Author Topic: the fiefs of wembley [family]  (Read 634 times)

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Offline Kaiju~

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the fiefs of wembley [family]
« on: March 26, 2017, 12:27:16 AM »

These were the days that clear images of gods and queens swirled in her sickly yellow eyes.  The few days before something horrible happened, before big black puppy pupils shrunk into unseeing pinpoints.  After these days, she would weave herself a different history.  The bastard never pushed her, she never felt the crack of stone on her developing skeleton.  With words, she built herself a happy life, one where the gods guided her and she could see the path they laid out for her.  Where fireflies still shone in her eyes, not the sick, cold maize glow of blood-born ferocity.  There was a vague shine of malice inside her just now, one that made the new blood eerie to linger around for too long.  But if Oukoku-Kai could handle her parents, she'd be no problem, right?


No, I'm just effing with your head.

Her storybook is a rigid and beaten one, black in its entirety, even the pages.  Maybe the writing is too hard to read, but you can still see the imprints of a pen if you tried hard enough.  It'd become an ominous reality for the inkwell child.  Delusions of grand gods and the sweet honey that poured from their mouths.  Today, she clearly saw the red, yellow, and white.  And she bathed in the sunlight, she sucked in every golden ray that bestowed upon her as she romped with the gods dancing before her eyes.  Dingy flowers, beaten up by her footsteps.  She hadn't been able to find red save for a few pretty ruby petals, but there was a surplus of white and yellow wild daisies and queen anne's lace.

When her parents appeared, she stopped and let her awkwardly huge ears hang below her head.  Young ones loved their parents.  Young ones were inherently cruel, especially this batch of little crapheads.  The oddly-proportioned month-old plopped down on top of her ten-or-so flowers and smiled as if she were proud of the gallimuafry of "rosas".  "Lookie, I found a lot of Rosas."  Corners of half-lidded eyes crinkled as she smiled just after the woodnote, her flat voice betraying the expression of half her face.  Something inside her hoped she was either right, or the childish assumption was risible.

If her family checked out her Rosas and seemed even a bit disapproving, their expression would be met with Kaiju's expression of "i dunno man i'm 3".  Algid eyes lingered on siblings for a moment, almost contempt flaring in her chest for some unknown reason.  Cue the jazzy saxophones.  Sable, fluffy fur, warm with the sun, ruffled with excitement.  She got to leave the den, she was pretty darn happy about it.

Now cue the ominous music.

Quote from: Animal Impulses - IAMX
☾ - - - - - - ♠ - - - - - - ☽

wilder than lions, louder than sound
the birds and the bees are getting older now
there’s a cold breeze blowing over my soul
shine razor eyes in delight
shine razor eyes before you die

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Offline Miasma.

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Re: the fiefs of wembley [family]
« Reply #1 on: March 26, 2017, 01:14:49 AM »
In the starving time, there had been no others. One day Crow had taken her out of the den to play (read: torment) her and when they came back, there were others. Siblings out of thin air, born from the warm darkness of the cave. Miasma didn't understand it now, but someday she would. Still, part of her felt unsettled and threatened like one day Ink would eat her if she didn't do good enough and so she had to make sure Ink and Crow loved her.

Love was a precious resource. A limited resource. One that couldn't be wasted on siblings.

Unsurprisingly, the already-familiar burning of jealous sent her from napping to completely awake the moment Kaiju returned. She'd gone out alone? Why hadn't Miasma thought of that? Why... Her blue eyes fixated on the trophy that her dark sister had brought back for momma and daddy. She cast a worried glance to Ink and Crow and then the fire itching in her paws made her rise to her feet.

Miasma stormed over to Kaiju and proceeded to stomp all over her flowers. "These aren't Rosas!!!!!" She shrieked, and reached down to tear a few up with her fangs. She spat a stray white petal at Kaiju. "The REAL Rosas can eat you! And they WILL for being so stupid. STUPID." When she was satisfied that the flowers had been suitably ruined, she turned dramatically to flick her tail in Kaiju's face. The grey girl went over to where she'd been sleeping before and took a confident seat.

And then cast a sneer in Kaiju's direction, for good measure.

