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PARKING GARAGE
ANY CAR IN A STORM
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WELCOME TO THE NEXT 168 HOURS
Phoenix Casino is a-flutter with activity and packed to the beak with guests. As a famously ever-changing space, the staff would be remiss if they didn't deck the crown jewel of the Golden Peacock out. The casino glitters from top to bottom, shining brighter than diamonds, rubies, sapphires, opals! Party-goers are shiny and glamorous with picture perfect makeup, fluttering gowns, and sharp suits. Card tables are packed and the slot machines are a-ringing as guests play, play, play! Prizes, luxury, booze, attractive people, it's the place that everyone wants to be at.
Those people being dragged inside by some invisible force...? Silly, they were so excited to come that their bodies moved before they realized what was happening. Those are struggles of joy and definitely not the casino's infamous ghost hands dragging unwilling guests to the party at the behest of the house. Look, they're literally hurling their bodies at the card tables with unrestrained glee!
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[ seems the only thing she could get offended by is the slight, because the fact that texas runs is the truth. the flash of teeth from lappland is all the more return of a challenge--at this point, neither of them might refrain from confronting the homeland. but texas has a lifetime of avoidance she's sure wouldn't be broken so easily.
it really is so bitter. ]
Make it a nice fat knotty one for me, if you will. Let's see just how much that pussy could take. [ the flash of teeth, the lash of her tail, the sudden flare of her scent; somewhat more in the mood from a snarl, from being pinched back then. sex isn't supposed to be something so pleasant with her, for the most part. she could just about approach it as if a fight, in which there's a winner or loser.
and fucking burns a nice amount of calories for working up an appetite after. ]
(bitter or not, she knows better than to feel slighted by pointing out how often she runs. she's the escape artist of them. the girl that can disappear at the drop of a hat, capable of turning crowds into looking at her if she wanted to. because her words were nothing to sneeze at whenever texas does use them. she isn't theatrical like lappland, but there is a certain charisma to it that speaks louder than most would have realized.
whatever, she'll get that strap for her. though it's a flash of teeth from texas in response, a near growl given when the staff member she called up stands there awkwardly behind her. they didn't catch it, not the scent between them. not the way it flares in excitement that normally wasn't seen in texas during her stay across the months. nobody else has wound her up in this way. enough to growl, enough to feel agitated when:
"M-miss Texas? You called for me?"
awkward tone, awkward voice and confusion. concern, but it interrupts for now while she gives the request. the vibe, the knotty strap, and clit sucker. her suit mark is burning again at the idea of her "fighting" in encouragement, a demand for her to teach lappland not to mess with her. normally she'd ignore it (she's debating on it) but it's tempting her in that way she's staring again. teeth flashed out again like nothing interrupted her earlier once they leave.)
If they have one, I'd be surprised.
(she'll play, this time, as the mark burns. seethes, pressing into buried down emotions and desires again. because she hates bending knee to anyone, anything, this is entertainment to whatever higher being loves to fuck with her. she'll do it, but she won't stand for following along entirely.)
[ a roll of her eyes--not exactly at texas, but, ] Any sex club worth their salt should be able to get their hands on one. [ or, well, maybe not exactly. but this is some silly interdimensional kidnapping hedonist casino sex club or whatever, so she's not going to try to make much common sense out of it. anyway it's not as if she herself makes a habit of purchasing dicks when she's more concerned with, say, killing for hire or search-and-destroy missions or considering what to do about the matter of homeland.
she's a busy woman, or maybe she barely is. but if she's truly stuck here for the time being, she supposes she has time.
her hand goes to take texas' chin in her grip; her claws are sheathed by the black opera gloves she wears, but regardless there's hint of sharpness to her fingertips as her eyes near glow and she steps into texas' personal bubble, her tail stiff behind her, the demeanor of an alpha wolf just about daring texas to challenge her. ]
Now if you're an annoyed little pup, recall that chance dealt you that unlucky card for you to submit to me.
