./wHEN did this sTORM bEGIN?/. (Phobia/Raffa)

[Sivoncé™]

HERE'S THE STORY

Snap.
No twigs broke underpaw, no prey stirred the brush, nothing moved in the still of night's held breath. The air struggled under the resisted instinct -- in self-mutilation, it refused to inhale again, refused to exhale. The night was stilled in the Destinian woodland. The night was still.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
She was a young figure at a glance, though familiars would suppose, at this point, she was bound forever petite in stature. Or, maybe, perhaps a young mother she-wolf -- such a tenderness, such warmth about her shadow. She moved with dainty paws, such care---
Snap. Snap.
The moonlight splashed across her pelt, and
Snap.
the image of the beautiful bearer was terminated. Silver splayed across a blaring black laceration that wormed its way across the femme's neck. Her lovely, lofty pelt of calico-hazel was long and unkempt -- she seemed sickly in proper sighting. She no longer moved with measured graze and caution, but with suspicion gnawing each and every thing her eyes would flicker upon. An ugly thorn.
Snnnnnnaaaaapppp.

Phobia trudged onward, littering the night, still playing dead to the eyesore of a neophyte, with her whispered murmurings. None would hear her in this forest. Nature itself seemed to fade into the background now -- the murmurings were violent echoes in the neophyte's ears. Her brain kept
SNAP. SNAP. SNNNNAP SNAP SNAP.
snapping from flashback to flashback, from image to image, from time to time, place to place, tense to tense, subject to subject---
She froze, slitted eyes raising into full-moon circles as a an oily Crow hunched over a dead bird, pecking at it's face, it's eyes. The downed bird fluttered its wings helplessly, beak open in a noisless cry that scramed and echoed over and over and over in Phobia's mind, blaring like a siren--
"Phobia -- where's the damn bitch? C'mon, I want something FRESH!"
You fucking satans.
She lunged forward and snnnnappp.
Her jaws locked acround the Crow's neck, and she whipped around wildly, figure heaving, and pelted towards the river. Her maw, locked in an iron prison, plunged mercillessly into the cold rush of the Nuka, the floundering Crow ripping through the night's lungs, stirring rifts in the night that were never meant to be shifted....


OF THE WAY I WASN'T MEANT
TO BE RAISED

[♫Flisk♫]

OOC: I'm happy. I was about to give up on this place. It was inactive for awhile with the battle not being done. Hopefully we can get it up and running with more members. By the way...are we still going with the plot and the dictator?

BIC:

The night closed in on Raffa. He and his black pelt ran through the forest. Raffa's blue eyes were full of insanity. The sleepless nights, thinking about how he hated the packs. Every night he came through here. He would come to a halt at a tree and ram into it for hours. It ripped his pelt, but he knew it made him stronger. Another reason was because of the hate for himself. He was a coward who had to follow others. He jaws slavering with thick saliva, he continued to pelt through the forest. He halted at a tree. Its bark was rough and thick. Backing up, he rammed into it, his insanity increasing. Every single painful blow was for what he was. Bang. A coward. Bang. A loveless full. Bang. A follower. His claws filled with dirt and he stopped, panting. The smell of rabbit filled his blood thirsty body and he felt his body tense. Anger. It welled up inside of him like a volcano. This rabbit would pay. This rabbit WOULD pay. He tore through the forest, sending prey shooting away in terror. His saliva unattached itself from his mouth in thick tendrils that flew backwards with the wind pounding against him while he was running. The rabbit ran into the very clearing Phobia was standing. Raffa, in his insanity rage, did not notice her but pounced on the rabbit. His claws dug into it mercilessly and he snarled. Biting it, he tore. Bite. Tear. Bite. Tear. What was left of the rabbit was a string of different peices, all laying on the ground. Raffa looked up, blood dripping from his jaws, right into the eyes of Phobia.

