No Rest for the Wicked

[wicked]

Wanderer. Wayfarer. The Ever-Watchful. Nomadic tendencies keeping one from attaching oneself to a pack or homeland altogether. Were these tendencies foolish and the fruits of an ill-mind, or were they tactics derived from sheer cleverness?

Well, clever got me this far...

A smirk was almost permanently plastered on the dark lips of the lanky fae that now found herself wandering the passage known as Dante's Pass. Her ribs slightly protruded out through her skin, a sneering, dark reminder of inherited disease and sickness in her early childhood. Ghastly frame perched atop scrawny limbs that stretched a great length, from a distance, she almost resembled the grim reaper herself, with her dark top coat and her bony frame.

This reaper though, was not out looking for souls to collect, but mostly some small morsel to keep her already weak stamina at work. The black and white fae, known commonly as Wicked, trotted with abnormal grace that would not be expected out of someone with such a deprived body. Muscles could easily be seen though her skin pulsating and writhing with each agile lope as she continued down the run. Luckily, she had not run into any other wolves as of yet, and she hoped it would remain that way. Unless the creatures she encountered proved to be friendly, Wicked was not a combat-equipped creature, her illness stealing from her much needed endurance and power.

Eerie smirk of purest ivory glinted through the dark trees, what lay behind that smirk was a mystery that lay hidden and would not be revealed in Wicked could help it. The thief, the trickster, Wicked had been known as many titles over the course of her young life, and she hoped to keep these titles refreshed and renewed as she grew older and wiser.

[shiga]

Entrée exagérée.

On occasion, namely everyday, the mix made it customary to make a spectacle of himself. Today was no different. Although on this particular day he was being 'good'. He strayed away from the territories where others would actually be able to see him. He, with reasoning he couldn't quite place, found himself trailing along a narrow embankment lining a disgustingly muddy trail which had been dubbed 'Dante's Pass' by the locals. The name had intrigued him first and foremost.'What, did he come here and make an ass of himself.. must've, to get the damned place named after him.'

He closed his eyes in mild repulsion at the thought of that mangy cripple. What scum of a brother...what filth of a family member...what trash of a canine...what...

a stupid thing to do...

Due to his half-a-second decision to have his eyes closed while walking edgily along the side of the precipice, an unnoticed slip of a paw sent the brute tumbling face-first into the pathway below. He clumsily righted himself, steering his bulk down the incline so as not to collide with any trees. The friction of his overly-large rear collected muddy sediment, somewhat slowing him down. So much so that at the edge his descent, where mud met mud he stopped completely, the propulsion of his fall sending him flipping (quite awkwardly) into a conveniently placed muddied puddle.

He slowly gave himself time to register what had happened. Fall > Flip > Mud > Mad... He slowly arose from the submissive position which the flip had put him in and ungracefully shook his coat of what little mud would come loose. A soft, guttural growl escaped from the now crusted lips. 'Damnit, Dante...' It was his fault, undoubtedly.

He trodded slowly away from the demonic puddle and set himself in a small patch of grass. As he commenced grooming himself, out of the corner of his eye he spotted a frail, sickly looking wolf a slight ways ahead of him. He stopped mid-lick and froze.

'Please don't look back, please don't look back...'

[wicked]

Seclusion invaded. Wicked had been continuing her lengthy trot but at this point had slowed herself down to a leisurely walk, all the while listening, and sniffing the air. Wicked may've been somewhat sickly, but she was not a fool, terrible this had happened in this pass that had not gone without the notice of the young wolf as she nodded to herself, always keeping her guard.

Good thing too. As Wicked's cautiousness was put to the test with a sudden thud heard some way behind her. Then, before the she wolf could turn around, whatever had fallen had slid dome ways down the hill and splashed into the muddy soil beneath the toes of the she-wolf. Stopping dead in her tracks, Wicked's delicate head swiveled around slowly, broad ears twitching and set high and forward on her skull.

What a sight this was, what appeared to be a large, hybrid brute had clumsily let himself stumble and fall onto the puddle below. A smirk appeared on Wicked's lips once again as she chuckled once, 'Heh...' before regaining a more serious composure. Turning her entire body around now to face the intruder of her solitude, Wicked's delicate features hardened as she eyed the male, sizing him up. The immediate thing that Wicked noticed was the brute's sheer size and mass. He was far bigger than any wolf she had ever encountered herself and she wondered what monstrous type of canine could produce such offspring.

Sniffing the air between them cautiously, Wicked took only two steps forward, closing the gap between the two a bit. She knew that she would not be able to possibly dream of fighting him off if he indeed chose to be hostile, but then again, that's where Wicked's wits came into play.

Now, an awkward silence filled the space between the two canines as Wicked kept her place some careful distance separated from the large male. Now that she had sized up the situation that was now forming, Wicked was now able to place the common smirk on her maw once again, raising an eyebrow slightly as she stared at the clumsy cream brute just a few paces ahead of her. She kept silent, but simply waited for the male to make a move, to prove to her whether he could be considered friend or foe.

[shiga]

[ Sorry for the delay, I'll try to post either tonight or sometime tomorrow. ]