Post by Deilakrion on Aug 11, 2008 16:02:49 GMT -5
(this one is a little old. . .I forgot to post it ))
Why she was inside the Hanging Corpse at that hour, at that time, she didn't really care to examine. She was raw in a few ways, though her piecemeal skin was not bleeding anywhere. Still, she entered, and she looked around as though lost in the old tavern, even if she'd been over every inch of it before.
Darrien had thought Madeline was reaching to offer him a shake, and he took the bait smiling, reaching out as well. But when it became clear she simply desired to reposition it, he quickly swung his hand to the top of his head and scratched at a nonexistent itch. A gulp, a blush, and a bated breath later, Darrien felt an obligation to himself and those he cared for, particularly his comrade seated beside him to work through his bashfulness. "I apologize. would have been much better company at one point or another. I .. probably even would have been more entertaining dead," he mustered, a hand massaging at the base of his neck.
Deilakrion slipped forward after a half beat's hesitation too long, and let her attention slide to those gathered in uneasy communion. The waves rifting from them made her uneasy, hell, but she wasn't that easy to scare off. She veered away, breath swallowing any mumbled comments she may have made. She was antsy.
Sidonia has to grin; it -is- humorous, now that she thinks on it. A former plant-man, an elfess, a silent "Madman," and a Pianist all standing (with the exception of her) in a circle and only the women speaking. Though, when one puts it like that, it becomes woefully stereotypical. "Regular talkers," she agrees as her hands slow to a final stop, leaving the place silent but for the echo of the song in all corners of the room. "Pardon him," she says with a not to Darrien, brows furrowing in concern. "I don't believe he's well..." With that, the Pianist stands, leaning over the instrument, and places an ivory hand on the sanguine-eyed male's. "Come; sit," she invites him with a soft plea in her lilt, wanting to be close to a friend so changed.
Deilakrion avoided Urghdak's yellow-eyed malevolence with a muffled hiss, and glowered at Steadman before the one-eyed man could comment. He wasn't even looking, so very typical of the busy bartender. It left her with empty hands and a head too full of receding and welling scents to even think properly. She had been following someone. Right. She tilted her head up and back, secreting herself away to a corner where her secluded musings might bear fruit. Or at the very least, some form of steadiness.
Serai flicked his bright, green eyes to Darrian, and then to Sidonia. He lifted a hand to idly run his spidery digits through his pin-straight hair. His other hand was still quite firmly held in Madeline's.
Deilakrion hunched with bent shoulders in her corner. At the very least she didn't stink of bodily functions, though there was a faint odor of old blood. Her hair was yet a matted mass, but it was miraculously clean (mostly). She perched herself upon a lonely table that was without chairs to keep it company -- some throwback to last night's customer's, left aside in solitude to consider its unworthiness. So she played a confidant, and sat quietly with half-lidded eyes. Alert. Aware.
Madeline flashes a quick grin in response to Sidonia's own, nodding her head in agreement. Before she can say anything to the woman, though, she shifts her gaze Darrien's way, scrutinizing him silently. Finally, she shakes her head to his words, "No need to apologize, dear. Some of us are just more social than others." She actually chuckles softly - the sound musical - at the latter half of his words, "Oh, boy. I don't know about that. Entertaining undead, sure. I don't think anyone is more entertaining in the grave than out." When Sidonia speaks to Darrien's possible sickness, she nods her head understandingly, "Of course. Well, it was a pleasure to meet both of you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." She starts to lead Serai away from the piano and the two new friends. That's when she spots Deilakrion. Instantly, her curiousity is piqued. The princess slips her hand out of Serai's altogether, pausing to give him a kiss and whisper something before she starts to step toward Deila.
Serai followed Madeline idly. When she released his hand to kiss him, he smiled, returning her whisper, and adding a tender nibble to her nearest ear.
Deilakrion Not that it mattered. She relaxed belatedly, though her eyes did not open fully as she drowsed. She let herself sink into the flowing stream of scents that decorated the tavern much as badly affixed streamers, shuffling to and fro in a muddle that was too complex for her to focus around. Within were the answers she desired, and much, much more. It kept her busy. Let her wait patiently for that fresh scent that she wanted to further investigate. Her fingernails scratched odd designs into the tabletop; some form of torture to the lonely table, surely.