[Sivoncé™]

MY YELLOW SUN

Flashes of black fire danced before Phobia in the clearing -- figments of the dead, the body of the crow, and the lupine figure that seemed but a reflection of herself, tearing sinfully into a downed rabbit. Phobia let the Crow's body slowly untangle and drift from her claws, utensils in its death. The Nuka carried it silently away in the current, like a natural hearse. Phobia watched the shadowed figure in curiosity as blood sprayed its face. She regarded it with silent wonder and awe for a moment, suspended in the thought that the universe was stuck on trying to straighten her crooked path -- by forcing her to watch the things she did to its creatures.
Blink.
"Oh. That one," she sighed, deflated by a mixture of unwanted disappointment and acceptance. "Looks like we've more in common than you would think, Raffa." She said his name with distrust, but not quite distaste. Pacing, but not breaking eye contact with him ever, she came to sit across the clearing from him, his paws wet with blood, hers damp but cleansed by the water.
"So, what brings you to the morgue today?"

THAT FADES AWAY TO BLACK
AND BLUE EVERY PLACE

[♫Flisk♫]

The moonless night covered the ground with nothing but blackness. The form standing in front of Phobia watched as the crow drifted to the ground. Raffa too, stared at the peices he'd made. The anger. He licked his lips, and snuffled, but did not acknowlege Phobia the way he should have. Maybe it was because she saw him as so. A beast. Raffa tried his hardest during the day, but the insanity drove him further and further into a hole by night.

He slowly reached down to the bloody peices and picked up the the meaty parts. Slowly, he chewed, wondering what the other, also odd apprentice thought. Feeling another wave of rage come on, he turned to leave, but heard Phobia pronounce his name. He turned and looked up, curling his lip cautiously. Sniffing, he kicked the extra peices of rabbit against a tree and began to pace. When Phobia asked why he came to the morgue, he chuckled dryly. Looking up, he stared at her.

"Why? I like to hurt myself. I like to make sure I'm punished for who I am. Punishing others also works."

Raffa stared, fangs bared, letting them show their ivory color. They could not glint, as there was no light, but they still looked fearsome. Clearing his throat, he opened his own mouth, hiding the pain inside with his growling voice.

"And you?"

((you never answered my question from before...haha.))

[Sivoncé™]

(( Ohh, haha sorry I was in a rush this morning but wanted to post before I left for school xD Yes, we're still going on with the plot....it's funny...I kinda gave up too. But I decided to give things another shot....and a few other people seem to have come to the same conclusion at the same time....I think.....I think we need to do less work and more play xD ))

HERE'S A BOTTLE

Blink.
Mindlessly, she flicked a stray fluttering leaf, severed from it's branch, as it drifted aimlessly past her face. She stretched upward, gazing towards the source of distraction, the nightstrike gash the lined her neck glaring back at Raffa's own insanity with a cold stone glare void of all emotion. She seemed suspended like that, just gazing upwards, for a moment, but gradually, he eyes came to meet Raffa's once more. "Make sense, then. The tree severs it's life source, it's leaves, and the wolf is masochistic unto himself," she murmured evenly, no surprise, no rebuke, no opinion in her flatlined tone. It, too, was a vaccum of nothinness. A lack of color, a lack of feel. Maybe her steely gaze would be like that, too.....would be. Should be. But wasn't quite.

It showed knowing, as if she'd heard similar wolves come and go, and speak Raffa's words before. Even as he had spat at her before, it showed no trace of fear or cowardice, nor was she intimidated -- quite the opposite. Skeptical. Daring him to prove himself, to boast or brag until he'd run his tongue dry, but nothing would impress. Vindictive, watching, Phobia merely shrugged at his own question. Her eyes shifted to the place where the mutilated sparrow lay, persecuted moments before by the reaping crow. "I am a messenger of sorts," she answered, speaking to the sparrow. "I deliver hell to those who made it for themselves. I had business here tonight, Raffa." As an after thought, she turned her crooked gaze once more upon him, a cruel attempt to smile upturning the corners of her mouth. "See, Raffa? I'm just as all packwolves are -- always a job to do, always a duty. Eventide, evermore -- the difference being this is my life, I am my own keeper."

