Author Topic: Eat My Ass, Croc [R2 // Open]  (Read 188 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Petronius

  • Saboro
  • Initiate
  • ***
  • Posts: 24
  • Liked: 17
  • Likes Given: 24
Eat My Ass, Croc [R2 // Open]
« on: June 15, 2017, 05:15:45 PM »
[PLEASE WAIT FOR LUX TO POST FIRST SMOOCH!]

“HA!”

The yearling shouted in triumph, lithe frame leaping from root to root in the soggy swamp. Petronius' tail cracked behind him like a whip, following the flow of his leaps and bounds like a long ribbon. The boy's muzzle was twisted into a confident smirk, white mohawk growing thicker by the day that he had inherited from his father. The Tiberian genes hadn't fully manifested into the teen as of yet, he still retained his skinny build from North and Anglachel. His frame had gained strength and muscle as the weeks turned into months, a far cry from the frail, sickly boy he was born as.

A gator attempted to snap at his ankles, water splashing as it rose up from the depths. A loud snap filled the air as teeth met empty space, a snicker falling from Pete's maw. It was a dangerous game, sure; he wasn't silly. But it built endurance, it built confidence. He wanted to be a Tracker, but he wanted to be the best. The Peregrine Keanu wasn't in the territory at the minute, but Pete was determined to build up his skills so she would be impressed when she returned.

His sickness had cost him weeks of his time, tucked away in the den against his mum or Dads warm belly. He had watched his siblings prance and frolic outside in the public eye while he snoozed. He wasn't bitter, he loved his family with all his heart. But the wasted months were something he desperately wanted to catch up on. The ends of his tail flickered like a felines, white paws and legs stained with mud from his rounds. Huffs fell from his maw, tongue swiping against his lips as he turned around to practice again.

A running leap saw him off to a good start, spine flexing in his flight. The gator once again attempted to snap at him, a mocking laugh filling the air as it missed. Pete flew down the row of branches again with ease, immensely pleased with his endurance. Paws found themselves on the shoreline again, pants heaving from his lungs. Confidently, Pete stepped forward again to try, only managing to cut across two thick roots.

The leaping bounds were cut short at sounds coming from the shoreline, the youth pausing for a moment to look. Claws dug into the bark firmly as he kept his balance, halting his momentum forward to twist his head. Baby blue eyes squinted at the figure, a pale rusted red body with mismatched eyes. Uhhhhhhh the Banshee, Pete faintly recalled. ”Hey!! I ain't done yet! I'll b-ARGH!! The boy's words were cut short by a searing pain in his tail, words turning into a pained shriek. Iron clad jaws clamped down firmly on his tail, the fat gator attempted to slither back down into the water to drag him.

Thinking quickly, the Tracker dug his teeth into the thick skin of the tree bark, claws embedding themselves into the root as his body was forcibly dragged backward. The ends of his tail twitched frantically, like the head of an eel in his panic. Pupils dilated in his fear, long ears tucking down against his thick scruff as his whole body was tugged backward again. He didn't dare let go with his teeth, nor his claws nor his hind legs. Though what he'd give to reach back and bite it between the eyes.

He could only hope the Banshee had saw his predicament and was coming to assist.
« Last Edit: June 15, 2017, 05:51:41 PM by Petronius »










"Never forget what you are.

The rest of the world will not.

Wear it like armor,

and it can never be used to hurt you."

Profile || #BECEE8

Offline Lux

  • shining bright
  • Saboro
  • Regular
  • ***
  • Posts: 152
  • you are a piece of me i wish i didn't need
  • Liked: 18
  • Likes Given: 0
Re: Eat My Ass, Croc [R2 // Open]
« Reply #1 on: June 15, 2017, 06:18:21 PM »
The swamp was her domain. It was a constant reminder of her failure, of her grief, of her psychosis and she often embraced the empty solitude it granted her. Most wolves, born much smart than she, had a healthy and appropriate amount of fear of the gurgling depths and the snapping jaws of monsters within them. Yet, if one shied away from all danger they wouldn’t see the beauty in the pain of it, in the devastation, in the constant echoing and aching reminder that death’s sweet embrace could come and take any of them away—red tattoos or otherwise.

So, she dwelled among the stench and the ominous thickness of it all to remind herself that, yes, as the world constantly turned one major fact would remain the same. Anguish and destruction. Blood and teeth. Violence and—

Children.

For a moment Luxanna merely watched the youthful wolf, her gaze somewhat vacant and dreamy, her nostrils flared. Among the rolling logs she saw her, a strong and carefree wolf of absolute beauty, gorgeous in her phantom form… but she wasn’t… real, and the youthful boy was.