The only question is if you'll even be good at it. [ her grin baring fangs, the sharp of a beast's smile. ]
(they'd have knotted cock dildos of all damn things on hand? she almost wants to bite on that whenever her chin gets grabbed, the press of claws through fabric while texas closes the door with ease. no, they didn't need a show from them. not whenever she spots the way lappland's tail is stiff and how pleased the other woman seems to be. one would think that texas might just shut up and take it as she's always done in these scenarios, unfortunately for them that will not be happening. not at this moment.
not ever, can she submit to lappland? the answer is clear in how she snarls at that grin, at being called "little pup" over the cards they drew. to say that cellinia was thinking strongly about something was an understatement. what she does instead is grab lappland's hand by the wrist (and if able) whenever she comes closer, shoves her against the wall. away from that window, pressed up against her body roughly and growling. teeth bared as if ready to tear into flesh like a wild beast more than a person.
that look in her eye must be delicacy right now, who else could get a rise like this from her? sure, that suit of hers has been laying out the groundwork in making that easier. but that didn't change it. not how she seems to be taking the idea.)
Do I really want to play that role? You tell me.
(that scent is stronger in the air from the way she growls it out (all guttural and low in a violent purr) from snarled teeth and excitement. seems like they both had time if they were busy trying to find that strap-on that was requested primarily. a little too much time.)
[ well she wouldn't complain at all if she might try to bully texas in public or in front of resort employees or just about in front of anyone, if it really came down to it. whether she's an exhibitionist or simply doesn't give a fuck... maybe a little bit of both. maybe it depends on the scenario. maybe she wouldn't even mind putting on a strap and just about railing texas on top of some betting table in the middle of the casino if she were able. actually, what a tasty idea that could be--
she could read texas' intent, from a lifetime of play-fighting and fight-fighting and dueling and clashing with her. she allows for texas to grab her and even pin her to the wall; her laugh is high and pleased and interrupted only briefly by the slam of her there, even as she rounds into the motion to control her own impact-- ] Ah--rough play from a little runaway. Must be that I struck a nerve! I've called you that before, you know!
[ to the doctor, and maybe not quite to texas' face. but honestly she wouldn't particularly have a reason not to tell it straight to her anyway. ] How puppies bark and growl when they're offended, like you're doing. Whereas adults in more confidence know if falsehoods are worth getting so riled up over...
Perhaps there's a part of you that wants to be tamed or trained if you want to roughhouse like an unruly pet. Or, [ leaning in closer, the sharp of her teeth towards texas' mouth, the hiss of her breath. her smile unflinching, almost casual in contrast to that growl, ]
You want to be punished into it.
[ how things might be different if she at least had a weapon, but whenever she points one at texas for anything beyond a spar, how funny, it always tends to happen for a duel to the death. ]
(the runaway part she can give less of a fuck about, she is one. maybe she also wouldn't give a damn if she got caught teaching someone a lesson for provoking her for now on in public spaces, didn't matter if staff saw or some random faceless guests. she's thinking about it and how much of a better idea that sounds over her game of pretending, ignoring her problems. that demand is there to do it. to show people just how she truly is under the surface.
annoying. that wasn't what she wanted, not to be tamed or punished. what she desires is anything but being made into someone's trained pet. lappland says that, but there is plenty texas can say in response. why isn't she? because that's not on her mind to do. this isn't offense, this is her and her hackles rising. this is agitation, provocations (if any) were answered in how she does snarl.)
You're one to talk whenever you're getting turned on by this. (a hiss of her own, the low growl not even pausing but briefly. their scents are mingling, but she knows. that's always undeniable that texas can notice. they're both wolves, but it's hypocritical of her to say that while snarling. while they're pressed up against one another against this wall, with teeth bared and lips near to bite down with at any given time.
seeing as how she didn't recall lappland telling her this before, she could have guessed it was the doctor lappland mentioned it to. who else talks to her on board the landship that didn't completely turn tail and run not long after from the impression they can get? that doesn't change the fact she's barking up the wrong tree. unless that was the intention. cellinia did recall their younger years, lappland's biting remarks and everything about what she did. about how the people in the country called texas more siracusan than siracusan's.)
I couldn't care less about you calling me a runaway, but I'm not your dog, and I'm not some pup to tame to heel.
(perhaps it's better texas didn't know about the contraband holdout weapons, otherwise this could have gotten bad real fast. or good, depending on how it's viewed. maybe even better that she didn't ask for something for a bit of weapon play for the moment they're in.)
