Post by havok on Nov 25, 2010 16:07:48 GMT -5
She’s a steel thrill suicide they say,
Cyanide in her plastic veins,
She’s a mannequin of misery,
She’s on a bender, but she ain’t gonna break.
Oh, this place was charming. Positively a five star hotel; en suite with gourmet meals three times a day. Or, maybe she’s being sarcastic, and this is actually a run down, caved in radio station that looks like it’s been battered by all seven realms of Hell. Her strange, pale, alluring eyes searched the darkness, listening to cords whip-crack above her head in the strong wind and cobwebs pull and fall on their precarious perches. It was noisy here, and all a bit hectic, but then again, she was not one for the quiet life in any of its definitions. The silver hue of her fur was darkened to near black in here, her piercing green grey eyes with slivers of gold shone like the moon and sun all at once in the dusty blackness. There was little scent here, a vague shred of human and a whiff of a pack who no doubt owned these lands. They clearly did not come here often, and she was not entirely surprised. It was dump. A very volatile dump. She snorted disdainfully as she picked her way across the metal flooring, or what was left of it; click-clack, click-clack with her paws. Maybe the kind of chaos she could tolerate wasn’t exactly the forte of anyone else around here. She had not been named Havok for nothing. She licked her sleek, powerful jaws and closed her black lips carefully, so as not to hurt herself. It was easy to do, with fangs like this, trained and sharpened for the fight. Her muscles were well pronounced, taut and tight against her skin, fur bristling as she stalked the unknown, ready to leap into combat with anything that may be lying in the shadows. Her fur in itself was erratic in the way it lay, which, in short terms, was every which way. It flicked and spiked and stood on end, which all in all made her look even bigger and even more intimidating than she already was, which was not necessary whatsoever. She was already a monster, there was no doubting that. Formidable and imposing. Tempestuous and violent. She was all of these and more.
Then, like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky, another scent flooded her nostrils. Finally, some goddamn company. She growled at the back of her throat, not a frightening or aggressive sound, more of an amused greeting. She had not even turned around to look at whoever had arrived and decided to investigate her entry to this hectic place, she felt no need. She was confident of her own strength, but not outwardly arrogant until provoked. This scent was strong, and emitted a kind of authority with it. An alpha perhaps? She smirked to herself and then decided to finally turn and greet the one who had come into her personal bubble, clearly without regard for their life. Maybe if they got along she would be nice. She did, after all, come here for a reason. This was the realm of the Skeleton Pack, and as such, was the property of a group she eagerly wished to join. The Skeletons were the mafia, the gangsters on the streets and it was due time she got herself a title to go with her skills and her strength. Being an ass-kicking loner with a bad attitude was starting to lose its appeal. Well, at least the loner part. The bad attitude and the fighting spirit were all just a part of who she was, the substance of her personality she could not erase without losing herself completely. Her eyes, wolf and snake like in equal quantity, searched through the crashing and howling equipment all around her for whoever had just arrived on the scene. Jaws opening, fangs flashing, not with anger but simply with method to call above the raging tempest of metal all around her. “Greetings. Please come out? I should take great pleasure in putting a face to that scent of yours.”
Cerebellum feeds the brain,
Hurricane in a violent rage,
Black lips, pale eyes,
Cyanide Sweet Tooth Suicide.
Cyanide in her plastic veins,
She’s a mannequin of misery,
She’s on a bender, but she ain’t gonna break.
Oh, this place was charming. Positively a five star hotel; en suite with gourmet meals three times a day. Or, maybe she’s being sarcastic, and this is actually a run down, caved in radio station that looks like it’s been battered by all seven realms of Hell. Her strange, pale, alluring eyes searched the darkness, listening to cords whip-crack above her head in the strong wind and cobwebs pull and fall on their precarious perches. It was noisy here, and all a bit hectic, but then again, she was not one for the quiet life in any of its definitions. The silver hue of her fur was darkened to near black in here, her piercing green grey eyes with slivers of gold shone like the moon and sun all at once in the dusty blackness. There was little scent here, a vague shred of human and a whiff of a pack who no doubt owned these lands. They clearly did not come here often, and she was not entirely surprised. It was dump. A very volatile dump. She snorted disdainfully as she picked her way across the metal flooring, or what was left of it; click-clack, click-clack with her paws. Maybe the kind of chaos she could tolerate wasn’t exactly the forte of anyone else around here. She had not been named Havok for nothing. She licked her sleek, powerful jaws and closed her black lips carefully, so as not to hurt herself. It was easy to do, with fangs like this, trained and sharpened for the fight. Her muscles were well pronounced, taut and tight against her skin, fur bristling as she stalked the unknown, ready to leap into combat with anything that may be lying in the shadows. Her fur in itself was erratic in the way it lay, which, in short terms, was every which way. It flicked and spiked and stood on end, which all in all made her look even bigger and even more intimidating than she already was, which was not necessary whatsoever. She was already a monster, there was no doubting that. Formidable and imposing. Tempestuous and violent. She was all of these and more.
Then, like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky, another scent flooded her nostrils. Finally, some goddamn company. She growled at the back of her throat, not a frightening or aggressive sound, more of an amused greeting. She had not even turned around to look at whoever had arrived and decided to investigate her entry to this hectic place, she felt no need. She was confident of her own strength, but not outwardly arrogant until provoked. This scent was strong, and emitted a kind of authority with it. An alpha perhaps? She smirked to herself and then decided to finally turn and greet the one who had come into her personal bubble, clearly without regard for their life. Maybe if they got along she would be nice. She did, after all, come here for a reason. This was the realm of the Skeleton Pack, and as such, was the property of a group she eagerly wished to join. The Skeletons were the mafia, the gangsters on the streets and it was due time she got herself a title to go with her skills and her strength. Being an ass-kicking loner with a bad attitude was starting to lose its appeal. Well, at least the loner part. The bad attitude and the fighting spirit were all just a part of who she was, the substance of her personality she could not erase without losing herself completely. Her eyes, wolf and snake like in equal quantity, searched through the crashing and howling equipment all around her for whoever had just arrived on the scene. Jaws opening, fangs flashing, not with anger but simply with method to call above the raging tempest of metal all around her. “Greetings. Please come out? I should take great pleasure in putting a face to that scent of yours.”
Cerebellum feeds the brain,
Hurricane in a violent rage,
Black lips, pale eyes,
Cyanide Sweet Tooth Suicide.