don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive; any

[atrox]

hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

Atrox does not spend a particularly long time dwelling on what has been taken from him.

He has never been one to sink into his feelings—to dissect them and pull them apart and try to understand them from all of their various angles. It never felt particularly intuitive to let the pain wash over and through him. (This is one of many things that he does not see eye-to-eye on with his son Magnus.) Instead, he has become the master of compartmentalization. He takes the pain that he has grown used to throughout the centuries of his life here and in the time beyond and he moves it into some dark corner.

To be dealt with at some later time.

Or, if he was being honest, never.

So, instead of feeling that familiar rage at something being ripped from him again, he turns his attention to that which he has been given. He feels it slipping beneath his skin, a power that he can begin to flex and yet does not understand fully. It ripples through his body and he becomes a panther first. He stretches his feline body, as comfortable in this as he had been in his equine form, and yawns.

The forest is not somewhere that he has spent a particularly large amount of time, but he figures that it is as good a place of any to rest and then test the limits of his new gift. So, he crouches and then leaps up on the branches of one of the nearest trees, claws sinking into the wood and body climbing up easily.

When he gets to a low-hanging branch, he stretches out alongside it and, without a little amount of interest, he pulls into his new gift. It is uncomfortable, but shifting had been uncomfortable at first too.

But that had not given the same kind of results that this did.

He practically feels the crack in the soil, the ripping of the curtain that had already been torn apart, and he shivers with delight when he sees the two beings appear before him. They are no one he knows, or cares to know, and he smiles a feline smile at the way they tip back empty heads and look up with unseeing eyes. At the way life has been drained from them and yet they stand there, so obedient and quiet.

“Good,” he says with a satisfied smile, stretching to rest his heavy head on his paws.

“Now make yourself useful and keep watch.”

ATROX | THE PANTHER KING

[Ion]

It’s easy, in the wake of renewed grief, to forget the promise he had made in the afterlife. Easy to lose everything under the pressing weight of guilt and self-recrimination. Easier still to allow anger to stem the flow of tears and send him tearing from the beach, muscles ripping apart to reform into that of a sleek black panther (it needn’t have been painful, but when one feels they deserve it as Ion does, he relishes the tearing burn).

It also would have been very easy to fall back into that old routine in the forest, hiding from life inside this feline body. But anger sends him tearing through the trees, claws slashing hapless foliage into ribbons as a snarling, grief-filled yowl escapes his throat.

Claws dig into bark as he pulls himself abruptly into a tree, feet easily finding branches as he springs agilely through the canopy, as though he could outrun his own emotions. Quite unexpectedly, a small bird nearly slams into his face, causing him to flinch, his lips peeling back to reveal his teeth as he snaps instinctively at it. Rather than fleeing however, the little bird trills angrily at him, as though reprimanding his hubris. He growls, yellow eyes fixing with intent before a sudden sort of recognition reaches past the anger. He stills, blinking in surprise. For a time, he can only stare, which the wren appears to take as an invitation. Chirping brightly, the small brown bird flutters down, settling into his dark ruff without apparent thought or concern.

For a long minute, Ion only stares at where the bird had been a moment earlier before chuffing indignantly, tail twitching abruptly. Finally, with a sigh, he springs forward once more, bird burrowing into the dense hair of his neck as though it fully intends to come along for the ride. Which, as it turns out, it does. Though his rage had not entirely subsided, the appearance of the familiar little creature had allayed the worst of it.

Enough so that, when he leaps to the next tree and catches on unfamiliar feline scent, his first instinct is not simply ‘attack’. Stilling, Ion flattens himself against the branch, ears pressing against his skull as yellow eyes scan the foliage. Though he cannot yet see the source of the scent, he knows it’s close. Shifting back until his haunches are against the truck, he hisses, dark hair prickling as it rises from his skin.

Oops, my fingers slipped :|

[atrox]

hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

There was once a time where Atrox was the only panther to stalk Beqanna. The only one to feel the dirt of it beneath his claws. A time when there magic was not so rampant and there were not creatures that could fold themselves into a million different forms and figures—bending their body around their wishes. But he knows in his ancient heart (or he would, if he had one) that such a time has long passed. His own genes have begun to populate the world with the black cats and there have been others outside of his lineage.

Still, for all of the shapeshifters and magic-gifted shifters in the world, he is partial to the panthers.

Partial to the form that he himself chooses to wear more days than not.

So when he hears the hiss, it’s more interest than anything that causes Atrox to lift his heavy head from where it rests against massive paws. He swings it in the direction of the sound, his yellow eyes narrowing in thought as he searches the darkness for the source of it. Beneath him, he feels the creatures begin to stir slightly and he glances down, tail swinging beneath the tree, as he considers letting them loose.

“Calm down,” he finally snarls, although there is no heat to the words. He has no desire to deal with the mess that they could cause by guessing at his wishes and so he gives them his lazy version of an order. When he is confident that they will not gallop off into the darkness, he turns his attention back into the shadows of the trees. “No need to hide, little cat,” he finally calls out. “I don’t bite.”

But the way his lips spread into a feline grin deems that a lie.

ATROX | THE PANTHER KING

[prague]

prague

It has not been her first encounter with someone who had long passed. Prague remembers Atrox's rule, she remembers his lover affair with the Amazon Queen Twinge and how it led to her demise. Secretly, Prague was always envious of the ones who sat on the throne and found love but she also pitied them - they were always clouded in judgment by emotions. She watches the Panther King for some time as she listens to a younger male stalk from the treetops. Winter was probably the worst time for those like them, like her. While magic and abilities can help, things crack and break, snow falls; other creatures tell on you in the winter -- they have nothing better to do. She's just a tree over, the silver lioness and her smokey ears hear a creak in the branches ahead of her -- her amber eyes lock in on the younger male. She should be nice but she doesn't have time for cowards. Perhaps he wasn't one but it sure seemed like it.

She hears Atrox's "I don't bite" and it's just too much for her to contain, her giddiness almost childlike at the opportunity to play cat and mouse. She launches from her tree branch, bark breaking as she scales up the young males tree. Ears pinned and teeth snarled, a wicked grin upon her face. "He may not, but I do." She slaps at the young male, a robust roar releasing as she grabs the nape of his neck tightly, dragging him down the tree with her, bark flying and small branches snapping and breaking as she lands down towards Atrox. "Sometimes, as you know, you have to ambush the prey...it always taste a little better when the blood is hot with fear," she licks her lips, they salivate at the thought but...ah not the time, old woman. "As he said, calm down.." she reaches inside her mind as she lets go of the male, pacing away from him "Ion. Atrox is harmless." She purrs, a wry grin pulling at her teeth as she waits to see if he even remembers her by her voice. She realizes then that it had been some time she she spoke so she changes now, to the form more recognized - the stoic stance, the pale white skin against the dark forelock and amber eyes.

Out of all the women the Panther King had been with, she had not been one but they had crossed paths too many times to not know one another.

a touch of wicked

ooc; hope you guys don't mind! Insane said this was ok!