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Post by Locura on Jun 9, 2009 10:25:38 GMT -5
Morphine. && you think the devil can't dream? Think again.
OOC -- Wahoo! Time to bring Morphy back! This post is for his number 1 fan, teh UGULNATOR, and anyone else who wants a taste of Morphy's delicious muse.
Word Count -- 1119
Hah. You think you know pain? You think you know suffering? No one knows that like a wolf who goes by the name of Morphine. Sure, especially in this day and age, everyone's life isn't full of butterscotch and gumdrops, but few have yet to witness and live through the things that Morphine knows as well as the scent of summer rain. It would have been enough to turn even the most kind-hearted butt-kisser into a venomous snake, ironic thing is that Morphine started out bad anyway. By some foul twist of nature, cruelty was just born into the wolf. His own parents sent him off to slavery after he drowned his own sister, and he laughed while doing it. After that he survived through many harsh years as a slave, used for all manner of things from an Anger Management punching bag to a piece of furniture to be traded for some better wares. He didn't take such treatment without a fight, and a fierce, bubbling anger was unleashed upon any who dared to so much as get near him. The brute was beaten repeatedly, his right side coated in many hideous scars that no amount of thick, matted fur could hide. In a spur of luck, the beast had managed to kill his last master and head for the hills. He wandered for many days before finally coming upon the place of his distant dreams. A land of his own. He reined over it as king, feeling as if he was truly in his rightful place. He was superior to all other wolves, better in all ways. He belonged on a throne draped with gold and pretty wolfess to do his bidding. His dream was only just becoming a reality when he left his land for a short journey. A tour, if you will, to pick what place would be his next. Nature, as always, was against him, and an arrogant summer storm had the brute flopped head over heels and dead lost. Turned out in the end that in his time away, his precious land had been claimed without him even there to defend it. All he had worked for his entire life was just a memory stolen by the wind.
He couldn't bring himself to despair though. For he still was, even after his mishap, the greatest wolf of them all. The only one strong enough in body and will to survive against all odds. One day, oh yes, one day very soon he would reclaim his throne. Then he would organize around him a group of the most powerful wolves that he could con into believing in him. While he relaxed on his favorite rock, basking in the sun, his new era would be unfolding around him. While wolfess groomed him and sang to him, his army would be out wreaking havoc upon the world of masters and slaves. They thought they had it all figured out. The pompous fools! They both thought that they were unbeatable! They thought that they were safe with their cozy little plans and their fancy titles. Well, they had a thing coming for them. All sides of the compass would be lost in the whirlwind that was Morphine. Of course, that would be yet a ways away. He still had to get his land back and gather up some slaves and his small attack force before he could actually put his plan into action. The very thought of doing so, however, nearly made him drool in anticipation. Oh yes, the wonderful era of Morphine was on the horizon. He could see it. All his mistakes were behind him, and he was ready to begin anew! Morphine would be reborn in the form of the devil himself! Rippling across the land, no one would be able to so much as blink in shock at what was upon them. Beastly little children would be ripped from their beds and their parents fled from the fire that was Morphine's hatred and lust for power. In his territory he would be relishing in the detailed reports, sucking in the detail as a wolf did marrow from a bone.
You could call the beast a little star-struck if you wanted, but he didn't see it that way. Morphine believed wholly and completely in his ability to fulfill what he thought of as his destiny. Nothing could stand in his way. As his large, dark paws meandered through the broken city streets, he continued to plot out his future. A yellow sun hung in the sky high above him, deep rays cascading down upon the city and illuminating the colors. Shadows from the crumbling skyscrapers seemed to curl about the wolf, praising him for his skilled thinking. He was truly a superior breed. The devil leaped up onto what was once a fountain, though now its base was hollowed out like the world. The top of the figures had been scraped off by something, chopping off their heads like some macabre movie. Morphine perched upon the pedestal, a creepy gurgling coiling up his throat. He couldn't help himself. A devilish laugh twisted out of his throat, echoing down the city streets. "Ha! Hah ha ha ha ha he he he heh hehh he..." When he was finished, he licked his chops as if he'd just enjoyed the best steak dinner anyone had ever eaten. Ahh yes, the new age was nearly upon the world, and the best part was that no one was expecting it! He would tell no one of his great plans! The beast would merely lure them to him like fish to a tasty minnow. They would all be bowing before him for mercy before long. With a massive sigh of relief, the brute flopped down. His front paws dangled out over a horse's pale neck, and his tail flopped over the face of a small, sightless child. Ye 'etter st'rt shoppin' fer a new 'ome.
