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 Posted: Thu Nov 10, 2011 5:16 pm
 Pearl diving this morning had left Onya fairly drained in energy; all he wanted to do at this point was sunbathe on one of the rocks at the top of the fjord-cliffs, stretched out to full extent in the warming afternoon light. It had been fairly successful, though. Sure, his master hadn't patted him or said he was pleased, but it was a step in the right direction, wasn't it? He'd taken the pearls, anyway, and had gone off with them, to someplace called the 'jeweler's'. Onya didn't really know what this was, but maybe they liked the shiny things. Or ate them. Or something. Humans were strange creatures. But good, though, he added hastily, in the privacy of his own mind. Whatever they were doing with the shiny things, it must be right. He'd have to try to get more tomorrow.
The little Mokai, on the small side for a pearl diver, opened his maw into a great yawn, edging out a little more comfortably over the side of the rock, his paws dangling casually out over them, one of his ears flicking away a fly. Below him, a hundred or so feet, water lapped at the side of the cliff he was on, fish flitting to and fro in its depths. He could see some Mokai on the beach down below, frolicking in the sand. Normally, he'd go join them immediately - it looked like fun - but he was bone tired from his workout, and he thought vaguely that maybe he'd drift off into a nap soon ....
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Posted: Thu Nov 10, 2011 7:18 pm
Summer wore into autumn and the leaves began to turn and fall. The early morning had slipped behind a could and the rocks underfoot retained their warmth. It was comfortable, pleasant even. The large in stature frame of the black feral perused the area with a curiosity along with the witty intent of catching a meal. The fjords were a natural net in the sense that with each push and pull of the tide, high or low, unfortunate fish, crustaceans and edibles often became stranded within the confines of small pools. Who would have thought the sea could provide such a bounty? The only task that provided its own stumbling block was finding a safe passageway to reach the beach below which, from the looks if it, was proving to be a feat of its own. So far he had drawn the conclusion of either plunging one hundred feet down into the sea while praying that he wouldn't break his vertebrea or snaking down a rather sketchy seacliff and pleading that he wouldn't snap his forelegs in two.
Tempting, tempting, tempting-- but no. Neither of those scenarios were outlined on his agenda.
The sharp, pungent smell of the sea infiltrated his nostrils. Cellen's muzzle bunched uncomfortabley as he edged closer toward the sea. It was a scent which he had yet to become acustomed to--one whose odor was best described as abrasive and acrid regardless of how many times one had found themselves exposed to such an aroma.
He snorted, attempting to disperse the air from around his nostrils in hopes to dilute the salty saturation around him, but it was inevitable; the sea was one who couldn't be thwarted so easily. Mockingly, a seaside breeze caressed against his back and wove itself through his tapered ridgeback, curling itself around his array of horns, before it brushed against his lips. Cellen scoweled as he leered out towards the vast seas, catching sound of its jesting laughter that echoed against the cliffside.
"You're a bit sloppy with how you kiss," he retorted to the lingering sea breeze, "this must be your first time or you sure as hell don't get around much."
A slight inkling of a grin tugged at the corner of his maw before nature took a swung at him---literally. While his attention had deviated from the path in front of him, Cellen hadn't noticed the decayed tree trunk that laid strewn across the ground nor the fact that the ground itself had become tumultuous and uneven. Anticipating the ground to remain at the same leveled plateau, Cellen proceeded forward until the front of his body fell forward. Surely nature herself had prepared for this very moment, aligning the outcome to be flawless and unfortunately for Cellen, there would be pain. Relentless pain. A wayward branch from the decomposing tree trunk collided vertically against the top of his muzzle up towards the crest of his head.
A gutteral yelp escaped from his maw.
Cellen reeled back with a slight stagger. He strained his eyes and lowered his head while the rest of his body, stung with a dabilitating daze, collapsed onto the ground in a heap of fur and limbs.
Nature could be such a b***h.