(And maintained the silent hope for the faintest sign of approval from her parents).
« Last Edit: March 26, 2017, 01:18:50 AM by Miasma. »

see how clean the water is where you are
wash off your handcuffs
and know the hidden messages you hear
they aren't real
you tricked your mind to feel

all i wanted to be was one of your children
and all i wanted to be was one of yours

played by spear

Offline Crow

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Re: the fiefs of wembley [family]
« Reply #2 on: March 27, 2017, 12:15:34 AM »
He was a father again, sire of gods and monsters and all those in between, spreading himself like a vast and unholy hand over this land and beyond, shadowing it with his reach, poisoning it with blood so foul it could shrivel leeches as they drank. It was but a weak imitation of true immortality, but still satisfying in some hungry way, deigning to give life to these little doggies, that they might go out into the valley with his angled face and his tapering ears and his feverish eyes, that they might... carry on the tradition and birth some vermin of their own. Old gods, new gods, the free people may bow to them, but they'd never forgotten from whose veins they'd run out.

It pleased him, surely it did, but where he loved the idea of the pollution he'd commenced, the individuals involved were rarely of any importance to him. There was Charon, his skeletal reflection, who maybe he loved, in an inconceivable and repulsive way. There was Zephaniah, product of an unholy union. There was Jezebeth, elusive boy, lovely boy, a boy who'd die bleeding and gurgling should he stray into his father's path again. Grendel and Anamelech, who'd sipped ichor in the womb, who played the Rosa game. All others -- nameless, faceless, fated to exist and decay as satellites, lesser extensions of himself, expressions of his power, his influence, his virility, his ferocity.

(The valley doesn't handle me, Kaiju. I HANDLE THEM.)

Crow moved toward his daughters, all slick black oil, all catlike tread. He laughed as they fought, a tremor of a sound low in his throat. Never had he been so oblivious as to think bringing an older cuckoo chick into their little family unit would not cause a dangerous rivalry. Maybe that was the point. A test. An experiment. "Little lambs," he crooned to them, and beckoned them with an outstretched paw, pale yellow toes spreading. Come to me, if you want my warmth, for I do not come to you. Come to me, girls, or be left out in the cold.

Should they come closer, he'd promptly gather them up, one pressed against the side of his thin belly, the other with a leg wrapped about her shoulders. Rolling, bloodshot eyes regarded them both, his favorite little girls, spawn of his favorite little lady. It felt sweeter somehow than his past conquests; he'd fought to have Ink, he'd courted her, he'd waited... Small wonder, this unusual affection for their children.

"So much noise," resumed Crow, just as sweetly. "If you want to fight, lambs..." A click of his teeth, though he seemed not to be aware of the tic, and he gave both sisters a shove forward. "... then get to the point."

Whether that was an invitation or an admonishment was up to their interpretation.

OOC: If it's okay with everyone, I'd like to open this to Enix, Ana, and/or Virra as well?
« Last Edit: March 27, 2017, 12:51:33 AM by Crow »
Is he willing to stop me, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing?
Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing?
Then why am I still alive?
Is he neither able nor willing?
T H E N  W H Y  C A L L  H I M  G O D ?

Played by Kotake

[2:16:49 PM] Corg: more like ouCROWku-kai
Crow aka the worst character ever made

Offline [Caesar]

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Re: the fiefs of wembley [family]
« Reply #3 on: March 28, 2017, 06:42:48 PM »
It started out like any other day: quiet, with a hint of growls and grunts.

Then it escalated..

'Lookie,' a voice interrupted her dreams of sweet nutritious milk sucking- or was it a dream? Was Ink there, was she attached to her mother and suckling like a greedy little pig?- I found a lot of Rosas,' it sounded monotone, and she knew it was Kaiju. Both eyes remained closed, but she scrunched her face, trying to force away the thought of day while she ate her breakfast.

'Shut up,' she wanted to snap, but she had a mouth full, didn't she?

..and it escalated quickly.

'These aren't Rosas!!!!!' came a shriek that stilled her breathing and wrinkled her lips, followed by more jumbled, unmistakable wailing of a beetle. It garbled and cried and tantrumed, and her single green eye opened to accept the day as it started out: poorly. The little girl tore away from Ink, or from whoever she had been suckling on, and kept the distinct wrinkle of her tiny muzzle. Bugs were repulsive (for now) and she felt so much joy in squishing them and hearing them pop and hiss. It only made sense for her to attach them to Miasma. She was vile and filthy and should be stomped on.