IN THE SHAPE OF YOUR
LOVE FOR ME

[♫Flisk♫]

((No muse...but that's okay! Heehee))

Raffa blinked, his dark eyes reflecting nothing but understanding. Watching Phobia struggle was like seeing his reflection in the water or watching a movie of himself, playing it over, and over...and over again. He swallowed as the metallic taste of blood brought a new wave of pain to him. He struggled not to lunge at her, to rip at her throat, to put her out of her misery. He himself knew he was condemned to nothing but a life of following a dictator. He liked it in a way, but hated it with a passion in another. It stabbed through his heart like a stake, a reminder of himself.

A frightened mouse sat in the corner of the clearing, trying to scurry away. It's tail was stuck under a rock Raffa had knocked onto it in his fury. Raffa creeped up towards it and quickly severed it's tail, sending it into a very loud frenzy of agonized squeaks. It curled up in pain before Raffa plunged his claw through it's heart, watching it instantly go limp. He flicked the mouse into the woods with his paw and turned around and walked back to Phobia.

"You...you seem like your troubled. Can you not live peacefully, or are you doomed to a life of internal suffereing as I am?"

[Sivoncé™]

NOW THE CLOUDS ARE
RACING HIGHER

Such strange questions from a wolf as such as Raffa was -- a strange wolf, really. Maybe she would've smiled, but she didn't know how to, really, do she didn't. Phobia merely watched him, his staring back at her seeming to be one that understood -- it was tortured, but it thought it understood. Thinks so....he thinks so....but doesnt know so.

She wrinkled her nose at his lashing of the mouse, eyes not receptive, nor forgiving. Rather, she blinked at him with the same consistant gaze she wore almost always. "I have no time to wail around in self-pity. There are bigger, better things in this world than I. But none will walk the path I have again. None will walk the path you have walked again. We have jobs to do -- purposes on earth. I don't have time for things like self-pity. I wouldn't know if I'm suffering or not. I feel as I always have. Whether that's always suffering or always joyous....use your context clues, I suppose, if you would like to put a name to my consistencies. But I don't.... I don't have time." She shook her head, looking, if possibly, more bothered than usual. Her eyes were several yards in front of her now, furrowed, searching.

He thinks he knows. He'll call it suffering.
I call it Hell. And I'm here to give it back.

BLINDING ARROWS AWAY

[♫Flisk♫]

Raffa pawed at the ground, listening, wondering if she was mocking him or if she was serious. His anger was slowly fading as he eyed this particularly beautiful femme, eyes secretly sparkling in the dark as his emotions brought him to a state of calm and interest. The blood still dripped off his muzzle and he gazed around darkly, destroyed inwardly by the sense of her words. If he knew he was going to suffer, why make it more? Why not find the benefit? If he could follow an evil dictator, that meant he could not be harmed as much as the unfollowers. ((Is that a word? Oh well lol))

His black pelt blended in with the darkness as he moved closer. He heard the light breeze ruffling the leaves above him. The monster that was Raffa stopped beside Phobia. He looked into her eyes and began to see what was beautiful in her. The way she simply went on with life by punishing others instead of herself, the way her name sounded, and the way she had with words. Raffa swallowed and whispered.

"Why, why have you come here? To the packs? I had to...I was a starving pup. I hate it. But soon I'll be free. That is all I can say."