She snarled, a silent sort of reveal of saliva slick teeth and ground them together before she willed her body to MOVE and her mind to stop HAUNTING HER!

She shuffled forward, moving at a cautious pace—no need to alert more snapping gators and, for all intents and purposes the youth seemed well enough for now—as screams clawed at her consciousness and rapid puzzle-piece memories blurred her vision.

Get back Keanu! Get back! No, Neried, stop stop stop! Kevvie?! Kevvie I’m—!!!

What are you doing?! She calls out to him, her voice an echo carried on the wind, a croak, refined and yet still off, still unsettling. She was one of his children after all. The remaining princess of a dying litter. The one with the most experience in pain, the one who stayed even though others kept leaving. The one who kept catching naughty little wolves dancing among monsters.

Her body ached in phantom pains, her chest felt tight and heavy, her heart pattered maddeningly—she felt uneasy for him. Afraid? Terrified? She wasn’t entirely certain who this boy belonged to, but his coat pattern lead some hint and she was not unaware of certain rumors and assumptions. Still, at the end of the day, a youth was a youth and she was a… protector, wasn’t she?

One that was finally, finally, free to act as soon as the gator snapped on the child.

Fffffffuuuuuuuu—

She’s at it again, barreling through the marsh with as much speed as she can muster, paws trained and experienced in the muck, in the place that was her home more than Saboro had ever been. She’s trying to pick up as much speed as possible, before the wolf ends up beneath the water, another Kevvie. Her run will lead her into a large leap, a clear exercise in large muscle and body, before she lands heavily upon a nearby log. She doesn’t speak, it’s all instinct and action now, and it doesn’t take much for her to push from the log again toward the monster, landing heavily upon it with snapping jaws and wild eyes.

Again, she feels terrified.

But she’s also so very alive!

She’s aiming to snap her mouth and teeth into exposed sensitive eyes. Her first idea is to get the thing to release the child, but she knows… she knows firsthand—by her own missing tail—that it won’t be that easy. Oh dear, if Keanu caught her in the infirmary again for this…

Well, she has bigger things to worry about. Like yanking on this gators face with as much force as she can muster while pushing down on the things mouth so she can literally attempt to rip it away.

Sorry kiddo, you’re going to have to lose that tail.
Stay with me
Cos you're
All I need


#CC9966

| Oni Azuhel |

Online Ceraphena

  • Hero
  • *****
  • Posts: 5976
  • Gender: Female
  • Formerly Shroxx
    • My status
  • Liked: 1220
  • Likes Given: 275
Re: Eat My Ass, Croc [R2 // Open]
« Reply #2 on: June 15, 2017, 07:40:07 PM »
Swords.

Tridents.

These titles meant nothing to the hellion youth, but they whispered to her. Her people's history nipped at her heels as she slunk through the marsh, long legs carrying her steadily forward. Her paws were quiet against the muck, tail twitching behind her as she moved. Bomi paused, and looked down. Just a few feet away lay an all too familiar burrow, one she approached with nostalgia as she canted her head to the side. Bane's scent was gone, and the gouges from his digging were old and slanted; fresh dirt and muck sloshed over it from other animals using the abandoned den for temporary shelter. She briefly wondered if someone lived there now, but quickly whipped her head around when the reeds rustled.

Loque'ka.

Yes. The crocodiles were here.

Xies'ji, ka'losi naix!

Yes. Time to go.

The red blade shook her head free from the mist that fogged her mind, and moved quickly. There was no other option when in the marsh. Hiding like prey only made you part of the menu, and she'd never forget her time in a crocodile's jaws. How she barely managed to escape the gullet, a chevalier swallowed by a lazing dragon. A shiver trailed down her spine as she briefly screwed her eyes shut, but that was a mistake. A flash of teeth and throat shined bright in her mind, fiery slitted eyes gleaming like the sun. It hurt, the sharp memory, and she was forced to snap her eyes open. At the same time, sounds filtered through her ears; unusual in the raucous marshland symphony.

“What are you doing?! Fffffffuuuuuuuu—”

A pale blur raced through the yellow grass, and instinct took over. Her slender legs kicked into overdrive as she pushed off from her perch, paws slapping against the sludge as the youth sped after Saboro's Banshee; an echo of times past, when blades cut down the wretched that stretched over the earth. Its infestation. The blight. X'esnika ha'lori scraxi! Swords clashed with teeth, and Bomi watched as the Banshee leaped. She landed on a log, and then sprung for death's grip. Immediately, she wanted to turn back as she slowed down to a halt; the sounds of their struggle a din in her mind. This wasn't her place. The boy broke The Rules, and this was the price. This was the marshland's judgement, and she had no right to interfere. Only learn, and persevere. But... but something else reared up, something ancient in her mother's blood that coursed through her veins.