Darrien obediently did as he was told and upon sitting, noticed the feral, wily, wonderfully idiosyncratic creature, known as Creature. He took a breath, most likely to offer some type of greeting to her, but only a crack in his voice and a trailing sigh were the products of his effort. Darrien had almost forgotten who he had become. Immortally unfocused eyes scanned the black and white keys with envy. "If only my life could be divided into eighty eight segments and was so black and white," he muttered pathetically to himself and whatever attention Sidonia gave him. He watched Madeline confidently walk across the tavern, trailed by Serai and experienced a bout of loneliness.
Sophie walks in. She is not looking nearly so ill as she has done these past few days. The colour has returned to her cheeks, and there is a hint of a spring in her step. She orders a water from Steadman. This is another sign that the elf is feeling much better. Until recently, she has been drinking large amounts of whiskey, for it's pain numbing properties.
The entrance, unobtrusive enough, held Deilakrion's rapt attention. Instantly she abandoned the table, the poor fool thing, and stood there with intent gaze pinned to Sophie.
Madeline pauses as she watches Sophie enter the tavern. She watches Deila's attention turn to focus on the newly-turned lycan. The princess backpedals, removing her apron as she goes, tossing it to Steadmen over the bar. She slips her hand into Serai's and starts to tug him toward the bar, "Come on, let's eat."
Sophie smiles at the strange feral elf, who had shown such interest in her that night at kelay Tavern. She has decided that she quite likes the wild woman. It is almost as if she now feels a kind of kinship for her, a strange kinship in that it did not exist two weeks ago.
Deilakrion swept past tables and scattered chairs, picking the least twisted path to lead her before the other. She yet smelled of blood, though all other odors had been wiped clean by some new regime. "You." She said, sizing the other up. "What has the flesh learned?"
Madeline settles herself beside Serai, fingers falling to rest on his leg casually as she motions Steadmen over. As the one-eyed barkeep shuffles toward the engaged pair, the princess contemplates Serai's question, "What do you want to know, sweet?"
Sophie is a little taken aback by Deilakrion's rapid approach and strange question. She doesn t know how to answer, yet still she seems strangely drawn to the woman.
Deilakrion did not smile this time, but instead drew herself up easily, pushing forward into any residual personal space Sophie might have had. "You are pack." She said, simple enough, but her possessive air was anything but simple. Complex, the way her blood ran and she stared at Sophie, body language leaning into potentially dangerous territory.
Sophie something about the woman scent is familiar, it reminds the Lycan, of the freedom of running in the forest the blood stains around her mouth even remind Sophie of food. When the woman leans in close to her, staring in a possessive manner Sophie feels like being defiant, she bares her elf s teeth as if they were a wolf s fangs. Sophie is suddenly startled by a warning bark from Mara. She knows she is about to transform and has no desire to do so in a crowded Tavern. She leaps over the side of her chair, as the normal way of leaving it is blocked by Deilakrion leaning in in a warning posture. She runs as quickly as she can out of the tavern door.
Madeline grins at Serai and opens her mouth to speak, but it's at that moment that Steadmen decides to intervene. Madeline leans toward the eye-patched bartender in order to let him know that she'd like a glass of milk. Only once he's moved off to get that for her, does she turn her attention back to Serai, "I see. Well. My birthday is in a matter of days, actually. The 25th of this month." Her head tilts slightly as she keeps an watch - out of the corner of her eye - on Deilakrion and Sophie, "My favorite flower is a daisy. I told you that, remember?" She nudges him lightly, here, her tone light and playful.
Deilakrion sauntered out the door after Sophie with a smug little smile.
--forest--
Sophie runs into the forest, enjoying the feel of her agile wolf's body, and the feel of the soft springy forest floor beneath her paws. On seeing the large thin wolf. sophie stops, ad sits back on her haunches, regarding the other wolf appraisingly.
Deilakrion had just transformed. The last vestiges of humanity had smoothed away, and she shook her black fur with an easy grace. She knew Sophie by scent, and by virtue of instinct that ran back much farther than wolfdom; it lay within the very fabric of her self, and through brush and leaf alike the wise golden-grey eyes gave Sophie calm attention. She was very confidant, the creature, and it showed clearly in her easy posture.
