[center][u]You[/u] and [u]I[/u] have something in common.
We [u]both[/u] have something {locked} inside.
We keep it in places where so few know to look,
and tuck it into parts of ourselves even fewer know exist.[/center]
We go to places like this to let it breath.
[right]We listen for those who know its melody.[/right]
[center]And then we look for the ink.[/center]

[center][u]You[/u] and [u]I[/u] have something in common Fellow Traveler...
We [u]both[/u] have a story to tell.[/center]

[hr]

[u]Why Places Between?[/u]
Soft back, hard back, novel, or short story, they all have a front end and a back end. It isn't the opening I remember most, or even often that defeating ending that never tastes quite right upon my lips. No Fellow Travelers, it is the journey, the story itself, and what ... well... what is between that pulls me from my mundane life. So, I've chosen this moniker, because of that power, that strength, that those places hold over me. Perhaps it is a foolish man attempting foolishly to reclaim some power of sanity, but it felt fitting all the same.

[u]About the writer.[/u]
Male. Novella - Multi Para. 
Dark Fantasy Fables are my forte, and a firm believer that they didn't add enough beast to Beauty and the Beast.

[u]About writing.[/u]
Many treat Roleplay vastly differently than I do. For me writing is a dance, a swaying of words, and drum of story beats. Writing or ‘dancing’ is the greatest joy of it for me, and I always look for those that have the same melody that I hum. The story could be about anything, but with the right partner it could be a brilliant day dream that devours me. That is why I am here, Fellow Traveler, and I bet that is why you’re here too. 

[hr]
[center] Example of my rambling-style posts.
Taken from 'The Hunting Lands' SL.
Opening Post.[/center]
[hr]
[i]'I am not hungry.'[/i]

That is a phrase that is common in the vernacular of most, and yet it is possibly the common spoken lie of the world. A body is always hungry. It feeds off the oxygen with every breath pulled into the lungs, and eyes devour the sights as if every little scrap of it must be tasted. Muscles tear at its own stores of fat that need to be replenished, and even something so simple as a sigh spends moisture that must be drunk deep again from the world. Though these were lessons for those who were not him, because Lyall? Well, Lyall knew of these things. He was always hungry and could not deny himself that fact.

 It was not bright shined silvers of customary and required hunts that he entered the city with, but rather merely thin cotton shirt and black trousers to which dressed him today. These items of clothing were more of a mask than ever had he worn, for as of late Lyall had felt naked without that silver plate hiding his features, or that suit with its wardings intact. While perhaps, perchance, maybe, these clothes could carry the label 'comfortable', to him they felt unarmored and vulnerable, and while these two previous words were ones Lyall attempted to avoid, there were always reasons to test your luck. 

The people of this region moved by in their summer heated exchanges, and dark brown eyes milked their words for what it was worth. Something was happening tonight, was it? Some sort of concert. Well, that certainly wasn't cause for him to smile like that now was it? A smirk, or rather a hint of one ghosted along the set line of his lips, but like all ghosts in his purview, it vanished before any could notice its passage.

Hands bound themselves at the small of his back, tangling fingers amongst themselves and their own discussions. Though do not think them bare to the world, for Lyall does not walk with his hands free. The world was too dirty for that, and its people too soiled. Black leather, almost always, wrapped about fingers, palm, and wrists in those expensive materials that seemed ill matched to the cheap labor of his clothing. Still though, the man with dark hair and brown eyes was no more a sight than a man walking  among the crowd, for indeed, Lyall was no match for the loud music or telephone screens people drown themselves in. He was just a stranger under the post midday sun, gaze narrowed against the glare, and a slowness to his steps that allowed him to view the world at his leisure. 

Tourist could be a word, yes, but the depths of it was more than such a simple silly word. It was not for the sights, the sounds, or even the strangeness of this area that he visited. Those judgemental eyes skipped not over buildings, or architecture, or even gardens blooming with glowing buds. No, the Wolf walked, and kept his attention upon what mattered... the populace itself. Elf blood could be used to increase life span. Fae blood can be used for mixtures of illusions. One by one, as they passed, the stranger did not nod, nor did he turn, but all the same the list was growing. There were many hidden gems here.

Tourist, yes, that could work, but Lyall was more akin to browsing a market at the moment, and it wasn't the stalls he was setting prices to. [u]The price[/u], another good choice of manipulative word, because there would be a payment due wouldn't there? Lyall himself wouldn't pay it, the man never suffered such debt, but others? That was another fable all together to tell.

There was almost a familiarity with these roads, these paths, these stores and people. Lyall knew not what word to give it, for predetermined events were a foolish notion to believe in. Merely a trick of the mind, but it was certainly a dangerous thing to have a new predator be this comfortable in territory that was not his own. It was even more of a dangerous thing to introduce [b]an invasive species [/b]that has an unfair advantage against the native populace, but then... what did a Wolf care about it? 

There was[i] a feast[/i] to be had, but before the dinner bell could be rung, a menu must be set.. The blaring sun pressed heavily against the sensitive nature of his vision, and the heat coiled up under even that cotton shirt, and sweat dewed his brow. Powerful limbs carried him with the certain nature of not grace, nor even authority, just that abstract nature of knowing that he can handle himself, and so there was no fear in him. [i]Curiosity[/i]? Absolutely, some of these races were rare, naught but seen a few times upon his gaze. Some would fetch a [i]good price[/i], and others still would sit like a ripe fruit upon his tongue before razor jaws snapped shut.

 Yes, yes indeed, this hunting ground was flush and ready wasn't it my friends? Again that ghost, that little touch of amusement managed to worm itself out through the defenses of his mind, and Lyall smiled. It was not the one sided coil of a smirk a scaled beast could give, nor was it even a grinch, curling the corners in impossible ways. No, the man stayed close to his name, that little twitch of his lip pulled itself just enough to show a flash of canines before once more the mask of normalcy resumed. 

It was [i]beautiful[/i], and Lyall was ever [b][i]so hungry[/i][/b]. 
[hr]
It is a pleasure to be among you, and please wish me luck as I settle in.
May your ink dry fast, and your muse sing sweetly. 
B.P.