[Sivoncé™]

KISSING THE DARKNESS
OFF THE STREETS

As he moved closer, she immediately fell into a tense stance, her eyes slitted, she stood. her claws flexed as he spoke, a soft hissing sound issued in response. "You have me wrong, Raffa. I was a pup, too, you see, but not in the sense that you would think."
Starving....starving in a cave, Raffa? In a cave with dead bodies, Raffa? Did they crawl all over you, Raffa? Did they tear out your insides---
"Free? Is that what you're calling the likes of Blood Mist?" she guessed. Raffa seemed the type that would turn to such a pack. "They burned once, they'll burn again, all in good time. I wonder where they'll put me....or if I'm dead already? Ah well, all in good time I guess. And why not here? I have my weapons to defend myself, yet it's safer to stay here. I was told so." She took a few decisive pawsteps away from Raffa, turned, and sat again, placing a good five feet between them.

WITH MY ELECTRICITY

[♫Flisk♫]

Raffa licked his lips anxiously. She talked in riddles and his head began to feel light when he tried to figure them out. The blood had dried on his muzzle, caked with ease. He made a face and felt it crack of and onto the ground, like a scab from a scar, one that had given him a long and painful battle with life. Snuffling lightly, he grimly watched as Phobia took a few steps away from him. What had gone through her life? Thinking his was worse, he had a flashback. His father and mother gazing at him and his brother. On their first hunt, his brother catching a huge rabbit and him a scrawny mouse. When fighting, his brother always beating him. The look on his parent's faces as they fed his brother before him. His father's glistening fangs snapping at him as he drove him away. Raffa shook his head and turned to Phobia, eyes glistening in the darkness.

"You don't like me."

He stated with not the faintest bit of hurt in his voice. He bottled it inside ever since he was driven away.

[Sivoncé™]

GOLD SHATTERS THE SKY

She watched with mild interest now for Raffa's reaction to her movement. Was he the brand for bloodlust, or just lust? Or was he possesive? Angered by sudden motion? What made him turn to the darker shades rather than the lighter ones? What kind of Satan was he? Did he abuse little pups, kick other wolves around? She knew already he burned with words. But why?

"You don't like me," he woofed, toneless.
"I don't know you, sorry," she replied without hesitance. "My eyes see what they will, but the same is for everyone with each other. Doesn't mean I know you. Doesn't mean I understand you. It's not fair to love or hate what you don't understand. The world's unfair, sure, but I'm not the world. I do my best." She stood again, no longer tense. Her nerves had settled, though she thought this odd. They were usually going always, buzzing in her ears. She blinked at him, thinking silently.
"I guess I can tell you if I might like you or not, sometime, if you answered a few questions." Her voice was grave, grim, sharp. She was suddenly very warm, a sweat crawling underneath her pelt, like eight-legged demons...
"Do you like spiders, Raffa?"

THIS IS THE FIRST DAY OF
THE REST OF OUR LIVES

[♫Flisk♫]

Raffa listened quietly and stalked a little closer, then sat, his tail brushing the fallen leaves away from himself. Urgh, this stupid she-wolf speaks in riddles that I can't understand! Swallowing, he just nodded his head as if he understood, coughed silently, and snuffled. Phobia, her scent was so different than the other wolves to him. It was...almost foreign, mysterious. He could almost smell the determination and conflict that he saw swimming in her eyes. Blinking slowly, he looked up to the sky. In the distance, he heard a twig crack, but he knew it was just a rabbit, for he heard it pelt away and smelled the fear.

Soon Raffa became lost in his thoughts. She's so captivating, so interesting, but freaky at the same time. I like her, but I want to flee from her. She's kind of like me...I guess in a certain way. But nobody really likes me. I'm just a stubborn Neophyte that nobody cares about. Psh...I don't even have a mentor...and if I do...well they haven't tried to train me yet! Haha!! I wonder if Phobia and I both want to escape. Suddenly, her voice broke his thoughts. He nodded at her and quickly gave his answer.

"Spiders...I'm not quite sure actually. They are quite annoying when they find your prey and feast upon it, much less if they feed upon one of your companion's dead carcasses...so no....I guess I do not like spiders."

He nodded with sincerity.

[Sivoncé™]

'CAUSE NO ONE TRULY

"I guess I do not like spiders."

