Walk that walk; talk that talk

The forest was one of those places which had no palpable reason to exist. It was a creaking shack created by nature to serve as a reminder that things could always be much, much worse. The unnatural, choking mist that swirled and sprawled on the forest floor was the first thing that spoke of a strange sort of wrongness. The sickly white substance seemed to possess liquid properties which only reminded the bronze Goddess of the maggot-like texture of the eyes of a dead lupine who had been forgotten in his den for a few months, ready to burst at the slightest touch. The smoke made no sound however and only parted to swallow up her ankles as she marched upon the giant dead, festering eyeball of the forest floor. The sound of mushy snow whispered from under the skin of the mist.

Fiery orange orbs that were swimming in a pool of violet scanned the perimeter, a necessary precaution she had habituated into her system from her premature year's as an abandoned whelp even when wandering upon a safe territory. Once reassurance had settled into the sinewy muscles that rippled beneath the autumn woman body, she made her way toward the small water pool. A plush, coral tongue lapped desirably at her ebon, succulent lips and once she was beside the oasis that beckoned so alluringly, her regal crown lowered and she relished at the cool liquid that iced its path down her jugular.

The woods were dark and eerie, frightening most right out of their skin as soon as something moved for sure. Carthage, however, liked the mystery of the forest and the haze that lingered and crept through the tree's like the souls of the Underworld. It hardly moved on it's own until a presence came through, adjusting itself to fit around the being and move away accordingly. When one was still, the haze settled and lingered at the heels, just high enough to make it look ominous and cold.

He hadn't been wandering for long, pressing deeper and deeper into the Soulless Forest. He wondered how the place got it's name if it looked as if ghostly souls were creeping their way through but he didn't ponder on this question for long. Before him, a woman stood dipping her chin to the cool water of the winter river, lapping at it's chilled resource. He kept his distance for now, although he wasn't hidden. Standing out as plain as day, the monochrome beast advanced towards the woman adorned in intricate jewelry. Her pelt reminding him of the dirt, the foundation of life, but something else about her made him curious. Perhaps it was the scent of Hannibal lingering on her coat that drew him near, the jealousy and minute rage that was building made him question why he felt so drawn to this place. These wolves weren't Kleins, they were impure blood! He still didn't understand his decision to involve himself in something like this, but for whatever reason, Carthage chose to hang around and see what he had planned.

Approaching the woman with a level head, or at least attempting it now, he assumed she already knew he was here. The wolves of Erovrare didn't seem to be weak or unintelligent, so he let his confidence shine as he approached without a word. Venturing towards her right side, he approached the water source and dipped his chin down, mimicking her just moments before.


"Speech!"
TABLE & CODE © RASTA 2019

 Walk that walk ; talk that talk

The other scent has already begun to flutter into flared nostrils and the autumn babe inhales it like a bittersweet cologne. Oh, how unique, yet there was a under lying tinge that reminded her of her man. She was within her packlands, she was strangely safe, however circumstances had chiseled her to always remain aware of her surroundings and be prepared for everything. Not to mention her little companion laid in the nearest forest and the fact that he has not approached yet means he is still watching, roaming and waiting for a reason or a command from her ebon, full lips. The escape of her tongue isn’t preventable, feeling the saliva collect within her pretty maw, the woman turns, stirring the bouts of muscle riddled beneath her pelt as she now faces the other wolf. They both provided an essence of being of brute strength should it be required, him more than her, that is for sure. She was no coward but it is deemed to say the bronze Goddess relied on her intelligence rather than tooth and claw. She, however, does not go unarmed in this sudden ‘casual’ meeting; she knows better than to be so foolish and it came as a natural instinct to protect her unborn spawns therefore her muscles tense as the man approached in order to catch a drink himself. Strange one, are you not? she bitch hisses as she raises her regal crown, straightening her posture, her sjpulder blades roll back in a royal fashion; the image of grace and divinity, royalty comes to mind as one would observe the autumn babe. I do not think that we had meet. her braided, elongated tail managed to curl upon her spine in a more dominant act, However, it seems that there are not many individuals one can met in this pack. her fiery orange gaze fell upon the strange man, taking in every muscle and every hair threads he had to offer.

He was silent as he approached and dipped towards the cool water, lapping up a refreshing drink. He felt her eyes on him as he lingered, words inevitably falling from her lips smoothly, calling him strange. That was probably one of the tamest descriptions he'd had over his time, to the point it made him smirk. He had plenty of other names and descriptions, she just hadn't had the time to see or learn of them yet. Something would have to change in this pack, and that was the knowledge of the Kleins. Although he could smell a faint lingering odor of his brother on her pelt, he thought nothing of it. Hannibal made his rounds often, and he didn't doubt she was a frequent flyer. Carthage cared little for women particularly, as long as they settled his need he cared hardly for what laid between the thighs.

He rose his crown and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the blue lenses bright in the darkness of the forest. Studying her face a little, the intricate marks around her eyes got his attention, but ended there. She seemed a bit flashy, but it wasn't Carthage's taste that mattered. She seemed too much like a snake already to benefit him in any way, however Hannibal seemed to think differently if there was a reason behind his scent lingering on her.

