•prey for my k.i.n.g. [Kotori]

[Miyu]

She stalked, muscles rolling, mind rolling, eyes rolling, rolling, turning, spinning, dancing, oh! what fun the world was having, and the world had shut her out.Well, then. She would have to take revenge, in some small way. But soon, oh, yes, soon, she would take more and more until there was nothing left, and then the world would let her in.
How wonderful.
The cat eyed her toy, the striding deer, long legs prancing, spinning, dancing.
She could not have that.
Slowly she walked, her belly barely off the ground, her paws taking silent, sure steps towards this abomination of nature. What a nice word, abomination, how easily it slid off the tongue.
She walked behind the deer, the toy oblivious to all but it's own graceful stride, and she watched the muscles roll, she heard the blood flowing through it's veins, she heard her own heart
bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump
beat in time with her shallow breaths, the intake of the air tainted by this creature.
Swiftly she pounced, silencing the deer's cry before it even began, and with barely a nip, it's life had ended forever.
'So take me. Break me. Make me strong like you.'
She whispered these words, the anger building up in her chest as she recalled the very words that had left her alone in this corrupted world of twirls and swirls and rolling eyes.
She hadn't always been like this, that she knew. Before that bastard Ripshank had lured her in, taunted her with his hateful crimes, made her want to set things right.
And now she was his slave.
But no more. She would challenge him again, for what was a few scratches if she lost? Her beautiful wings were gone, swept away by the flowing torrent that was his rage, and all she had to lose now were a few meaningless feathers and some fur on her back. Who cared? She would fight him, yes, but not yet. She needed to recover first, eat her prey the day before so she would not be as tired as she was last time. She would hone her skills, make herself stronger, faster, better in every way, and the true abomination that clouded this world would disappear from her life, not forever, but hopefully it would be enough.

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

Spinning, whirling, rotating, dying -- yes the dying. Oh gods, the dying. How precious this play, this abomination of life that paraded as death and grinned and grinned -- he could not cease the grinning. Fucking number three. Oh yessssss, how delicious this grin, this circumstance upon which he had made himself known. Ripshank, tiger. Dead, dead, they're all dead and he smiled and smiled, that wretched smile that so disturbed, that so enthralled, that so killed and killed again. He smiled and something else died inside, a little smothering of affection, a little bit of camaraderie. He smiled and the demon showed his teeth. Smaller, older, but faster, conniving and thriving in the little bit of room he had carved himself in the world.

He was not about receiving, no the demon cat, the creature of darkness the twilight, the moonlight colored pelt was nothing if it wasn't ready to take and take again. He was in the taking business and he did it so well, so well indeed. A grin, -- yes again! Again! Read it, eat it, die from it. Yes, hahaha, yes! The demon was here, and the demon was here to stay for all that Andee, his precious Andarial, his beautiful, luscious Andee was across the border, was raising cubs that weren't his own, was raped with his knowing. He did not care -- it was part of the game and the game he knew well, and in the end of the game there was nothing but the victory he knew was waiting. She was his, he had claimed her without claiming, had touched her without truly touching her and he knew, as she knew, that there was no where she could run, no place that she could hide that he would not find her, would not abuse her, would not own her. So it was between the two, this dance, this killing, circling dance, and he loved every moment of it -- loved it so much in fact that it consumed his life, defined his current circumstances. He was here. Not there.

Why, oh the delectable why. Was he needed here? Hah, yeah right. He was a plague, a creature to be spurned and run out, driven out of land, out of mind, out of soul or those very things would become his. A sickness, a disease that haunted the nightmares, that saw behind the masks and toyed with them as only he knew himself to be able to do. It was so simple, this enjoyment in life -- with his own burning orange eye, with his splattered pelt turned to a mosaic. He was special, he was different, and it was this that separated him from the milling crowds that tried to blend into the scenery. What hunting was this, to hide and hide and sneak up on his prey? Hah, the demon brute, the evil, mildly insane male had never had the trick of hiding. He showed up, he owned, he knew. He dissected, he willed, he claimed. He owned, most importantly he owned, he took your life between each delicate curve of his claws and he owned it. Knowledge dripped from the very curves of your face, from the very turn of your eyes as you glare and glare and it goes on and on, a circle, a cycle as unaffected by nature as it is by the dead.

Glare all you want -- he sees through it, knows through it and relishes each moment when the prey realizes they're exactly that: prey. What will you do? Fight? Run? Oh, what a gracious little turn of events, what sweetness was this that pooled on his tongue, which strung him out into a fissure of languor and made of him a noble god to be adored, to be clucked at and admired. His artwork was left un-praised, his profession under-appreciated. No one understood, no one empathized, saw beauty in the work that he left behind: each mask was tactfully removed, each person to face their own demons without help, to die, or to survive.

Hatred was a stronger healer than any form of love and Kotori, yes we've named him, Kotori has ever known the trick of it. Bring them high, so fucking high and then tear the very ground from under their feet. Destroy them, annihilate them and let them wander, let their brains invert, their hearts to burst, their soul to conflict. Let them see the hypocrisy, let them trace their fingers over each and every crack that defined them, made of them a broken, ugly thing. Let them be beautiful. Yes beautiful. It was his trade, for all that he was an ugly thing to behold: half of his face torn through with claw marks, missing eye, pocket of scars, face almost slack on the side, blind on the side -- ear torn off, wretched and gone. Scars littered his flanks, his back, casting plain white whorl marks, vicious and neutral where he was stitched back together. A darker cat, an ever expanding cat. He grew fat on the greed, on the unsuspecting lust and fervor and knew himself full when there was nothing but anger, but wretched, remembered horror in their faces.