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Posted: Fri Nov 11, 2011 2:43 am
What the -
Onya's head jerked up, startled, as the yelp rang through his skull. Ow. That was nearby. The pearl otter's flash of very brief annoyance fled in the wake of the sound of the yelp came back to him - it had had overtones of pain in it, suggesting that the Mokai who was nearby was hurting in some fashion. Curiosity and concern replaced the young male's annoyance, and he immediately rolled off of the rock with practiced ease that suggested he'd done this before. Raising his head, the diver sniffed the air, dark nostrils crinkling as they tried to pick up scent. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing the wrong direction - from sea rather than out to it - and so he started trotting across the cliff, taking care to stay well away from the edge. Theoretically, you could survive the fall ... so long as you didn't hit any rocks on the way. Onya wasn't keen on trying out the theory.
He was being rather careful, and so he spotted the brilliant painted-Mokai before he stepped right on him, even though the male was lying right across the thin and scrubby track he'd taken to get up here. Onya's pointed ears curled back, and the runt stared. He'd never ever seen such a strange-looking creature before! It seemed to be all fluff along the back, and the horns - well, they were impressive, no doubt. But what fascinated him most of all was the bewildering amount of yellow-and-green dye splashed across the dark fur, giving the creature a rather menacing look, not helped by the fangs that protruded from its maw.
<"Um. Hello? You okay?"> He questioned, surreptitiously poking Cellen with a careful, gentle paw.
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Posted: Sat Nov 12, 2011 8:19 am
A thick blackness temporarily consumed his mind. Words, juxtaposed and slurred, seemed to rise out of the nothingness but they faded back from whence they came. His brows squinted, knitting together as he strained to draw his eyelids upward, as he managed to catch a flash of light to infiltrate from its minute opening but they quickly slammed shut. The damn sun with its brightness--the slightly light source was bothering him. Or was it the throbbing of his head, let alone his entire face, which was making the pain all the more worse? His short term memory wires were crossed, frayed, and severed at this point; he couldn't remember what happened at the moment. All that he knew was that he was in a world of pain and discomfort everywhere on his face.
The touch of a paw at his side caused his eyes to snap open. The feral fighter remained still, eerie still, as his eyes stared towards the small...otter? Cellen's vision was still contorted and skewed with a hazy perception which seemed to alter the world around him with a surreal tangibility. The wings of his nostrils flared as he snorted.
"Checking to see if I have any vital signs? I'm flattered," his eyes strained again, awkwardly adjusting to the potent daylight along with trying to make heads or tails out of what the hell just happened. "You're not the thing that punched me in the damn face, are you Otter?"
He scrutinized the other, baring his teeth minimally as a low thrumming growl uttered from out of his throat although, alongside it, he chuckled. From what he could recall, otters were typically brown or earthen hues and this 'otter' seemed to be painted with muted blues and dusty gray. Yet since when did otters have spines? Was this some sort of mutated spin-backed otter?
"You look like an otter but you sure as hell don't smell like an otter---you smell muskier than an otter."
He was trying to debunk whatever the hell was in front of him. Perhaps this was what he had heard humans call a 'hangover' where you encounter the invalids and unthinkable creatures that were fueled by ones own imagination gone wild. Cellen was a bit disappointed in the fact that this was what his imagination conjured. This was pathetic. Although, at least it wasn't malicious--the otter seemed scrawny enough where if the situation went awry that he could subdue him fairly easily while making sure not to crush the poor bugger in the process. Which, haphazardly, lead to a deviation of amusing thought: if this imaginary manifestation was crushed, would it suddenly explode with a puff of shimmery smoke or would it have a more messy result?
Cellen stared at him.
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Posted: Sat Nov 12, 2011 2:29 pm
"I'm a Mokai!" The creature squeaked, a little indignant. Maybe in the fall, this ... tattooed beast had hit his head. Hard. Onya could tell it was a Mokai, but it was the strangest Mokai he had ever seen, with bizarre zig-zags going every which way, and colors he'd only seen on the more reckless of domestic Mokai who liked paint. But even they couldn't come close to this. The little pearl diver wondered how long it had taken, and how one managed to sit still for that long, anyway.
