City of Gold [Brushfire, Alteron]

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

Eldorado

A chase after non existing dreams and hopes, the dream of fortune and fame to all be in your hand and control. It was a dangerous search and hunt, a dangerous world you would enter and chase your entire life to never find, die unhappy, unpleased and unsatisfied. Greed would consume you, kill your joy for life, your one and main reason to live was to find the treasure, the selected target marked with an X on the map. Never would you get far, never would you find what you wanted or were looking for. You mainly cast away your life for a chest of gold, a setup of dreams and hopes that never were real. Gold diggers and the like search for this their entire life. And if. If it existed and they ever found it, ever stood with it in their hands, earned and got the gold, the treasure and fame. What would they do with it? Where would they go, what would they live for? They found their dreams, they found their hopes, the lived out the life they searched, they stand with everything at hand, there would be no greed left, you would have it all, what should become of your life then? You lived only to chase the treasure, and you won it, you got the handsome girl, the gold and fame.

Game over.

Life has ended, that’s what happens. And some in the jungle knew of it. The jungle was no Eldorado; no city of gold, no life of gold or purpose, there was nothing here. No gold, no fame, there was just the game, the tricking game to lure you into the danger of the jungle. Brushfire saw the truth now, she could see behind the big screen on the wall now, she could see how it worked now. It was disgusting. That was all it was, it wasn’t mighty or pretty, it wasn’t gold, and the orange female had it all wrong. It was no Shangri-la, it was hell, Eldorado and dreams were just the display on the screen on the wall, now when you bought it, went into it, you were a part of the game. You were a part of the nothingness, the empty feeling that consumed you and so easily killed you. She hadn’t died yet, but she often felt dead.

She couldn’t help it, after so long, walking and being surrounded, the trees were like walls, mighty standing, pointing toward the sky and cover it and the sun to never let her see the sunlight again. She was a captive, it was not home, it was a prison. She didn’t even feel like walking anymore. She didn’t even feel like trying to be a part of the display on the screen. But she had to, to fit in, she had to fit into it to be there. Every day was a punishment, a punishment she knew never would end and she could not engage to it. It was too painful. She wished for it to end, but not for lifetime. She wanted to live, but she wanted to live happily as well.

Was that so. Impossible?

[Akante]

Khione said:

For Khione, this was a city of gold.
Pretty flowers waiting to be ripped up, pretty little faces to make ugly. This was a place full of things waiting to be upset and he pranced around like the crazy little beast he was. His long face was still alive with childish glee, his white fur once again grey and shabby, like a raincloud. His eyes gleamed like a summer's sky. It was a weather of appearances for Khione. He continued to trot through the forest, tongue lolling from his evil smile.

It was all a ploy. In reality, his mind was working overtime. He was still aiming to be noticed. Aiming to achieve his lifelong dream: to become a spy and betray the 'we'll-take-you-in-and-love-you-forever!' packs for the sake of Alteron. He'd love to see their faces. How innocent little Khione had ran and ratted them out to the big, mean Alteronians. Oh, where had they gone wrong? What had made him do it? Maybe they'd be angry. He hoped they would be, it would be more fun if he was marked for death. It would make his name more infamous. Khione the blue-eyed spy. His favourite weapon was his grin, he knew how to flash it. Dimples appeared across both cheeks as it spread. Just like butter.

He saw the mournful female in the sun. Healthy and yet not so healthy. A timber, fury of greys, oranges and browns covered her body in neat markings. Despite her obvious distress, she seemed to be of higher rank than him. A sentry maybe? Khione approached her, openly curious of this female. She was older than she was - like most of the wolves here - he eyed her with those blue eyes. He didn't know what was wrong with her but he had some idea... He always had ideas. "Cheer up," he chuckled. "Things could be a lot worse, you could be dead." It was the truth, weakness got you killed in Alteron and if any royalty saw this female moping. That would be the end of her and it would be such a shame; she was quite pretty. Damaged but pretty.

[Akante]

Trent said:

Every day was exactly the same.

That much was certain, that much was true - yet at the same time he could not help but wonder, was it really? Could Trent say with any true certainty that there were such things as days anymore in this screaming, bloated vision of Hell? That any shackle of time could constrain the black and stringy deformation, rife with tar and convulsing with corruption, the monster that was Alteron? The mother that devoured all she birthed with some malformed version of love, ruining them until they resembled her in all her hideous beauty - only until every last soul trapped in her belly was just as imperfect and broken as she.

