when in fact it was his wings that were rarely used for that purpose. What a strange thing, you must be muttering. A wolf with wings that does not fly? Oh, he flies, but rarely, so rarely. What need was there to fly, when he could fly with his paws, when each aching touch of his black paw pads made him run faster, and faster and made of him a creature of shadow, a glimpse of life that shuddered through the linger layers of life and death. He could run forever, if he had the desire.

But Armageddon was done running, and instead, found himself lingering in the realm he had claimed, in the realm which was his and his alone -- uncontested though he had suspected others of plotting. Well and so -- let them come! He was strong, and forthright and though he was in the right frame of mind there was still that egotistical echo of dominion which saturated his very pelt. He would win because it was predestined that he would win. He would gather wolves to his banner and raise it high, so very high and they would all come and howl and kill. Kill cats, make their lives something perfect, something better.

Family. It was an echo that sounded from far back in his past, when his paws were too uncoordinated to place one in front of the other. He had been forgotten then, and he would be forgotten now -- and so the fires in his soul are lit and he raises himself higher than a wolf, raises himself higher than a god and makes the world see him, and remember him.

He laughs, he laughs because he can, and he enjoys the sound but there is an emptiness there, a desire to be something other than what he was. What was this? This doubt? Erase it from your tongue, Armageddon! -- and he does. Instead of sorrow, there is heat in his molten blue eyes, in his glassy, phosphorescent blue eyes, and when he next raises his muzzle it is to scent water, to scent female.

A pause, a momentary disorientation as the lingering stench of female clogs his nose, makes his loins burn with the familiar pulsing of madness that made him claim Arethia for his own. Hah, hah, and so the King, the Fallen One rises again and leaves the world wise wolf behind. He is nothing now but the present, but the desire to know, the curiosity burning in his head, in his nose, in his mouth, and he lopes forward, wings held taut behind him, tight against the arch of his back, where guard hairs remain low, remain calm. There is nothing of fear in his face, for he is arrogant with his power, strong and certain where others were not, and therefore weak.

"Perhaps you shouldn't be wandering around late at night on your own." He murmurs, as his nose pokes out from between the underbrush, his eyes cold as ice though there is a fire burning there, his ears flicking forward, wings held back. Though his tail raises, it is to assume dominance rather than challenge and he eases forward, cocking his head to the side to eye the female. Soft flesh, he thinks, within moments of seeing her, judging her. Not made for this world, and he snorts, a choked off laugh at his inner thoughts. Hah, hah. She was doomed from the start if she was going to look so sappy. "What is it you want, anyway?" No point in holding anything back.

Drive her away, the thoughts crowd behind his eyes, bashing into his skull. Demanding attention, branding the inside curve of his retina, Armageddon knows himself cracking a grin, lips peeling back like greasy scum. Hah, hah.

[/color]

word count;; 1130
tags;; Accalia
OOC;; w00t ^^
welcome! Sorry it took a
bit to respond.

[Upsidedown]

My mind shifted randomly like the wind that ruffled my fur in random directions. It called out for me to play and chase the excited breeze, but I had other things to think. I thought of the seasons, the age I have come to be, the times with my family, and the possibilities this place arises for me. There was a faint scent of wolves around me. I couldn't exactly judge as to how long ago the wolves passed through this area but it is obvious it would have to be before a rainfall swept it away. Of course, this basically told me nothing considering I don't know the amount of precipitate this region receives yearly. I sighed a bit at realizing how new everything is to me again. I am a pup learning to walk on its limbs once again. Each step turns into a stumble and then a fall. After frustrated bouts of the attempt, right before giving up, it will catch on and take more steps. Little d they know at that time in life that there are plenty more steps involved through life. Some steps they'd rather avoid or take shortcuts to make life easier. Others would take any challenge sent toward them and even walk that extra mile to show their potential. Yes, I am a pup, curious and new to this wondrous life. But I know with each step I take, i am on the right path. Fate, destiny, call it whatever but I feel i belong where I am.

