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Post by Valid on Sept 5, 2007 19:08:43 GMT -6
This is the way the world ends [/font] This is the way the world ends[/font] This is the way the world ends[/color][/center] She walked along her lonely road. But, to say it was lonely was wrong. When one said lonely one thought of a soul yearning for someone to fill the emptiness, the nothingness of endless travel and silent days. But, she was not lonely like that, nor was her road… lonely in such a way. She was alone because she choose to be, alone because it was all the easier and simple. When she was alone she was alone, and when she was alone it was just… Before she didn’t like it. Didn’t like it at all, being alone and lonely. Even when she was around others she felt cut off and separate… no, she didn’t like that at all it, gnawed on her insides and played on those fears that children have and adults tend to hold onto. Being alone, being alone in the dark… she use to be so opposed to it. She use to be ever wary and fearful… and yet after being alone and after being in the dark it really wasn’t so bad. And, it seemed to be coming that she was starting to like it, and change the despise the opposite. Of being around others and being caught in the day, the light, the brightness ever blinding. And yet wasn’t it amazing, this occasional feeling in the chest? The longing, ever meek and mild; but a whisper in the caverns of the soul, a little whisper that said having a conversation would not hurt. Said that talking to someone couldn’t be too bad… Said that she wasn’t the only creature in the world and just because she didn’t suppose to, didn’t mean on occasion she did not feel the satisfaction of meeting someone else, talking to them and listening to them though often then not she gave off the… ’sensation’ she would love to be anywhere but there, and that was, often, somewhat true. She reprimanded herself for being weak… for still needing some sort of communication now and again, some sort of social happening. Not that this had anything to do with her life, her current living at the moment. Any thirst for others she could have possibly had was quenched beyond belief. As a matter of fact, she had sipped her fill and was now having the water shoved down her throat by an ever forceful hand. Yet she knew better then to get into that. You see our darling Asaki knows when a topic is hot to the touch and knows that it isn’t clever to mess with the burning stove. Talking of this ‘forceful hand that shoves social happenings down her throat’ would undoubtedly lead to, more or less, the only one she talked to. And… conversation and thoughts on him were left unfinished, aggravating, and a mixture of polar opposites. To add, considering she nearly mated with the irrational idiot [which she was ranting much about within her skull] she had other things to meditate, angrily, on.
She had other things to mediate on but she just couldn’t manage to bring herself to ponder any of them. Currently she was in a fix and this fix required thinking of other things. Other things that were no the matters of truth, reality, her life, her logic, her distrust, her reason. These thoughts consisted of, when will the bleeding stop, will it stop, it hurts, I’m going to die? Death by bleeding out. Death by the hyenas. Death by another lion. Death. The prospect of it being so close seized her heart and crushed it. Clawed at her lungs and put hotsauce within them, it was just… I’m actually… actually doing to die? Her thoughts were scattered and out of order, her walking a reflex. Her paws touching the ground in rhythm, her body rocking and her lungs bringing in the dry air. This was a reflex, going on and continuing. Not stopping as the blood continued to come. Squeezed out of an ugly wound, slipping down her sides. Golden hide turned scarlet as flies came and blood was left in her tracks and she veered off to the side. The pain was fierce and distracting, but to say she was never hit before, to say she was never wounded… She was surprised, caught off guard at how a true wound, one someone could see, compared to one that bled, everlasting, eternally. Surprised and somewhat alarmed for feeling it, now, knocked the breath out of her lungs and made her fight with panic and alarm. It had been a while since she was been cut, hit, struck so, and you know what she almost… forgot what it was like. But she remembered now, and she knew, now, also, it wasn’t fun. A shaky smile overtook her, and a giggle flirting with her vocals. Dancing on the crisp morning air as her eyes flickered to a close. She was really going to die like this? She was finally going to get what she wished so desperately for? What a crappy way to die. Still alive when the hyenas came and we all know they wouldn’t wait until she was down entirely before ripping flesh from bone, before her spirit diminished and they were given but a corpse, devoid of everything once living. They wouldn’t wait… and those few minutes it took as a body went into shock and she was torn to bits would be… excruciating. If this was the way she was going to die it would undoubtedly be crappy. But, oh come now, being who she was did you really think anything would love her so? To shove her out of the doorway and into the room she had been wondering of so long? Really think Valid would let Asaki die? Mhmm… well, Valid would… but…
Her story wasn’t finished yet.