[ she's pretty damn turned on and it's not a secret to both of them, but, ] So are you, dolcezza. [ there's a laugh, quiet but growing louder as her knee goes to slide between texas' legs, between her thighs, to press against her crotch. the fact that texas wears shorts like this is... well it sure is texas of her. lappland's fantasies of ripping a dress off her might have to wait another day, or maybe she'd rather keep it on, the nice thing is she sure can fuck even with a dress on. ]
You're a runaway, I'm not quite. I had to be banished, unlike you. [ like a mad dog, she'd turned her fangs on her own famiglia. not a murder and then an escape, she had to have the entire famiglia and country lock her out. ] And maybe that's the difference between us. You turned tail. [ on me, she could almost say, but bites her tongue.
her hand goes to stroke texas' cheek, seemingly gentle for a moment--before seizing and pinching it, as if to a misbehaving pet, ]
Is that really such a thing a true wolf would do, rather than a pup? [ she leans in closer still, teeth now nipping to texas' ear, the slice of her teeth and bared smile, ] You'll have to tell me.
[ she knows, all her life, texas doesn't belong to her.
but she could dream and burn for wanting it anyway. ]
(the press of lappland's knee to her crotch wasn't quite a surprise, but she did growl again. as though she threatens to snap those teeth of hers down at any time on lappland, but maybe that's further hypocritical of her. not the way her hands hike that dress up and run along pale thighs. to grab and squeeze into the meat of them while gloved fingertips and trimmed claws press down into the inner part in a threat of their own. she couldn't care about waiting the longer this provocation continues.
this song and dance they've both been locked in about their history in some ways. the gentle stroke made her raise a brow, but what came after was another story. texas snarls out curses under her breath at lappland's pinch from being caught off guard, seems like someone has taught her other "words" from one of her friends. at least by the string of "fuck" being hissed out over a yelp before texas forces it down.) Sorry, but I don't believe that either of us counts as true wolves with the things we've done. (one killed her familiga, her father even, and left. the other? the other was no better on terms of misdeeds from her exile.
but that didn't change the way her body is reacting, how their bodies are reacting to one another. her point is still one that she means. why would they count, why would lappland even count as a true wolf? they aren't, lappland especially is not.
cellinia doesn't even come close with teeth slicing into one of those ears of hers, the other flicks upwards and tenses for once. sensitive, but they have sensitive ears or texas does. her claws dig and grip into lappland's thighs through the gloves, as if they want to rip through and move her legs aside. she's thinking about it, she wouldn't kneel or be tamed by anyone.
that's always rung true, even in a hellhole like the golden peacock. yet it didn't stop her from liking it, from liking how lappland tries. tries to tame her, tries to keep up with her and have her. yes, texas likes it a little too much with not making this easy.)
Because we're both not even cut out to be true wolves. Us? The two that ran away and were thrown out? That isn't even much of a joke to make you laugh, of all damn people if someone else said it.
[ not to be some nationalist or speciesist or anything, because she’s not. the both of them have been scarred and wounded and near broken by the homeland, and yet… how completely twisted of her, to have thought the country and its ways inevitable and inescapable. all her life she’d helped texas, almost without a second thought, just about helping her escape while she herself sunk in the mud and just wanted texas to put an end to it before she could actually run free.
every touch, every squeeze pulls at her bastard heart that just about wanted one thing, one person all her life. but they might just be too different, because— ] If you’re not a wolf, what are you? I know what I am. You might not even believe in ‘truth’, because you kept running from everything. From friends, from the famiglia and country, from… maybe, from what you really think or want. [ her hand strokes into texas’ hair, an almost soothing gentleness, as affectionate as a lover’s. her sheer violence, but she’d so rarely ever bared it to texas outside of duels. maybe her heart is such a betrayer that she could still be kind or soft to her, though underneath it is the bitterness and blackness of covetousness. ]
You ran and I was thrown out, I’m a lone wolf but I’m still a wolf.
You still reject… everything. Maybe that’s your new method of turning tail.
