[private] if crazy = genius, then i'm an effing arsonist; maugie

[Jackel]

Those inky crones circled.


Round and around and around.  I watch them for awhile like that, with my head tipped back and my tail twitching back and forth, waiting to see if they’d be turn their backs on cowardice and make a dash for it.  But they do not sadly.  Sadly, because there’s little more than I love than a good bout and romp of catch the birdie.  And don’t listen to them if they try to tell you otherwise - they actually love the attention and the little nibbles I give them when I pluck out their feathers one by one by one.  


Instead of our wholesome family game today and being a flock of spoilsports, they perch atop a barren canopy in bickering observance, far too off for my capabilities to reach them.  But they watch me and I watch them, coming to an impasse of sorts until wretched boredom finally makes me wheeze against the cold winter’s breath.


I rise and leave the evening’s kill to the beggars.


The rolling of my shoulders and the grand strides they take carry me beyond the clearing.  The churning river sings somewhere up ahead, calling me to her with a flourishing chorus of gurgles and roars. It’s not often that I don’t obey her, not often at all, especially not when the gold of my glorious coat is stained and drenched in pinks and reds.  I’ll wonder time and time again and marvel at how I’ve gotten blood into every little nook and cranny and crevice along my lithe body.  It shouldn’t be possible, but what can I say?  I’m just a very enthusiastic eater.  Really though, I ought to tone it down some.


“Splish splash!” I purr eagerly in greeting, curling around her sloping edges with fluid, catty grace.  Sinking my paws into the bed that she had laid, the cold bites earnestly at my toes and I suck in a sharp breath.  It’s quite unexpected and oh so delightful. “River,” my sugar-sweet voice whispers just above the plane water, as if she were the keeper of all of my secrets, “Was that the correct way to say hello in Water language?”



@[Maugrim] tldr she looks like a blood stained cheetah and is talking to the river lol

[Maugrim]

Drowned.

Drowned in darkness, drowned in emptiness; it’s all he knows.

He only wishes to share the heavy feeling, the way the water presses so tightly against his skin that it leaves him quite literally breathless; the way the eyesight turns dark around the edges until it is all he sees.

Of course, Maugrim has the ability to survive such a feeling. Those he comes across - not so much. 

Sometimes, when he is not floating idly at the deepest pit of the ocean, he follows the deltas with their freshwater feeds, entering into the rivers and feasting on the hapless saps that wander above the water. He remains motionless and unseen beneath the wildly bubbling river, his essence locked in place by his power and his need to satiate his uncontrollable urge to bring anything down to his level.

Though unseen, his watery face scowls at the one who stands over him now. It is hard to forget such a voice, and though it is not wearing the same skin he remembers, its wild antics and specific cat-calling are enough to cause the watery beast to emerge. 

Feeling slightly unnerved with being in his own solid body, the poseidon grasps at the cold flowing river with barely a thought, bringing droplets into the pearled ivory and deep green of his patched flesh, unused to the dryness of the outside landscape. It keeps him damp, water still trickling gently from the tangled tendrils of his mane, dripping down his neck and muscled shoulders as if he is still beneath its current, to where it began to pool and turn the dirt beneath his hooves into mud. Her voice commands a soft twitch of his ears towards her, keeping his attention, but he barely hears her. His bottomless eyes still scour where they wish, taking in the predator with a calmness that only comes with knowing he could not be harmed. 

The mud squelches beneath his weighted movement, shifting towards her ever so slightly. 

He’s already imagining her watery demise, for that is all he ever thinks about,  a beautiful grave that he would create just for her. 

Maugrim’s lips pressed together thoughtfully, nearly expressionless, before he decides a smile here would do quite nicely. His mouth curls into that fanciful grin - almost handsomely so, if the dried skin of his lips didn’t crack with the movement. Unphased, he runs his tongue across the deep rivets on his mouth, moistening them. “The water has no language you could speak, kitty.

@[Jackel]