my dearest darkness. [ruaiin] Feb 13, 2012 20:00:39 GMT -5
Post by PLAGUE ;; on Feb 13, 2012 20:00:39 GMT -5
loaded god complex cock it and pull it.[/color]
its days like this that make me want to jump off a cliff.
everything is the god damn same. the rage junkie stags sticking their long, angular noses where they bloody well don't belong, tweaked little doves doing the dance of seduction in the shadows of the caves, and of course, the constant drizzle. i fucking hate the rain, as in, on a soul-deep level.
emerald tinted optics stared from the shadows out at the come studs, sluts, and whores, fire tipped chaser snapping at the air in annoyance, harks flickering spastically every which way. you could say that i'm paranoid, but i'd rather call it 'thinking ahead.' or careful. careful is good too. see, i'm always one step [or four] ahead of the general population, simply because i use more than 10% of my brain and don't think with my hormones. barring my teeth just for something to do, i could feel the tension building beneath my skin, sending my hide shuddering and twitching at even the slightest of sounds, the softest sigh of the breeze.
edgy as all hell, i shifted my weight and backed deeper into the shadows, pawing at the rambled slate ground as i made my way into a stand of sparse fur trees. the same horses, the same routine, just a different day. i hate life.
i'm the kind of animal that has issues with standing still for more than five minutes. i'm also the kind of animal that has issues with moving too fast. see my dilemma? if you move too fast then you can't take in your surroundings, you can't familiarize yourself with your scene. and if you aren't familiar with the landscape and something happens, well, you're stuck in some one else's territory without an escape route. see? extra precaution saves lives.
i snorted, plumes of steam exploding from my permanently flared nares and dissolving into the cold morning air. a splotched whore was rubbing herself all over a wicked looking brute, offering herself to him like she was nothing more than a pound of meat. trying not to be too judge mental, seeing as i'm a class-a basket case myself, i adverted my optics from the scene before he could plant her flower right then and there, sneering into the dusky shadows.
don't get me wrong, patterns are typically very comforting in those distressing times when things are going to hell, but it doesn't make me love them any more. personally i hate patterns, but that's just one of my many opinions. [/size]