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 Posted: Sun Aug 26, 2007 10:13 pm
Desdemona broke out into great peals of laughter. "Oh you think so, do you? Well, my foolish wretch... you have much to learn." With that, the Skinwalker bit down hard on Plague's neck, and ripped out a hank of his long, filthy, lackluster hair. "Do you like this, being helpless? Does it thrill you to know that I could kill you in an instant, if I desired your death?" Oh, the blood lust was rushing up, clouding her senses. She wanted to spill his blood everywhere. She wanted, no... needed to taste it. She needed to paint the grassy clearing with it. But for now, the need would have to wait to be slacked. Humiliation was the key. She could already feel his great pride crumbling slowly, ever so slowly. She would bring him down... oh yes.
"My kind do not have the same needs as the average, warm-blooded creature. We do not feel the same lusts, the same desires as your kind, as any other kind. Oh, we lust... do not disbelieve that. But it is not the same. You, my poor fool, are capable- in the barest sense of the word- of love. I am not. I cannot feel it, cannot taste it, cannot sense it. And I get no pleasure from rutting like some senseless beast. That may make me frigid, and I am, in very real truth, a b***h. You have the right of that. However, it also means that I am free to think as you are not. I am not chained by my wants." Her low, purring voice thrummed with a growl just beneath the surface. Velvety, rich, wild. Chaotic. The chaos, the destruction drew her.
A smirk crossed her lips, cold and cruel. "Should I make a gelding of you? Perhaps then you would be able to understand what it is to think with a mind unburdened by the petty lusts that so entrap you." Her canines left deep furrows in his coat, and she loved it. It was perfect... so perfect. "If I leave you alive, you will be able to experience more pain, more suffering. Madness." Oh yes. Madness! "You are weak, oh one to whom rats cling so closely. You are, at best, a poorly constructed nightmare... one whom only those who cannot defend themselves fear. Did you, for an instant, truly think that one such as I could feel such a pitiful, pathetic emotion? Learn better, stallion." She slammed against his wing, amusement cresting as his pain became more apparent. It was delightful. Perhaps he would not live to be so foolish again. Or perhaps, in living, he would avoid such foolishness.
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Posted: Mon Aug 27, 2007 6:55 pm
His teeth bit down on his lower lip, the sharp jagged points tearing holes into his mouth. He would not give her the pleasure of hearing how much pain she was forcing on to him, with each rip of her jaw, with each feather that fell. He hated her, he would kill her, should he ever get the chance, his desire focused on grabbing hold of that slender furred neck with his jaws, to clamp down and never let go until his teeth gnawed on the very bones beneath her skin. She was unlike any other creature he had fought against, and he knew the odds had greatly turned against him, with each minute that passed by as his own blood flowed to the ground beneath them, her hungry cruel gaze never leaving him.
Her words burned in his ear, the all-knowing whispers taunting him of his flaws, of the downfall of his kind. He lusted, yes, and gave in to his desires more often than not, but he refused to see that as a link to his weakness, the cause to his inferiority towards this creature. No, he made a mistake, and though a grave one it had been, he would not allow his emotions to rule him. That caused his first follower's downfall, and no doubt would that bring her daughter down as well. Emotions were the key to one's disaster, and perhaps, for the first time in a long time, he had allowed his urges to get the best of him.
Her threats danced in his mind, her low playful voice laced with cruelty far many had seen, but only few had remained to tell of. His mouth grimaced, the blood pooling inside from his own bite wounds slowly slipping out from between the cracks of his teeth. To speak down to him as if he were a foal.. some lowly creature not worth the time nor effort to deal with. No, he would show her he was not an easy game to play, nor would she have her way with him without her own consequences to deal with.
Before his mind could come to any further conclusion, she once again took advantage of his injured wing, and a roar of pain erupted at last from between his lips, the guttural cry loud and terrifying, a cry never to have escaped from his jaws before now. Rage consuming him as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, the heavy mutant pushed back at the skinwalker, the pain from using his own injured wing causing so much chaos and disorder in his mind that his own vision began to blur. If she wanted to take him down, so be it, but he was not going down without a true fight.
