Post by Vox on Oct 20, 2008 22:23:05 GMT -6
Rollin,' rollin', rollin, and that's what makes the world go round!
She was in a ... jazzy kind of mood. Mh-hmm, that was the word for it. Smooth, suave, ready for some fun. Wasn't every day that Error found herself in the tender emotion that was 'swing'. Where she in a different part of the world, she might have kicked back in a settee as dusty as her coat and put on some easy listening. Frank Sinatra, and perhaps Sammy Davis Jr. Yes, it was that kind of afternoon. Not quite evening, but mercifully cooler than the season usually permitted, it was the playful breeze that tickled her dirty coat, and the sultry wind that snapped at her face that made her wish, not for the first time, that Danger or Trouble had been around. On of her last two...ah, 'friends', would have made the late afternoon's jazzy mood more enjoyable.
The gentle thrum-thrum of her belly fur rubbing against her hind legs as she trotted and then slowed to a walk was couple by the sandpaper like rasp of her paws on the tall grass and sand. She enjoyed the grass scratching her sides, cherished the way she felt the earth move under her feet--the product, no doubt, of a far distant herd galloping under the pressure of another huntress--and coveted the time she had in peace. It grew old, rather quickly. A slightly miffed expression crossed her face, and bridled disappointment was evident after a quarter of an hour of dead silence except for a few birds startling at her impatient tread. She began to pace, rather than walk. There was a subtle difference. Error was not one to be immature or childish about things, but her swing-dance mood was leaving her, and she wanted to cling to it as well as she could. It had been nearly four months since she had seen hide or hair of another sentient beast, and it seemed longer than that still since she had eaten, though of course it wasn't. Her ebony claws scraped channels into the earth as she swept forward, brow furrowed slightly, and dark brown eyes looking around the landscape in an unimpressed, commanding way. She was a large lioness by any standard, standing as tall or taller than many males, and rather roughly chiselled, with strapping muscles and as many scars as would befit a rogue seven-year-old lord, and not a two-year-old lady. She had been mistaken as a male several times, though when she checked her reflection, she did not see anything particularly manly about herself. Although the strong cheek muscles, decided, firm character expressed in her jaw, and insolently daring stare were, maybe, a little misleading. She was not a delicate dame, like her Aunt, to be thought of as a madame and cherished. She was a working dog of a girl, and put herself to good use, as the long dark blemishes that besmirched her red wheaten coat showed all too well.
However, one who looked deep into her eyes, in such a way that unsettled most lionesses, and made Error's 'battle!' flag stand up, would see the rugged femininity, the graceful pragmatic strength of the woman, and the motherly air that no amount of fighting or experience could take away from her.
Flip-flop, snap-crackle-pop. Her large front paws seemed to thunder through the long grass, to a beetle perhaps. Though to another her own size, it was a huntresses stalk. She walked as though on her last legs, as thought exhausted. Head low, legs slightly bent, and toes dragging when she lifted them. Not the high-headed arrogant strut of some womynfolk who like to draw attention to themselves. Not the giggling haughtiness or secretly naive disdain that imprinted themselves most disagreeably on many young ladies' faces. No. Not Error. Careless, one could say. Energy-saving and genius-inspired, she would reply. Hell, it worked fine, so why fix it? A sharp huffing noise came from her brown nostrils, her wide nose tickled by dust. A sharp recalling to her senses made her stop, shake herself free of dirt fastidiously, and peer up at the sky at the slight drops of rain that had pattered down on her back. A sour smile twisted her face, and the last of the smoothly coquettish mood she had had earlier vanished completely. Rain. How she hated it! Where was the sun, hot sun, when you needed it, eh?! Hidden behind clouds. A dour ill-humour took her over, and her aura was as much a raincloud as the ones that formed above her. Eyes half-shut against the miniscule droplets that caused her so much mock-agony, and head bent lower still, she raced through the grass in a way that was much more beautiful to watch than to do. Darting for the nearest bush, which turned out to be a stately tree, she hurriedly shook herself again, and gazed reproachfully up at the sky. And was rewarded with a stinging drop of cold rain in the eye. Cursing in a way that no lady, old and prim, or young and scarred, should, she sat down and decided to sulk until one came to alleviate her passionately, stubbornly foul mood.
