Post by Akante on Sept 12, 2010 14:05:09 GMT -5
HOOPLA
The brute made a ruckus. He wallowed in the water, at first, and then, when all seemed serene and perfect, he seemed to throw himself to the side. A tsunami of waves surged up from the splashes, the timber's shadowy figure immersing itself in the cold, nighttime lakewater. The water, so cool and refreshing, sent shivers up and down his spine, the chilling sensation stretching down through his nerves. Down his legs and tail, seeming to wrap around, just as a snake caresses the tree it slithers upon. The cold itself would send any sane creature away, knowing that the sun would be its best chance of warming up, and in these late hours, the sun was too far away to send a glimmer of hope. But this Immune was not sane. And he knew better. He had been cooped up, under the chokng claim of the Plague for the past month. He knew that he needed to wash up, feeling his own pelt clump and mat over, the oils and dirt cling to his skin. It was disgusting, and unacceptable. Now that he was soaked, he moved closer to the shallower water, where he could roll around while only barely becoming submerged. Auds held firmly against his cranium, he could feel his hot chills being swept away, as though pulled away from his body as soon as the freezing water hit his body. Rolling around, over and over again for a good minute or two, Hoopla threw himself up, head towards the sky, gasping for a breath. He looked down at the water, which was up at his ankles, and studied it. The ripples seemed to cling around his legs, curving around them as they moved forwards. His pale green eyes, shining once again, narrowed in observation. He stared, his glare as insane as he had always been. His mad scientist thoughts were consuming him again. A method of torture rose up into his imagination... And with that, the crudest of sneers spread wide across his maw, his teeth flaunting themselves in the bright moonlight. Glistening. Marvel at them, fool... marvel.
The brute hauled himself ashore, taking deathly heavy steps on the frozen ground beneath him. The summer that had craddled him for the past couple of months had been pushed aside in the lastest storm. Praesidium had sent his thundering rains but only two nights ago, and since then, the frigid temperatures had acquainted themselves with Imperium's territory. The Reaper didn't mind, not that much. During his ailment, his times of isolation, he had stocked up on herbs and bark and plants. He had more than enough to last a good four months, that is, unless another catastrophe should occur. Closing his eyes slowly, with brows furrowed, Hoopla stopped dead in his tracks. Why was the pack under this horrid challenge? Why were the gods testing their strength, when they knew so well of their loyalty? The soft, green glow of his eyes seemed to explode as his eyes opened sharply, glaring fiercely ahead of him. His gaze wasn't set upon any creature or object in particular, no. It was more of a general frustration. He felt overwhelmed, as could only be expected in his recovery. He had so much to catch up on. Apparently Whiteraine had gained rank, as had Lance... that damned pup. He was a fool, and the Immune hadn't been ill, he would've objected to the boy's challenge for rank. Such an arrogant, immature, inexperienced and selfish creature shouldn't hold a powerful rank. Hell, maybe even Flark could do better than Lance. Now that was saying something. Whatever.
Hoopla wouldn't trouble himself with the fools among his pack. Their weaknesses would come crashing down upon them soon enough.
Exhaling curtly, the timber brute lowered his head ever so slightly as he strode leisurely towards the shadows of the trees. He eyed the ground before him, noting every detail before his paws troubled themselves atop of them. As his near-black body was swallowed into the pitch black mouth of the forest, a snort burst into the silence, claiming this spot of land for the wolf. He lay down, curling up, attempting to warm and dry his pelt at the same time. His belly and legs were easily warmed, and it was then that Hoopla could sense how cold the water had been, for the chils returned. He opened his maw, barely, to prevent the chittering of teeth. Preventing the give-away of his position, his hiding place. He leaned back, letting his warm pink tongue stroke through his pelt, licking off the excess, freezing water while warming himself at the same time. Down the back, through the tail, and around his legs. He continued this for a few good minutes, until his tongue felt too cold to continue. It was then that he huddle closer, tail wrapped around his body, and over his maw as he rested his head atop his forepaws. His eyes glared diligently back over to the lake, which lay no more than fifteen yards away. Second, minute, two minutes passed. His gaze didn't falter.
Fuck, it was cold.
Cleanse oneself. the plague must be ridden of.
