You long for the taste of blood..

It's a priority, a fatal attraction, your addiction. You can never have to little or to much, but with just the right amount you feel like titanium. It's then that you realize it's not the metallic fondue that's got you yearning for it's addicting toxin, it's the who, the organism that you feast upon; like a delicate flower the specimen shrivels up and turns to sunder. You are no monster, even if that is what you are entitled as. But more of a sociopath, with the slightest sentimental belief -- whom unwillingly basks in the glory of horrendous accusations and gore moments. Find one's self indulged with your manipulative tactics that can lure a victim into a trap, but in all fairness you neither have the dignity or the right reasoning to penetrate or exterminate an asset -- choosing to spare them for another day, allowing someone else to slaughter them; you know when and when not to get blood on your paws.

Down the barrens, through the darkness..

Dark skies and horrid terrains, there is light for you in it's wake, as the stars that are millions of galaxies away aid to your unspoken prayers. A path that has your appendages leaping, every muscle fragment screams out for remorse, but there shall be no rest until you reach homeward bound. The digits on your paws test the solid clean sweep of the earth surface, with the mass you possess has the sandy basins tumbling down the edge of a slope -- still no balance is deceived while a beast like you walks on a line so thin that not even the Devil could master the arts. The wind picks up, playing its chorus in notes that have yet to be unlocked, and its icy talons attacks your ashen grey tresses with such rage that it almost felt as if the tips of daggers were being punctured through your epithelium. Gem stones of electrifying blue bolts of lightning nipped at the violent of sand particles that threatened to blind her, yet her oculars shown brighter than the moon itself; igniting a flame within their reach and bleeding a black goo as many called it. Now with stepping over obstacles, it seems you have entered your demise, and found your way home.

But what can be sought out in the awakening hour..

[Sorry for the shitty starter post, muse is okay I guess. and yes my way of writing varies, from using, "she", "i", "you". I'm weird haha.]

image by Luisiana

For he was not an ordinary beast, but one in oceanic cloth, draped finely as though he where but a unique creation; one to admire, for he knew of his fortune but wished not to become ignorant upon it. Wolves may stop to stare, whether it be to admire or even worship, or whether it was to discriminate and shun as though he where an abomination needing to be locked away, he had the attention one way or another. But alas he would take his time to bathe beneath the silken rays of the suns heat, the warmth from the source expanding across the whole contours of his skeletal spine, leading down to his ribcage, but no further. He had just recently joined Nifleheim, the leader to his surprise someone of familiarity and one to idol, but he would think very little of that. His fiery gaze would take a moment to take in the scenery before him, scattering upon all the still objects, until alas he'd see a dainty thing standing their in all of her glory. He would waste no time, raising to his paws and pulling his limbs towards the other. Though as he neared closer, about 2 or 3 meters he would halt, wishing not to intrude on personal boundaries. His crown would raise, though his caution would rarely leave him. " What brings you out here? All alone miss," Though before he would continue the conversation. [if he even knew how to begin] he would introduce himself. " Im Novaro Red, are you from around here?" She seemed like the type who liked to be alone, though perhaps he was mistaken and she had others following her like obedient sheep. Though, the merle boy was never the type to simple flee.