A movement caught my thought short and my eyes darted toward the direction of the sight. My nose had not yet picked up the scent but I was used to this single dominant sense and used it to my advantage. I saw a larger than average creature move toward me silently. My muscles eased from his posture as he weaved easily through the branches and over rocks. I could tell he meant no harm to me, I was not a meal and I was not trespassing on his territory. When he came into the clearing I had to blink my eyes a couple of times to see if my eyes were playing with my mind. Are those wings along his back? My eyes have never deceived me yet and I knew I wasn't dreaming, so I guess I'd have to trust this weird creature. He was most definitely a wolf such as myself, once my nose picked up his scent there was no telling me otherwise. And it was a male, a dominant, cocky male by the way he swaggered toward me. My eyes fixed on his wings, nothing else interested me at the moment. They were black and large enough to support his weight in flight. I glanced at the sky quickly without moving my head from his body. The sky would be nice but i was made for the earth. I forced myself to part my eyes from the odd phenomenon of his wings to look at the rest of him. His frame was larger than my own and his muscles much more defined. He was a fighter, and I'd expect a powerful one at that. His eyes, an oxymoron in itself, burning yet cold. My eyes were a warm green, matching the greenness and healthiness of the leaves that surrounded us. I had nothing to hide, but he looked locked away further than this world. I smiled to him pleasantly when he began to speak, but as soon as that smile appeared, it was lost in his unwelcomming words.

I listened for him to finish, and while he spoke I reconfigured words in my head to answer his questions and erase his disrespectful tone. I read the emotions in his eyes well and could easily tell he thought I was weak and lost. I opened my mouth and spoke back, showing neither dominance nor submission to his moves. I have traveled to far to be pushed back into a pit of sorrow. "I thank you kindly for your warning about the night but if you have no noticed, I as well am a wolf and can manoeuvre extremely easily in the shadows. I have also spent about a year in solitude and am not overly concerned on what I may meet in the darkness of the night." My voice cracked a bit at the beginning of my sentence because it has been so long since i've spoken. It has been a long time since I've communicated with another of my own species and its only just smacked my mind now. Despite the crack, my smooth voice rang out of my vocals. It soothed even the most tainted of beasts. His tone worsened and I was not enjoying this first meeting we were having. "Excuse me, but there is no need for hostility and rudeness toward me. I have done nothing to offend you or this land. I merely am looking for a place to call home and a pack to all family. If you have little patience for me then I will be on my way, but judging others before you know them is an unwise plan. There is much I can offer." I ended my little speech with the same tone I began with, implying no threat or hatred for what this wolf had said. My purpose is just and he needed a bit to be kicked off of his large ego. I smiled up and him, looking straight into those burning eyes and finished, "And by the way, I am called Accalia."

Words: 944
Status: Complete
Character: Accalia
OOC: Woohoo, gots some more words in!

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

It's a strange thing to note, this need to move, this need to think though there were no thoughts in his head, to move, to constantly move. Yes, move, one foot then the next, one heartbeat blending into the other, always a constant ride, a consistency of existing that fit him, and fit him well. As a glove made just for your hand, as a throat poised right there below your jaws waiting, whimpering for that last moment of life to disappear in a spark within the eyes, within the soul. Fly, fly -- but though he had the wings, and the will to fly, Armageddon was not so sure that the skies were his calling. They were a tool, a gift, a meaning that lent him courage when perhaps he was too overlooked to be otherwise. Who had given him these things, this power over the air that was not meant for wolf?

The Devil. We've said it many times before and we'll say it again. The Devil, the Darkest Prince, he was the one who whispered in Armageddon's ear, who fed his delusional dreams of peace. To him, he held his loyalty, and to only one other -- his own self. To anyone else -- well, there was Wolfbane, but he was of the same make. The same vicious tendency to lash out, to submerge himself in the killing and the waste and to intoxicate himself on the death of others. It was the meaning of life, after all -- that blood, that death, that sickly waste, and in that bath of blood, in that disturbing languor that settles like oil in the veins, there is nothing but euphoria. It is that euphoria that Armageddon craves like a drug to settle on his tongue, to make of him a wolf akin to no other. He would rise, when others would fall, fly when others would walk -- but there were times, and only a moment ago was one of them, when he felt as if his mind had been split asunder by this gift, by the sickness which made him dream of a higher being that did not exist in any other world but his own mind. In those times, the wisdom there, the rationality broke through the torment of enjoyment, the exquisite bliss that comes with feeling your own blood forced from veins, from wolf fur, wolf thought, wolf eyes.