But father woke up, and he cooed to them in his storytime voice, his soothing words only served to make her angrier, because who was he speaking to? NOT HER. He addressed their noises, he addressed their bloodthirst and she was livid at the fact her simply addressed them at all. Both of them were parasites, but Kaiju less so, so she was given a pass.. this time.

The little girl hobbled forward, lurching low to the ground as she could with her stumpy legs and fattened belly, she crept up behind Miasma and didn't hesitate, didn't ponder the move, and simply struck her teeth (is that what they are at this age?) to sink into the tail of her elder.

Don't worry about Rosas eating you,' she would have said if she hadn't wanted to be quick and quiet, 'I'm the one that's hungry.'

Offline Anamelech

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Re: the fiefs of wembley [family]
« Reply #4 on: March 30, 2017, 10:14:20 PM »
News of Crow and Ink's family came of absolutely no surprise. Crow was ridiculously virile, and it was only a matter of time before he chose another concubine to incubate his next clutch of wriggling youngsters. Anamelech herself existed as testament to Crow's voracious appetites, the absolute pinnacle of his bloodline -- but if Crow entertained for even one instant that he could lay claim to her divinity, solely because he had wiggled his way into a few unlucky wombs, then Anamelech would quell that notion. Crow thought of her as an extension of himself. He was wrong. Crow was a lesser prototype; a mad beast.

Anamelech allowed him his cannibal bride, and his precious children, because his wants happened to align with hers, and because his genes had proven to be prosperous. If Crow took advantage of her generosity, then she would strip him of those allowances. Gigantea giveth and taketh away.

He was nothing more than a mangy, stupid mutt, laying sedated and dazed on the veterinarian's table, and he was two snips away from limping home as a gelded puppy.


Goodness, but that was rather violent, wasn't it? Such dark thoughts were ill-befitting such a lovely occasion. Ana was in a deceptively good mood, excited to lay eyes upon the newest batch of zealot-spawn. Locating them was easy: even if the location of Crow's den wasn't already known to her, Miasma's shrieking could be heard from miles away. Ana saw Miasma standing over a pile of tattered flowers, the purple girl yelling in the face of an inkwell baby who did nothing more than stare vapidly in the face of her misdirected aggression. Miasma did not resemble either parent in the least. How odd. She had to be the little addition that Crow had dragged into the Valley. Another child, this one more physically similar to Crow, emerged from the den, apparently awakened by the commotion. Enter Papa to put an end to the racket -- swooping in like a magnanimous dark specter, crooning and cooing to the nest of vultures.

They were all adorable, Anamelech decided, like miniature doppelgangers of their parents. Even the purple outlier was endearing in her maladjusted, desperately bitter little way. She just wanted to scoop them all up into her arms and

-- shake them viciously if they put a single toe out of line --

kiss them on their little heads.

Crow had already intervened in the conflict between Kaiju and Miasma, but Anamelech thought it best to pronounce her own judgment. The authority of a God overruled that of blood, after all, and these children would soon discover who they truly belonged to. Anamelech tut-tutted, sauntering closer with a smile.

"Children," Anamelech cooed. "There's no need to bicker." She stooped to examine the petals that were strewn across the ground, scraping them together in a neat little arrangement. Once that mess was tidied up, she looked to Caesar, Miasma, and then Kaiju, committing their features to memory. A coy smile was thrown in Crow's direction like a floppy white glove. "Such lovely children, Crow. They'll make marvelous warriors," she praised him offhandedly.

But she noticed two crucial absences. Of course she knew that there was another child in the litter -- Anamelech knew everything, and she had spies everywhere. "Where's Captain Ni and little Lyra? I want to congratulate Ink on her lovely family."

Despite the glaring question at hand, Crow was not Anamelech's focus. She was here to meet the children. Back to them: "Do you know who I am?" she asked them. Lips curling in a smile, and regardless of whatever answer they provided, perhaps her question followed with a pregnant and nervous pause, she said, "I am Rosa Gigantea -- the White Rosa.

"But to you, darlings, you may call me Godmother."
It was easy to think that this was Anamelech's way of cracking a joke (get it? Godmother?), but based on her steadfastly earnest smile and tone, it dawned on all those in attendance -- yes, she was dead effing serious. Whether Crow or Ink appreciated this development or not, it seemed they had an intruder within their family unit to contend with.