out of crackers! I've been doing very poorly, but there it is. -is knifed by Error for making her sound so childish and fickle-
She was in a ... jazzy kind of mood. Mh-hmm, that was the word for it. Smooth, suave, ready for some fun. Wasn't every day that Error found herself in the tender emotion that was 'swing'. Where she in a different part of the world, she might have kicked back in a settee as dusty as her coat and put on some easy listening. Frank Sinatra, and perhaps Sammy Davis Jr. Yes, it was that kind of afternoon. Not quite evening, but mercifully cooler than the season usually permitted, it was the playful breeze that tickled her dirty coat, and the sultry wind that snapped at her face that made her wish, not for the first time, that Danger or Trouble had been around. On of her last two...ah, 'friends', would have made the late afternoon's jazzy mood more enjoyable.
The gentle thrum-thrum of her belly fur rubbing against her hind legs as she trotted and then slowed to a walk was couple by the sandpaper like rasp of her paws on the tall grass and sand. She enjoyed the grass scratching her sides, cherished the way she felt the earth move under her feet--the product, no doubt, of a far distant herd galloping under the pressure of another huntress--and coveted the time she had in peace. It grew old, rather quickly. A slightly miffed expression crossed her face, and bridled disappointment was evident after a quarter of an hour of dead silence except for a few birds startling at her impatient tread. She began to pace, rather than walk. There was a subtle difference. Error was not one to be immature or childish about things, but her swing-dance mood was leaving her, and she wanted to cling to it as well as she could. It had been nearly four months since she had seen hide or hair of another sentient beast, and it seemed longer than that still since she had eaten, though of course it wasn't. Her ebony claws scraped channels into the earth as she swept forward, brow furrowed slightly, and dark brown eyes looking around the landscape in an unimpressed, commanding way. She was a large lioness by any standard, standing as tall or taller than many males, and rather roughly chiselled, with strapping muscles and as many scars as would befit a rogue seven-year-old lord, and not a two-year-old lady. She had been mistaken as a male several times, though when she checked her reflection, she did not see anything particularly manly about herself. Although the strong cheek muscles, decided, firm character expressed in her jaw, and insolently daring stare were, maybe, a little misleading. She was not a delicate dame, like her Aunt, to be thought of as a madame and cherished. She was a working dog of a girl, and put herself to good use, as the long dark blemishes that besmirched her red wheaten coat showed all too well.
However, one who looked deep into her eyes, in such a way that unsettled most lionesses, and made Error's 'battle!' flag stand up, would see the rugged femininity, the graceful pragmatic strength of the woman, and the motherly air that no amount of fighting or experience could take away from her.
Flip-flop, snap-crackle-pop. Her large front paws seemed to thunder through the long grass, to a beetle perhaps. Though to another her own size, it was a huntresses stalk. She walked as though on her last legs, as thought exhausted. Head low, legs slightly bent, and toes dragging when she lifted them. Not the high-headed arrogant strut of some womynfolk who like to draw attention to themselves. Not the giggling haughtiness or secretly naive disdain that imprinted themselves most disagreeably on many young ladies' faces. No. Not Error. Careless, one could say. Energy-saving and genius-inspired, she would reply. Hell, it worked fine, so why fix it? A sharp huffing noise came from her brown nostrils, her wide nose tickled by dust. A sharp recalling to her senses made her stop, shake herself free of dirt fastidiously, and peer up at the sky at the slight drops of rain that had pattered down on her back. A sour smile twisted her face, and the last of the smoothly coquettish mood she had had earlier vanished completely. Rain. How she hated it! Where was the sun, hot sun, when you needed it, eh?! Hidden behind clouds. A dour ill-humour took her over, and her aura was as much a raincloud as the ones that formed above her. Eyes half-shut against the miniscule droplets that caused her so much mock-agony, and head bent lower still, she raced through the grass in a way that was much more beautiful to watch than to do. Darting for the nearest bush, which turned out to be a stately tree, she hurriedly shook herself again, and gazed reproachfully up at the sky. And was rewarded with a stinging drop of cold rain in the eye. Cursing in a way that no lady, old and prim, or young and scarred, should, she sat down and decided to sulk until one came to alleviate her passionately, stubbornly foul mood.
out of crackers! I've been doing very poorly, but there it is. -is knifed by Error for making her sound so childish and fickle-