Was there a heart buried in that barrel of a chest? Who knew, who knew. What had ever happened to it? He did not care to think of it too often but staring at that mossy, emerald green, that woodland green that seemed to reflect the very forest which had claimed a place in her soul, Armageddon could not help but be taken aback. This quiet cool, this calming water which doused over his fur, did not make him angry -- it made him think. Those who knew the wolf knew that plotting was his favorite game, but thinking, at least thinking in these terms where there was no one but one's own soul to hear, was not a thing in which he often dipped his paws. There were better things to be doing, better activities to be dipping his dick in. He was a male, a vulgar, disgusting male and he enjoyed that masculinity as much as any woman would love the luscious curves that God had given her.

So she parried his words, his aggression with her own quiet wisdom and instilled in him a slither of fear -- a different kind of fear. Not of death, never of death, for he was a wolf intent on living, though perhaps his heart had ceased to beat. But then, there it was -- that glimpse of a pulse, that beautiful heat which washed through him, made him see red when perhaps there was no need. Anger fueled the confusion which had made his hackles flicker, his tail to still, his wings to shudder as if the very wind were an atrocity to caress him so. What was this emotion in him? This disquiet? This ... quiet fear that slithered through his soul and pushed him away, so away from her. Something wrong here, and the instinct of self-preservation made him tense up when she stared at him, when she spoke.

She was a living thing, not so ghost to haunt him -- so real, he could smell the feminine musk on her, drifting closer like deadly hooks waiting to pierce his flesh. This one was dangerous and not for the same reason that many would think. No physical threat this, though she herself has boasted her ability to lurk, to stalk, to be powerful as only a female wolf could be powerful -- equal in everything but mass. But her words! Oh gods, her words, the way she looked at him, it was a caress of danger, a breath of the devil on his neck that murmured, told him beware, beware. Womanly wiles were one thing, but this surety, this quiet ability to simply shrug off his meaning and smile at him, so submissive, and yet so dominant it thrilled through him, flared the curiosity, the desire to see what was beneath the flesh, peel back the layers of her mind.

A home, a home? Well, he could give her one, watch her, listen to her -- know her before throwing her out. So the curiosity had it's own place, though the disquiet was a lingering doubt on a soul that had already been split asunder. Half of it gone, given to an ancient demi-god that only half-existed in the world. What could he do, what could he say? The silence drilled on and on, rendering him speechless and it cut through him, made him wonder if words even needed to be said -- and so the talkative wolf only raised his head, only shifted his wings, his tail to curl ever more proudly over the line of his spine. Accalia -- and the wind itself seemed to speak her name. What a strange thing, this meet up, this gift from ... who? Armageddon did not care -- his voice rough when he finally did speak, "Armageddon." gruff, almost indifferent but for the lingering way in which his eyes rested on hers -- thoughtfully, pensively, as if he were searching her deeper, trying to find the hidden nooks and crannies that slipped under the surface of that softened green, that warm green. Where did it come from? Was her soul a pyre that flickered so brightly he must be blinded by it? Rage was a defense he had used often, but in this, it felt wrong.

Would he also make himself a fool in front of her? No, no -- better to let this stand as it was, let the awkwardness follow and wallow in this emotion while he picked it apart and figured it out. "Unwise or not, chicklet, I'm of the kind that does what it wants, regardless of the right or the wrong. Come if you want, and I'll show you my little niche of hell." tail flicked, voice oddly resonate though lower than it had been before, as if thought had made it quieter, somber. Armageddon's eyes flicked away from hers, ears upward, fur shifting to a stop though the itch to keep moving was a deep echo that pulled at him from his very gut.

[/color]

word count;; 1247
tags;; Accalia
OOC;; I /love/ your
writing style.