If you want honesty you may have it. Valid likes happy endings, however cliché and however predictable and however much she rants and raves about how we all know that happily ever after is just a bunch of bull… She likes happy endings when the story is told and the story is good and when the story touches base. Now, the fact that Valid likes happy, enjoyable, sweet endings… don’t get your hopes up Asaki would have hers before this tale is finished and her woe comes to a close. Some things just don’t deserve happy endings and some things are not as great when the story is a happy one. As a matter of fact there are many stories Valid remembers without the princess saved by the prince and the lovers living with eachother in harmony and good graces. Those stories clasp the heart and hold on, and speak a tale that moves. Rememberable because they are sad. Not that Asaki is worth recalling, nor is her tale. But… Just something to say, think over and mention as our darling lemon is broadsided by the prospect that this, very well could be the end. That this, very well could be her last. And how interesting it is with that in mind, floating about her heard amidst other thoughts she cracks a smile and laughs. Her death… she could see it now. Cutting up her pretty face, so it’d match her soul, then wrapping her up in a thin blanket and throwing her in the casket. People dancing on the coffin, strumming the violins wicked. Happily throwing her plywood resting bed, laden with rocks, in the ditch, and letting it go on down the filthy river until the weight caught on and she sunk. Yeah, she could see it now and oh what could she do? Laugh and smile and smirk. Even if, perhaps in the back she could find a few. And, by this we mean a number that one could count on one hand, frowning and looking so solemn. Acting as if they would really be ever sad at her depature. But you know, the more she looked the more she saw them cracking a smile also and the more she knew they were not authentic. Truth was among those people, his words ever charming and sweet. But, they were hollow. They had to be, if they weren't what else could they be? Sincere? But! Hot damn she had a hot date… she could see that, oh yes, oh my! Tall, dark and just so handsome. Pale face, pale lips, but just down right goregous. Beautiful eyes, depthless as the ocean, somewhat long hair, silky to the touch and as dark as a raven’s feather. Dressed in black, a suit of choice with such charming ways and a voice to male girl melt. But, sadly she was of the harden variety [not that this fine suitor hadn’t had those before] and she, in her lovely gown of silks, didn’t fall head over heels as introductions made and conversation started. But, in the end he’d give her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and his charming looks and charismatic approach, steady and intent-ful, though predictable behavior, and gentlemanlike way would win out… and she’d just be another in his cold embrace. But, you want to know a secret? She hated being touched.
It had yet to occur to the lovely damsel to stop. Or, perhaps, it had and she simply kept moving. Tearing away and letting such a nasty cut bleed, simply for the thrill of it… the feeling of intensifying pain and the wooziness of losing blood and smelling it so strong and so evident. Pain was a friend, wasn’t it? You didn’t feel pain when you weren’t alive, and she was still alive, it reminder her. Yet… does she really need it to remind her? Really need such a hazardous thing to allow her to recall that she wasn’t dead and though she was some what ghostly, she was too haunted to be one entirely yet. Besides if she needed to bleed to remind her she could, wasn’t that the saddest of things? And wasn’t it a thing that was treatable? Treatable by taking away the knives and the blades and putting tape over the wounds? Making sure she couldn’t do it again because it was such a bad, bad thing. But… perhaps this was not the case. Perhaps she simply could not think. Perhaps stopping to allow the wound to do their best to clot was not coming to mind and perhaps the reflex to walk, to get away was just so overpowering? Or, maybe she didn’t feel she was safe? Thinking that hyenas came to the smell of blood, blood especially that of a nice, nice female lion wasn’t insane, nor was the thought that her assaulters wouldn’t pursue to finish the task… The task, the assaulters. The smile on her lips, the laugh, it halted as a frown came about on her lips, a crease that lacked emotion. Withdrawn into herself, fighting her war there. Mumbling within bits and pieces of ‘mind over matter’ and convincing herself that… that was all there was to it. You don’t mind, it don’t matter. You don’t mind, it don’t matter. It don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. A sharp whisper as she forgot to breath, her inhale of breath raspy as her walking abruptly stopped and her head lowered. Tail down, body stiff, she started to cough. The itching in her lungs caught her so as she moved forward but could not find the wind that could keep her going. Breathe, honey, breathe. Don’t forget to breathe. I’m tired of breathing. It hurts. It didn’t always. Do you remember when it didn’t hurt? No. Don’t lie. The past is the past and it does not effect the now. It hurts, I don’t want to breathe, please… If the past didn’t matter it wouldn’t hurt. If the past doesn’t effect the now you wouldn’t have changed. Silence. The funniest bit is, is that all is, indeed, in the past. And most of those who were there have died, forgotten, or no longer care. You’re the only one who continues to. Someone should. So it is the offender who remembers her crime? When all others could care less? Silence. You’re the one who says play the hand life deals you. The cards have made you a winner. Why talk your way out of victory? The world‘s not right, honey, the world‘s not fair. But, it should be. But it isn’t. Are you going to be Truth, now? Good guys finish last, good girls always get hurt. Playing by the rules doesn’t do much good when no one else is, I do recall you saying that. Do I need to prove it? Silence, because she wasn’t about to argue with that small piece within her, that chip, that voice. That voice of Validity, of Valid. Of a Valid Question always eager to be asked and confronted, if only to argue and to throw into the face of ‘assuredness’ and ‘soundness’ the possibility that… perhaps they could be wrong? Perhaps they were not valid, truly?
But, our darling angel, our lemon, our Rhetoric didn’t desire a fight as her concerns shifted away from that annoying part of her brain onto breathing at the coaxing of that voice and the pieces of others within her. And before long the coughing stopped, with a small patch of blood on the earth, where her coughs were directed… and a small pool of blood where her wounds bled and collected. The earth was dark and barren. The world was sinister and putrid but she lacked the care as the sun gently came over the horizon, slowly, as if testing the area, debating if this demonic world was worthy of its presence. She looked about the world, the badlands she had entered… her frown remaining as she recalled the other sets of paws that had come with her. Of the other one bleeding next to her. Of that body hitting the ground and not rising… of silhouettes behind them, coming… of watching as yet another died and whatever she had dared to do was in vain, hopeless and worthless. Her breathing became somewhat even, as started forward again. Walking now in a slower pace as she winced. Paws tattered and torn, having stepped on rocks and piercing debris, they bled also but she knew the facts. Knew that if she did not mind it, it did not matter and so she did not mind and it did not mattered as she walked on, headed on. Towards the West, again, she was heading, as her throat constricted speech. She still wasn’t convinced if death was walking aside her, but she figured she’d drift until it was made obvious if he had come to claim her, or simply to observe one of his many future companions. But as she walked she became tired. Her skin was sunken on her frame, her ribs protruding now quite obviously. She was thin and bony, mostly because she did not hunt, mostly because other things were on her mind. One had been the breeding season that had passed… that marked her ever aging [oh how depressing it was. So old and still no children. How lucky men are, they are expected to lay with anyone and they do and that is it. A woman is expected to have children in tow, to raise them. It‘s obvious when one hasn‘t been a mother… Though expectations others had for her had nothing to do with it. Her own desire for them was more weighty, unquestionably.] and wandering on in life without much change or notable shifting. She looked the same, more or less. Give or take at current she was bleeding and flesh was exposed, flesh the flies feasted on and the birds were finding mighty interesting as they eyed the world below. The world below, below, below. The world she, like all others were prisoner of… though their cage was large enough to not seem so restricting. Or maybe that was just another of her gloomy opinions?