"And I didn't punch you in the face," he said reproachfully - perhaps he didn't like being accused, or perhaps he took offense to the swear word that had been inserted into the sentence. "I just heard a yelp, and came to help." He ducked his head to sniff around Cellen, tail uncertainly wagging, as if he weren't sure this was a potential friend or not. He couldn't even tell exactly what subspecies it was under there; although by those curved ears, 'fighter' was slowly and unhappily filtering through the diver's mind. "I think you got attacked by the log, um ... whoever you are."
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Posted: Sat Nov 12, 2011 3:06 pm
A grin tugged at the corner of his maw wryly as the Pear Diver threw a squeaky reply. Its age, at the moment, was unknown but the feral could have sworn that perhaps the poor lad was undergoing a radical change physically and mentally: Puberty. Whatever the circumstances, it seemed that his attempt to bait and scare the pint-sized runt hadn't panned out as well as he thought it would. C'est la vie. A fog still encapsulated his mind although he tried to maneuver through such disorientation as best he could-- for now at least. Cellen wrinkled his muzzle as it bunched slightly, attempting to loosen the sore and rigid muscles who had became numbed at the initial impact.
He opened his maw wide to stretch his jowls, his teeth bared brightly with its array of pearly whites; daggers hidden behind his tooth grin. An audible 'clop' resounded as his mouth fell closed.
"Take it easy, shortstop," he spoke, somewhat finding a stable train of thought although a slight pounding still persisted, "I know you didn't do it; I got what I deserved from taunting nature. Believe me, she can be such a b***h when it comes to delivering a response when offended." His lips pursed carefully as he stared back towards the log that all but hoovered about him. "That or I've a hell of a bad sense of timing or a string of bad luck---take your pick."
Quietly, his eyes followed the Pearl Diver as it walked around him, watching as the other investigated him. The others body language seemed certainly inquisitive and yet, perhaps at the discovery of something, it became more hesitant, wary even. Was it because of how he looked physically or, perhaps, was it was because of what he was?
"You seem disappointed---I apologize, I don't come in a female version. But if its because of my 'breed' I can't change that either; I may be one of them but I'm not like them. I left Huntingdon for the sole reason of not wanting to fight. You can't take the 'fight' out of fighter but you can take the fighter out of the fight."
Lying there as his tail thumped upon the ground, the feral fighter gave a coy smile.
"Names Cellen. And thanks for...making sure that log didn't further gore me to death--those blighters are pretty cheeky."
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 3:52 am
The toothy grin caused Onya to lean back a little, his perky triangular ears flattening atop his head. Those ivory incisors were quite a bit larger and longer than he'd seen - or typically liked to tangle with - and definitely reminded him of a fighter, strange as this particular fighter was. Cellen's sheer bulk didn't help, either, and most of him was relieved when the beast forgave him for what he did - or, rather, didn't do. He was going to purse his lips at the continued line of obscenities - really, didn't this Mokai's mother teach him anything? - but another look at those white teeth rather convinced him not to. Onya wasn't terribly bright, but some things you comprehended on an instinctive level, and he liked his tail and all his limbs where they were, thank you very much.
"You - you're a feral?!" He blurted out, eyes going wide as saucers. He'd heard of them - uncouth beings that supposedly lived out in the wild, eating ... eating goodness knows what, roots and grubs and finding raw meat to eat, with blood and guts and ... stuff. And they ate puppies, too, but he was less sure about this than the other things. Terrifying as this Mokai was - he almost missed Cellen's name in the shock - he still had a hard time seeing the beast eating a puppy. He was just too casual and off-paw for that sort of thing.
"What are you doing here?" He stared at the dark-furred beast, not quite certain whether to be shocked, wary, or fascinated - perhaps he was a mixture of all three, but it could go any which way at this point.