(of them, texas was the one that knew the country would come back to haunt her. one day. she did make that deal with zaaro, she even waited for it. a small part of her hoped that gut feeling had been wrong. that she could have begun to let her guard drop, allow herself to attempt moving on while waiting for the inevitable. that didn't happen. what happened was the day did come for her, there was no hiding or pretending siracusa wasn't always on her heels in some parts of her thoughts. except there's more to what she was saying.
texas didn't consider herself a true wolf, but that was a given. she considers herself a wolf still (even a lone wolf despite her friends) regardless of everything. because she did have one way of thinking about herself.) I don't need to be a true wolf to be who I am. Still a wolf, still a lone wolf, with or without the country waxing poetic about me. (her hands only pause their threats for texas to reach and remove one glove from her costume, the leather covering her other hand takes its grip back up. rough, harsh along her thigh to part her legs nice and proper. to run her now bare hand upwards with a destination in mind, a rather obvious one in their back and forth when it stops short of her panties. they're still turned on.)
Or are you saying that I have to consider myself a true wolf to know who I am?
(the gentle strokes almost feel like a mockery when cellinia decides because lappland did take her ear, she can make the most of something from their positions. her teeth tease exposed skin, nips and nibbles, scrapes along lappland's neck through fabric. maybe even threatening to bite it off from flicks of her tongue to leave a trail of wet marks and teeth near latching down in something almost bloody.)
[ even in their little trip back to volsinii that was more than enough for her to press her ear back to the grapevine of the homeland. the discontent that the famiglia wolves had, the shackles or leashes of control the signora had over the famiglie, over the country. she’d never consider her a famiglia wolf again, but she knew there was a truth to, if anything, the wilderness or desolation that she turned to outside the city…
every touch, every nip of teeth has a shiver run harsh down her spine. her ears nearly bend back, a whine nearly rising in her throat; not even exactly from submission, just from… want. the desire of her entire life. she didn’t care about being a famiglia wolf, they were both born into the life, but she only wanted— ]
I’m saying, [ her voice a low snarl, her own hand suddenly fisting into texas’ hair, claws cutting towards her scalp. the other hand going to texas’ shirt to start cutting the threads of her buttons, to start undoing the vest and blouse with careless or deliberate shreds of her claws, ] You ran and you still run from everything. You’re a creature who gets going when the going gets tough! [ it’s accusatory, but it’s the truth. she knows it most of all of anyone in the world, as someone who’d always chased her. ] Real wolves might just fight and bite and tear the throat out of anyone who stands in their way—
You didn’t even do just that. [ that day, back before the fire. she’s over it, she really is, she could think as such but maybe she can’t help it if it’s the most defining moment of her life. just about the most beatific moment she thought she could give texas everything, and then she was rejected.
her clutch into texas’ hair tightens; as much as she wants to bite her neck, she wants, so badly, absolutely everything of texas and from texas. the infatuation that defined her. she’d fantasize of pinning texas down or having texas nip her neck just like this… it’s almost everything she wanted but accepted wouldn’t happen. she could imagine texas sinking her teeth in and her legs tremble with how much she desires just that—but her grip in texas’ hair holds her back from doing just that, yet. ]
(maybe she does want to sink her teeth in lappland's neck badly, maybe she wants to despite the tight grip on her hair. the way claws threaten to rake lines along her scalp, maybe she also wants to kiss her quiet and breathless. rut and grind against her gracelessly with where her emotions are; leave teeth marks along her breasts that won't be healing for a bit. the thoughts not leaving, it has yet to, even as her teeth are kept short of leaving the marks she craves from bites. so she doesn't. what she does instead is take part of the pale skin of lappland's neck along the column of her throat and sucks hard on it.
she's being quiet, but she's thinking. thinking while her bare hand teases, brushing against lappland's panties with an index finger along her cunt, her lips. the claws of that hand threatens to rip them open as if that's the intent while they press lightly into fabric.
her other hand (gloved and everything) reaches to tug down that evening down with other intentions of its own. to cup a breast and squeeze, brush thumb against her nipple roughly through her bra if she were wearing one. she noticed that, the shiver and the tremble in lappland's legs while fabric rips of her vest strings and blouse coming open. she can presume it's both careless and deliberate, just like the pressing of texas being more deliberate. that part has been clearer since they started, whenever her mouth lets go of lappland's neck. leaving behind a black-blue mark, nice and pretty for now. it'd only be one of many.) Constant violence doesn't do anything, either. Just like how me running away doesn't. So maybe I do run away from talking about it, from anything remotely near remembering. (because that's how she's been. avoiding speaking about it, conversations that she should have been having by burying herself in something or other as a means of not thinking. that only worsened during her stay.)