Out of Juice; -doesn’t know if she likes this- X.x It sounds… whiny, doesn’t it?
Not with a [/size] bang[/font] but a[/size] whimper[/font].[/color][/center] |
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Post by Vox on Sept 5, 2007 21:14:52 GMT -6
|ooc| : Beautiful...Simply, gorgeous...I may have increased in length and fluidity in the past month, but not in the easy way you seem to do everything. KUDOS, HUN! xDD
TRUTH POST COMING, PLEASE CLEAR THE AREA.
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Post by Valid on Sept 6, 2007 15:38:01 GMT -6
Out Of Juice: =D Thankya! -pokepoke Voxxeh- One of the reasons I'm working on meh writing is you, dovely. ;3
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Post by Vox on Sept 6, 2007 21:12:05 GMT -6
|ooc| : Me? Awww...So sweet of you, Valid!Truth the Empty
every truth is but a half truth I'm afraid not lemon pie. You won't die, just yet. You have a few more years in you. Sweetie has a little while left to burn, and I certainly will be the one to rekindle the flame. If by spite, so be it. If by anger, or by hate, or by gratefulness (won't get my hopes up, hehe) I shall make it flare up once more. You're not done yet, sunshine, if I have anything to say about it. For despite what you think, I would not join in with the mad jigs performed on your grave. I wouldn't play my violin as only I know how on your grave. I would pick the finest frangipanis' and lay them on your grave. The rain would come down hard, it wouldn't be a funeral without the rain, and the droplets of water would gather on the dark insides of the beautiful flowers. They would form into dew-like substances and reflect my face. Would it show dismay? Sadness? Anger? Or the same empty blackness I seem to get around others. I keep my own company, it's the only one I seem to be able to stand without acting. And yet...I grow lonely. Unlike you, I cannot pretend. I suppose that's why I admire you so. But don't let me get all mushy, for I find I despise that too now. I dare say you've made a bad impression on my, honey. That heaviness you feel at times, or as you say you do, is familiar to me. If ever I were to have it banished from me, forever, I would not be able to stay on the ground for being so light. Not that you would care if I flew away like a balloon, up into the skies above. At least maybe then I would leave you alone, hmmm? Or are you grudgingly tolerant of my so called irritating visits? Sorry, I suppose you'll have to deal with me for at least one more encounter. Maybe this time we could refrain from heated words? Wishful thinking keeps me sane. About this wound...You might want to stop hurting yourself once in a while, dear. Stop and clean it, or your side will rot out and the hyenas will eat your insides. Forgive me for being so vain, but I would prefer not having to sit through an hour of an old man preaching about your life and have to deal with the stench emanating from your corpse. If you'd let me, I can help you escape the infection. But...You don't like to be touched...So there really isn't anything I could do other than watch over you as you rested. I know you're decent Valid, and I'm sure you won't let our dearest die quite yet. I get this stuff all the time from Voxxie. She too is incredibly cliche when it comes to happy endings. She likes endings like Casablanca, where the good guy and the good girl end up together, there is some sacrifice, and the bitter dude still has a friend. Where is the bitter lady? She's at the Blue Parrot, chatting up a Nazi or two. And, as you can see, Voxxums tends to make her characters suffer a little before giving them the biscuit. But enough of my writer, even I get bored of talking about her.
You speak of the perfect gentleman; (fear the usage of Vox's semi-colons!) pale faced, paled lipped and handsome. Tall and dark as well? Yes, I thought so. You remind me irresistibly of Groundhog Day, that movie. The lady starts to list her ideals for a perfect man and the man nods at each one and says he fits in. Of course, being the man I am, I would never do that. I'd know you could see right through me, and besides; why bother faking it? I could play, but you don't enjoy that. In short, I try to mind my Ps and Qs around you, Hun. Pain can be a friend. But only to those who are too dim to learn by anything else. Pain is not something that should be given attention, it grows much too large and ugly for that. It should be soothed, it's temper relaxed, and then driven off. You see, pain is a great teacher. One nobody will forget. But there are many other teachers that do not beat their students. Do you like being beaten, sunshine? Because pain is optional, really. There are many other available teachers. You remind me very much of my sister...Or what my sister has become. She is in a very sticky situation right now, I guess I didn't do anything to stop it but it wasn't as if she would have listened. Because held some strange charm that attracted her, and being the rather much too sensitive child she is, she took it as a painful insult when the 'other' came back. You are not like this. But Dancer sees pain as the best teacher of all, often putting herself in places she shouldn't be. Simply to 'learn a lesson'. It's both intelligent, stupid and disturbing to me when I see her do such a thing. She is flirting with Death now, and he is favoring her. Maybe you should take a few classes from her? Because she can show you a virtually painless way to go that takes little to no courage. For I admit, it must be very scary to stand on the edge of a cliff and know you are going to fall to your death in a matter of seconds. But...Why do you need to hurt yourself? You say it is because you, sickeningly, need to remind yourself you have not passed on. Like 'Sixth Sense' with Bruce Willis? You are not quite sure if you are dead or alive, yes? But why pain? You shouldn't have to use the teacher to beat yourself. It creates nasty energy between master and pupil. Love can teach. If you'd just let me try. Just let me have one go. And then, if I, like so many others, disappoint you...Then you can do whatever you like with me. If I cannot find it in my heart to show friendliness to a woman such as yourself, then what hope does any of us have of finding the so called 'Paradise'? None, really. And that's what keeps me going. It keeps me moving forward in pursuit of something that I know I shall acquire in the end. It cannot be denied to any of us. Suicide...Some say it will bring you to hell. It won't. Has nobody realized? How can you go to hell after you die if you were 'bad', if you are supposed to 'reincarnate'?