Sophie sees the confindent look in Deilakrion's eyes and seriously considers dropping into a submissive posture. Sophie is in the mood for a fight, however, life has not been kind to the wolf recently. Also she considers that the other wolf may well be confident, but sh is also thin, and not too much larger than Sophie, surely Sophie has some chance of being the victor in a confrontation...
Deilakrion walked forward a few steps, stiff-legged, and stilled. The air grew weary of the two, and blew away in a light breeze that shifted the forest in a pleasant rustling sound. Deilakrion kept staring at Sophie, attention focused and eyes clear of distractions. Her tail lifted past a neutral state until it rose high like a banner. -Do you dare?- her posture seemed to imply, and her head lowered the slightest in a subtle protection of her throat.
Sophie seems to think to herself, -What the Hell- she leaps at the larger wolf and tries to digs her teeth into the scruff of her opponent s neck, carefully avoiding the throat, this is not a fight to the death after all, it is merely to establish who is the dominant one of the two.
No time for fun and games. Deilakrion was ready, and when it came she growled low. She was serious in all efforts, and with enough time to adjust to this new wolfy persona she was more than ready. Her fur was caught between the other's jaws, but fur regrows. She yanked herself away, and launched herself the scant inches and into Sophie's shoulder, aiming to take the other off balance. Her teeth were bared at that point, and her ears flat to her head in a dangerous declaration of intent to do what she must to take the other down.
Sophie has to release her grip as she is knocked backwards by the momentum of Deilakrion leaping at her, she swipes with her right paw, trying to make contact, with Deilakrion s sensitive nose., she growls, softly.
Deilakrion shrugged aside the blow, more than used to pain around her facial features. She used remaining momentum to dash in under Sophie's guard, where leg met shoulder and shoulder met neck. A tender area, that she sought to cut into with open jaws and flashing teeth. She was snarling loudly as her feet dug into the loam for speed.
Sophie yelps with pain as Deilakrions sharp teeth dig into her and she is pushed almost flat onto her back by the force of the attack. She isn't ready to give up yet, however and shescrabbles with her back feet, attempting to claw and scratch at whatever part of Deilakrion s body she can reach.
Deilakrion twisted sideways, using Sophie's backwards movement to hop over the flailing wolf's form, all the while grunting at the sharp pain as her fur and hide are battered and bled. Her jaws locked as she maneuvered herself, jaws gaping wider to take a bigger portion of Sophie's ruff and throat. She pressed down, growling terrible warnings as she stood over the other with bristled fur and wild eyes.
Sophie is a little concrened as she feels Deilakrions teeth so near to hear throat, this is supposed to be a fight to establish dominance. Sophie hadn't actually counted on risking her life. She tries to pull away, and thus remove herself from the grip. She knows that if Deilakrion were to bite down hard on that part of her throat is might well prove to be the end of her.
Deilakrion growled a low warning, posture stiffening in challenge of dominance. -Be still!- she seemed to say as her jaws tightened a fraction of an inch. Instinct alone had the wolf wait for the other to submit. Only in submission would the black one release and back off, and only then would the cold anger generated by the challenge slip away in the face of cooler rationale. She was not wicked, the creature, nor was she evil; it was only that necessitated by survival and breeding that had her pitting violence as a form of control. Yet, it had worked, and worked well for one beleaguered species. The wolf, which these lycans were formed as, and modeling themselves after. They would beat their demons, but only by the grace of hierarchy.
Sophie realises she is beaten. She is unable to sink down into a submissive posture, with Deilakrion's jaws wrapped securely around her throat but she still, herself, and flattens her ears and drops her shoulders to make herself loo as small as she can. She begins to whimper quietly as if pleading for forgiveness.
Deilakrion released the other and stepped back, eyes seemingly gentling in the half-light of the Vailkrin moon. After her wolf told her enough had passed, the wolf wagged her tail once, and lowered her head to gently nuzzle Sophie's closest ear -- if the other would allow it. -We are understood.- She might be stern, this black wolf, but too was she fair and fair enough to be protective of her newly adopted pack mate. But also was she brief, and she took off with scarce another look back; for even within fondness such lycans were independent.
