Rockette — Roleplayer Guild


_{^{^{^{^{^{. . . . . THIS VOUCHER GOOD FOR ONE (1)*}} . . ..........│_{on your knees}} _{..............│._{say please............_{_{_.}}}}}}}^{B E G ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ .}
S O L D I E R. . .E N C A M P M E N T / / Z A L E R A. . . T U N D R A.Carmen Auset was a multi-faceted creature of omnifarious dependencies; variants of psychical and psychological legions of crippling pitches of void and nefarious wraiths that bayed wildly like sickened, deluged creatures of sable origin and ebon fusions of devouring ambition. Every SOLDIER that came in breadth of her tempestuous mistral of black and the winter monsoon correlating with the descending Celsius gave her a temporary salve to the writhing King beneath the extremities of his host: the Queen that was heralded on notions of pain, and selfish qualms that burdened her psychosis to a machine of calculating power that thrived for a variation of omnipotence. Carmen inhaled, nasal passages blooming, her dual softeners of coral likeness expanding and gaping wide with a sigh that bordered euphoric in breath and heat. Each of the SOLDIERS delivered bore a peculiar scent to their bearing; a spark of mauve light, that tasted like the air after an electric storm, the blossom of scarlet tones that bore sediments of salt, and a deluged perception of grey that reminded her of soot and ashen feathers on a breeze of cold. 

There was white, a pure colour, but the edges were tainted black with blood that bled from aphotic borders and went rouge with blush. Demented lilacs and periwinkle oozed and festered beneath a film of faux steel and powder intermingled to a crumbling facade. Heat that pounded infuriating stone and grass that simmered and cried under a sun blotted sky. A snarl erupted from within, lips of fracturing ebon and gold peeling back over teeth that wept and eyes that bled and pulsated mad with a deeply seeded necrosis; a lethal summoning, a dissolution of self as bruises suddenly blossomed across opal dusted skin and bled into the golden undertones there. She hissed; slicing past grinding fangs and flesh.

She knew their scents now, tasted them on the palette of her tongue, and the King relished within his Queen from it all and granted her sweet agony.

Carmen pirouetted on the stiletto of her boot as they passed and mingled, the tundra quieting, her winds gradually dispersing into lax breezes until suddenly still and calm. There was blood, coffee, and meat; as if this was a jovial camp, a potluck of demented powers and origins amassing under the orders of their whims instead of embellished masters. Her simper elevated, expanding wide, teeth and all. She barked, a laughter that spun from her mouth under harsh bells that were tarnished and cracked from the young SOLDIER that they gathered around with pretenses of care and infant camaraderie. Good though, she thinks, because he's just a child, and they often die first - swift, and usually bathed in taint from the world. She doesn't tune into their banter, she doesn't know his name [or any of them, aside from the old goat who's a thorn in her side and twitch in her eye] and doesn't care to learn as she observes with thinly veiled curiosity and something akin to hunger.

She hasn't eaten in a while, and that's going to be a problem.

	"The Shyps are scheduled to embark in the morning; you'd be flying blind in this weather." She purrs, lips twisted, oculi bright and the transition from former appetance that was locked within her sensuous glance now languid and probing. She thumbs over her pauldron, shoulder propped and eyes oblique over the span of twisted steel and black cloth. "Well, more blind for you, I guess." 

The provided brigade began to fan outward, teasing the tarpaulin of tents, she smelled their wariness, it's seasoned pepper and freshened salt, kind of bitter as it translates to her senses and lands on the breadth of the uncoiling mass of a scaled creature beyond fathom, but it's leashed, barbed, and in pieces. A crown that is incomplete. There are too many SOLDIERS milling about, they lack their cages and the conceptual leashes can only go so far, Carmen looms closer as they banter with exchanged brew and homey exchanges, it's a queer misplacement in the tundra where chaos threatens and looms yonder sea and northern gates. She brushed against fair skin and icy blues; he smelled crisp, his mirth broad and reminded her of snowy mountains and waterfalls. His scent is heavily carved into her mind, as are others, those have been in the camp nearly as long as she has.

	"This is all very... Charming." She struggled for the words, for within her mind beyond wayward tresses, there's a crescendo of baying hunger, and need. "But our Keepers seem a bit troubled. I suggest we move to our main tent, there are theorists and navigators awaiting with our stratagem." 

Her mouth was agape then, there's a tantalizing notion to install her status and power, the old bourne habit that was sired under lock and key in her former imprisonment, her life has been one cage and unto another, and to survive, she knows she must be the ruler. Back in the Paddock, the upper crest of fortitude and madness dictated over all, she had established her ranking swift and easily, and was lauded over with a muzzle festooned over her countenance and her arms strapped impossibly tight. The cuffs left scars, and she wears them like glittering bracelets. Carmen willed herself to disband then, to backtrack, boots sliding within the snow and quickly sealed her gloved fist over her expanding teeth, carefully masking her orifice under the slight break of a wet cough. 

	"The tundra nights are long, we've plenty of time yet though. Maybe we should allow them to squirm. How about we feast instead, mm?" Her inquiry is broad, lashed out, and twinged with laughter manic and harsh. Her eyes flash under lashes spiked and long, landing on fur and cloth, she smiles at Corr [he always smells the best, he's her favourite] and nods slight and inviting. "I don't know about you, but coffee won't be enough. I'm famished."
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