Well, if you let me confide in you, good friend, I may tell you what I was taught. The only thing I have managed to find out about life that I think you might not know. There is no reincarnation. This is it. Yes, this is your only shot. After this, you die and go to heaven. Not heaven as we know it though. Not up into the clouds, to dance in a toga with a harp. You won't sprout wings and dye your hair blond. It is not an emulation of life, it is merely something else entirely. The place that is neither made up of conscious thought, unconscious thought or the place before, after or in between any of those. 'The ether', I suppose one might call it. I don't see why you would bother trying to describe it though. It's very difficult and taxing for people, and it puts even the most tolerant in a bad mood. The question you have to ask yourself after you have decided to kill yourself is this: If this is the only go you get, will you have enjoyed living? I don't think so. Which is why I say, but now with a calmer voice, do things you enjoy doing. Seek for the answers, and the excitement. Feel the love, and use discernment. It seems that humans do not have it. Why do you think they relate the pigs? Because they are intelligent animals that have little to no discernment. They would eat their family if it was put in front of them. Vox despises pigs. Well, she has never eaten one before because of her religious principles; but she wouldn't even consider putting a part of the animals flesh in her mouth with the knowledge that it is as close to human life as animals get. Why have you been injured all these years, your inner wound dripping blood constantly? Because, unless I am quite mistaken, you were not brought up as most of us were. You were not shown how to love, you were taught how to think. Are you not the daughter of a philosopher and a scholar? Or so I've heard. I want to show you how to love. Not how to do the dance, I'm sure you've already learned how primitively easy it is. But how to feel, truly feel. If I made a deal with you. A deal that you can see clearly and sign, would you agree? I fail, you kill me or do something else that would boost your unfortunately large ego. I win, you do something that really makes you happy. I suppose you'd work yourself into a real froth just thinking about what the latter is. You don't like deals though, do you? So that wouldn't work...It seems you don't like promises, deals or anything that connects you to others. I can relate to that, or at least understand how you must feel. I rather think it is time for another nickname...Don't you, Amaranth?
It was funny, really. Comical. Silly. Stupid. Coincidence? Maybe it was. It was funny, comical, silly and all those other things that Truth always seemed to be the one that came to the sour one. Not that he was upset. He didn't care. Only those that were tame feared that others would think they were a dog. If you have nothing to hide, no reason to be frightened of what others thought, then you could do what you liked. It was more fun, and you enjoyed things a lot more. Worn pads moved slowly over the land. There was no hurry, not to him anyway. Blank as he was, the king did have a smile on his face. One that his friend would see through, but that was benevolent and genuine to the rest of the world. Maybe it was simply because those other than his precious didn't look carefully. There were many different reasons, and all of them were true. But we are not here to talk about what is true and what isn't. That's what caused Vox to lose her muse for two days last time. And things did not go at all well for our little lady either. If he was here to preach, he might as well leave. For all it would accomplish. That's what he learned. For now, he was going to try to play nice. Play fair, and keep his thoughts to himself. Which would be going against his principles, but that needed to be done sometimes. He could play politics, as could she. Truth could lie, and lie damn well too. To put it in Valid's words: 'Hot damn! He was the best liar in the whole town if he so chose! Mhmm...' (-snugs Valid- Shpeshal friend...) A small growl was released as the tang of blood came into his mouth. To say he had tracked her...Would be both unfair to his efforts to locate her, and to the sweat he had poured to hide his trail from the hyenas. Heck, he had bit himself, and lain a false trail. They were in Eihan right now, chattering in frustration at the stolen Waterbuck that had been smeared in lion blood. It was not about hunger, it was about vengeance. Truth had killed their pups just the other day. My my, he had nearly forgotten to brush his teeth too. Last minute fix, he had reluctantly waded into a deep pool. Not for vanities sake, although he might just have done that, he had wanted to mask his scent. There was nothing like a good swim to get blood and sweat off. For not only was it unattractive and repelled good society, but it brought the 'wrong sort' to your door. Now, he stood looking younger than he had in ages. A layer of dirt had come off, his rich gold coat looking like the first and last rays of the sun. Palest gold, and a mane of straw. Broad, unblemished nose and round ears that were simple and whole except for the right one were a small hole was formed nearly dead center. Yet another mark of his troubling past. Unrevealed and gloomy, he preferred to dwell on the present. Speak of the devil! Here Present came! ALL HAIL!!! And that he did. A chuff rang out through the bad-lands. Not very loud, but a humble greeting to the tequila. The flower. The thorn smothered in honey.
