09-01-2018, 11:31 PM
/oof rushed
Miami has been drifting too long; even after joining this place he's hardly spent any time within their border. He comes and goes with the wind, moving in whatever direction interests him most. Today that direction happens to be in that in which he catches the scent of blood from his parted jaws and the balmy summer breeze. The canine is drawn across the beach, large gray paws pressing into the coarse sand. He's still getting used to living by the shore and not within the forest or on the outskirts of a city, but as he saunters to a halt Miami finds himself shaking the grains from his fur with faint distaste. His pelt is remains disheveled and scruffy all the same, and the frame beneath it still youthful and lean though powerful yet.
Miami and Caesar are monsters of two different kinds. Miamihorror is blunt, he is aggressive and he revels in the chase and the struggle, the thrill of the fight and not the death itself. Yet he still feels his the itching of his skin and the pulsing of his veins just below — his copper gaze flickers across Caesar and the blood splattered across the other's pelt. He inhales the metallic tang that hangs heavy and damp in the air like a cloud and shifts his weight agitatedly upon his paws. There's a fire that churns deep within Miamihorror's stomach; he craves the rip of tearing flesh and the surge of blood from puncture. There's a part of him that swells with jealousy — he wishes he got here first. The wolf licks his lips, running his tongue idly across his canines and begins to regret not bringing any cigs to help quell the restlessness. "A spy?" he echoes. Miamihorror speaks with casual mildness, but there's a slight edge to his words, a subtle wryness. His attention turns to Caesar with a smirk touching at his maw. He doesn't know whether or not to buy into the suggestion that the rogue was indeed a spy — then again, he neither cares nor does he linger on the thought. "Maybe you should up the security 'round 'ere," he suggests, completely deadpan.
Miami has been drifting too long; even after joining this place he's hardly spent any time within their border. He comes and goes with the wind, moving in whatever direction interests him most. Today that direction happens to be in that in which he catches the scent of blood from his parted jaws and the balmy summer breeze. The canine is drawn across the beach, large gray paws pressing into the coarse sand. He's still getting used to living by the shore and not within the forest or on the outskirts of a city, but as he saunters to a halt Miami finds himself shaking the grains from his fur with faint distaste. His pelt is remains disheveled and scruffy all the same, and the frame beneath it still youthful and lean though powerful yet.
Miami and Caesar are monsters of two different kinds. Miamihorror is blunt, he is aggressive and he revels in the chase and the struggle, the thrill of the fight and not the death itself. Yet he still feels his the itching of his skin and the pulsing of his veins just below — his copper gaze flickers across Caesar and the blood splattered across the other's pelt. He inhales the metallic tang that hangs heavy and damp in the air like a cloud and shifts his weight agitatedly upon his paws. There's a fire that churns deep within Miamihorror's stomach; he craves the rip of tearing flesh and the surge of blood from puncture. There's a part of him that swells with jealousy — he wishes he got here first. The wolf licks his lips, running his tongue idly across his canines and begins to regret not bringing any cigs to help quell the restlessness. "A spy?" he echoes. Miamihorror speaks with casual mildness, but there's a slight edge to his words, a subtle wryness. His attention turns to Caesar with a smirk touching at his maw. He doesn't know whether or not to buy into the suggestion that the rogue was indeed a spy — then again, he neither cares nor does he linger on the thought. "Maybe you should up the security 'round 'ere," he suggests, completely deadpan.
TIME TO MEET THE DEVIL