"I've recently joined this... pack." He almost shuddered at calling it a pack, as it seemed hardly that. The Klein Empire was a true pack, wolves flourishing in it's ranks until the famine. Erovrare seemed slow and leisurely, a good place to keep up some habits, but a bad place to make new ones. Unsure of her tie to the alpha, he left it at that, not wanting to step on any toes too early into the game. The scent of my brother lingers on your coat. It does not surprise me, but you must know Hannibal is my brother by now. It'd be hard to assume otherwise." He chuckled lightly, wondering if she'd even realized the resemblance.


"Speech!"
TABLE & CODE © RASTA 2019

 Walk that walk ; talk that talk

The wicked spindles web into a nest of the serpent. Protective she was over her home in fear of it being tainted or destroyed and she will bite back with a painful sting and venomous intentions anyone that dares to defile it or lay a finger on her family. Though, if the words that fell from the mans mouth were true, she needn't worry of this male for he was soon to become her family through alliance. After all, she was carrying his brother spawns within her womb. Mischievous and sly like a cunning, witty little fox, the woman close the distance between them only for the man to be able to further scent her. A little game of cat and mouse, wondering when the male will realize what the dulcet undertone of her scent actually was. She found delight in mind games as she intertwines her personality between a delicacy of etiquette and mannerism to a devilish, impish prime that seems almost unbelievable upon first sight. But she was indeed a serpent, and even a venemous serpent will still act like its got venom in its fangs. It is a quiet and uneventful...place. Manipulation swirls and pours from soft lips, in whispering words of sweet serenity. Truth or dare linger in a game of satisfaction as she ails for triumph and perhaps they did share the same iffy thoughts of this place. It was not a Kingdom nor a pack fore she rarely met any of the inhabitants besides Hannibal, Leera and Tyranis. His scent lingers on my coat for my womb is inhabitated by his spawns. her sultry purrs came softly, melodious sonnates that explained their situation. Hannibal was claimed her, the two bestial heathens from Hell had produced heirs for both families and therefore united the two names, the two mafioso families.

The woman moved closer and Carthage was hesitant and nearly took a step back. Not so comfortable with the woman nearing him, he eyed her carefully. Although she reeked of his brother and this pack, he hardly trusted anyone anymore, even Hannibal. He certainly couldn't trust this woman, as she appeared to be no more than a whore Hannibal had decided to impregnate. What was so special about her? Carthage had been trying to gain his brothers attention for as long as he could remember, but time and time again he was cast aside for some woman. He hardly cared anymore, on the verge of opening up more to this pack and less to his so called family. Where were the rest of them anyway? Carthage was beginning to think he was following Hannibal too blindly. Did Hannibal even include Carthage in his future?

The thoughts alone annoyed Carthage, so once she had silenced herself, he had quickly moved away, turning to focus his attention on anything else for the moment. All he could manage to find was moss growing on the trunk of a small, fallen tree near by. He pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes tight, but only for a moment. With a breath, he replied to the woman, though his effort and care were little.

"You should know you're not the first and you certainly won't be the last to attract his attention, children or not." Maybe it wasn't wise to say ill things about Hannibal, but at this point he was losing faith in the Klein's altogether. Suddenly, he wondered if Tyranis were around. He had to push the thought away to focus on the woman and the venomous words she'd likely have to follow his own blunt ones. He doubted she was anything but loyal to the man, and for some reason it bothered him, though not her particularly. Why did everyone always blindly follow him, including himself, without much reason? More so than before, Carthage wanted out of this conversation. He had some thinking to do, and maybe a talk with Tyranis.


"Speech!"
TABLE & CODE © RASTA 2019

 Walk that walk ; talk that talk

 Egyptian silk coat of earthen and autumn adorns her feline-like bodice, the queen's regalia. All consuming, destructive, an inferno. Shr knew better than to ask for things that she knew she could not have therefore for now she choose listening as her weapon. Two oceans emit sirenic calls, observing the man in his own toxic agony, they are their own moons, with their own gravitational pulls. Drawing in the weak, the desperate, even the confused and lonely. She was sweetly lethal, entrancing men, luring them into her scorching fires and drowning waters as she wept for herself yet this time she saw this man as an individual and not prey. The world was her playground and she will fall in sinful carnality even with Hannibal at her side however his agony was a sweet and painful song and could only be seen in that one moment where she shut his eyes tight. To that we can agree, I shall not be the first nor the last. a rolling sway, her hips, one would watch forever. The allurment of her every movements, gracious, emmaning regality and confidence through every pore. We use one another as pawns on the board of life. If they come at him, they come at me. eyes, gravity, a mirror to ones souls -- but what do you do when the soul is non-existent? then you stare into the abyss. Needn't worry, I shall be here for a while, might as well know each other, brother-in-law. corners lifted, crafted by a thousand artisans, time hold no candle to the beauty, her smile -- soft, a cascade of warmth and tranquility.