Why she was inside the Hanging Corpse at that hour, at that time, she didn't really care to examine. She was raw in a few ways, though her piecemeal skin was not bleeding anywhere. Still, she entered, and she looked around as though lost in the old tavern, even if she'd been over every inch of it before.
Darrien had thought Madeline was reaching to offer him a shake, and he took the bait smiling, reaching out as well. But when it became clear she simply desired to reposition it, he quickly swung his hand to the top of his head and scratched at a nonexistent itch. A gulp, a blush, and a bated breath later, Darrien felt an obligation to himself and those he cared for, particularly his comrade seated beside him to work through his bashfulness. "I apologize. would have been much better company at one point or another. I .. probably even would have been more entertaining dead," he mustered, a hand massaging at the base of his neck.
Deilakrion slipped forward after a half beat's hesitation too long, and let her attention slide to those gathered in uneasy communion. The waves rifting from them made her uneasy, hell, but she wasn't that easy to scare off. She veered away, breath swallowing any mumbled comments she may have made. She was antsy.
Sidonia has to grin; it -is- humorous, now that she thinks on it. A former plant-man, an elfess, a silent "Madman," and a Pianist all standing (with the exception of her) in a circle and only the women speaking. Though, when one puts it like that, it becomes woefully stereotypical. "Regular talkers," she agrees as her hands slow to a final stop, leaving the place silent but for the echo of the song in all corners of the room. "Pardon him," she says with a not to Darrien, brows furrowing in concern. "I don't believe he's well..." With that, the Pianist stands, leaning over the instrument, and places an ivory hand on the sanguine-eyed male's. "Come; sit," she invites him with a soft plea in her lilt, wanting to be close to a friend so changed.
Deilakrion avoided Urghdak's yellow-eyed malevolence with a muffled hiss, and glowered at Steadman before the one-eyed man could comment. He wasn't even looking, so very typical of the busy bartender. It left her with empty hands and a head too full of receding and welling scents to even think properly. She had been following someone. Right. She tilted her head up and back, secreting herself away to a corner where her secluded musings might bear fruit. Or at the very least, some form of steadiness.
Serai flicked his bright, green eyes to Darrian, and then to Sidonia. He lifted a hand to idly run his spidery digits through his pin-straight hair. His other hand was still quite firmly held in Madeline's.
Deilakrion hunched with bent shoulders in her corner. At the very least she didn't stink of bodily functions, though there was a faint odor of old blood. Her hair was yet a matted mass, but it was miraculously clean (mostly). She perched herself upon a lonely table that was without chairs to keep it company -- some throwback to last night's customer's, left aside in solitude to consider its unworthiness. So she played a confidant, and sat quietly with half-lidded eyes. Alert. Aware.
Madeline flashes a quick grin in response to Sidonia's own, nodding her head in agreement. Before she can say anything to the woman, though, she shifts her gaze Darrien's way, scrutinizing him silently. Finally, she shakes her head to his words, "No need to apologize, dear. Some of us are just more social than others." She actually chuckles softly - the sound musical - at the latter half of his words, "Oh, boy. I don't know about that. Entertaining undead, sure. I don't think anyone is more entertaining in the grave than out." When Sidonia speaks to Darrien's possible sickness, she nods her head understandingly, "Of course. Well, it was a pleasure to meet both of you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." She starts to lead Serai away from the piano and the two new friends. That's when she spots Deilakrion. Instantly, her curiousity is piqued. The princess slips her hand out of Serai's altogether, pausing to give him a kiss and whisper something before she starts to step toward Deila.
Serai followed Madeline idly. When she released his hand to kiss him, he smiled, returning her whisper, and adding a tender nibble to her nearest ear.
Deilakrion Not that it mattered. She relaxed belatedly, though her eyes did not open fully as she drowsed. She let herself sink into the flowing stream of scents that decorated the tavern much as badly affixed streamers, shuffling to and fro in a muddle that was too complex for her to focus around. Within were the answers she desired, and much, much more. It kept her busy. Let her wait patiently for that fresh scent that she wanted to further investigate. Her fingernails scratched odd designs into the tabletop; some form of torture to the lonely table, surely.