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Post by Lugubrious on Jun 9, 2009 12:31:57 GMT -5
Unfinished!
FRATERNITY
It just comes natural. Brothers love each other to death - literally. From great literature to normal life, ancient times to the modern city's street, brotherhood has had a meaning that is almost celestial. Brothers can fight to death for one another just after giving out a black eye for the ketchup bottle. Younger ones follow the older ones secretly. The older one cannot fall short of the younger in any manner without losing their cool demeanor. Fratricide is considered the worst of crimes. Rayden was his twin, and though they were very different personalities, they spawned from the same creation. They were united, then separated, destined for being united again. Without a brother, one has lost some of themselves. Tarquin could never lose his brother until he lost himself.
INSANITY
Without his brother, Tarquin transformed into an insane creature. Rayden, was nothing like him but he became Tarquin. Like oil and water, the two distinct personalities could never mix. At the same time, they were in the same jar, or rather body. There was no spiritual or mystical reason behind it. Tarquin knew Rayden so well that he knew exactly what he would say. It was easy to role-play him. But as time progressed, he isolated himself by his incessant conversations with Rayden. The brother relationship was now satisfied, though contained in one entity. Luckily, the brothers could not kill each other. Ruin each other's lives? Perhaps.
TARQUIN
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Post by eclipse on Jul 7, 2009 8:32:53 GMT -5
Selky
^&You just want a smile on your face. &^
I Just want to eat your heart out
We wolves say love isn't supposed to ever be soiled by dirty blood. We say that good food should never be spoiled by filthy paws. We also say a mother should never be disgraced, should never have to suffer.
Honor is an important part of life for us.
... If you filthy dirt-clot could understand such things.
It was probably the way that the brute said that that made Selky ruffle. Of course, it could have been the direct attack on her parents and her species that made her white teeth flash into the grey-gold fur, but she liked to think that the wolf just spoke cruelly and she was doing the world a favor by hurting him.
Emphases on the word 'hurting', there... the small, lean coyote only had time to crack into a back leg bone before the rest of the pack came to 'rescue' their valiant leader. One whiny, sleazy, pip-squeak coyote can't even take one full sized wolf easily, much less a whole bloody pack of them... as soon as the first howls of greeting lifted, Selky had vanished like a cloud of molted brown mist. Selky flew hard to get away from the pack of snarling brutes- they could actually track reasonably well, curses... - but that was okay, because running away is the thing she found she could do best. Her paws carried her farther than she thought they would, and her new home turned out to be some abandoned city that most civilized humans would have taken to be a junk yard.
The brown cardboard box she found in the open garage of some poor sap's house became her satin-sheeted bed, and constantly-spewing spring that popped up near the back corner of the garage became her filtered ice water and her ice cold sangria. Mice, rats, rabbits and pigeons were her 5 course gourmet meals, and her warm fire and blankets were some old solar powered lights that still hadn't died.
Her garage made her think of a castle, and Selky eventually settled herself to wandering around gathering furniture for her humble abode.
Walk-trotting with a beautiful satin-sheen soup can clenched firmly between her jaws, padding forwards with no care in the world. Her long tail trailed a little in the dust, leaving a curling path behind her among so many others she had carved before. The can tasted metallic; sharp and good, with a hint of some flavor from the days of the humans she never knew of and never would know of. That's how it was everywhere. Everything she could see was some dusty, broken remnant of a great thing she never knew of. Her legs led her past a broken neon-pink flamingo, and she paused to sniff it. The same smells greeted her that always did. The same smells she knew never changed. Her lips quirked at the plastic, but she did not drop the can; she only carried on a little faster. A pile of rubble tumbled from a fire escape to her right and she jumped to the side with a start, clenching down harder on the can.
She stopped to shake her head in disgust.
... what was it with her today?!