[/blockquote] there are always two sides to a story
Truth the Believer
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Post by Valid on Sept 7, 2007 16:23:41 GMT -6
This is the way the world ends [/font] This is the way the world ends[/font] This is the way the world ends[/color][/center] It’s easier to touch and feel. Easier to learn by and easier to mind. It’s a strict teacher and it doesn’t fear cracking the whip and lashing until you bleed. It’s not tolerating, nor passive. It commands and expects orders to be fallowed. Pain is hard, but it is a teacher. It’s the teacher of dull minds and simple souls, if you like to believe so. It shapes quickly… builds quickly and yet the structure it builds… Are solid and strong. Only the other teachers, these others of Happiness, Love, and the rest of those heavenly feeling… they are the ones who undo my teacher. Who take brick from brick away, and who force the bridge to collapse. I know the boundaries of my teacher, I know that everything wrong I do will not be overlooked, and everything… is measured and kept in order. As others say the law has been made but love knows when to break them. Love breaks laws, boundaries. It makes little sense and it is not like pain in any sort of way. Are you listening, honey? Do you know how much your asking? Your asking me to give you a loaded gun, so you can hold it up to my head… and then your asking for me to trust that you won’t pull the trigger. Yes, before I was stupid. I loaded the bullets nice and neat and passed the cold steel to another hand. I remained still, but happy, for he was there and that was all that mattered, he was becoming part of my happiness, my thoughts… But in the end he turned the gun on himself, and fired away the rounds. I gave him the gun. I am guilty. Do you know how that feels? I killed him, he died for me, I would have rather that day have been my last then… then his. He died but he wasn’t dead immediately. He was bleeding and he was struggling and he was in pain. His bother said kill him, told me how much I would spare him from the agony. I wasn’t ready for him to go… I hate it when people come and they stay and they convince and then they go. But they... will always go. Always… always… It’s sad but it’s true. Even you’ll go, won’t you? If I let you in and you get what you want out of things you’ll go, and by then you’ll end up being significant and… It’ll hurt. This pain of minding myself and being alone isn’t nearly as bad as letting someone in and tear you apart. It isn’t nearly.
A contact… as you say I don’t like contracts or promises or oaths. They are always broken. Fate, destiny, perhaps they are in on it… besides where is the expiration date on a promise? Whenever was printed in small font at the bottom, it seemed. Whenever. People aren’t honest… they change things to suit them, we know this, we know this. They’ll change their word also. A promise means nothing anymore. It holds no value or weight. A promise is just words. A contract is just written ones… Not that your contact would be any good if I did accept them. What would I do to you? You seem to have missed the mark, hun, I’m not interested in killing you. It’d be pure and simple. Wouldn’t be fair. Letting you in to do whatever you wanted and if you failed… you think I’d really be studying you much? I’d be a mess and I know it. Have you stopped to think of consequences? That your failure could mark worse things then my ego gobbling you whole [and don’t you act as if your innocent of having one, yourself.] or your pain and suffering by my hand? If I enjoyed seeing others in pain or was overly in tune to making the whole wide world feel like I do, I’d be a killer, not a lone rogue who keeps to herself and argues the good of others. Yet, I am violent, or so you contend. Which I won’t deny. Exceptions to every rule, I tend not to enjoy seeing others in pain but it doesn’t bother me and… it hardly does anything to move my heart and soul when I am the one torturing another for a deed against me. Spiteful I am, but letting you in to play? It unravels, darling, and I don’t have that many threads left to unweave. And I still have a mind to say your like every other little Romeo, and that this whole ordeal is nothing more then a humorous event to notch into the wood post. Though I have the mind to say it, its becoming harder to do so. Either a tremendously great actor… or your sincere. And there seems to come a time when my suspicion meets the end of its rope. Saying that if your sincere then… take it as so, and if you’re an actor and if you are this good then perhaps… There is no avoiding me falling for this trap set. Sad when your oneself brings up the proposition that, perhaps your out of your league and perhaps… you aren’t in a position to contend someone ever skilled. But, reality checks… suppose they are much needed, whether you like them or not…
Mmm… Pale and smooth, handsome and charming. Oh yes, her list is quite picky and specific. Her “Prince Charming” more the standard for vampires then the true knight in shining armor, but what could she say? Just because the knight is alluring to some doesn’t make the lusty vampire ever less suiting. Sides, if your going to wish and make a list might as well make it a long impossible one, eh? Settling for less was nothing new… nor was the idea that, perhaps the gentlemen she was thinking up was what she thought she wanted, but not necessarily what she desired. Make sense? Wish for sun but actually desire rain? Or… can we not convince you of something other then ‘wish for the sun, need the rain’? Mhmm… nonetheless curiosity had been met, despite the fact she was angry with him. Her ideals for men were out there, now, but what was Truthy’s? Well, not for a man, a woman, really but… Hmm… Let her guess… Long legs, nice hips? Pretty, unmarred face and just angelic perfection? Nice voice, sweet as pure sugar and as charming as dandelions… summer rain beautiful, too. Innocent, sweet, pathetic and ever needy? Mhmm, she’d say that was what most men wanted. A little gal who needed the big man to protect her. Yet, some reason she wasn’t apt to put that as what Truth-ole-boy would want exactly. Though the long legs, nice hips, sweet voice and beauty would undoubtedly be pleasing to him [he was a man, after all. No doubt shapely form was a bonus]… as well as the innocent and sweetness, but she wasn’t sure of the pathetic-ness. Or… maybe she was wrong. Perhaps he could handle foolish, idiotic, overly simple people better then her. Which wouldn’t be hard, her tolerance wasn’t that fabulous on most days… and even worse on others… Yes, she was probably wrong. He most likely to preferred his fighting, his duking it out with others, outsiders, rogues such as herself, but preferred to bed those who wouldn't resist simply to. Sounded right, yes? Wear himself out at work to settle down snug at home?