But why this game, why this need to carve beauty into ugly faces? Make everything a perfect image in an imperfect reflection? Who cares and he rolls, rolls over as his flesh moves, becomes languorous with the needlessness that is his existence. His purpose is chaos, his purpose is greed, in fattening himself up on others' doom and it was a noble thing indeed. In his own eyes, of course, of course. So the bitch came and the bitch went, and the brute lingered in his mind -- there were so many faces, so many collective scents, collective memories which fluttered behind his burning, seeing eye. He did not think too deeply on them, but shuffled through them as a person does through photographs, lingering in the memory for a brief, smiling moment before shifting forward, eyes glancing over the next and the next. So many conquests, so many broken people come back to live in beautiful perfection. There was nothing better than perfection and he had ever had the desire to achieve it.

So she came and watched, and danced with the prey, not knowing herself but an extension of that idling herd, her own fangs nothing in comparison to the fangs that would slide into her soul and wrangle it worthless, useless. Had he been waiting for her, or had she come to him, unknowing, a subconsciously nudge from destiny that tingled in his mind, told him that she needed breaking, that she needed fixing. And ever the growling memory of Ripshank, his liege, his lord -- a false idol that turned out to be too easily read, too easily known. A secret she in that past, a secrecy that wasn't all that secret, for wasn't he always on the verge of speaking her name? Hah, the beast was strong but dumb indeed. Kotori had gotten the grasp of it, had figured out the very skeletal basics and would, at any time, continue to figure it out, but the game with the other had become tiring, and he had left, left the wounds to simmer, to regrow, ,for the measly shield to be re-raised for the next battle in which he would tear it down again. But she was here, and he was here and it was perfect image, one that he smiled at, grinned at, gaped his fangs beneath a rolling mouth, a moving mouth where tongue flicked against the top of his mouth. Curled among the branches of one of the more comfortable trees, his tail to hang in wait, a ticking, anticipatory thing that ticked, ticked, ticked, moved with his heartbeat, moved as if it were it's own reflection to it's own mastermind.

Maw lowered, rested on the rounded pillows of his paws as he watched her through that burning eye, saw the anger, saw the restless energy of her actions as she pounced as she attacked, as she killed. Is there another she thinks of when she kills? he asks, quietly, reflectively, a ponderous curve of his ear perking forward as he rolled with the motion, felt himself drawn toward that energy, toward that shoddy attempt to hide the scars which had been done to her: those glorious wings nothing but a forgetful memory. I wonder if they are still tender.. and he pleases himself to think of prodding them, of touching them and imagining the wince on her face as she hides the shame of losing them when even he had known she would have lost. Andee -- yes his Andarial was the same, and he had warned her. Slighter than he, and even he had known not to mess with Ripshank. Well... not yet anyway. He chuckled, a rolling, condescending sound that filtered through the branches, through the thickness of leaves that distorted him from view, but gave him a perfect vision of her form, of her body, her writhing -- he inhaled deeply -- feminine musk unhidden by the other milling prey.

Just one among others, and he smiled, chuckling. How easy these tigers are read. Do they know, can they possibly know?

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word count;; 1561
tags;; Miyu
OOC;; I haven't been
able to rp him, but the moment
I set my mind to do it, he was all
RAWR! So ... sorry for the length
LOL

[Miyu]

She could not breathe.
The knowledge of this simple yet life-giving action had escaped her knowledge, and she stood perfectly still, not a muscle twitching, her mind a chalkboard: thoughts coming in, moving out, leaving no trace any thought, recent or ages old, had ever existed. Her lungs were tightening, her maw opening as if to take in a breath of that precious oxygen, only to fail herself. Her chest seemed too small to hold everything: her heart, cold and barely beating; her lungs, failing her when she knew she needed a breath, and yet could not remember the simple, very much needed action; and most of all her laughter, the laughter that she could contain only from the knowledge that if she laughed, she would use up the last of the air in the too-small space that contained her, her too-small chest, and, unknown to Miyu, another, the smart-ass number three who had aggravated the one she was supposed to aggravate.
Sharply, her mind returned to normal.
The alpha slave spent several minutes gasping in the much-needed oxygen, not paying attention to the mouth-watering scent wafting up from the corpse below her, instead tilting her right ear, her good ear, towards the direction of the chuckling number three.
She had been there when he had pledged his allegiance, had laughed at his witty answers that Ripshank had probably not understood, had even envied them, had envied him for supposedly not feeling the rage that took up the unavailable space in her too-small chest.
Abruptly she was reminded of a song her beloved mother used to sing to her, a sad, rhythmic song that she had loved so as a cub.
"I open my eyes; I try to see but I'm blinded by the white light; I can't remember how; I can't remember why; I'm lying here tonight..." she crooned, her voice dipping high and low to match the melody as she swaggered towards the source of the laughter, the ridiculing sound that she hated so much.
She could not help but sing the rest of the song, standing next to the concealed Kotori, the lyrics alone bringing tears to her eyes.

And I can't stand the pain
And I can't make it go away
No I can't stand the pain

How could this happen to me
I made my mistakes
Got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me

Everybody's screaming
I try to make a sound but no one hears me
I'm slipping off the edge
I'm hanging by a thread
I wanna start this over again

So I try to hold onto a time when nothing mattered
And I can't explain what happened
And I can't erase the things that I've done
No I can't

How could this happen to me
I made my mistakes
Got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me

I made my mistakes
Got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me?

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