The coyote moved around the bricks delicately, almost afraid they would spring out at her. Stupid fears. Stupid, dumb, unfair fears she didn't even know she had. Her muzzle turned towards the garage, and she gingerly edged towards it, her nape prickling...
"Ha! Hah ha ha ha ha he he he heh hehh he..."
She knew that sound...
The can fell with a clatter, bumping and rolling away from Selky, hitting the wall near the garage... she didn't even bother to pick it up. Her haunch hairs rose, and she wheeled away from her manor toward the fountain a few blocks over... and towards the wolf she thought was miles away.
"Can't get any worse than this..." was the only thing she muttered to herself as she ran, trying to stop her mad slides into walls... down the road, through the alley, past the park aaaaaaand....
There he was. She stood there, panting, watching, saying nothing. Like some sick dream. Only this time, the brute was on her turf.
Word Count: 727
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Post by Locura on Jul 8, 2009 23:07:19 GMT -5
Morphine. && watch the candles burn.
OOC -- Eh, pretty good for 0 muse.
Word Count -- 790
The ever distant sun warmed the beast's back pleasantly. He stretched out a bit, his belly scraping against the spliced statue. It reminded him much of his favorite rock, a rock that he'd probably never rest upon again. Tazenda was long gone, but he could always start anew in a different land. It wasn't like he was a slave anymore. Morphine yawned, reveling in the fact that he had options. Steak or chicken? BBQ or baked at a crisp three hundred and fifty degrees? He wasn't sure. Guess that was the problem with being a slave most of your life, you never really got to make choices. It wasn't, "oh, would you like this master or this one?" It was, "you're coming with me now." Once the great Morphine was king, he would make sure that he was the only master. All other masters would be demoted to lowly slaves, and just for kicks he'd probably give some former slaves positions above them. Maybe he'd get to watch or even break up a couple of brawls. That sounded wonderful. Like the final candle on the big ice cream birthday cake. He would be the flame on the trick candle that could never be snuffed out. He would be the little kid jamming his different fingers into the corner of the cake while no one was looking. He'd be the family's dog jumping up on the table and eating the entire cake while his tailed wagged gleefully. He'd be a menace.
A clunking noise distracted the brute, and his thick bear nose wriggled up in distaste. Who dared to disturb his peaceful harborings of doom? Drool dribbled out from between his massive dark jaws, and the beast licked his lips. Multicolored eyes blinked as his lifted his bulky head for an inspection of the surroundings. Thick paws scrabbled at the statues as he rose onto his feet. Huffing, the brute shook out his coat. Matted dark fur and spittle flung from him in all directions as if he had some terrible disease and was rotting from the inside out. He smelled like sweat and dirt. There was nothing about the creature that could even be considered as mildly attractive or even decent to look at. Every chunk of him was matted and falling apart, his scars standing out horrendously. Fat, yellowed fangs peaked out from shaggy and slobbery lips underneath eyes that held nothing but death within them. He was probably the most disturbing wolf to ever walk such city streets, but he was nothing but proud of who he was. He saw his scars as reminders of his wins and loses, the matted fur as a sign of his tangled future and past... okay, maybe he wasn't that smart and poetic. He was basically just too lazy to do anything or so much as care. He raised a back foot and scratched some more fluff off of his ear irritatedly before jumping down off the statue with a loud thud.
"Oo be dere?" He asked aloud, his voice thick and rough like sandpaper. It rasped over the silence, bending through the city like a wraith. A wicked smirk coiled up his face as the brute huffed. He snuffled a bit at the ground, snorting at the pebbles as they jerked up his nose. He left a smear of slobber behind him as he stalked off toward the direction of the sound. "'Ome 'ut, 'ome 'ut, 'ere'her ou arch." His words slipped out, twisting like a venomous snake. He snorted at himself, wondering how he could even understand what he was saying. It seemed like his words were getting worse and worse as the days went on. Maybe it was deprivation. Slowly the beast dragged his massive head up, distantly he felt the blood rushing thickly back down his throat. His red eye took in the sight of an extremely small looking wolf with a thin, pointed muzzle. He had no idea what the thing was, but a cruel smile twisted over his features and he wagged his scrappy tail once. "'Ey dere be'uterful. Ye 'ost?" 'ven if ye arch, it does na 'atter teh meh.
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