She was paused again, again, again. And because of it an unearthly, demonic growl resonated in her vocals. Laugher and fun and games fled as her thoughts took a more real path, and saw things as they were. She was tired and she was angry because of it. Why was she tired, she shouldn’t be tired. Walk, damnit! But the feeling of dragging her limbs along was growing to be quite the thing. Fighting against will, was fatigue, was hunger, was thirst, was exhaustion… With lacking intellect she had stole herself away quickly and speedily. Moving as far as she could as far as she could it seemed she had forgotten about how slow and steady had won the race. And so her mouth opened, her tongue hanging if only a touch as she eyed her paws and frown. Wincing somewhat as her skull lowered and a dutiful lap was given as the appendage was tilted to the side so she could get at the wounds made by rocks quickly traveled over. Her thinking once again limited as her ears turned and rounded. Attentive to the world for but a few moments before she started once again. Quickening her pace as her tail hung low, unmoving. Yet, despite immobile tail, she, in general, was moving onward, again, moving onward. Before pausing and stopping and panting and breathing heavy and cursing. After many sessions of these, sessions that ended with the turning of ears to hear whatever there was to hear, specifically the sound of her pursuers, pursuers she was now becoming convinced where not intent on fallowing. Most likely they would be satisfied with… What had happened was… A… Bad ending. Something heard of and something well known of. A female lion and her cubs, a male trying to kill the cubs to breed with her… the female trying to protect the cubs…? The female being knocked around in the process, screaming for help, watching as the rogue’s friends crowd around and keep her from escaping. Other wives ducking their head and looking away. And then a bitchy Asaki, angry no less, came tromping about and… And well she managed to get involved. The children were dead when she arrived, and the young girl was crying ever so. A moment of tussling went about before it was obvious that it would not work. This moment worked well enough to get both ladies busted and bruised and bleeding… Still escape, however harmed they were, was the best route. After the first miles the girl fell… Weaker, and in more a broken state. Fallen, the other refused to rise and… They… were coming…
The moment the sound came she was alarmed. Her stiffened body even more so she was, a shiver down her spine at the thought they were still coming along. But, before long scent fallowed noise and noise was better perceived. A voice that seemed more like the creature she knew, the scent that confirmed such. And with that knowing her hardened expression, her frown, continued and she huffed. A growl continuing under her breath during such a huff before she picked herself back into her pace. Ignoring the time [by now it was becoming predictable intervals] to pause and breathe. She didn’t need him today, sadly he wasn’t that useful now. Though it occurred to her stopping so he could catch up [which he could do anyway, anyhow, though easier-ly if she had halted] was a wise thing, was a thing that could perhaps make things safer… She didn't. Seemed she would prefer to take her chances with her hyena friends and the possibilities the boys a way back knew how to count and recalled that another damsel had escaped their wrath. The way she figured her odds were good, and the way she figured she’d prefer the company of hyenas and unruly men, today, more then she would the golden, youthful king. She didn’t want to talk to him, there was nothing to be said. A conversation would be useless and unneeded, an encounter worthless and unnecessary. Or so was her opinion and so was her view, she had nothing to day, but did he? Mhmm, she didn’t think so. Nor did she care if he did or not. She wanted… to go somewhere else, and she would. Peace… quiet… And blood. the mind interjected as a dry black nose was well aware, now, of the overpowering scent of her blood filling her tracks and way. She blinked, but barely took note, her lie to cover up the worry was a simple one, 'It's just blood', and with that she strained to continue her jog, now very much so banking to the left.
Amaranth, mhmm? My new name you bestow to me, this one undoubtedly kinder. Mocking as well, but kinder. The Eternal Flower, never withering… I don’t think it’s suiting, in that sense, but I like it. Been thinking, doing some research, love? Mhmm… Rhetoric, Amaranth. And yet what to call you, other then snake charmer and fool, of course? You seem to be shifting. Your temper’s changing, I can tell it. Odd, you don’t want to fight? Broken something playing with someone else, now? That could get a girl jealous, you know. If you’ve been putting in our special, quality time together with someone other then me. Mhmm… and I’d watch your footing. Shaky ground you walking on, hun. Black list for you, I’m not too fond of your little big ass. You wasted my time and my time was precious. If only during those few, sparse days. So how do you plan, exactly, to pay back the time you wasted? You do plan to, don’t you? And surely charming words aren’t what you think is the entire worth of that time. Lets not argue to day, if that is what you purpose… I suppose it isn’t a hard thing to agree to. A truce then, sweetums, so long as you don’t blatantly bait the hook I might be content with that. May-be. Or may-be not. Other things are on my mind. Other things, I don't have time for you. Not with a [/size] bang[/font] but a[/size] whimper[/font].[/color][/center] |
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Post by Vox on Sept 14, 2007 12:23:20 GMT -6
Truth the Empty
every truth is but a half truth
A house on fire
A wall of stone
A door that once was open
An empty face and empty bones
Who ate your heart?