image by Away, Table by Oasis

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Poisoned daggers were engulfed in the crevasse of a ivory toned goddesses thorax, lashing out with extreme aggression, shrivels of thunderous bloodshed growls unleashed themselves. The maulers of her fangs glistened to a sharp point, and the ones they call juggernauts shredded a few scaled inches of the gushing stream of wind. The ends of her hairs began to bristle, like a porcupine she puffed out around the shoulders and along her narrow spine. She was no longer in her defensive state, but a warning stance that taunted any who dared to come closer. The blue tainted masculine whom had even the slightest guts to approach a demon like herself was un-phased by her murderous proposals, so she switched over to her secondary tactic -- manipulation -- which was one of the very few that was easiest for her. Canvasing her enormous digits across the barren dunes, tiny flakes of sand dancing with the breeze current. IN all fairness she was neither impressed nor drawn to his unlikely accusations of some kind of s.o.s. He wasn't a threat, or piqued her the slightest bit, he seemed a little truth-worthy, but that all depended on how he took to her manipulation and seduction. Zyrix is known to be an outgoing, psychotic-bitch, but some can see past her rude, self-preserved jousting righteousness that she is a sweet and innocent women who once said that life is too cruel to life without love. Yet, only hounds with a keener eye can detect her sentimental embrace, though her impulsive behavior can truly get out of hand and shadow that self-less facade. SO for now, whomever comes across her will have to deal with selfish and cruel remarks with no emotion, but unless you can unravel her insecurities and dig down deep enough; you'll find that she is more than that. With the males rambling vultures coming undone to spit miens of perfection in her direction, auricles shifting to pin point them at them. His aroma was something a little less bulky and proud, but calm and brave. He obviously meant no harm, and reading him was as easy as reading an open book. Taking a moment of silence, only to enhance her behavior, kicking her destructive acts into gear now, stumbling over the many tidings to preach to the brute. Here and there she'd skim him over, only to allow her glowing blue flames puncture back into his binoculars. NO words were to describe his beauty, let alone the voice of a God he carried, and yet she too has the angelic remedies of a Goddess of Death -- rich in both aspect of Bulgarian culture and lioness vocal cords. All at once she finally found her muse, gathering in the right phrases to stitch together and let them flow between black inked lips, the markings under her eyes making the blue cores pop. As she spoke, an angel's melody was played, the chorus full of demonic and honeysuckle notes, ones laced in venom and others held a trace of cinder-block sweet coo. " Well, for one, I don't tend to run around with a pack full of hounds, so with the wind in my fur and the fresh smell of freedom in the morning sounds pretty damn good to me." A small smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, finally deceiving her cold expression to a more flattering portrait. As he pronounced his name he'd use the most exotic way of lathering himself up to this feminine temptress. She too was interested in his collective fondue, seemingly as how quick he came forth upon her sundered foundations; almost as if he was hoping she were a damsel in distress and he were the Hercules to come and rescue her from danger. Now only a soft chuckle was introduced first before the naming of her title, by whom she was and what she goes by. Silencing those drenched essences of laughter to open her mouth and breathe her full name, no hesitation. " Names Zyrix La'kova, pleasure to meet you Novaro Red."

Im so sorry this is sososo late!

He would make no effort to move, his legs stiff against the dusty floor. She would near closer towards him, and he would make no motion to move from her grasp. She would brush against him from time to time, and there was no denying her beauty and allure. But with that in mind, he really wasn't that easy to take down. He found many woman unique and interesting. But he has yet to meet anyone who can match his Dione. Her fur dines in a jaded green, her beauty radiating from her like no other. He would focus upon Zyrinx, a weak smile forming against his thin lips. He would inhale her scent, intoxicating... she had all the right curves and edges to, enough for any man to beg at her feet and plead for her every wish. But alas he would simply sit, watching her carefully. A smile grew upon his lips once more " Perhaps you can tell me more about what this 'freedom' is like. I believe none of us can ever be truly free. There will always be something stopping us in our paths." He would quickly arch a brow, wondering if she would think differently. For how can anyone be truly free? How can one not have enemies? a Weakness? Illness? there would always be something. It may not be a pack that takes always freedom and binds us down like puppets, but there are many other reasons that would restrain any creature to do whatever they please.

image by Away, Table by Oasis

Silence. That's all there was for what seemed like a life time, then she allowed his miens to soak in. Drawing her n then drawing her right back out, this brute may have smelt like another femme but does that technically means she wasn't going to steal him from one ever claimed him? That would be unorthodox if she didn't, Zyrix is always up for a challenge, and who ever said she couldn't come to love again? Like always, her bodice was basking in its heavenly vanilla fondue, though the traces of others blood falling from her pours. Coiled in alabaster and ivory luxuries, her angelic countenance was nary a mistake from those big black markings decorating her features. For a moment you'd take in his attractive designs of both blue and red. His eyes though caught your attention, fully lost in an entrancement of his gem stones. Blinking, recovering from your fantasy, the only thing left to do now was simply answer his quizzical tutorials. Taking in a deep breath, you'd release it with rich Bulgarian accents. "You may not be free. But I am. I do not let my weaknesses, or troubles control my life. Enemies, yes I plenty of them, but why stress over some hound who means nothing to me? Why down myself over an illness or something a person said? My weaknesses are pushed away at a time like this, I am no longer vulnerable by their betrayal. Should I choose to let my freedom escape from my grasp, then there I will find what truly waits for me. Darkness, death, and resentment. Right now, I am content with the freedom I am deprived in." And there she'd end her speech, questioning his motives by just one look. Her crown tilted to one side, though she'd again draw forward. Teasing him with the slight honeydew odor of her heating scent. Hoping to rally him up, and uncover what truly lies. "Speech"