There was no meaning to anything anymore. Where once Trent had found glory and some twisted sense of beauty in the vast green sprawl of his motherland, there was simply a gaping absence much like a scalpel had gouged out his heart. The feelings had been burned from him and soldered into something else, something more sure and yet less sure; his wings had been stripped of their white feathers and replaced with barbwire and bullet shells. Trent looked upon the masses from his grassy perch at the knell and could muster only... nothing. The engine of his empathy was a dying car that coughed and sputtered black smoke every time you turned the ignition, running on empty. They had not gone through what he had gone through, they had not known the horror of horror, and thus from this a disconnection began to spawn - a disassociation from the naivete of innocence.

With a rattling sigh, the Beetle inhaled the stale forest air, pausing to cautiously eye the waysides of the trees as he walked on. Besides his shattering of spirit, the one thing that haunted him the most was a dire need for caution. It wasn't even a want anymore, no, he needed it, NEEDED IT or else everything would not be okay and he'd descend into that private realm of abandoned paradise called Hell.

Voices on the horizon; the rustling sound of paws moving against the underbrush, disturbing the detritus.

Things could be a lot worse, you could be dead.

The statement struck Trent as morbidly perfect, and a ragged grin appeared on his vagrant's face, a thing no longer charming but slightly off, slightly crooked, and the scar on his lip no longer served to make it good-humored; only betrayed a glinting white slip of tooth as if taken by madness. With an unseemly grace Trent drifted towards the pair, cackling under his breath at how goddamn fucking perfect those words were. It was like the kid had read his mind and then translated it into something so blandly simple it became a bizarre and lilting parody. Purposely he kept them to his left, so that his scarred eye was mostly shielded. "Don't believe what they tell you, kid," The wolf said with an indolent and slightly sad grin, amused by the bitter irony and the white wolf's obvious newness. He stuck out in all the worst ways. "Sooner or later, you'll find out it wasn't true."

Sooner or later, you'll be lost, too; mother Alteron will eat you whole and spit the bare bones of your dreams out. And then you'll know the face of death.

Trent paused to eye Brushfire with his characteristic hardness, although it softened some with an odd pity - and a knowledge held close to the chest, a pain they both knew. "You've been gone," He said gently, an undercurrent of sympathetic comfort and a silent question present in those three grizzled words.

[Akante]

Epee said:

|Okay. Thanks. (: Of course if it doesn't fit, I guess I could always delete my post. It's no biggie. But off topic~ omfg. Benny I<3YOURICONSOMUCH. lol. Gosh. That movie. Dear goodness. haha.|

---

Painting the roses red
We're painting the roses red
We dare not stop
Or waste a drop
So let the paint be spread
We're painting the roses red
We're painting the roses red.
- - - -
- - - -
Epee marched through the forest, her feet slamming into the ground. Anger filled her mind, her body, her heart, her soul. It rushed through her veins, coursing like a stampede of wild buffalo -- predators at bay, barely. Running, running for all they were worth. The weak got left behind, the sick were easily sacrificed, the young were put to their first battle of wits. Escaping the predator that chased them. You took care of each other, as a herd, protecting, believing, loving. Until the fateful day a predator does come knocking -- then it's every man for himself, all for none, and one for one; that was all. She laid her ears back on her head, her hazel eyes glowing in the dark corridors of Alteron. She was beginning to know them, one by one, learning, finding, searching. She knew back paths, routes, short cuts -- all like the back of her palm.

Everyday new doors opened to her; either by choice, or by force. If they were barricaded, she flattened the gates, strode into the main courtyard, and opened them herself. Her rebellious stage had kicked in -- or what she would ever have of one, and she was not happy. Nothing suited her -- nothing was what she wanted. She wanted it all; and she wanted it then. And yet...and yet. Even the worlds greatest wouldn't suit her appetite. The good king Atlas could kneel to her height and give her the globe on a silver, no no. Better yet -- a gold platter, and she would ask for the utensils along with it. For the salt, for the pepper, finely ground, just enough to give the dish pizazz. And God forbid -- it choke her up, cause her throat to swell with the spicy delicacy of it's interior as a herb, and a glass of water would have to be fetched to soothe her aching jugular. God. Forbid. But she was learning fast -- that there was one person that would not suit her, even as Atlas would; Alteron. Mother Alteron, dear sweet, life giving, life bearing, life tromping, Mother Alteron.

Oh, painting the roses
And many a tear we shed
Because we know
They'll cease to grow
In fact, they'll soon be dead.

