Floating Key
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KAHLI
I bear the smile of a wolf, and my canines sink easily into the oily skin of the whale. Red rises to meet my tongue, though there is something fatty about this creature. Still, this is not about sating a hunger, though at this point I’m not really sure what this is about at all. Perhaps passing my anger and frustrations upon this senseless little beast will turn up futile, and I will be just as angry leaving as I did entering this scene, but whatever. When was I one to allow a shambling weeping conscience to stop me? The sounds he makes throughout this whole experience have provided a haunting melody, a macabre score, and it’s beautiful. But many fleeting things are beautiful. Still, I release my grip, and I step back and survey the gaping damage I have inflicted. Eyes fall upon his, and there’s some sort of sentience nestled within the dark pools, and I find myself staring, wondering, thinking about just walking away. Well, that thought was short lived. A furious scream rips my attention from the water-bound creature, and my nostrils flare and eyes narrow as I swing my crowned head towards her. She is made for the sea, made from the sea, so it seems fitting that this thing is her pet. Should I have had more time to react, I may have sighed at my choice of targets, because who really wants to fight with a woman who is leather and spines and battle all rolled into one. Or, I may have side-stepped her, laughed, and danced off into the cover of the woods. Unfortunately for me, the hell-on-wheels barreling towards me is blocking the makeshift entrance I had crashed through. I do attempt to sidle, and again I grow angry that my shifting magic has been so cruelly bastardized that by the time my transformation completes, I will be a bloody puddle of mash beneath the woman’s heels. This has rendered my magic nearly unusable, so I'm stuck remaining a solid target. I am almost able to avoid her completely, but a sweeping sting ripples up my side as a barb splits my pelt. An awful shrill noise slips through my clenched jaws. Her proximity and how she is covered in armor and weapons has left me suddenly feeling overwhelmingly trapped. I have never been a fighter. Manipulator? Sure. Hunter? Just as a spider traps a fly. Killer? Absolutely. But brutish hand to hand combat has never been my expertise, and especially not against beautiful women. And this flashy dame, with water sleek against her plated curves, a seductive deadly glint in her eyes, her war cry, she was the most beautiful of them all. And her words, foreign and untranslatable by my ears, they call to me. It is a ballad of love, seduction, like that of a siren. Blood slips free of my wound, and yet I crave her touch again. In this game of cat and mouse, a game where I was always the cunning feline with claws bared and teeth waiting, I just wanted to be the mouse. If I had known that my feelings were caused by poison, that it was venom leeching into my muscles and nerves and chemoreceptors, perhaps I would have tried to fight the feelings that raced through my veins. “Beautiful words,” I laugh as I attempt to spin away, but only for a moment, before turning towards where I believe she is again. I prance forward on dancer’s legs, attempting to aim a playful bite upon the woman, but where my nose barely brushes I yank away, the fluid running down her stripes (more beautiful than my own stripes, she wears them so well) burns at the softness of my left bare and I yelp, pulling away, letting my legs try to carry me away. I halt several paces away, sides heaving, and I angrily cast my gaze over my shoulder, looking to see if the woman will pursue. Rage and lust burns within my white-rimmed eyes. I am so conflicted. I want to leap forward, I want to get close enough to touch her. I want her to plant bites down my shoulders, down my spine. I shake my head desperately, trying to shake free the thoughts. Something is wrong. The stinging wound again draws my attention, and my face twists with anger. “You terrible wretch,” I hiss, and though I’m usually a fan of talking dirty, those words are typically a purr. I turn towards her, ears pinned, teeth bared, lips still stained with kisses of blood and a wisp of burned flesh. “You dare poison me with desire? What kind of game are you playing?” I reach forward with invisible feelers laced with magic, reaching for her heart. But this time I do not urge hers to race, I urge it to slow. I feel my own hammering heart calm, and I hope that perhaps that touch can calm her enough to give me time. Time is all I need to escape this dreadful encounter. Cause I’ve killed before, & I’ll do it again. |
@Aquila
OOC: If you mind her brushing against Aquila and getting burned by the blisters, let me know and I'll remove it!