But do you really think it'd be worth me being that angry again? The way that I was in Volsinii near the end as I kept watching the way they used, abused, and did everything they could to claim a win at the cost of multiple lives?
Or the way that I felt it after the fire? (the words are hummed out, again, her lips take another patch of skin. another hard suckle and her tongue brushing along it slowly. to taste her, to leave those bruises. the leather fabric of her gloved hand brushes along more pale skin with each squeeze, each passing second getting rougher. the scents getting more obvious and thicker from texas, she might be considering ignoring the game and playing it. not the way they intended, anyway.)
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
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it really is so bitter. ]
Make it a nice fat knotty one for me, if you will. Let's see just how much that pussy could take. [ the flash of teeth, the lash of her tail, the sudden flare of her scent; somewhat more in the mood from a snarl, from being pinched back then. sex isn't supposed to be something so pleasant with her, for the most part. she could just about approach it as if a fight, in which there's a winner or loser.
and fucking burns a nice amount of calories for working up an appetite after. ]
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whatever, she'll get that strap for her. though it's a flash of teeth from texas in response, a near growl given when the staff member she called up stands there awkwardly behind her. they didn't catch it, not the scent between them. not the way it flares in excitement that normally wasn't seen in texas during her stay across the months. nobody else has wound her up in this way. enough to growl, enough to feel agitated when:
"M-miss Texas? You called for me?"
awkward tone, awkward voice and confusion. concern, but it interrupts for now while she gives the request. the vibe, the knotty strap, and clit sucker. her suit mark is burning again at the idea of her "fighting" in encouragement, a demand for her to teach lappland not to mess with her. normally she'd ignore it (she's debating on it) but it's tempting her in that way she's staring again. teeth flashed out again like nothing interrupted her earlier once they leave.)
If they have one, I'd be surprised.
(she'll play, this time, as the mark burns. seethes, pressing into buried down emotions and desires again. because she hates bending knee to anyone, anything, this is entertainment to whatever higher being loves to fuck with her. she'll do it, but she won't stand for following along entirely.)
no subject
she's a busy woman, or maybe she barely is. but if she's truly stuck here for the time being, she supposes she has time.
her hand goes to take texas' chin in her grip; her claws are sheathed by the black opera gloves she wears, but regardless there's hint of sharpness to her fingertips as her eyes near glow and she steps into texas' personal bubble, her tail stiff behind her, the demeanor of an alpha wolf just about daring texas to challenge her. ]
Now if you're an annoyed little pup, recall that chance dealt you that unlucky card for you to submit to me.
The only question is if you'll even be good at it. [ her grin baring fangs, the sharp of a beast's smile. ]
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not ever, can she submit to lappland? the answer is clear in how she snarls at that grin, at being called "little pup" over the cards they drew. to say that cellinia was thinking strongly about something was an understatement. what she does instead is grab lappland's hand by the wrist (and if able) whenever she comes closer, shoves her against the wall. away from that window, pressed up against her body roughly and growling. teeth bared as if ready to tear into flesh like a wild beast more than a person.
that look in her eye must be delicacy right now, who else could get a rise like this from her? sure, that suit of hers has been laying out the groundwork in making that easier. but that didn't change it. not how she seems to be taking the idea.)
Do I really want to play that role? You tell me.
(that scent is stronger in the air from the way she growls it out (all guttural and low in a violent purr) from snarled teeth and excitement. seems like they both had time if they were busy trying to find that strap-on that was requested primarily. a little too much time.)
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she could read texas' intent, from a lifetime of play-fighting and fight-fighting and dueling and clashing with her. she allows for texas to grab her and even pin her to the wall; her laugh is high and pleased and interrupted only briefly by the slam of her there, even as she rounds into the motion to control her own impact-- ] Ah--rough play from a little runaway. Must be that I struck a nerve! I've called you that before, you know!