Either oblivious to their possible irritation or uncaring, Ana continued, "Tell me about yourselves, little loves."
« Last Edit: March 31, 2017, 12:50:35 PM by Anamelech »

In the wasteland, on the way to the Red Queen
It's no wonder our stage clothes have dreams to be famous
The trees in the courtyard are painted in blood,
So I've heard she hangs the headless
Upside down to drain.

[ #B30000 ] | played by Sunblink since 12/10/14.
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[4:35:43 PM] Shakrashi: aneamalichk and her grandpa corw

Offline Virra

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Re: the fiefs of wembley [family]
« Reply #5 on: April 01, 2017, 08:54:27 PM »
 With every new litter she saw a chance to start over. A chance to make the next generation different from the last, different from their parents. Virra is hopeful, blindly so, that there is a Sphinx among the hoards of children who grow up vicious and merciless. That the light in each innocent mind isn't immediately snuffed out the moment they claw their way into the world, the darkness ripping through their hearts as they rip from their mothers. It seems so violent, terrifying, and with every birth her heart sinks more and more. Had she not hoped Thetis would be different? Genji?

 And yet -- she hopes. She hopes right up to the point the small purple daughter rips apart the flowers. Virra blinks in silence, the metaphor not lost as she looks on from a distance. As Crow arrives her stomach drops, watching, waiting. He pulls the children close and for a moment she feels ... protective. Like she should run forward, tear them from his grip, pull them close and love them like neither parent could. Her legs tremble, but she does no more than watch him push them forward. Relief. Fear.

 A smidge of something she can't place.

 As Ana arrives she thinks of leaving before she is spotted, but her instinct to protect only grows. (Why? It's pointless -- they'll only end up the same.) Virra walks up to the family; body small, ears down against her skull as she draws closer. "Hello," her voice is soft, gentle as she looks at the children. Her eyes fall onto Kaiju, the one with the flowers. "There are lots of flowers," she says kindly, "I can show you more, and show you how to keep your own." She pauses, looking towards Miasma and Caesar, "I can show all of you how to keep your own flowers. Maybe one day you'll make something pretty for your Godmother."

 The word feels wrong in her mouth, a lie. Were godmothers not supposed to be secondary parents? Someone to protect and love and care in the absence of, well, all of these things that surely Crow and Ink could not provide to the fullest extent.

 "I'm Virra," she says, sitting close to Kaiju. Protecting. Watching. Hoping. "I'm very glad to meet you all."

They painted up your secrets
With the lies they told to you
And the least they ever gave you
Was the most you ever knew

And I wonder where these dreams go
When the world gets in your way
What's the point in all this screaming?
No one's listening anyway

Your voice is small and fading
And you're hiding here alone
And your mother loves your father
Cuz she's got nowhere to go
played by Mutter. #2B65EC

Offline Ink

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Re: the fiefs of wembley [family]
« Reply #6 on: May 22, 2017, 03:42:49 PM »
There's no freedom in being a dog, a spineless, witless, stupid dog. But that's all she really was. A dog with her neck wrapped in a chain choker, driven mad by manic hunger. She, with the insatiable craving, sought corruption and power to sate her. And these children were a product of that pursuit. They could have been born of mimicked manipulation or that of grave patience (rip zashi and blackout) or even, of love?

She was curious to find out what these children meant to her. But it was so difficult keeping children alive, she wondered if she might not just kill them all one day.

A burbling groan wracked her stomach and she awoke with a pained murmur, everything about being a mother was uncomfortable. The raven female stirred in the shallow den, bright yellow eyes narrowing in the streaming rays of sunlight. She heard voices through the shaft and rolled over onto her belly instinctively. All but one child were outside with the White Rose and another.

Lyra's tail wagged in the dirt as she looked up at her mother in the darkness, a smile on her face.

"Rise," she whispered to Lyra.

And they both walked out into the sunny day.

The captain's usual svelte and well-kept fur was disheveled, an exaggerated savagery to her obvious less than satisfactory snarl on her face. There was something wrong with this picture. She saw babies, and Crow, and… yet, no food. She approached closer, almost to step haphazardly over the children vaguely protecting them from getting too close. The puppies were being tempted after all by the various wicked's of the west, east, north and south. Pick your poison.

Ink could hear the grumbling of Caesar's stomach, the sounds pounded her ears making her wonder what else this little one craved, but the silly child was too young to truly appreciate meat.