The brute made a ruckus. He wallowed in the water, at first, and then, when all seemed serene and perfect, he seemed to throw himself to the side. A tsunami of waves surged up from the splashes, the timber's shadowy figure immersing itself in the cold, nighttime lakewater. The water, so cool and refreshing, sent shivers up and down his spine, the chilling sensation stretching down through his nerves. Down his legs and tail, seeming to wrap around, just as a snake caresses the tree it slithers upon. The cold itself would send any sane creature away, knowing that the sun would be its best chance of warming up, and in these late hours, the sun was too far away to send a glimmer of hope. But this Immune was not sane. And he knew better. He had been cooped up, under the chokng claim of the Plague for the past month. He knew that he needed to wash up, feeling his own pelt clump and mat over, the oils and dirt cling to his skin. It was disgusting, and unacceptable. Now that he was soaked, he moved closer to the shallower water, where he could roll around while only barely becoming submerged. Auds held firmly against his cranium, he could feel his hot chills being swept away, as though pulled away from his body as soon as the freezing water hit his body. Rolling around, over and over again for a good minute or two, Hoopla threw himself up, head towards the sky, gasping for a breath. He looked down at the water, which was up at his ankles, and studied it. The ripples seemed to cling around his legs, curving around them as they moved forwards. His pale green eyes, shining once again, narrowed in observation. He stared, his glare as insane as he had always been. His mad scientist thoughts were consuming him again. A method of torture rose up into his imagination... And with that, the crudest of sneers spread wide across his maw, his teeth flaunting themselves in the bright moonlight. Glistening. Marvel at them, fool... marvel.
Clean. fresh. immaculate. the Reaper is back.
The brute hauled himself ashore, taking deathly heavy steps on the frozen ground beneath him. The summer that had craddled him for the past couple of months had been pushed aside in the lastest storm. Praesidium had sent his thundering rains but only two nights ago, and since then, the frigid temperatures had acquainted themselves with Imperium's territory. The Reaper didn't mind, not that much. During his ailment, his times of isolation, he had stocked up on herbs and bark and plants. He had more than enough to last a good four months, that is, unless another catastrophe should occur. Closing his eyes slowly, with brows furrowed, Hoopla stopped dead in his tracks. Why was the pack under this horrid challenge? Why were the gods testing their strength, when they knew so well of their loyalty? The soft, green glow of his eyes seemed to explode as his eyes opened sharply, glaring fiercely ahead of him. His gaze wasn't set upon any creature or object in particular, no. It was more of a general frustration. He felt overwhelmed, as could only be expected in his recovery. He had so much to catch up on. Apparently Whiteraine had gained rank, as had Lance... that damned pup. He was a fool, and the Immune hadn't been ill, he would've objected to the boy's challenge for rank. Such an arrogant, immature, inexperienced and selfish creature shouldn't hold a powerful rank. Hell, maybe even Flark could do better than Lance. Now that was saying something. Whatever.
Hoopla wouldn't trouble himself with the fools among his pack. Their weaknesses would come crashing down upon them soon enough.
The shadow reclaims his place among the trees.
Exhaling curtly, the timber brute lowered his head ever so slightly as he strode leisurely towards the shadows of the trees. He eyed the ground before him, noting every detail before his paws troubled themselves atop of them. As his near-black body was swallowed into the pitch black mouth of the forest, a snort burst into the silence, claiming this spot of land for the wolf. He lay down, curling up, attempting to warm and dry his pelt at the same time. His belly and legs were easily warmed, and it was then that Hoopla could sense how cold the water had been, for the chils returned. He opened his maw, barely, to prevent the chittering of teeth. Preventing the give-away of his position, his hiding place. He leaned back, letting his warm pink tongue stroke through his pelt, licking off the excess, freezing water while warming himself at the same time. Down the back, through the tail, and around his legs. He continued this for a few good minutes, until his tongue felt too cold to continue. It was then that he huddle closer, tail wrapped around his body, and over his maw as he rested his head atop his forepaws. His eyes glared diligently back over to the lake, which lay no more than fifteen yards away. Second, minute, two minutes passed. His gaze didn't falter.
Fuck, it was cold.