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Posted: Mon Nov 21, 2011 4:57 pm
Like many situations and individuals one would come across in life, looks were certainly deceiving. Cellen's massive bulk of fur and limbs were rugged and honed from living an unruly and wild lifestyle. Surely his claws and dragon horns were somewhat alarming while his massive incisors were more than enough to deter those who were looking for a rowdy run-in yet, deep down, he wasn't that bad. Had he been the type to help himself to chew the daylights out of another Mokai he would have already done so but cannibalism and savage, even mindless, brutality would never be his cup of tea. There were countless fallacies that surrounded the unknown lifestyle of a feral--and some where downright amusing as hell!
Cellen blinked, nonchalantly, as he drank in the others reaction. A wry grin broadened across his maw. "Your average puppy snatching, blood-drinking, night stalking, flesh tearing feral. I'm sure everyone's painted a clear picture as to what we're like," he commented. "Strange enough, the creatures they associate us with are more like monsters from the recesses of ones nightmares than anything else."
Stretching his paws outward, Cellen yawned as his maw fell ajar and exposed his pearly whites---their stark contrast was unmistakable against the blackness of his gums. His claws grappled into the earthen terra underfoot while his shoulders shifted and rotated.
What was he doing here? He eased himself up onto his paws and flicked his tail. Frankly, he didn't give a damn; Cellen could disperse back into the shadows just as easily as he had ventured out into the sunlight. For a moment he scrutinized the peal diver, knitting his brows as his muzzle wrinkled. While the boldness and sudden exclamation wasn't so much of the issue, it was the initial question that seemed to stir something inside of him.
""If you don't want me here I can leave," the feral shrugged.
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Posted: Tue Nov 22, 2011 4:05 am
The pearl diver's ears flattened against the side of his head even further, suspicious look filtering across his features. It was like the creature could read minds. They couldn't actually do that, could they? The poor young male didn't realize that his features were quite expressive, and more or less gave away what he was considering, regardless of what he said. Anyway, he thought defensively, the creature seemed to flaunt his strangeness with that dye - it accentuated the strange horns and fangs, not to mention the impressive ruff going down his back. And he was much bigger than Onya was. But he didn't want a pummeling, so he didn't comment on the cynical words, his tail hanging low.
He pursed his lips at the feral's casual statement. Preferring not to answer it directly, he said, instead: <"The Elders would be very mad to find you here,"> he said instead, trying to keep the disapproval from his voice. Well ... if they were here, anyway. They said that old One-Eye had taken most of the crew and gone off into the wilds for a bit. Now that was a Mokai Onya wanted to stay away from. The retired fighter was probably one of the main reasons he feared ferals: he was the kind of fairy story - or nightmare - that parents told their pups to get them to behave. The only Elder left behind was an old one, who liked to sleep most of the day and preferred not to rouse himself unless it was absolutely necessary. <"The humans wouldn't be, neither. Ferals aren't liked around the settlements."> They led to bad thoughts among the local Mokai and stirred up too much trouble, but Onya wasn't about to say that aloud.
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Posted: Thu Nov 24, 2011 2:36 pm
The topic of 'ferals' had always been brought up whenever he sauntered near the Huntingdon Settlement and, for being a feral himself, it was a discussion that was always aroused and brewed controversy anew. It seemed strangeness, the unknown, was shunned from ones rationality and had transformed into a subject which was hard to chew on let alone digest. Regardless if he was to defend himself and his pack members, there would always be those who were too stubborn to look outside of what they new and broaden their understanding. Besides, everyone had their agency and what good was agency if one only tried to force his or her own beliefs onto another? It would simply defeat the purpose of agency, would it not?
Cellen arched a brow quizzically. "One-Eye may be the Elder but even an Elder will not have full control over what I choose to do. I respect him but I will call my own damn shots."
Brooding upon the concept of having to be wary of the humans who had invaded their home had always seemed to stir ill feelings within the male feral. So the ferals were suppose to tread lightly amongst those who had invaded their home, domesticated their kin, and give the two-leggers free reign anywhere on their island? He felt that it was the humans who needed to watch themselves.
He smirked. "The Mokai in the settlements should be open minded as their lineage and bloodlines all fall back to the very creatures they hate; ferals. Perhaps they could gain some damn sense by facing their feared misconceptions."
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