She loved to scheme, to play wretched games, and to dance in the night like no other. She was the eternal gift to man, a whore so longing, so wanting, to quench them of their burrowed sins. TO allow their aggression and transgressions to so willingly be left with her. To be placed within' her. A sickly laugh tainted the woods, left them drowning in her amused snickering. A demon in an angel's body, so lush, so perfect. Smiling, nay, smirking the wench lowered her svelte form to the ground. Upon her muzzle, was the lingering stain, and the rancid smell of blood. Thick in its metallic scent, she writhed in luxury. Perfection. She loved blood, even her own.

Vampyric in her own way, the Queen tilted her muzzle back, laying beneath the chill of the moon, and cooed, demanding the presence, demanding that someone come for her. They would, surely, take a willing meal, and one so perfectly designed. A platter so elegant, little did they know what tasted so sweet on the lips, what wanted nothing more than the hips, was going to sour their stomach in the worst of the ways. She was poison. She was danger. She was everything negative and sweet in several meanings. Innocence long lost on the figurine, she returned to her night, waiting for the demons to swarm around her in their own luxurious lust.

TABLE + CODING BY TIFF

Nighttime draped over the lands like a velvet cloth. The smoldering heat of the desert had slipped away with the sun, casting temperatures down low and offering some refuge to the mangy animal as he walked. The moon hung in the sky, ever faithfully returning each month in its full glory, as it did tonight. Its alabaster glow tickled the mortal land beneath, not quite strong enough to be helpful, but undoubtedly beautiful and eerie ? one of the wonders of the world. It touched gently to the crests of the rolling dunes, and spilled freely over empty plains of desert. There was a gentle tranquility, a misleading security. The night was so calm, yet every child knew there were dangers to behold, locked within the sheltering darkness. The dark frightening Caesar only slightly; he was used to it, but he didn't want to stay in it forever like he had before.


The desert was more frightening than the dark, really. He had been in it for a long time, hot, aching, and no doubt lost again. There had been nothing but sand as far as he could see, and the sun had beaten upon his black back with merciless heat. Thirst felt like a miniature desert in his mouth, and he was certain there was a thin dusting of sand on his tongue. Night had saved him from the heat, but not the desert. He continued to trudge along, alone. Occasionally he would speak aloud to keep himself company, but his tongue felt funny and it was a bit uncomfortable. He didn't really think or worry much about dying, but simply kept on aimlessly. It would be over one way or another.

The call perked his ragged ears instantly, and his little scarred head lifted from its place hanging between jutting shoulders. There was someone else around here. A grin etched along his dry lips, and he yelped excitedly. "Caesar is here! Yes!!!" the shrill cry shredded the serenity of the night. Eagerly he would scramble onward, trying to find where the call had come from. In but a few moments, he saw the dark outlines of trees and plants. Trees and plants meant water, and he very much wanted water right now. The imp shot into the green, quickly seeking out the pool and the owner of the voice. First he would take generous, sputtering gulps of water, his body trembling. And then he bounded away from the water's edge, his feet restless. "Caesar thought he would never find water!" he barked.

Insanity gripping her core, she did not expect a beast of similarly distorted mindset to move, to thrive, and yet there, arbitrary to the existence of so many, he came. His ravenous endeavors something she were not aware of. In his seclusion and in his innocent screeching, she was doubting him. Serpentine; she glides from the enthusiasm she once possessed and listens to his proclamation. He is here! He is here! Why was his presence so great and why did he find himself believing she would care about his arrival? How cute.

Like a screaming banshee, her hips twisted her beside him, her shoulder aiming to sink into his, which amusing enough to her, was lower than her own. The cougar, staring down a vicious and disturbing piece of prey. Rancid. Disgusting. He was grotesque. Perhaps, it was what she preferred, but his odor, o it would slay nations. With adamance her light brush would turn into a shove and she would attempt to use her weight to drive him into the waters. There, if successful, she would revel, she would scream in empirical joy. Victory! Victory! It's mine.

Languid and displeased with her night's events her supple thighs find the Earth, her visage morphing from displeasure to devious lust, "Would you like to play a game?" Her games were wicked, voracious, and particularly invasive how could one resist the yearning call of a charming young doll. When the doll was her, resistance was futile; for she would have her way.

TABLE + CODING BY TIFF

It all happened so quickly. Soon she was up and beside him, revealing her odd set of eyes. Two different colors! Wonderful! He stared in blithe happiness, curiosity curling his lips in a less open smile as she touched him. He liked touching. And then in the next instant he was bowled over into the water, on his back. It wasn?t deep at all (not but a few inches), but the panic was immediate and extreme. He howled with displeasure and terror, flailing and splashing the water around him. Some of it got in his mouth, and as horror tightened his throat, the water going down it made him feel as though he were drowning. ?Caesar doesn?t swim! He doesn?t swim!? he cried, coughing and twisting.

By some chance he writhed himself back to few centimeters it took to get to the dry land again, rather than deeper into the water, and he would realize that he was safe once more. He dragged himself up and out of the water, and coughed and sputtered as he scampered mistrustfully a few feet away from the woman. She sat quite calm, perhaps pleased with herself. Caesar scowled, his wet fur ruffling and his tail sticking straight out behind him as muscles tensed. Black lips curled back to flash his upper fangs, and he stood, head between his shoulders, dripping. ?Yes. Caesar and the poophead will play a game. The poophead will go swim out to the middle and stay,? he huffed, motioning towards the water. He clicked his teeth together a few times, vexed.

IT'S HARD TO GET HIGH WHEN YOU'RE LIVING OFF THE BOTTLE

didn't swim didn't swim! how amusing this child was. A hiss would spring from behind inky lips and the woman would aim her paw to the side, to feign assistance before she would retreat, pinning her bodice to the ground. She would watch with fervent interest as he sputtered insults to her. A sly smile would glaze over her features, a fraction of it tilting higher than the other side, do you like to fight, amor? her lyrics glide, sensual and sweet, and then the lady is lain to silence, proclaiming the night her own as her svelte frame stretches across the ground, attempting to entice the lunatic into her wanton tango.

A cruel woman! A great big poopy doopy! He remained where he was, scowling and fluffed and dripping. The stupid water was uncomfortable. He shook himself violently before straightening again to glower at her. His tail stuck straight out behind him, aligned with his spine in a display of displeased supremacy. She questioned, and he replied bluntly, still sullen and not quite understanding, ?Caesar doesn?t know who Amor is.? His brows pressed down, his ears twitching back as he paced to the right slightly, shifting farther from the water. ?She swims,? he urged persistently.

IT'S HARD TO GET HIGH WHEN YOU'RE LIVING OFF THE BOTTLE

She is so disgusting and disgraceful, and yet her being so perfectly void of class further offers a scene of beautifully horrendous disregard. A giggle slips past her lips as he questions her, speaking so curiously in third person. He was downright insane, how lovely. Aiming to step near him she lowered her head to him, answering swiftly after his 'command', "Do you just long to see me wet, Caesar?" She is polite and yet suggestive, curious of the young man so devoid of understanding. Idiot. Hopefully, however, he would bode well with her explicit ramblings and it wouldn't take more than any other benevolent fool to take what she so longed for, what in her mind, was rightfully hers.