[Upsidedown]

He was a blackboard, scribbling out all of his reactions and emotions in a straight line, not pausing for mistakes or to think. His body had a direct connection to his endless mind. There were no interruptions or other thoughts to block such a neat pathway to the outside. He thought, he twitched. He was a shallow water, clear and easy to see to the bottom. Generally this shallow nature was due to a lack of control, or knowledge on how to control these things. But this one, he didn't attempt to clear up his obvious expressions, he did not care what I saw. That, i had to admit, took courage, or to obnoxious, it was hard to tell. I remained unmoving, a statue with only eyes that shifted through his body. I did not react to his words as he did to mine. I was a deeper well, and he, he was writing out his emotions for me as clear as day. My body was still but my mind was swimming. My mind was a sponge, abosorbing every inch he moved. Every twitch of mucles, every inch his hackles moved, every time is eyes scanned by body, my own eyes. I caught it all. He was a specimen, a teacher perhaps. Looking at him will tell me the socialities of the wolf life again. Or will it? I will not abuse his lack of control, but instead learn from it. I will build foundations and learn from his actions. It was so intriguing, was it this fun before to be wolf, or did my gap make the pleasure that more intense.

But his anger was something to be wary about. He was a short fuse, able to explode at any time. Why, the simplest comment could bring out hell. His feelings were close to his body, one reaction catalyzed another. His anger frightened me slightly, but there is always good under the cloak of evil, right? What am I talking about, he is not evil, just, angry. He must have some deep black demon inside his body, reminding him, torturing him about some past. A flash of my parents smiling at me crossed my mind as fast as the lightning and was gone. I closed me eyes and opened them once more, to make sure that image was gone. Yes, was probably hurt in some way. Scars o the body will fade but internal scars can only be mended by someone else's caring. I could help him, ease those throbbing holes, and maybe, maybe he could assist me too, help me grow into what I was meant to be fore the incident. But those wings, I could not help but direct my eyes to the black cloaks resting against his sides. They screamed at me to fear them, and I did. Nature had not created such a beast that hazed some fear that sent icy shivers down my spine. The wolf, he was made from nature, but the wings appeared to be a hideous mutation stitched onto his back like a frankeinstein. I don't know if I can trust him. I can run, but maybe those wings could propel him as fast as an eagle. I was fast, but I was no bird.

A huge war feuded in my head over such a little question. You know what, why not. I have been living in such fear and regret that I deserve to say, what the hell. I will not pass up another option to quit my old dirty habits and become someone new. If something goes wrong then I will deal with it at the time. It's not just for me to judge others based on appearance. Sure, he judged me but I can tell he already regrets his primary assessment. His words were bitter, almost regretful at naming himself. I almost felt the cold chains that gripped onto his name as he spoke it. Did he even hate himself by this time? I chewed at his name in my head. "Armageddon," I whispered thoughtfully, seeing how the name tasted. His eyes were so powerful, like they tried to dissect who I was. I kindly looked up for a second, interrupting his glare. My soul was buried a lot deeper than what he could expect and it is not yet the time to reveal pasts. I felt bad for him, not pity, but like I could relate. My eyes filled with his sadness for a second but I then blinked them out, hopefully before he could see. He would not be the type to accept that something cared for his feelings.

His description set me off and at the mention of hell my eyes shifted to those inhuman wings. I'm not sure why I looked there at the mention of the word, but it felt like a force drove me eyes there, like I had no choice. "Well maybe we can add a bit of sunlight to this domain of hell, I'm sure It'd make it a lot more enjoyable." I smiled after at my attempt to joke, but half of me was serious. My eyes twinkled with the realization that I was going to have a new home. My smile widened I could not contain the happiness that consumed me. I feel like I could be contagious to the whole world with the amount of positive I was feeling. I wasn't sure what ball was being thrown at me but I'd do my best to catch it. Live life without regrets.

Words: 939
Status: Complete
Character: Accalia
OOC: I love your style as well, its so descriptive and personal!

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

Armageddon - it was a word, a sound that passed between feminine lips, through fur and fang, through the forest of thought that hid itself behind her eyes. Always the eyes -- how he detested eyes. A snapping of his jaws, a grinding of irritation as she rolled around his wretched name on her tongue, and his ears flicked back, wings spasmed, flicking backward as if a wind had forcefully punched them back. It was the beginning, and it was the end -- the start of chaos, the end of monotony and he had been named well, but he had a decided dislike for the name, and had come up with a repertoire of other things to be called, other names, other shouting words to be called that he much preferred. It showed the level of childishness in his age (wasn't he only eight seasons, after all?) and a uncaring attitude for those who were older and wiser. He was the best -- and he had built himself a home based on that, knowing that his way was the only way, and his way would always be the way.

