Post by Decipher on Nov 25, 2006 17:40:30 GMT -5
Okay. This is my newest baby, Luca-chu. I use her on Nevermore. Tell me if you like her? (There is a weebit of profanity...thought I'd try it out and see if it would work for her...)
‘Shit. It’s freaking cold out here. What the crap is going on??’
This pallid apparition that is stumbling over herself as she covers the whole of this dilapidated forest is drifting dangerously in and out of consciousness’ icy boundaries. It’s kind of funny, actually. ‘Step...Fuck—hole right there. Step—whoa; slippery ground.’ The forest is dejectedly iced over, the trees’ many naked claws and glittering fangs groping the heavy, frozen air for any remote tendril of life that had irresponsibly lingered past the southward fleeing of the hollow-boned avians. Such absence of the twittering songbirds had left the wandering female ghost in a deafening absence of sound; she had never quite been able to grasp the meaning of such an oxymoron as ‘deafening silence’. But one has to experience such a soul-voiding emptiness to fully grasp the concept.
“Goddammit!
I seem to be unable to walk five steps without tripping over some redundant tree branch. Why do I keep on falling into these damn holes? Why is everything spinning around so much? Ugh. Okay. Where am I? A forest...okay, we’ve got that much. Which forest?...Smells like whores doing their whoring; therefore, Bollin Forest. That kind of sucks; means the big boysare probably running around here, as well. I also understand that the General character is lurking around, taking some of the local mares with her. Didn’t quite pick her out as one who swings that way, but whatever floats your boat...SHIT my head hurts. Why am I in Bollin Forest? I wandered in here in a freaking absent-minded subconscious state. Hm. So why am I wandering around Nevermore in a freaking absent-minded subconscious state? Do I even remember yesterday? Nope. Day before? Nope. Man alive, I have no flipping idea what is going on. I stop, the entire planet tearing itself to shreds beneath my tractionless pinkish-gray rocks. My knees almost buckle, my balance gone, along with my awareness of what the crap is going on in and around me, as I perch unsteadily above a short drop to the hard-frosted morning ground. Then, as I tense my shoulders and haunches, my mind becomes as tumultuous as the earth whirling beneath my feet: I was striding carelessly across the frozen river last night. After that—shattering, falling, squealing, freezing, soaking, and...several undersized, dark entities yelling and grunting. They weren’t big and brawny like equids, but they weren’t seedy and small like wolves. They stood on two legs and had thin, strong arms. I assume whatever they were pulled me out and dragged my heaving frame to the shore, because when I awoke this morning, I was lying a few yards from the icy walkway, my barrel awkwardly covered in some sort of soft, warm encasement. But whatever the hell it was, it reeked of living, fermenting shit. So, naturally, I had my moment with the orange fuzzy thing, flinging it to the ground and pelting it with my rounded platforms. So. That must be why I have such a homicidal migraine.
“Aughhhhh.”
I moan with a good deal of volume, my vocal cords quite irregular and bitter, as the commonly are this early in the morning, the bulky threads scraping dryly, mercilessly against each other.
“I’m pretty damn bored, and it’s not like I have anything else to do...” I murmur to myself, my voice growly, sleepy, yawning. “Guess I’ll just sit here and wait for some swoll beastie to wander up and humor me.”
I meander over to one of the more ancient frostbitten redwoods and press my face against its aged, smooth bark, pushing my skull into it with all my being, my hooves sliding backwards on the frozen, shimmering ground; whether it be my mind or my headache, one of us has got to go.
eh??
‘Shit. It’s freaking cold out here. What the crap is going on??’
This pallid apparition that is stumbling over herself as she covers the whole of this dilapidated forest is drifting dangerously in and out of consciousness’ icy boundaries. It’s kind of funny, actually. ‘Step...Fuck—hole right there. Step—whoa; slippery ground.’ The forest is dejectedly iced over, the trees’ many naked claws and glittering fangs groping the heavy, frozen air for any remote tendril of life that had irresponsibly lingered past the southward fleeing of the hollow-boned avians. Such absence of the twittering songbirds had left the wandering female ghost in a deafening absence of sound; she had never quite been able to grasp the meaning of such an oxymoron as ‘deafening silence’. But one has to experience such a soul-voiding emptiness to fully grasp the concept.
“Goddammit!
I seem to be unable to walk five steps without tripping over some redundant tree branch. Why do I keep on falling into these damn holes? Why is everything spinning around so much? Ugh. Okay. Where am I? A forest...okay, we’ve got that much. Which forest?...Smells like whores doing their whoring; therefore, Bollin Forest. That kind of sucks; means the big boysare probably running around here, as well. I also understand that the General character is lurking around, taking some of the local mares with her. Didn’t quite pick her out as one who swings that way, but whatever floats your boat...SHIT my head hurts. Why am I in Bollin Forest? I wandered in here in a freaking absent-minded subconscious state. Hm. So why am I wandering around Nevermore in a freaking absent-minded subconscious state? Do I even remember yesterday? Nope. Day before? Nope. Man alive, I have no flipping idea what is going on. I stop, the entire planet tearing itself to shreds beneath my tractionless pinkish-gray rocks. My knees almost buckle, my balance gone, along with my awareness of what the crap is going on in and around me, as I perch unsteadily above a short drop to the hard-frosted morning ground. Then, as I tense my shoulders and haunches, my mind becomes as tumultuous as the earth whirling beneath my feet: I was striding carelessly across the frozen river last night. After that—shattering, falling, squealing, freezing, soaking, and...several undersized, dark entities yelling and grunting. They weren’t big and brawny like equids, but they weren’t seedy and small like wolves. They stood on two legs and had thin, strong arms. I assume whatever they were pulled me out and dragged my heaving frame to the shore, because when I awoke this morning, I was lying a few yards from the icy walkway, my barrel awkwardly covered in some sort of soft, warm encasement. But whatever the hell it was, it reeked of living, fermenting shit. So, naturally, I had my moment with the orange fuzzy thing, flinging it to the ground and pelting it with my rounded platforms. So. That must be why I have such a homicidal migraine.
“Aughhhhh.”
I moan with a good deal of volume, my vocal cords quite irregular and bitter, as the commonly are this early in the morning, the bulky threads scraping dryly, mercilessly against each other.
“I’m pretty damn bored, and it’s not like I have anything else to do...” I murmur to myself, my voice growly, sleepy, yawning. “Guess I’ll just sit here and wait for some swoll beastie to wander up and humor me.”
I meander over to one of the more ancient frostbitten redwoods and press my face against its aged, smooth bark, pushing my skull into it with all my being, my hooves sliding backwards on the frozen, shimmering ground; whether it be my mind or my headache, one of us has got to go.
eh??