Darrien obediently did as he was told and upon sitting, noticed the feral, wily, wonderfully idiosyncratic creature, known as Creature. He took a breath, most likely to offer some type of greeting to her, but only a crack in his voice and a trailing sigh were the products of his effort. Darrien had almost forgotten who he had become. Immortally unfocused eyes scanned the black and white keys with envy. "If only my life could be divided into eighty eight segments and was so black and white," he muttered pathetically to himself and whatever attention Sidonia gave him. He watched Madeline confidently walk across the tavern, trailed by Serai and experienced a bout of loneliness.
Sophie walks in. She is not looking nearly so ill as she has done these past few days. The colour has returned to her cheeks, and there is a hint of a spring in her step. She orders a water from Steadman. This is another sign that the elf is feeling much better. Until recently, she has been drinking large amounts of whiskey, for it's pain numbing properties.
The entrance, unobtrusive enough, held Deilakrion's rapt attention. Instantly she abandoned the table, the poor fool thing, and stood there with intent gaze pinned to Sophie.
Madeline pauses as she watches Sophie enter the tavern. She watches Deila's attention turn to focus on the newly-turned lycan. The princess backpedals, removing her apron as she goes, tossing it to Steadmen over the bar. She slips her hand into Serai's and starts to tug him toward the bar, "Come on, let's eat."
Sophie smiles at the strange feral elf, who had shown such interest in her that night at kelay Tavern. She has decided that she quite likes the wild woman. It is almost as if she now feels a kind of kinship for her, a strange kinship in that it did not exist two weeks ago.
Deilakrion swept past tables and scattered chairs, picking the least twisted path to lead her before the other. She yet smelled of blood, though all other odors had been wiped clean by some new regime. "You." She said, sizing the other up. "What has the flesh learned?"
Madeline settles herself beside Serai, fingers falling to rest on his leg casually as she motions Steadmen over. As the one-eyed barkeep shuffles toward the engaged pair, the princess contemplates Serai's question, "What do you want to know, sweet?"
Sophie is a little taken aback by Deilakrion's rapid approach and strange question. She doesn t know how to answer, yet still she seems strangely drawn to the woman.
Deilakrion did not smile this time, but instead drew herself up easily, pushing forward into any residual personal space Sophie might have had. "You are pack." She said, simple enough, but her possessive air was anything but simple. Complex, the way her blood ran and she stared at Sophie, body language leaning into potentially dangerous territory.
Sophie something about the woman scent is familiar, it reminds the Lycan, of the freedom of running in the forest the blood stains around her mouth even remind Sophie of food. When the woman leans in close to her, staring in a possessive manner Sophie feels like being defiant, she bares her elf s teeth as if they were a wolf s fangs. Sophie is suddenly startled by a warning bark from Mara. She knows she is about to transform and has no desire to do so in a crowded Tavern. She leaps over the side of her chair, as the normal way of leaving it is blocked by Deilakrion leaning in in a warning posture. She runs as quickly as she can out of the tavern door.
Madeline grins at Serai and opens her mouth to speak, but it's at that moment that Steadmen decides to intervene. Madeline leans toward the eye-patched bartender in order to let him know that she'd like a glass of milk. Only once he's moved off to get that for her, does she turn her attention back to Serai, "I see. Well. My birthday is in a matter of days, actually. The 25th of this month." Her head tilts slightly as she keeps an watch - out of the corner of her eye - on Deilakrion and Sophie, "My favorite flower is a daisy. I told you that, remember?" She nudges him lightly, here, her tone light and playful.
Deilakrion sauntered out the door after Sophie with a smug little smile.
--forest--
Sophie runs into the forest, enjoying the feel of her agile wolf's body, and the feel of the soft springy forest floor beneath her paws. On seeing the large thin wolf. sophie stops, ad sits back on her haunches, regarding the other wolf appraisingly.
Deilakrion had just transformed. The last vestiges of humanity had smoothed away, and she shook her black fur with an easy grace. She knew Sophie by scent, and by virtue of instinct that ran back much farther than wolfdom; it lay within the very fabric of her self, and through brush and leaf alike the wise golden-grey eyes gave Sophie calm attention. She was very confidant, the creature, and it showed clearly in her easy posture.