The new found power of Alteron itself dumbfounded Epee -- leaving her hiding, deep within the confines of the darkest corners. What gave her so much power? How did she bend and break the strongest of the strong? The bravest of the brave? The best leaders that they had? When she was little, Epee experienced a little of what sort of power Mother Alteron held -- through Blade, her Father. He held mightiness in his every move, his every glance, his every word. Where did it come from? How did he receive it? Was it given to him through birth? Did he apply for it at some unrevealed location? Did he drink from a goblet containing a power serum? She had to know. She was dying to know. Power surged beneath the thick layers of death that coated Alteron; a friendly charm, a lovely quirk -- that's what they called it. That's what it was known as. But it wasn't just a feeling; it was an actual event. The power had a name. And it was all under the ruling of her family. Rapier, Scimitar, Blade, the Royal Family. How did it come to be? Who was she? How did she come to be? She frowned, and kept marching. Things could not bend to her power when they were bent to Mother Alteron's...

And then.

"You've been gone," Who had been gone? She stopped mid-track, her temper boiling in her ears. She was having one of those little kid moments -- throwing a tantrum, just because they could. Just. Because. They. Could. She whirled to her left, and skulked her way through a thick bracket of brush, and to a clearing where three scents met her nose. One -- a female. She boiled a little more. A tri-colored female sat, sulking, alone. She frowned. And then -- a male. A white-gray coat covered his back, and blue eyes stood out against them. A younger male -- like her, except older. She could smell mischief rise off him in wafts. And then another -- she thought. She squeezed the rest of the way through the brush to get a good look at the speaker -- he was obviously male. He was...him. Her heart seemed to stutter, and she should have stopped staring to take a few breathes of fresh air to make sure she was okay, but she couldn't look away. She felt blood rush to her cheeks, her paws, her ears, and her whole body warmed up. Sizzling, popping, electricity pulsing through her veins -- but this time, not because she was angry. She didn't know what was going on.

She never before had a crush, and Dagger had never talked to her about...males. Epee had never had interest -- not that Epee thought Dagger knew much about males, other then her Father. Dagger bowed to meet every whim Blade had -- literally. Bowed. But Epee hadn't the slightest idea how to react to this...notion. This...thing that had risen up inside her chest. Nor did she know it was a crush. Sure, it would appeal to her interest later that night when she thought of it laying in her tree-hut, and she would be sunk. But who was this? What effect did he have on her? Her ears slanted to the sides, and she drew closer -- unwillingly. She was staring. He was gorgeous. Deep scars gouged his face, and age lay, resting, waiting, watching in his bones -- but she hardly saw any of those factors. She saw what she saw. Her dream guy; perfection wrapped in a box, tied with a bow, and put on her front door step. Who was he?

"Gone where?" As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she wished she could take them back. She had done something she hadn't done since she was a puppy -- let the first thing come out of her mouth that came to mind instead of thinking it through. Even more blood rushed to her cheeks. What was wrong with her? But it was too late now -- the words were in the air, flying to the other three that had gathered together. Open for opinion, open for criticism, but most of all, open for feedback. But the only feedback she'd be hearing is if it came from him. She wanted him -- she didn't know what for yet, but she knew from somewhere deep inside her that she wanted him. Trent -- as she would come to find out. And she would find a way to kill Mother Alteron if she didn't get what she wanted -- not everybody bowed to the same Queen. She be damned if she did -- if she didn't get what she wanted. Hello, Mother Alteron, meet Epee.

The Queen
she likes 'em red
If she saw white instead
She'd raise a fuss
And each of us
Would quickly lose his head.

---

|AHAHA. Puppy crush, much? LOL. (

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

Silence. A solemn silence filled the air as the she-wolf just sat there. Her eyes looked out, expecting something that was never to come. Copper eyes were just waiting for that chest of gold to appear, for her hopes to have some reason to exist. She wanted to find that key to eternal happiness, that key that would lead her to the treasure. To her hopes and dreams. But if the treasure was not real, how could the key be real? Could she ever find it? Would it ever appear for her? A quiet sigh escaped her lips, her eyes closing if only for a second. She wanted to slowly sink into the mud, to let the earth beneath her engulf her, bit by bit. She wanted to be gone, to be away from this stronghold that had had her in chains for years. She wanted freedom. She'd been seeking it for years, hoping that it would appear in her most desperate times. But did it ever? No, and the pain of realizing this made her heart throb, her lungs feel weak, her throat close up. She was losing all hope. Alteron was consuming her...

"Cheer up. Things could be a lot worse, you could be dead."