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Posted: Mon Aug 27, 2007 7:13 pm
"Good, good! Very good! Fight me, oh foolish one. Fight me, and pretend that you're not weak, craven, and inept. Pretend that you are worth something. It will be the finest moment of your life." Desdemona had a tolerance for pain that was far beyond that of any being she had ever encountered. It was, purely and simply, because she was what she was. She was insane, and so the pain did not bother her. It was what made her such a dangerous opponent, in part. "Play pretend, because that is all you will be able to do now, stallion," she jeered, knocking him harshly against the tree. With a sickening, tearing rip, she yanked on his left ear, pulling back until it came clean from his head. The scent of the blood pouring from his wound nearly sent her into a frenzy. "This is what you face, fool!" She burst into a riotous, maddening laughter, the sound soaring upwards into a crescendo, and then cutting off when she once again began to batter him. "You face me! You face a monster, you pitiful, weakened creature." And oh, oh how she loved being what she was. "You should never have tried to take my prey from me. You should have known, when you saw my markings, just who you were 'playing' with. But oh, the lessons that are to be learned from folly." She whispered against the hole where once his ear had been, a shivering, giddy sound to her voice,"Learn well, my poor fool. Learn well."
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Posted: Fri Aug 31, 2007 4:16 pm
He felt the warm stickiness run down his face before the initial shock began to wear off and the pain set in. Only moments ago, he had heard the scuffle and speech between the two of them quite clearly... but now utter silence surrounded half his body. His eyes grew as he saw his own blood on the skinwalker's mouth, his remaining ear forced to listen to her taunting. The pain was overwhelming, and he lashed out one final time, his jaws spread wide in hopes of biting down, anywhere would do at this point. He just wanted her to pay; how dare she mock him, defile his body like this!
Dark eyes moved to look to the side, attempting to catch her own gaze as broken teeth came down onto warm, foul smelling fur. The pain his wings, his side, and now his head had taken from her abuse was taking its toll on him and he could feel himself growing weaker by the second. But he held on. Only until he could fight no more would he give this up; he was far too prideful even now to allow any other thought than of revenge to enter his mind. Granted, he now had a newfound paranoia of just how strong the female gender could be, but he wasn't going to let this b***h walk away without a scratch on her, at least!
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Posted: Fri Aug 31, 2007 4:42 pm
Desdemona laughed, a low, cruel laugh that rang with both insanity and fanaticism. She would bring chaos into this world, no matter what. And he would pay, and pay dearly for getting between her and her rightful prey. Already he was paying. She relished it. It was so, so very sweet. "Next time you see me, oh my foolish one, I will be the last thing you see." She let him do her damage, truly uncaring. "These few wounds I bear are gifts, fool. Remember that. Remember that I could take you down without a scratch on my coat. Goodbye, oh pitiable fool." The Skinwalker left, Plague's blood staining her pelt and coat. The echo of her laughter lingered in the air after she'd gone. It was the ghost of the promise she'd made him. His death was in the air.
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Posted: Fri Aug 31, 2007 4:58 pm
The tasteless blood of the mare remained in his mouth long after she had brushed him off... acting as if his own inflictions against her were nothing more than a brush against her side. He was tempted to follow her, to harass here and attempt to regain his lost pride until his last breath left his body, but his body cried out against his attempts at movement. His front legs buckled from underneath him, and he fell upon the hard ground, his breathing labored and ragged as the blood on his face slowly began to mat itself in his hair and skin. The rats had long since run off, confused by the turn of events from the usual standard of attack, but he knew they'd be back before long. Hell, they'd probably try to eat upon his wounded flesh.
He closed his eyes, her vile words echoing into his head, the agony of his wings and skull causing him to grow numb. It would take a great deal of time, and no doubt more excruciating pain, before these wounds would heal. His ear, however, was a lost cause. Perhaps if he once again tracked down a healer, they could mend it to the point where he could hear somewhat better out of the nub that remained on that side of his head.
The last sight his hollow eyes took in as they reopened, before they closed to fall into a slumber, was that of the back of his opponent. No doubt would they run into one another once more, and next time, he'd be ready. He was determined to be.
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