Sophie sees the confindent look in Deilakrion's eyes and seriously considers dropping into a submissive posture. Sophie is in the mood for a fight, however, life has not been kind to the wolf recently. Also she considers that the other wolf may well be confident, but sh is also thin, and not too much larger than Sophie, surely Sophie has some chance of being the victor in a confrontation...
Deilakrion walked forward a few steps, stiff-legged, and stilled. The air grew weary of the two, and blew away in a light breeze that shifted the forest in a pleasant rustling sound. Deilakrion kept staring at Sophie, attention focused and eyes clear of distractions. Her tail lifted past a neutral state until it rose high like a banner. -Do you dare?- her posture seemed to imply, and her head lowered the slightest in a subtle protection of her throat.
Sophie seems to think to herself, -What the Hell- she leaps at the larger wolf and tries to digs her teeth into the scruff of her opponent s neck, carefully avoiding the throat, this is not a fight to the death after all, it is merely to establish who is the dominant one of the two.
No time for fun and games. Deilakrion was ready, and when it came she growled low. She was serious in all efforts, and with enough time to adjust to this new wolfy persona she was more than ready. Her fur was caught between the other's jaws, but fur regrows. She yanked herself away, and launched herself the scant inches and into Sophie's shoulder, aiming to take the other off balance. Her teeth were bared at that point, and her ears flat to her head in a dangerous declaration of intent to do what she must to take the other down.
Sophie has to release her grip as she is knocked backwards by the momentum of Deilakrion leaping at her, she swipes with her right paw, trying to make contact, with Deilakrion s sensitive nose., she growls, softly.
Deilakrion shrugged aside the blow, more than used to pain around her facial features. She used remaining momentum to dash in under Sophie's guard, where leg met shoulder and shoulder met neck. A tender area, that she sought to cut into with open jaws and flashing teeth. She was snarling loudly as her feet dug into the loam for speed.
Sophie yelps with pain as Deilakrions sharp teeth dig into her and she is pushed almost flat onto her back by the force of the attack. She isn't ready to give up yet, however and shescrabbles with her back feet, attempting to claw and scratch at whatever part of Deilakrion s body she can reach.
Deilakrion twisted sideways, using Sophie's backwards movement to hop over the flailing wolf's form, all the while grunting at the sharp pain as her fur and hide are battered and bled. Her jaws locked as she maneuvered herself, jaws gaping wider to take a bigger portion of Sophie's ruff and throat. She pressed down, growling terrible warnings as she stood over the other with bristled fur and wild eyes.
Sophie is a little concrened as she feels Deilakrions teeth so near to hear throat, this is supposed to be a fight to establish dominance. Sophie hadn't actually counted on risking her life. She tries to pull away, and thus remove herself from the grip. She knows that if Deilakrion were to bite down hard on that part of her throat is might well prove to be the end of her.
Deilakrion growled a low warning, posture stiffening in challenge of dominance. -Be still!- she seemed to say as her jaws tightened a fraction of an inch. Instinct alone had the wolf wait for the other to submit. Only in submission would the black one release and back off, and only then would the cold anger generated by the challenge slip away in the face of cooler rationale. She was not wicked, the creature, nor was she evil; it was only that necessitated by survival and breeding that had her pitting violence as a form of control. Yet, it had worked, and worked well for one beleaguered species. The wolf, which these lycans were formed as, and modeling themselves after. They would beat their demons, but only by the grace of hierarchy.
Sophie realises she is beaten. She is unable to sink down into a submissive posture, with Deilakrion's jaws wrapped securely around her throat but she still, herself, and flattens her ears and drops her shoulders to make herself loo as small as she can. She begins to whimper quietly as if pleading for forgiveness.
Deilakrion released the other and stepped back, eyes seemingly gentling in the half-light of the Vailkrin moon. After her wolf told her enough had passed, the wolf wagged her tail once, and lowered her head to gently nuzzle Sophie's closest ear -- if the other would allow it. -We are understood.- She might be stern, this black wolf, but too was she fair and fair enough to be protective of her newly adopted pack mate. But also was she brief, and she took off with scarce another look back; for even within fondness such lycans were independent.