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Lady in Red; Varius/Jene-Paul

February 8, 2010 - 11:05pm — themaskerade

Apologies, but this is a story where the deer are personified as humans. If you do not like, then do not read. It has been an idea of mine for some time. Also, there is a little language.

Writing

G U A R D I A N_________a story of change__________________

Long, elegant legs graced over the forest floor, barely disturbing the thick blanket of browned leaves and twigs. They rested for a moment beside a tall, weather-smoothed oak tree deep in the dark of the forest. The blue black pelt he wore caught the sunlight's yellow hued beams, sending a dull sparkle through the dust ridden air. His antler's candles remained unlit in the morning hours, sitting half melted above his crown. His soft, worried face was well hidden by a well-kept skull mask. The dark voids that acted as eyes looked not so fierce as sad. Deep within the shadows they cast, the light glint of his eyes could be captured.... [continues]

Writing

Musician

February 8, 2010 - 8:11pm — ocean

[Gift writing for Sonata-who wrote for The Priest. I really hope I don't fail at Chopin's character. :<]

It seems that everything is a song in its own right, a beautiful coalescing of long strings of melodies. Life is nothing but a song to weave one's own music to.

And that is exactly what he did.

Chopin, ever polite, ever the gentleman, loved music. It was his soul, his being, his true self. Music came with ease to the handsome dark blue deer. It tapped through his hooves, ran with him as his hooves beat hard upon the forest floor. He moved to its rhythm and it moved to his.

Tap-TAP, tap-TAP, tap-TAP. The sound of running hooves startled him from his reverie, and he looked up. Red eyes studied the figure as it approached, closer and closer, the drumbeat of hooves growing to a crescendo. Then it was gone in an instant, passing him by without a glance. He didn't mind; he just kept the lovely sound a moment longer, before returning to his own thoughts.

Chopin closed his eyes, letting the world's music surround him. He could hear the wind rushing through the willows above his head, the quiet lapping of the waters below. He could hear the far-off cries of others, the light melodies of birds intertwining with those deep notes. Oh, this music was so different than...than music in other places. It was wild here, untamed, notes falling in a random yet beautiful order. It was music, yes, music he had mastered, had learned to play with his own body. He had come to this place with no expectation of hearing something so precious again.

Chopin had been given a second chance.

[AGH. I think I just killed his character. ;; I'm sorry.
[e:] It's shoooort. ;;]

Writing

Gift fic for Ocean

February 8, 2010 - 11:32am — Sonata

I would like to start by saying; OH MY GODS THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN UP SOONER BUT THE SITE WAS DOWN.
thank you c:

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

Writing

The Silence of the Fawns

February 8, 2010 - 11:16am — Cyaneus

Cricket is going to tell you a story tonight, so gather around the camp fire. This is a true story that many of our newer players may not know.

It is called The Silence of the Fawns.

Writing

Sola [No affiliation]

February 8, 2010 - 2:06am — OokamiAzura

And as she turns,
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams.
This fire burns,
I realize that nothing's as it seems.
I dream of rain,
I dream of gardens in the desert sand.
I wake in vain,
I dream of love as time runs through my hand...
--Desert Rose, Sting

It was all a game to her.

Pacing herself, she follows as the bull elk walks backwards, facing her, ensuring that his rear is protected from her fangs. Sola, ever so calculating, lunges, within yards of a cow elk’s carcass, tearing at the elk’s throat, just missing his jugular. But before he can even bring his hooves crashing down upon her head, she darts just out of reach, standing beside the fallen cow. She catches her breath, watching him intensely.

The plan was simple; tire the bull enough to attack without getting hit. Stand beside a cow elk, seeing as how the bull wouldn’t dare go near the body of his own dead. Rinse, lather, repeat. Sure, it took a long time to kill a bull in such a manner, but if it was one thing Sola had, it was plenty of patience.

She watches as the bull returns to his grazing just a few yards from her. She eyes his entire figure, looking at the open wounds, calculating just how many more bites and tears it would take to finish him. She smirks at the elk stumbles momentarily, finally feeling the effects of blood loss.

She howls.

The bull glances up just in time to see Sola charge fearlessly, only to witness his vision going blurry, and then falling into nothingness. This time, Sola hits her mark, tearing out his jugular, the blood spray hitting everything within several feet of them; trees, the ground, herself, and a poor squirrel trying to dig up an old cache of nuts nearby. She watches as the newly baptized squirrel scurries away, leaving a trail of urine behind in his wake.

In the viewpoint of a tiny squirrel, blood flooding out of a giant elk was more than enough to warrant pissing on yourself.

Writing

Six [Bitter Groves]

February 8, 2010 - 1:52am — OokamiAzura

I've been most unwilling,
To see this turmoil of mine.
The thought of sitting with this,
Has me paralyzed.
With this prolonged exposure,
To near and averted eyes.
I think that I've been waiting,
Such mileage for empathizing...
--Madness, Alanis Morissette

She watches.

