you left before i got to

[ninazu]

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© lexasperated

I WISH YOU COULD SEE THE WICKED TRUTH
CAUGHT UP IN A RUSH, IT'S KILLING YOU

The Typhoon may consider the Pitt's attention off of their island, but a day never went by when Ninazu failed to think about them. The slight of killing a previous ardent could not go unpunished -- even if her focus brought her to hit the Rosebloods, these days. After all, a slight against the current ardent trumped revenge for a retired leader, hm?

So she stalked through the territory, gathering intelligence on their layout and considering a few potential attack avenues. Ninazu learned, after passing near the tavern, about their damn volcano troubles and Goldie's ascent to leader. But little else stuck out as interesting to her about the Typhoon. They were just another group to crush beneath her claws. More 'innocents' that the world would say they slaughtered.

Her claws dug into the jungle dirt, before she sheathed them and continued on her way. One of the extinct raptors appeared to have passed by recently; the woman smelled it, saw traces of the tracks in the muck. Her pace sped up, her quiet paws drawing her deeper into the island jungle with every stride; a feeling in her gut pushed her on. Ninazu never feared the beasts, after all, and now she saw an opportunity to catch one alone.

Ninazu, ever the opportunist, planned to seize it one way or another.

[member=1827]AMENT .[/member]

WRITTEN BY AXIOM * TAGS

© LEXASPERATED

[AMUNET]

the berserker / the quiet one — Ruthless, cunning, ament was a god buried under mortals skin, pulled taut and brimming with rage and wonder alike. Needs instinctively pool into his mind and he follows them, obedient to the calling of his blood, the same ring that many bones under tred have lived by, died by. Ament knows these are not the times to follow- but he is relentless, obeying- loyal to an outdated custom once known to all. Instinct has always been a tool the ven wield like a shield around these newer- smarter predators. It always curves in his mind, the way that these animals have seemed to repress. With sense comes the need to explain, with sense, instincts fade.

These instincts have never failed him, but poison bleeds into his system. It chokes him without care and asphyxiates his instincts into submission. never quite enough to kill- because he always snapped out quick enough. He craves - complexity. he keens for that shine that glimmers inside these complex creatures. He craves it- needs it- wonders. and wonder brings with it understanding, and understanding brings nothing but rage.

Rage is the afterthought of wonder, a frustration that clouds sense and leaves only the smallest unexplored instinct he hides. He does not listen, refuses to, denies it fr only the sake to remain civil. To remain the sense of innocence that he has, the control over his body- his mind- his sense.

feathers are fluffed, soft browns and pale and darker forest browns blend on his face. his feathers are not bluester, just an attempt of release, tension bleeds between each feather. Rage simmers under his skin and he runs, he runs until he can hear the steady trickle of footsteps behind him. Until he can see the flash of a lion, scent the air, and think stranger - think enemy.

Tension is choking him, his labored breathing makes him noticeable. But he is not prey- and he stands his ground. Feathers lie flat now, crest pressed deep into his skull. The ocean is still in his eyes, hiding his stress and the brimming rage inside him. he waits for recognition, light to flash in the other's eyes- some sort of acknowledgement to the threat under his skin, and purs low, a rumble of a threat that sounds more similar to a growl.

© LEXASPERATED

[ninazu]

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© lexasperated

I WISH YOU COULD SEE THE WICKED TRUTH
CAUGHT UP IN A RUSH, IT'S KILLING YOU

Paws churn up the earth as the lioness races after the feathered beast, plants wilting in her wake. The ardent learned everyday to trust her instincts – leadership came naturally to a mind as logical and precise as her own, and she quickly learned that second-guessing herself caused her own downfall. She lived with the sadism coursing through her blood for years without doing anything about it; sequestered with her studies on anatomy, thinking herself a damn monster. Almost afraid of herself, really.

She lived, afraid of herself, for so long that trusting herself opened the floodgates in her mind. Overnight, she flexed her claws to burn down the Typhoon’s fucking joke of a tavern. And her web closed around the Rosebloods with every damn action she took – whether directly pulling the strings, or simply allowing her followers the freedom to enact their will on the pathetic animals. The woman never tasted freedom with this level of potency in her life. And she enjoyed it: from the adrenaline burning through her body when chasing down an enemy to the cold calculations spent staring at a map.

Ninazu sees, in the feathered Utahraptor, what she wants. She does not know why she wants him – perhaps as an interesting trophy to decorate her temple, demonstrating her wealth and power to all – but the call for violence sang for her.

When Ament stops to face her, that proved a mistake. Growls join his purr – the lioness adds another burst of speed, the fire of her mane flaring and enveloping her neck in its protective heat. Emotions and logic fade out of focus; Ninazu’s mind drowns in the fight. She wants to win this fight; every neuron not capable of supplying tactics or reacting or otherwise is useless in the moment is not worth listening to.

And she knows, instinctively, that he cannot be allowed to land the first blow. The dinosaur is larger, stronger, potentially faster. If she wants him, she needs to end the fight quickly with an overwhelming display of force. To conquer him, she needs blitzkrieg tactics. Lightning crackles softly against Ninazu’s tawny fur, yellow lines zipping down her spine down to her toes – preparing.

Leaping once close enough to him, the lioness attempts to smack the left side of his skull with both paws – claws unsheathed, trying to dig into his scaled skin. Ultimately, she wants to force his head to the ground – she doesn’t think that his sickle claws could reach her there, at least.

WRITTEN BY AXIOM * TAGS

© LEXASPERATED