So she spoke, and joked, but there was a serious undertone in her voice that he did not like, rubbed him raw so that his hackles rose, and his body tensed. A snarling echo of domination threatened to overwhelm him, this Dominate, this Alpha in disguise. He was One. He was the Prophesied One, the Omnipotent One, the Devil's Own Pet. The Black-And-Fucking-Blue and who was she to mock what was not hers to command? He paused, he waited, he shifted, wings rising upward as the nest of chaotic feathers drifted downward, always down, and he glared at her from the side-glance, beneath that rainfall. "Well, well, well, aren't you just a cock disguised as a pretty little cunt?" he sneered, lips twisting as his own voice had twisted, altered, turned almost whimsical; there was danger in this, danger in anything that dealt with Armageddon's chosen life, Armageddon's chosen point of view. He expected those around him to see the way clearly -- she mocked simply because she thought she knew better but she was wrong.

Hadn't he been right so far? Hadn't she accepted his invitation to dine in hell, to sup on his magnificence? Hadn't the game ended the way it was supposed to end? He, with another minion, and she, opened up and giving herself to him. His -- and there was no one around who could convince him otherwise, now. His, his, his -- all the bitches on this terrain were his own, to fuck, to kill as he pleased and it came with the power, with the extension of his strength. He had fought, and he had won: just thinking of it brought the blood rushing to his tongue, the remembered taste of victory rolling around in metallic bliss. He jerked his muzzle forward, keeping his eyes away from her own and dipping his paws into the waters, the ever flowing waters. What did she know of the world? He knew all, he was the Devil's Offspring, the General of Darkness and he would always win. It was his destiny to win, and he was arrogant with it's assurance, foolish and brash. Abrasive personality, with a little bit of insanity, never did well with power, but he had clung to it with the fevered desperation of one who was used to getting his own way and had yet to be disappointed.

And didn't he just have a wondrous pack? Growing, ever growing -- and the bitch to the west and the bastard to the east were nothing to him, now. No longer, no longer: the cats were to be destroyed but first the army, yes the army, and his attention slid backward, toward her, toward the present, like glue peeling off and falling, falling. Her green eyes, her grey and white pelt, an ordinariness that contrasted so blatantly to his outlandish appearance. Black coat, black upon black upon black as if the shadows played a game on his skin and teased out every glimpse of light, every spot of white or grey that usually tinge the underbelly, the throat, the ears, the paws -- but he remained untainted by that imperfection. All black -- but for the blue whorls which shift and outline the very power in his body, from the tip of his nose and outward, spanning along the length of his spine, to bury itself in the sheer black colored feathers that manifested from the thick, pulsing veins in his wings. But his eyes! Oh gods, his eyes were phosphorescent madness, were brilliantly electric, and he knew the shocking sight he made. He used it, as only one birthed with unusual deformities knew how to use it. To poke and prod, to ignite the despair, the queasy wariness that knots the belly. But it is her which fills his mind, which mocks him with her fallen joke, her serious, watchful, damnable eyes.

He would rip them out, if given the slightest provocation. They saw too much, reflected too little -- in them he was a distorted reflection and it disturbed him to see it. Jaw ground as his voice rumbled out, "Listen, Little Cockerel, Blasphemed Nightingale, you can talk and talk but the Black-And-Fucking-Blue King knows what needs to be known, what needs to be seen, and I know you well enough. Hide what you are, I don't give a fuck. Don't come looking for pity, for this is a pitiless place meant for wolves and wolves alone. If you are not a wolf, but a sightless, stumbling puppy, then sing and sing little canary, for there's little use in a wolf that won't be a wolf." his voice turned ugly, twisted as it usually twisted though the delight in his nicknames made him cheer. Oh yes, the Black-And-Blue was never one to hide, even here, even now when he could still feel the disquieting echo of her eyes on his. He had spoken, looking into her eyes and had seen very little bounced back at him, but this, this was unacceptable. He would not hide from her.

He could not hide from her. "The others are satisfied with what I have given them. If you are not satisfied --- leave."

[/color]

word count;; 1059
tags;; Accalia.
OOC;; muse came
and went, so it's a little....
everywhere >.>'
sorry.