You're cold inside
You're not the one I hoped for
I'll see you on the other side
I'll see you on the other side
" Dear Ms. Amaranth,
Sorry for my late reply, the dry season has been getting on my nerves. Usually, I am not the sort to have problems with 'nerves', but my son has spawned and the little brats have been getting into trouble. Grandfather Truth...Has a strange ring to it. Perhaps it is because he is not really my son...I had always considered him so, for better and for worse. Oedipus has made a right pig's ear of his rushed marriage, and no mistake. I have something to do with it, I think. Nobody is guiltless, no matter how we should like to think about our situations. Although it is easier to be a victim, I grew tired of the easy way of life years ago. As a reply, I must sharpen my wit, as always. You never cease to amuse me, sweetheart. Life would honestly be less bright if you decided to snuff it. I must admit, I was bemused by your response to my musings. I think I might see your reasoning now, and I do pity you for it. You feel...guilty? My my, right on my little shoes...That's something I didn't see coming old girl. I always thought of you as the black widow of your family. I would console you with a long story of how my first wife died, and of how I was heartbroken and upset and how the wedding cake was in the fridge for a year and a day before Ed ate it...But I won't. I never could stand those ghastly stories. How is that supposed to make you fell better? It might make you laugh, but then you remember the TomDickOrHarry you have just 'lost' and burst into tears. Forgive my coldness, but I don't think my tux nor your frock would appreciate the waterworks, especially after all the nose-wiping you've put them through. I would, perhaps, enfold you in my arms as a friend. My embrace might ease your pain. It would mine, if you were me. But we are not alike in that manner. You would prefer me to slap you and tell you to move on, yes? I could do that, but my conscience would bother me. I have not the power to do something bad. Yes, I know, that sounds grand and cheesy, but it is true. Ah...The truth about the Truth. Sounds like a major motion picture, doesn't it? Haha, but I shall not go off on another tangent; for the one we ride currently has so much promise. But, I'm afraid I cannot teach an unfocused student, and that blood looks bad. Here, let me help you... "
Her condition was not ideal, but from his limited experience with medicine and healing, she would live. But not if she kept moving. The metallic smell of blood punched his nostrils, and he curled his pale lips with their bristling sandy whiskers as he approached. His regal walk was uninterrupted and smooth. There was not much to be said for plants and life around here, but he knew it would be a mob scene soon if the Hyenas, stupid and dim-witted as they were, came for her. He could hold them off for a time, but not without help. Hathor had gone again, leaving Keira in a pool of confusion and despair and his Pride in disarray. Tsk, tsk, tsk...Mother has raised you better than that, Hathor, you should have been a better kind. Truth thought this over slowly, and then pushed it from his mind. The lady would die soon if she was not stopped. Increasing his relentless pace, he loped forward in his new mood. Stopping in front of her listing body, he moved close enough to allow her to lean on him. Though he doubted she would. "Look Lady, I know you have a death-wish, but there are more dignified ways to die than getting eaten alive. They won't be here for another hour or so, I laid a false trail." His voice came out as a surprising drawl. Hmmm...Never used that one before. It was filled with the same care and touching [not really so much to her though] sincerity as always, but with an edge to it. Another chuff breathed out of his nostrils and his musky smell billowed out as he moved. If she fell, he would catch her. If she batted at him drunkenly, he would dodge. If you are worried that you'll outlive him lady, I shall merely quote Jane Austen, and we can move on. " If that is the case of your emotions, my love, let us enjoy the possibility that I might outlive you. "
His bulk shifted and his feet made imprints in the sand. It would turn to mud soon, if she continued with this watefall of life-fluid. The time for precaution was past, and he could sense she was weakening. Just because he was an anti-social git at times, it didn't mean that in high society this sort of thing was not done...Between friends. Leaning forward gracefully, his sinewy neck muscles bunching like serpents under his skin, his tongue tumbled out. Cleaning carefully, he both rejoiced and recoiled at the taste of the viscous liquid. A slight vampirical tendency ran in the family. Some became masochists, others assasins, even other blatantly murdered. In other words, Sileree, Dancer and Hathor. Truth? He chose to play doctor. You can catch the girlies with their undies down that way, yeps. Moving gently and very slowly, the male put himself in a vulnerable position as he both posed as a chair to recling on and disinfected the wound. It was deep, very deep, but not fatal. At least, he hoped not. Putting his rasping tongue back in his mouth for a moment, he spoke again in his rich, deep voice. "Don't move s'much, you'll lose more blood than you already have. And the more blood you lose, the weaker you'll be and the longer you'll be stuck we me. My my, that rhymed, didn't it?" A touch of humor struck his wise face and his attempted to find her eyes. So cold...So hard...So...In need of love. His own were the grayish brown a man achieves when all emotion has been drained from his life and then it rushes back in all at once. Like a Judge or a Surgeon who finally got married, or had a baby. A life of solitude and boredom transforming into happiness....And peril? No, that wasn't it.
The wind wouldn't blow me home
To lie in your heart of hearts
Will I ever see you again
And lie in your heart of hearts?
Who ate your heart?