Loque'ka!

She tucked her ears back as she bolted, her paws barely touching the ground from how fast she sprinted; legs stretching to their full length, body coiling, extending, repeating. Nostrils flared, sucking in gulpfuls of air, fueling the heart to empower the broad lungs housed in her chest. Adrenaline charged through her veins and made everything more as time slowed down, and let her better see her surroundings. There! That's what she needed. She veered left, going astride from them along the shore line. She'd have to use everything she had, but this... It's what she needed to do. It's what she could only do. The dead sang, living in her shadow as they drank in the scent of battle.

Life, or death.

She chose Life.

The half-breed put all of her strength and effort into her mad dash as she ran up the length of a jutting boulder; a memory of chasing off a monkey surging through her, claws digging against the old rock. Gravity pulled, but before it could pull her down in its fist she kicked off, higher above the scenario below as her body twisted; cornflower blues on the forces beneath her as she used that momentum to free fall straight toward Petronius. She angled herself, knowing there was only this one moment. If she misjudged... No time! Not anymore. It all sped up, a trumpet of sound blaring around her ears. It took her a moment to realize she was making that noise, a lion's roar of challenge effing accepted.

In the final moment before her feet connected with the log and crocodile's snout, she slammed her bladed cheek into Petronius's trapped tail. If it worked, the combined trauma from the reptile's jaws and the force of her blow would free him. Red on red, cornflower blues blown wide with the realization she was now in his situation. If her or Lux's weight did not keep the beast down, then she'd simply traded places for the brown colored boy. Horror gripped her tight, clutched her chest and for a brief moment? She froze. Cheek embedded and body stiff, she simply stood there, and time kicked down a notch. Crippling fear, but Bane, ever present within her subconscious, made her move. She breathed in sharply, and jerked her head to and from as the water churned around them.

Bomi could not disappoint him. Not like...

ABOMINATION! SHE'D LIVE IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU!

She swung her head side to side, working the blade from its prison; claws digging into the crocodile's scales, feeling its breath too close to her toes. Panic, and then free! So free she almost lost her grip, and fell into the murky water. Did it stir now, with more reptilian bodies? Where one rose, three swam, so surely-? Don't think about it. Just focus. Gaze at the stupid boy.
"RUN!" She snarled, words a mangled mess in her throat as she moved, leaning down and trying to scruff him. Trying to get him to move, knowing his own instinct might betray him. To be betrayed by your own body, and emotions? The worst way to go. "GO!" Bomi yelled, stronger now, commanding for the first time.

She wondered if the marshmallow boy would mourn her, if he found out she took the boy's place in the crocodile's jaws.

She hoped he would.

It'd be nice, to be remembered kindly.

[If her thing didn't work, then her blade got stuck in the log and she's just trying to get Petronius to run away/freaking out that the crocodile can still potentially eat them.]
« Last Edit: June 15, 2017, 07:51:27 PM by Ceraphena »

Offline ℕᴇʀᴏ


  • the ROMAN
  • Saboro
  • Regular
  • ***
  • Posts: 408
  • Gender: Male
  • the RED RAVEN
  • Liked: 244
  • Likes Given: 295
Re: Eat My Ass, Croc [R2 // Open]
« Reply #3 on: June 20, 2017, 12:49:55 AM »
The massive form of the Red Raven rested against the base of a tree, thick roots curling around him, covered in plush moss and thick grass that cradled his heavy form. Like a great cat he had found a spot where the sunlight broke through the heavy canopy, nestling himself in the pleasant warmth so he could relish in it, his thick pelt soaking up the sun in a way that distantly reminded him of bright summer days as a child, laying between his mother’s paws. It was rare that he spent much time simply relaxing, breathing deeply and closing his eyes to let the thick breeze wash over him. Saboro wasn’t a peaceful place, but there were rare moments when he could pretend that it could be, when he didn’t feel the burden of his responsibilities or the oppressive weight of Saboro’s gaze. 



It had been a tumultuous few months, reminding Nero that nothing was certain, that everything in life was demanding. He had never shied away of risking himself, of pushing for the betterment of himself, but now that he had expanded himself, created a family, he had learned that he was willing to tolerate far less than he expected. Anglachel’s maiming shocked his system, assuring him that he and his were not invincible, that he, even as Raven, could not protect his loved ones. Not from everything. It had taken some time to adjust himself to that, to condition himself to the reality he now knew existed. It reminded him of the powerless boy he had been. The boy who watched his twin burn to death. The boy who had been forced to abandon his mother to a crumbling empire.