Good enough, good enough -- distaste will grow and settle in deeper. Soon enough.... She watched him gaurdedly, running through her list in her head.
"So no spiders....what about wolves? You like wolves, but what wolves? All wolves? All wolves are equal? Females, males, pups, mothers, warriors, seniors?"

She'd concealed this question in a broader spectrum than she much cared for. She heard his voice ring with sincerity, and the first affirmation was good enough. But this one....this one almost mattered more. Almost....so they were equal. I'll never be defiled through the likes of anyone ever again.

He was interesting, in his own way. He'd thrown nothing but a taunt her direction at the pack meeting earlier, but now that he'd looked at her more closely, he seemed almost dazzled, like he'd turned over a muddy rock to find the other side crystalined. She twitched a bit uncomfortably under his stare, yet felt it strange to think that he should stare elsewhere. It had been a long time since the nerves crawling up her skin had eased so much...

LIVES OR DIES

[♫Flisk♫]

Raffa stared into her eyes. He felt his heartbeat quicken, then suddenly felt a slight spasm in his body, reminding him that falling in love was not part of getting rid of the packs. Deep inside him, he felt that he would never let Phobia die. No...not when they were so alike. He heard the crickets in the distance...felt the warm of her body pelting into the air. He wanted nothing more then to touch her. Still he stayed, keeping his distance, licking his lips in the darkness, wanting to feel the free feeling of love.

Distressed, he listened to her question, wondering what it could possibly mean. He shook his coat before pondering a second, the silence between them comforting instead of awkward. After a moment, he raised his head and carefully answered, eyes peering at her, wondering slowly about her past. He began with a deep breath and a pawstep towards her.

"I believe that there are two kinds of wolves. Weak and strong. The weak wolves are the ones who don't fight for themselves, the ones who should be treated lesser. The weak are the ones who should be driven out. The strong wolves though...they should kill off or pick out the weaklings and exile them, then reproduce the packs of strong, able wolves. These wolves are led by a true leader, not a coward who-"

Raffa stopped suddenly. He wouldn't reveal too much just yet. He had to learn if he could trust Phobia. If he couldn't, then he would just have to feel her throat breaking under his fangs.

[Sivoncé™]

CALL MY NAME
(WHEN DID THIS STORM BEGIN?)

Keenly, she listened; Raffa's voice was the only thing to pierce the hollow. She watched him, too, as he spoke, looking to his eyes. For all of their clouded swaths of bloodlust, ambition, and hateful thoughts, they held what she recognized as the opposite of 'lie'. I suppose that's what they call sincereity, honesty....wow, we're just learning a bunch of new things today, aren't we? Her thoughts were bitter, but there was a rebel among them. A worm in an apple core.....a creature of possibility, of maybe, of life snaked its way through her insides...

"Then I guess, one day, when I know you, I would like you."
It wasn't a question anymore -- a statement had left her lips. It surprised her, a flicker of this painted plainly in her eyes for a moment. But she settled swiftly. So we will become friends, and he will ask me to be his mate, to come away with him, and we'll play Babylonia and Ashur, the star-crossed lovers that turned cold hearts to their homes all for each other....wolves who seduced each other into insanity. Except for I was never the beloved heart and soul of the Destinians, and I never will be. And we both already have grains of insanity in us. So we're uncharted territory, then. Maybe he won't ask me. Maybe I wouldn't say yes. Maybe friendship is out of the question. Maybe....maybe I'll wait and see, just for a bit, before I take off.
He spoke again, of wolves, of leaders -- then stopped. He gazed at her, the debate in his eyes clear to her -- there was no trust quite yet. But there will be....
"Go on, Raffa, say what you have to," she assented. If I said anything, he could chase me down and kill me. We're evenly matched, but me, having nothing to gain from it, and him, having everything to lose, would fuel his fight.


ANSWER ME, WHERE I STAND
(WHEN WILL THIS STORY END?)