[ to the doctor, and maybe not quite to texas' face. but honestly she wouldn't particularly have a reason not to tell it straight to her anyway. ] How puppies bark and growl when they're offended, like you're doing. Whereas adults in more confidence know if falsehoods are worth getting so riled up over...
Perhaps there's a part of you that wants to be tamed or trained if you want to roughhouse like an unruly pet. Or, [ leaning in closer, the sharp of her teeth towards texas' mouth, the hiss of her breath. her smile unflinching, almost casual in contrast to that growl, ]
You want to be punished into it.
[ how things might be different if she at least had a weapon, but whenever she points one at texas for anything beyond a spar, how funny, it always tends to happen for a duel to the death. ]
no subject
annoying. that wasn't what she wanted, not to be tamed or punished. what she desires is anything but being made into someone's trained pet. lappland says that, but there is plenty texas can say in response. why isn't she? because that's not on her mind to do. this isn't offense, this is her and her hackles rising. this is agitation, provocations (if any) were answered in how she does snarl.)
You're one to talk whenever you're getting turned on by this. (a hiss of her own, the low growl not even pausing but briefly. their scents are mingling, but she knows. that's always undeniable that texas can notice. they're both wolves, but it's hypocritical of her to say that while snarling. while they're pressed up against one another against this wall, with teeth bared and lips near to bite down with at any given time.
seeing as how she didn't recall lappland telling her this before, she could have guessed it was the doctor lappland mentioned it to. who else talks to her on board the landship that didn't completely turn tail and run not long after from the impression they can get? that doesn't change the fact she's barking up the wrong tree. unless that was the intention. cellinia did recall their younger years, lappland's biting remarks and everything about what she did. about how the people in the country called texas more siracusan than siracusan's.)
I couldn't care less about you calling me a runaway, but I'm not your dog, and I'm not some pup to tame to heel.
(perhaps it's better texas didn't know about the contraband holdout weapons, otherwise this could have gotten bad real fast. or good, depending on how it's viewed. maybe even better that she didn't ask for something for a bit of weapon play for the moment they're in.)
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You're a runaway, I'm not quite. I had to be banished, unlike you. [ like a mad dog, she'd turned her fangs on her own famiglia. not a murder and then an escape, she had to have the entire famiglia and country lock her out. ] And maybe that's the difference between us. You turned tail. [ on me, she could almost say, but bites her tongue.
her hand goes to stroke texas' cheek, seemingly gentle for a moment--before seizing and pinching it, as if to a misbehaving pet, ]
Is that really such a thing a true wolf would do, rather than a pup? [ she leans in closer still, teeth now nipping to texas' ear, the slice of her teeth and bared smile, ] You'll have to tell me.
[ she knows, all her life, texas doesn't belong to her.
but she could dream and burn for wanting it anyway. ]
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this song and dance they've both been locked in about their history in some ways. the gentle stroke made her raise a brow, but what came after was another story. texas snarls out curses under her breath at lappland's pinch from being caught off guard, seems like someone has taught her other "words" from one of her friends. at least by the string of "fuck" being hissed out over a yelp before texas forces it down.) Sorry, but I don't believe that either of us counts as true wolves with the things we've done. (one killed her familiga, her father even, and left. the other? the other was no better on terms of misdeeds from her exile.
but that didn't change the way her body is reacting, how their bodies are reacting to one another. her point is still one that she means. why would they count, why would lappland even count as a true wolf? they aren't, lappland especially is not.
cellinia doesn't even come close with teeth slicing into one of those ears of hers, the other flicks upwards and tenses for once. sensitive, but they have sensitive ears or texas does. her claws dig and grip into lappland's thighs through the gloves, as if they want to rip through and move her legs aside. she's thinking about it, she wouldn't kneel or be tamed by anyone.
that's always rung true, even in a hellhole like the golden peacock. yet it didn't stop her from liking it, from liking how lappland tries. tries to tame her, tries to keep up with her and have her. yes, texas likes it a little too much with not making this easy.)