[Upsidedown]

His body twitched convulsed as my words appeared to attack him like a thick fog, choking out his own thoughts and replacing it with only angry and hate to consume. This time, I could not be as still as I wished. My thighs twitched uneasily, only a slight degree or two but I'm sure if he had a bit of sight in him, he would notice. I silently cursed at myself for my reaction. I was wary, and frightened by his reaction, but by allowing him to see, I showed submission, i gave him what he wanted. It wasn't the fact that I wanted to challenge this beast who would surely and gladly show me to my doom, but I didn't want to be directly placed into cowardly either. I wanted to be neutral, not equal, because the male would always dominate, it was just a known fact, but close enough at par. I guess the word I was searching for is respected. I would not be tampered with as he normally did his other females, but possibly sought after for my wisdom and input. My head spun with these thoughts, is it possible that I'm over-confident? Toying with god and resting my fate on a small wire? But this brute surely wouldn't kill me, would he try? I eyed him again; his muscles well toned and stiff, his eyes spoke well his emotions. As much as I'd like to attempt another calming conversation, possibly rebuttal his stares, my body urged me not to.

Then he spoke, his words as icy as his eyes. They pierced through me like a thousand knives, tearing at my soul and leaving it wounded. But these knives did not penetrate smoothly; they were jagged and forceful, as if solely the damage from the knives were not cruel enough. It wasn't his words that tore at my soul, but the way he shot his voice at me, singling me out and beating my insides bare. My eyes shut in attempt to end the pain, but closing one sense only opened up another. I opened them again, looking him straight in the eye, I did not blink but showed him the pain he delivered. He hurt me, and I wanted to feel guilt, to feel remorse and wish to take the pain away. Maybe he would celebrate in what he delivered, think of me as weaker than he thought, but I was not afraid of what I felt, and I wanted him to feel it too. I emitted all of my pain through my eyes, my most powerful asset. There was no mistaking what I felt. I let it shine down to my battered soul for a split second, if he saw it great, if not, then it would be a long time before I reveal myself again. My soul would heal, but my mind is strong and would not forget his words, his knives.

I slowly shifted myself upright; this was not longer a pleasant get-together. I could feel the threat in the air and if the situation presented itself that he would attack, I was ready to run. I did not reply to his rude remarks, there was nothing worth saying to counter his words, plus my defense would probably only ignite the icy flame in his eyes even more. He needed no more timber to keep the hard fire burning. I was speechless, a loss for words in an endless sea of black. His words churned in my head, his stare burning deep into my soul. I’ve never had to deal with such an angry animal, out of control past the boundaries of sanity. Stop it. I judge, I judge like the world judges me. It’s so easy, too easy to just eye one up and down and categorize them before a words hits your ear. He could see my fear; he could assume what I thought of him. Not from this world. Different. Wary. My eyes shut slowly and I exhaled, I tied to rid myself of what I have judged, tried to rid of what I saw and heard, tried to start anew. I would not be categorized as a judgmental creature, but more as an accepting one. Maybe he as well would like to start over. The images in my head have not disintegrated, but the shadows on my memory were not as black and chaotic.

I looked at him, attempted to erase my mind from the stranger. He was a stranger after all, and I knew nothing of him, as he had to me. I am a wolf, a full-grown female with a working brain and working muscles. I am not blind or defective, I am a wolf. I have a clear and accepting mind, clear and accepting. I opened my maw, my voice not necessarily as loud as before, but audible to any good ears. “I’m sorry…” I paused, not wanting to mention his name again unless I wanted to mimic our past conversation, “It is not my objective or intention to anger you, and I am sorry if my words disturbed your thought of me. You know what I am looking for a home, a pack, a new life. But if you wish to degrade me and yell profanities at me for no apparent reason that I can see, I can be on my way. If you wish to be rid of my presence, simply state it, because it would be ashamed to be wasting both of our times here when we have better things to do.” I finished, finally opening my eyes in the end, not looking at him, but at his figure in general. I was tempted to submit a resume of my potential, but it was not the time. If he wanted to know, all he had to do was ask. I was not asking to be his enemy; I am not one for fights or war. My goal was to be calm and accepting, calm and accepting. I repeated the words in my head and I could feel the words trickle through my veins and release the hormones to calm me. Yes, just calm and accepting.

Words: 1043
Status: Complete
Character: Accalia
OOC: She kind of has a lot of feelings in one post, hope it makes sense.