"It's truly a pleasure, White Rose," Ink's voice a soothing tone, but the snarl remained, "to think my children would get such honoured rapport."

They were all vultures, every single one of them. They wanted for nothing, and Ink would make sure to prove them very wrong. The children should hope to bond with their mother, otherwise they might find themselves traded away selfishly for prized meals.

What have you come to bargain with? Surely even the White Rose could track down a meal for the giving mother. Everyone here, useless, effing useless.
This shining city built of gold,
a far cry from innocence,
There's more than meets the eye round here,
look to the waters of the deep.
A city of evil.
There sat a seven-headed beast,
ten horns raised from his head.
Symbolic woman sits on his throne,
but hatred strips her and leaves her naked.
She's a dwelling place for demons.
She's a cage for every unclean spirit,
Every filthy bird and makes us drink
The poisoned wine to fornicating with our kings.


Offline Kaiju~

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Re: the fiefs of wembley [family]
« Reply #7 on: July 14, 2017, 01:17:28 AM »
It seemed she had attracted a good amount of bad attention -- the leering yellow eyes of her few siblings stared like owls sizing up a meal.  The cuckoo, spotted purple and fat with the love daddy had given it.  Algid eyes, widening with the sudden outburst from her sister, blinked with a feverish shock that delayed her reaction for a heartbeat.  Whether Miasma came with that desperate craving for attention or the simple instinct to adapt and survive was moot; Kaiju was the angriest, most wicked of the bunch to her older orphan sibling.  Caesar was like a whip, leathery and sleek and brand-new-shiny.

Copper dusted back rippled when her dissociation fizzled back into reality.  The inevitable jump from her svelte sister's bite would come from the purple-hued girl before her, her stinky puppy breath still slowing into the black daughter's smallest face.  She swallowed her scream, a loud angry thing that felt a much more intrusive need to speak.  Calmly.  "If my pretty pretty Rosas are hungry."  Kaiju blinked.  A huff and the twitch of her lips accented her words, "then thEY CAN EAT YOU!!!"

She trembled to daddy and mommy's singing voices, mommy's tummy rumbling like a request.  Feed her mother, kill the cuckoo.  But she was young, impressionable.  Anamelech would know of all that children were cruel, a sweet godmother watching the unfolding confrontation with citrine malevolence.  And she smiled.  And she watched.

They all did.  Because Kaiju was precious.  She was better.  And she didn't butt her head with Lyra, or Caesar.  She focused her energy on mother's morsel, instead, those small and sharp puppy teeth thrown forward in an oddly vicious snapping flurry that aimed at her face.  To feed mother shark, she had to give Miasma to her!  But she knew nothing about feeding or killing, did she?  She was just a baby.

To a growing child, the face was the most obvious way to eat up Miasma.  Just so she didn't have to see that face anymore, screwed up in anger and desperation to stay alive.  Only Crow's velvet voice came with a rumble into big ears.  It deafened the shrieks of hungry gods that still screamed from Miasma's open mouth.  "DAD!"  The muted Crow-copy bounced into her father's outstretched arms, surely followed by the rest of his brood.  "DAD, is she right?  Are my rosas not rosas?"  Narrow head tilted with the vague hope that maybe Miasma was wrong, but she couldn't deny that poison honey voice that crooned rosa into her direction.

A grey woman, fluffed at the cheeks and short in stance, was greeted with a wide-eyed stare that soon flicked to Virra.  "So a rosa.... is a PERSON?"  Her head reeled back to watch her dad for a reaction, a confirmation.  Cheeks burned red-hot in the realization that Kaiju had been wrong -- and surely Caesar wouldn't forget that any time soon!

"I AM KAIJU," the loud little bun shouted above the others' muddling voices with a brown paw touching the fur on her inky chest.  "My mom is Ink and my dad is Crow and my sisters are Caesar and Lyra!"  She left the odd one from her sweet little family.  Miasma was with them, yes, but she looked different.  She looked weird.  Bigger, desperate.  She disliked her openly.  She was petty and dickish in her own sense.

They all were.

Quote from: Animal Impulses - IAMX
☾ - - - - - - ♠ - - - - - - ☽

wilder than lions, louder than sound
the birds and the bees are getting older now
there’s a cold breeze blowing over my soul
shine razor eyes in delight
shine razor eyes before you die

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