She watches him walk ever so calmly to the coyote in front of him, the coyote simply standing there, like a statue in a park.

That poor thing is so confused, she muses.

The said poor thing was one of those that forgot the world actually moved; frozen in time, nerves numb, eyes blank, and senses dead.

Perhaps all living things do such when they know they’re seconds from death.

He stops just inches from the coyote’s face, just staring, as if he is trying to find something.

But he finds nothing.

Within seconds, it is over; his mouth clamps around the coyote’s head, reality crashing back down upon the helpless canid. But it is too late; he finishes the job with one bite, the blood splatter coating the ground in a deep crimson.

The coyote slams down upon the ground, as its own blood drips from his mouth into its closed eyes. If anyone else had seen it afterwards, they would have thought it was crying blood, perhaps lamenting its naivety and ignorance.

With a loud huff, he drags the dead coy closer to the entrance of the den, caching it for later. He returns to her side, licking the blood off of his long, narrow muzzle. She sighs as she watches, and proceeds to rub her chin into the ground, an itch begging to be itched. He sneezes as she riles up the dust, only for her to laugh as his fit continues.

“I still don't understand why you do it.” She says, as he sneezes one final time before laying across from her, his paws resting on hers.

“Why shouldn’t I?” He replies, irritation creeping into his voice.

Writing

Grimmwall;; Withdrawal (mild maturity)

February 8, 2010 - 1:37am — Kanaf

WARNING: Some bad language

Yeahhhhh... pretty self explanitory HUHU

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"Who, me? Of course it's me. Well, I, darling..."

February 7, 2010 - 2:30am — Rutilus

[=10]I'm Davita Starpop, obviously. You're a bit slow, aren't you, eh?
That was a rhetorical question, babe, don't answer.
Anyway, I'm not like the others. Infact, I may be better. They won't find me, you see, they don't know. I'm not like them.
I'm. Not. Like. Them.
Go away!
Go away, don't bother me like that--
That's better...Nasty little things, those others...But I love them all the same.
I'm not unstable. What makes you think that? You're accusing me! Just like they did! Just like them, just like them, all of you!
Go away!

...

...I'm better now.

Oh, you're so pretty...so very pretty. Come closer, dear, just a little bit closer, so I can reach...you do smell so very nice.
Lovely...

I hear your voice, yes. Yes, I can hear you, don't shout! What?
I'm from outer space, silly! You really are slow! Honestly, what did you expect? [laughs] I'm not like you, or the others!
Well, there is one other...But I believe she--well, you'd call her 'she'--is hiding somewhere. Cruel, those scientists...
I don't need the king to send me places, oh no. No, no. I was an exile a long time ago, and I've spent many moons building my shuttle.
It's a pity that I crashed, isn't it?
But I'm smarter than Danila, me. I can rebuild the shuttle. I might even take Danila with me! But we'll have to come back, of course. I quite like it here. I know Danila does, even if they don't admit it.

So pretty...Closer still...

...

...

...

So tired.

I think I must rest now, don't you?

Care to join me?

No?

Well, fine!

I'll just go off, by myself, shall I?

Ah, I knew you'd change your mind...[smirks]

Come on then, love.

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xD; I felt like writing this. Meet Davita. He's...a bit mental, I guess. And androgynous like Danila, but referred to as male.

Writing

WORK IN PROGRESS

February 6, 2010 - 8:43pm — Zergarikiaka

[=gray]It all wound down with a bang… well; actually more like several... then months of the insistent beeping of a heart rate monitor in a coma patient room. The mechanical and generally artificial sounds had eventually faded away into the lively song of birds and natural background noise of leaves rustling in whispering wind. The humming of dragonfly wings and symphony of croaking frogs, the occasional splash of a playful frog leaping into the depths, made for a strong contrast to the unnatural voices of the past: Rapid gunfire, humming machines, whining air vents, coughing patients waiting for medicine, and the ravings of madmen in every asylum... The air, so pure and unpolluted, minus the occasional scents of blood and smoke, made a grand alternative to the 'sanitized' air pumped into governmental buildings and every hospital, and the toxic over cloud of every city. One thing that seems to remain unchanged, however, is the stars.
Vibrant and clear in the untainted sky, they are countless in their numbers and arrangements. Perhaps, here they are more vibrant than elsewhere... but then again, most are hidden from view by the city lights. There are no artificial lights here... only the pure glow of the stars to guide the way at night.

And yet, this new world is no heaven. Not for a deer who was once so much more.
Not even close. Even though there is so much beauty, there is still the consuming ugliness and despair. It's not hell, either... Perhaps, it is merely Purgatory... a gray zone between the two.

I open my eyes, and look over this purgatory world. The sun shines down on the surface of the lake, warming my gray fur even threw the cool, shallow water I so often sleep in. Under the glare of the suns reflection, I see the fuzzy and distorted images of the koi swimming just a few feet away. I can't help but recall how I once believed this part of the forest was pure, and free of death. The koi, the dragonflies... both had been here forever...

Writing