make a career out of robbing banks
09-22-2014, 10:09 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-22-2014, 10:40 AM by Lillyth.)
A call rings out, a summoning for the bitch to join her estranged nephew and his children. The runt dares to summon her? She is his aunt, and his superior, how dare he? She is in the middle of something, something very important. The ignorant fool at her feet cowers and begs for his life, and bleeds from such well placed wounds. He will bleed out, numb and cold and afraid, while she watches. However, now that is not an option. A cruel smile slowly grows upon her severe features, twisting her alluring face into something evil and horrible. She lowers her crown, dragging her long salmon tongue along the quivering mutt's cheek.
The coppery taste floods her mouth, and she trembles with the decadence. She lowers her charcoal bodice onto the quivering man, delighting in the frightened mewls he emits. She croons soothingly to him, but the sarcastic delight in her voice is obvious. He attempts to shake her off, and in retaliation for his impending rejection, she wraps her jaws around his throat. A slow, long, crushing bite it delivered. Windpipe severed, carotid artery leaking sanguine fluid all over the grass.
With a rumbling growl, the wraith begins down the path toward where the whelp rests his weary paws. She will have to put him in his place. The beloved sister to the almighty Lucifer is not at the beck and call of a mere child. Mercury and crimson optics seethe with rage, the tempest glides across the terra toward a frozen wasteland. Of course the whelp would call her here, a place where frigid temperatures reign and the ground is barren. However, the dead lands do hold some appeal in their lack of colour and life. A disdainful huff escapes her nostrils, and she scans over the landscape for her relatives. She seeks to make sure Fawks knows she is not simply to be summoned whenever he desires her presence.
The temptress spies her nephew, and one of his many brats at his side. She strides forward, sleek bodice rippling with muscle and luscious hips swaying back and forth with each stride. Onyx lips would curl upward to reveal shining pearl daggers, and a threatening snarl erupts from her maw. She towers above both wolves, crown held high and audits tilted back in irritation. "I am not at your beck and call, boy. You are not worthy of keeping me from my other business." Silken lyrics would growl, furious tones laced with venom. Haunches lower to the frigid terrain, and her thick banner lays itself out at her side, tip twitching with barely controlled rage. "You would do well to remember that." She snaps, pinning him with a glare that could melt through metal. Her attention drifts briefly to the mildly interesting patterns of her nephew's whelp, but she isn't interested in the babe's looks in the least.
The coppery taste floods her mouth, and she trembles with the decadence. She lowers her charcoal bodice onto the quivering man, delighting in the frightened mewls he emits. She croons soothingly to him, but the sarcastic delight in her voice is obvious. He attempts to shake her off, and in retaliation for his impending rejection, she wraps her jaws around his throat. A slow, long, crushing bite it delivered. Windpipe severed, carotid artery leaking sanguine fluid all over the grass.
With a rumbling growl, the wraith begins down the path toward where the whelp rests his weary paws. She will have to put him in his place. The beloved sister to the almighty Lucifer is not at the beck and call of a mere child. Mercury and crimson optics seethe with rage, the tempest glides across the terra toward a frozen wasteland. Of course the whelp would call her here, a place where frigid temperatures reign and the ground is barren. However, the dead lands do hold some appeal in their lack of colour and life. A disdainful huff escapes her nostrils, and she scans over the landscape for her relatives. She seeks to make sure Fawks knows she is not simply to be summoned whenever he desires her presence.
The temptress spies her nephew, and one of his many brats at his side. She strides forward, sleek bodice rippling with muscle and luscious hips swaying back and forth with each stride. Onyx lips would curl upward to reveal shining pearl daggers, and a threatening snarl erupts from her maw. She towers above both wolves, crown held high and audits tilted back in irritation. "I am not at your beck and call, boy. You are not worthy of keeping me from my other business." Silken lyrics would growl, furious tones laced with venom. Haunches lower to the frigid terrain, and her thick banner lays itself out at her side, tip twitching with barely controlled rage. "You would do well to remember that." She snaps, pinning him with a glare that could melt through metal. Her attention drifts briefly to the mildly interesting patterns of her nephew's whelp, but she isn't interested in the babe's looks in the least.
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