The Sentry turned to see the white male who'd said those words. Who was he? He obviously did not know of the Alteron that he spoke of. Passing the ghost of a creature for a Peasant, Brushfire turned her whole body around to face it. If only she could be dead. If only she didn't have to live every day with the pains that gnaw at her from the inside out. Each morning she wakes up with less and less of herself alive, and more and more of the empty shell that Alteron wants. That Rapier wants. "If only things could be that simple..." Morose words escape her tongue, her eyes lifeless as they gazed over to the white male she'd directed them at. He needed to learn of the hell he had enslaved himself in. And if he didn't want to learn, he'd be eaten sooner than he would even be able to have a second thought. There were no second chances in this place. There was no time for second thoughts or second guesses. You needed to be quick on your feet and on your tongue, otherwise you'd end up like... Brushfire. Lost.
But before the troubled soul could even think on the subject one more second, her guardian angel swooped down. "Don't believe what they tell you, kid. Sooner or later, you'll find out it wasn't true." Trent... "You've been gone," She almost whimpered at the relief that fell over her. it wasn't much, but considering how bleak the she-wolf had just been, it was enough to make her swoon. She got on her paws, at a rather decent pace, and walked over to her Beetle. She kept her head low, ears laid back. She wasn't trying to be submissive, more-so she was trying to show trent how much she appreciated him being here... how she needed his kind words. They were as uplifting as Blade's could be. Even if he said something completely random, the fact that he was speaking to her in a less than crude manner was enough to please the Sentry. Her copper eyes looked up into his lone eye, the odd mix of pain and gratitude shimmering. The pain that she lived with, that had increased dramatically as of late. And the gratitude that she felt towards him. But she had to answer him... he was her superior...

"I know, Trent." Her eyes looked down, shame and sadness weighing her shoulders down again, "These lands and its... creatures, have been testing me. And I fell to them, weakened. But I'm ready to get back up..." She looked up at him again, "Will you help me?"

She needed help. Brushfire had been gone in more ways than one. She'd attended a few acceptances, back when they were open, but not enough. But that was just being absent from her duties. She'd been gone in another way. Her spirit, in every way, shape, and form, had been gone. Ever since she'd learned of Ridge and azuhel, Ru had fallen apart and had been unable to put herself back together. She was a puzzle with its pieces scattered all over the forest. She hadn't been able to find what she had needed to pull herself together and overcome what had happened to her. But she needed her friends, her strength and support. Those had been gone, too. But Trent was here now, and hopefully the two could talk privately later. After this. Away from the others. There was much that needed to be discussed. Perhaps he knew what to do, perhaps he knew exactly what Brushfire needed. Oh, she hoped so. But hopes were cut short as a small voice caught her attention.

"Gone where?"

Copper eyes turned to see a she-wolf. Wait... Brushfire's eyes widened, auds perked forwards. She seemed to be a replica of Blade, himself. Had this been the litter that he had mentioned? He and Dagger? Two of her closest and most trusted friends. Snapping out of the realizational shock, Ru took a step towards the female, unsure of what to say. "Erm, nothing. He just hasn't seen me in a while..." How should she word this...? "You... Is Blade your-your father?" There, blunt words. She wanted an answer, so there was no use sugar-coating anything she said. Staring at this female, Brushfire felt a little more comfortable. It was like having Blade around. And if he were around, here, at this time, then Ru would be off to a good recovery. Blade and Trent. Two trustworthy companions who knew the Sentry and knew her well... But the pain that lived inside of her, she still felt it. It was throbbing at her heart, and she couldn't ignore it. It seemed like no one could make it go away. They could try to soothe it, to cover it up. But it was impossible to rid Ru of her broken heart...

[Akante]

Khione said:

"If only things could be that simple..."

Khione laughed harshly. "It is simple," he held out his two paws. "You're either dead or you're alive. Dead is where you're no longer breathing, no longer seeing or feeling and life, well, besides the breathing part, there really is no difference in Alteron." He then turned to see a huge male coming towards them. Fur made up on different shades of tan and brown and a long scar spreading from his jaw. Important, much? Khione was about to bow to the obviously superior male when he spoke.

"Don't believe what they tell you, kid, sooner or later, you'll find out it wasn't true."

"I have no truth in my life, I never will," Khione said coolly, he turned back to the female. Simple and pretty against the harsh environment and as opposed to the large male, she was untainted by Alteron's brute force. She had left? Khione thought no-one could leave Alteron. Maybe he'd made an error by greeting a higher-up like that, he said nothing during their conversation but merely stared between them as another female appeared. He raised an eyebrow. She looked more defined and confident than the other female. Royalty.

"Gone where?"