You're cold inside
You're not the one I hoped for
I'll see you on the other side
I'll see you on the other side...
there are always two sides to a story
Truth the Believer done, at last. Sorry for the ickiness. You don't have to reply like I did, in a letter. But I thought it would be fun to correspond xD. |
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Post by Valid on Oct 31, 2007 19:17:50 GMT -6
This is the way the world ends [/font] This is the way the world ends[/font] This is the way the world ends[/color][/center] Dear, Mr. Diversion, or Distraction, or Interruption, or Disruption…
Don’t worry about being late. Seems what I do best. Waiting. Always waiting… take it seriously, not as a pity way. Mhmm, you see, always tried to run tight shifts but I always end up in overtime. Like you, ‘less I am mistaken… Far as your son… my deepest apologies, far as me being a show to you, no regrets. I suppose it is good I am something other then what I see myself as, at least to someone, even if it’s you. But what is with this pity, darling, remember your wits you forgot to sharpen? I don’t like pity. Never did. I’m not twisted enough to abuse it, see, but… you wait I’ll be there a few more years… You know… his name was Parusa [sad thing is, is that I wasn't even his frist…] and though I am too solemn to laugh, I’m not going to cry. Gave up crying… so your tux needn’t worry, King. Gave up lots of things, some habits better dropped. I think my new name for you… I think I like it. Diversion, Distraction… coming between things predictably but abruptly all the same… I suppose not all interruptions are bad… But, let me sleep now, I’m tired. It’s time for me to clock out - the money’s not good enough for me to keep at it. And you, well… charming as you are… you'll leave, and when you do, I'll be left to repeat steps five through seven. … I don't feel like repeating. Makes me feel foolish doing the same thing so many times, simply foolish… Not that you have to worry, much. However pathetic it sounds… she won't sign my termination slips…
Yours ever and always, -- Choose a title, choose a name, you know who I am. “Dignified? You confuse me boy…” She thought about it. Didn’t take long. She thought about these sort of things enough. “Takes time to die this way, will. May not be right - but admirable.” A sickening feeling was ever overwhelming, partly because of the obvious, partly because of the words. She didn’t mind playing the Devil’s Advocate but she didn’t like her position now, didn’t like what she was saying even if it was just for the sake of argument. She never thought… dying as glorious, never thought it admirable. She enjoyed the thought of it, but… Doesn’t matter A voice cooed, speaking of the worthiness of her proposition. Took effort to die this way, it did, it did, took effort and will and strength. It was blatant, what one desired if one opted to die here, now, because of this. And yet as she thought… she wondered the word. Dignified? Respectable… Mhmm… what a funny thing. Death-wish, it made her giggle again. She was thinking about that scene again, and oh wasn’t she fond of it. Yet… sickened, again. It was sick, twisted, wrong… then why was she fond of it? She wondered this now as she heaved another breath, debating silently… pondering, until another laugh came. I’m woman, I’m allowed to not make sense… Perhaps just another reason why she should be annoyed be Truthy? He constantly pushed for something, and so she had to make reasons against and those reasons had to make sense and so she had to make sense… of… Your in the way! She frowned, being forced to a halt as he came ahead, in front of her. “You got a big ass.” Was the only thing she bothered to say, eyeing a rump and how far she'd have to go to get around the monument. She was willing to debate [her mind seemed to slow, she debated more things, thought a bit more then simply knowing the answer] the limit of her desire to continue, but, seemingly something else decided for her as she wobbled a touch. Oh, yes, there was no question standing was much harder then moving and starting was much harder the stopping. She seemed to sense what he expected - seemed to be able to tell he didn’t think she would. In spite she did, as well as growing careless. Taking advantage of his closeness to lean and, per say, relax. Not having to stand on one’s own… was nice when one’s paws were just so sore.
She closed her eyes, having slipped from her leaning to a bit more of a leaning-lay. Having slipped from her feet and plopped down, tired of fighting for her balance. Having had the pain seep to the bone, and having tasted a lessening of it, desire seemed to outweigh the other desire. Curiosity of how far she could make it before falling was struck down by another sort of curiosity. Rather peculiar curiosity but… I can find out… where I fall another time… maybe… A thought that seemed to be one that Truth orchestrated behind the scenes, one he gave her on the script cards to use as an excuse. Mhmm, by now she was more or less laying, upper half resting on the standing figure good and well, not too bother it seemed, despite. A tail starting to flick - coming into the tempo that Because-boy was known for. A lounging cat she was starting back into being. Formality a trait bred into her being, obvious as she still held some posture despite her lean, despite her weariness. She opened her eyes, ever finally, tilting her head just a touch. Neck elongating, as her head pressed gently into one of his appendages, she watched him for a moment. Eyes a bit feral, lips a bit curled. Snout a touch wrinkled, twisted with a hint of viciousness. Feeling his touch, it was hard to accuse. So blatant… Gaze seemed to lack what she was, who she was, what she was known for. Known for secrecy, they seemed open for observation, as they quickly processed the act and… Ears remained pinned, but eyes flickered the other way, head turning, figure that had become tense loosening only a touch. “Funny.” Her dry reply for him, as he spoke, soothing tones were much more beloved then the silence and her breathing of before, there was little question at all, but… again pride, sinful, still, was present. Just because she was fond of him popping up, if only during this EXCEPTION, didn’t mean he had to know. Far as he was concerned she was still… mad. Still, despite the anger she was supposedly feeling [she wouldn’t acknowledge that it had danced away] she felt… the need to say something, anything really, but in the very least… something… but… “… Don‘t you hate it when you have anything to say?” She mumbled to herself, though wouldn’t mind at all if he heard, adding to it with a light chuckle before keeping her eyes elsewhere. Not bothering to eye the wounds… She didn’t need to see to know they were there and far as she was concerned… they could stay the way they were. It was only him who had a problem…
Out of Juice; -accidently changed meh previous postie to this one had to change it back- Rawr. Far as letters! -likes letters- =] -likes what we do in italics- <333 Not with a [/size] bang[/font] but a[/size] whimper[/font].[/color][/center] |
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