08-19-2018, 11:06 PM
♦ -- Typhooners are unorthodox. They are not like her or any of her family. Aliens, they are, within her eyes. They speak of freign tongue and they don't look like any prey she's ever seen. They are wreathed in color and live and horns and spikes and wings and hooves.
And their eyes glimmer with an intelligence and awareness that she does not like.
Exodus has lived around them long enough to grow used to their presence; and the youth believes she knows what they are capable of. She has seen arcs of inhumanely hot white fire. Bright, and controlled into unnatural crackling arcs. She has seen these creatures pull forth the very essence of water from the shores; controlling undulating liquid with ease. She's seen fire; animal-made, spring forth from another's paws.
And something unknown, something ugly roils within her. She is infinitely jealous of what they are capable of. Of what they have.
Jealousy is not an unknown feeling, but it is unwelcome nonetheless.
But she does not fear them. As pampered as she was, shielded from the worst and covered by Lucifer's powerful wings. She's only been allowed to live, unharmed thus far because of their protection.
And it is because of this that she, Exodus, believes within her tiny little heart, that she and her siblings are untouchable.
___
It isn't the ever burning curiosity that leads her to infiltrate one of the huts amongst barracuda's bay. Not this time.
A certain numbness fills her chest-- the type of numb that makes foolish creatures brave and uncaring of the consequences. This crazy, irrational boldness settles deep within her chest, tugs at her heart and tries on her little body for size, grabbing hold of her limbs until it decides that it is the right fit.
It urges her on.
___
The hut has a door, but it is pathetically flimsy against Exo's determination, and she swings it open with ease. A couple of battering rams that shake the door's loose frame like an earth trembling before an earthquake, and it's open.
She steels herself, not because of what she's about to do, but because of the wonders that lay ahead of her. Claws sink comfortingly into the grainy sand below, nostrils flexing to inhale the strange and musky air, gluttonously soaking in the scents. A satisfied purr rumbles past her lips, spilling from between ivory teeth and cracked, roughened lips. The Typhooners are careless in the management of their nests. It's a wonder how they've managed to last so long.
Slinking inside the hut with the subtlety of a cat on the prowl and as pleased as cream, Exodus allows her gaze to roam over the unfamiliar nest. She has never been inside a hut before, and this new, unexplored territory delivers a buzz to her veins. To her, every undiscovered area is just unconquered dominion; her's for the taking.
The hut is sparsely decorated, but each object interests her nonetheless. The child noses at a rumpled blanket crumpled upon the dusty floor. She sneezes ungracefully.
There is more; a few choice, homey items that she ghosts over. A pot full of plants, which she takes the liberty to chew upon. A desk and a stool, which she mounts with ease, bunching the muscles in her legs and leaping upon the seat with silent enthusiasm. Her claws barely make a sound against the mahogany coating.
Feral eyes rest upon a trinket of intriguing origin. A necklace adorned with beads and sparkling gems that grab her attention from the get gom she carefully chews it, teeth cracking against the ornament before she decides it is far more essential as a trophy than a biting post.
Exodus secures it in her jaws, turns carefully and makes her way towards the door.
She registers a shadow looming by the open entry, casting a shadow against the floor where light sleeps.
They pause, standing and staring each other down. The Typhooner's gaze more wary than the other. Tense.
Exodus is not afraid. She does not falter or nervously fidget her body, nor does she drop her prize. The necklace is hers, and she displays that, lip curled as she makes a dash outside-- speeding under the beast legs and making her way out into the fresh air outside.
And their eyes glimmer with an intelligence and awareness that she does not like.
Exodus has lived around them long enough to grow used to their presence; and the youth believes she knows what they are capable of. She has seen arcs of inhumanely hot white fire. Bright, and controlled into unnatural crackling arcs. She has seen these creatures pull forth the very essence of water from the shores; controlling undulating liquid with ease. She's seen fire; animal-made, spring forth from another's paws.
And something unknown, something ugly roils within her. She is infinitely jealous of what they are capable of. Of what they have.
Jealousy is not an unknown feeling, but it is unwelcome nonetheless.
But she does not fear them. As pampered as she was, shielded from the worst and covered by Lucifer's powerful wings. She's only been allowed to live, unharmed thus far because of their protection.
And it is because of this that she, Exodus, believes within her tiny little heart, that she and her siblings are untouchable.
___
It isn't the ever burning curiosity that leads her to infiltrate one of the huts amongst barracuda's bay. Not this time.
A certain numbness fills her chest-- the type of numb that makes foolish creatures brave and uncaring of the consequences. This crazy, irrational boldness settles deep within her chest, tugs at her heart and tries on her little body for size, grabbing hold of her limbs until it decides that it is the right fit.
It urges her on.
___
The hut has a door, but it is pathetically flimsy against Exo's determination, and she swings it open with ease. A couple of battering rams that shake the door's loose frame like an earth trembling before an earthquake, and it's open.
She steels herself, not because of what she's about to do, but because of the wonders that lay ahead of her. Claws sink comfortingly into the grainy sand below, nostrils flexing to inhale the strange and musky air, gluttonously soaking in the scents. A satisfied purr rumbles past her lips, spilling from between ivory teeth and cracked, roughened lips. The Typhooners are careless in the management of their nests. It's a wonder how they've managed to last so long.
Slinking inside the hut with the subtlety of a cat on the prowl and as pleased as cream, Exodus allows her gaze to roam over the unfamiliar nest. She has never been inside a hut before, and this new, unexplored territory delivers a buzz to her veins. To her, every undiscovered area is just unconquered dominion; her's for the taking.
The hut is sparsely decorated, but each object interests her nonetheless. The child noses at a rumpled blanket crumpled upon the dusty floor. She sneezes ungracefully.
There is more; a few choice, homey items that she ghosts over. A pot full of plants, which she takes the liberty to chew upon. A desk and a stool, which she mounts with ease, bunching the muscles in her legs and leaping upon the seat with silent enthusiasm. Her claws barely make a sound against the mahogany coating.
Feral eyes rest upon a trinket of intriguing origin. A necklace adorned with beads and sparkling gems that grab her attention from the get gom she carefully chews it, teeth cracking against the ornament before she decides it is far more essential as a trophy than a biting post.
Exodus secures it in her jaws, turns carefully and makes her way towards the door.
She registers a shadow looming by the open entry, casting a shadow against the floor where light sleeps.
They pause, standing and staring each other down. The Typhooner's gaze more wary than the other. Tense.
Exodus is not afraid. She does not falter or nervously fidget her body, nor does she drop her prize. The necklace is hers, and she displays that, lip curled as she makes a dash outside-- speeding under the beast legs and making her way out into the fresh air outside.
im like a bull in a china shop
knocking off a knock off .
"cause i got no culture of mine" — exodus — typhoon — feathered raptor — info