Khione smiled slyly. "Wouldn't we like to know?" he said, although he hadn't even been listening to the conversation. The girl intrigued him - not because of her fine looks but because of her rank. The Royalty must have a good few more members than he thought. He hadn't thought about the Prince having pups too. "Khione, peasent." He introduced himself for a curt nod.

[Akante]

Trent said:

Another wry little statement, another cold strike of irony that lanced at Trent with hideous bone-jarring amusement, and a numbness a little bit like creeping apathy. But that was wrong, had to be wrong, because wasn't he supposed to be the good guy here, the only one left who knew how to feel anymore? The gap was widening, the chasm deepening, the ground beneath him falling away into emptiness... and all he could do now was sit on his ruined throne and look down on the masses with a repulsion so strong it curdled into nihilism; the broken right hand of Alteron's monstrous gods. Just another lieutenant without a face, another pawn moving pawns across the chessboard, shepherding the masses under the watchful eye of empty-hearted dictators. Trent's smile was the smile of a sarcastic shark as he swung his head around back to face Khione. "An intellectual on our hands, I see. Quaint."

The white one was no different from the rest. Oh, he could pretend and masquerade and wear faces at the ball, as most did at first, but it changed nothing and nothing would change it. He was mouthy and full of familiar arrogance, the kind that came right before Alteron's noose slipped down and 'round the jaw with artful finesse and choked the pride to death. A rather artful metaphor, perhaps, because what usually ended up happened was somebody hung the noose for real, and not so gentle, either - as Khione would eventually learn, if not by Trent's own hand.

Pawns, maggots, dust. Worth nothing. Pieces could be replaced. Dogs could be put down. Weapons could be refurbished from other, older bits of scrap, or honed from an endless assortment of untouched metal. He was expendable and didn't seem to understand a single thread of this, didn't seem to realize he was not a miracle, and it was - it was -

disgusting.

Trent could feel amusement dissipate into irritation as the wolf went on. Found himself descending Jacob's Ladder, rather than ascending it - found that lip of his curling up and over gums and teeth in a lupine expression of disgruntlement, and his ears perked challengingly. "I don't care who you are. I see maggots on a daily basis, maggot, and even if they could talk I wouldn't give a lick about their names because they're all the same - and besides, nobody asked you anyways. 'Peasant'," Emphasis on the P and the T. "is not something to be proud of. Earn your arrogance... and tell me then about your truth." Sick of everything. Sick of the faceless multitudes that crowed around him, begging and screaming and howling as they clambered over top of each other, 'memenoMEpickMElKILLDIEEATTHECHILDRENKILLFUCKFIGHT.' It was enough to drive him to the floor with madness. Names were useless words in a sea of already useless things, but only until they gained gravity - and then? There were none who could not say the name RAPIER did not elicit some kind of reaction, some sliver of knowing.

He'd phased out the starting part of Brushfire's words, and her hopeful approach, but came back to reality near the end.

Will you help me?

The male turned away from his momentary dive into disconnection, and though anger still lingered in his green eye, Brushfire was so pitiful a creature that he could not help but let that fury falter. His sigh was heavy and resigned, and his gaze dropped away from hers to stare bitterly into the depths of the forest. Some part of him, the undamaged part that screamed from under the pillow it was slowly being suffocated with, reached back at Brushfire with the same hurt and feeble hand. Was it empty pity or empathy? "Ah, Ru... " Trent said quietly, casting a distrusting look back at Khione, all too aware of the not-so-far distance that separated the two sentries and how... unprofessional it must appear. Yet at the same time he could see a mirror of himself reflected in the shame and loneliness visible in her and did not care of closeness because his only instinct was to comfort.

"Anything you ask of me, I - I'll be there." For you. So heartfelt. Almost as if nothing had happened at all.

But it seemed that wherever the Beetle went, there was bound to be an audience. A small, astutely feminine voice had peeped up at him from the sidelines, and with a fine arc of his neck - so as to see, even if his depth perception was shot to hell and back (somehow saying 'wasn't what it once was' isn't quite right) - the male observed the newcomer with his remaining dark green eye. She was young, just as innocent if not innocence idealized, and staring with wide-eyed something that Trent couldn't place. A strange kind of tension rose in his old bones, an awkwardness that made him raise his head and furrow his brow, and then look away with a deep frown, hearing but not really listening. Fragments of words, until - Blade. His last good eye narrowed slightly. "Places. I didn't mean literally. I'm very busy, you see." Of course, colleagues worry about this kind of shit, goddamnit. "Where's your daddy, kid?" And why don't you run on back to him, baby bunting. Trent made an odd face, canine slipping past his lower lip, looking quietly disgruntled.