Nero had thought he was beyond being an useless onlooker as his love ones were hurt, even killed. But what had he done as Oriana tore into Anglachel, as she threatened North, Petronius? He had watched.

He would never just watch again.

His thoughts having soured, Nero curled his lip and huffed, blinking open his eyes and peering into the canopy. He lingered for a few moments before heaving his mass onto his paws, shaking moss from his coat. To distract himself, the Raven decided to venture out of the relative security of the fourth ring, traversing familiar, worn paths that eventually led him into the second ring. He huffed, quietly snickering as he padded around old haunts, places he’d used to hang around as a Slab. An eon ago, it seemed. He found himself thinly grinning, shaking his head as he walked leisurely along the wet back of the river, his keen eye keeping careful watch of the dark water, long having been trained to be wary of what may lay under the surface.

But what caught his attention did not rise up from the depths, rather it was a commotion ahead of him. Nero lifted his head, peering down the river bank, his small ears twitching as he caught the noise of the struggle. Cautions, but also concerned, the elite picked up his pace, drawing close enough that what was happening became more clear. He recognized the Banshee, leaping upon a form in the water, but then he noticed who she was attempting to assist.

It was Petronius. His son. The boy’s long tail was clamped in the jaws of an alligator, the monstrosity attempting to pull his child back into the river. Nero let out a shout of shock and horror, charging forward as his boy clung desperately to the trunk of a tree. Pete!,” he cried, his voice thick with his alarm. As he approached another female appeared, joining Lux near the river. He couldn’t see what Bomi was doing, as he focused entirely on Petronius, running forward to where Pete dug into the bark. He reached out and grabbed his son’s scruff, pressing his mass against him to try to bodily push him further away from the river.

Should Bomi cut into Pete’s tail and actually sever the limb, Nero’s force would pull the young Kestrel away, the pair stumbling back. Nero would try to huddle his child against him no matter what, resolute in making sure he would not be a passive participant in this. He would not allow this jungle to take his son from him.

""



████████████████████████

As the Bacchae knew,
we always tear our Gods to bits
AND EAT THE BITS WE LIKE.

#d39234

{ the Machiavellian }
— played by Kujo


Offline Killjoy.

  • Saboro
  • Initiate
  • ***
  • Posts: 5
  • Gender: Male
  • Liked: 1
  • Likes Given: 0
Re: Eat My Ass, Croc [R2 // Open]
« Reply #4 on: July 12, 2017, 07:17:46 PM »


Noise. There was so much noise. The crash of water, the hollers of pain and distress. These noises weren't unnatural in Saboro. Killjoy had been raised to the melody of disaster. The jungle screamed: with thunder, with pain, with wildlife and with lost souls. He had never been afraid of it. He remembered Attila cowering and crying when the clouds had rumbled above them: he hadn't understood why, but he had curled his large body around his brother's smaller frame, held him close and hummed little tunes into his ears until the boy had slept. But these roars weren't the sky. He recognised some of them. Petey. Papa.

The giant blinked behind his curtain of pale hair, tongue lolling out of his mouth between too-large teeth, and he turned his head towards the sound. Torn ears flicking forward, rotating as he took in the clamour, he fixated, trying to make out words or distinct sounds. He couldn't - the chaos was too great, but the tone of fear in his father's voice was interpretable, even to him: danger. Getting to his feet, with thick fur hanging from him like drapes, the brute broke into a run, thundering through the jungle towards the deeper marshes, where he knew crocodiles liked to swim.

It wasn't difficult to locate the source of the commotion.

Petronius was trapped, with half a tonne of reptile attached to his pretty pretty tail, yanking and twisting, desperate to drag the young adult into the murky waters with him. Hungry crocodile. Greedy crocodile. Already, three individuals, including his father, worked to free the lad, but his brother fixated entirely on the adversary.

Enormous jaws split, revealing large, yellowing teeth and upturned tusks, his tongue still uncontrollably hanging out of the back of his mouth, as he ran at top speed, past his father, the hellhound and the Banshee. His full body-weight came crashing down on the crocodile as he aimed a bite to the soft flesh behind the crocodile's head. The force came down: fifteen hundred pounds of it.

Pete's tail was not salvagable, and whether or not he had been freed by Bomi, the crocodile was still a threat. Killjoy wouldn't let it hurt his family. It couldn't touch his family. If he was lucky, the soft flesh and thick scales under his jaws would cave and shatter, giving way to the crocodle's exposed skull and brain. If he was lucky, he would disable the beast before it could turn its formidable fangs on him. Crocodiles could twist like contortionists, and even on its back, he was not free from risk.

But he had survived a forsaken pregnancy.

He had been born lucky.