Because we're both not even cut out to be true wolves. Us? The two that ran away and were thrown out? That isn't even much of a joke to make you laugh, of all damn people if someone else said it.
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every touch, every squeeze pulls at her bastard heart that just about wanted one thing, one person all her life. but they might just be too different, because— ] If you’re not a wolf, what are you? I know what I am. You might not even believe in ‘truth’, because you kept running from everything. From friends, from the famiglia and country, from… maybe, from what you really think or want. [ her hand strokes into texas’ hair, an almost soothing gentleness, as affectionate as a lover’s. her sheer violence, but she’d so rarely ever bared it to texas outside of duels. maybe her heart is such a betrayer that she could still be kind or soft to her, though underneath it is the bitterness and blackness of covetousness. ]
You ran and I was thrown out, I’m a lone wolf but I’m still a wolf.
You still reject… everything. Maybe that’s your new method of turning tail.
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texas didn't consider herself a true wolf, but that was a given. she considers herself a wolf still (even a lone wolf despite her friends) regardless of everything. because she did have one way of thinking about herself.) I don't need to be a true wolf to be who I am. Still a wolf, still a lone wolf, with or without the country waxing poetic about me. (her hands only pause their threats for texas to reach and remove one glove from her costume, the leather covering her other hand takes its grip back up. rough, harsh along her thigh to part her legs nice and proper. to run her now bare hand upwards with a destination in mind, a rather obvious one in their back and forth when it stops short of her panties. they're still turned on.)
Or are you saying that I have to consider myself a true wolf to know who I am?
(the gentle strokes almost feel like a mockery when cellinia decides because lappland did take her ear, she can make the most of something from their positions. her teeth tease exposed skin, nips and nibbles, scrapes along lappland's neck through fabric. maybe even threatening to bite it off from flicks of her tongue to leave a trail of wet marks and teeth near latching down in something almost bloody.)
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every touch, every nip of teeth has a shiver run harsh down her spine. her ears nearly bend back, a whine nearly rising in her throat; not even exactly from submission, just from… want. the desire of her entire life. she didn’t care about being a famiglia wolf, they were both born into the life, but she only wanted— ]
I’m saying, [ her voice a low snarl, her own hand suddenly fisting into texas’ hair, claws cutting towards her scalp. the other hand going to texas’ shirt to start cutting the threads of her buttons, to start undoing the vest and blouse with careless or deliberate shreds of her claws, ] You ran and you still run from everything. You’re a creature who gets going when the going gets tough! [ it’s accusatory, but it’s the truth. she knows it most of all of anyone in the world, as someone who’d always chased her. ] Real wolves might just fight and bite and tear the throat out of anyone who stands in their way—
You didn’t even do just that. [ that day, back before the fire. she’s over it, she really is, she could think as such but maybe she can’t help it if it’s the most defining moment of her life. just about the most beatific moment she thought she could give texas everything, and then she was rejected.
her clutch into texas’ hair tightens; as much as she wants to bite her neck, she wants, so badly, absolutely everything of texas and from texas. the infatuation that defined her. she’d fantasize of pinning texas down or having texas nip her neck just like this… it’s almost everything she wanted but accepted wouldn’t happen. she could imagine texas sinking her teeth in and her legs tremble with how much she desires just that—but her grip in texas’ hair holds her back from doing just that, yet. ]
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she's being quiet, but she's thinking. thinking while her bare hand teases, brushing against lappland's panties with an index finger along her cunt, her lips. the claws of that hand threatens to rip them open as if that's the intent while they press lightly into fabric.
her other hand (gloved and everything) reaches to tug down that evening down with other intentions of its own. to cup a breast and squeeze, brush thumb against her nipple roughly through her bra if she were wearing one. she noticed that, the shiver and the tremble in lappland's legs while fabric rips of her vest strings and blouse coming open. she can presume it's both careless and deliberate, just like the pressing of texas being more deliberate. that part has been clearer since they started, whenever her mouth lets go of lappland's neck. leaving behind a black-blue mark, nice and pretty for now. it'd only be one of many.) Constant violence doesn't do anything, either. Just like how me running away doesn't. So maybe I do run away from talking about it, from anything remotely near remembering. (because that's how she's been. avoiding speaking about it, conversations that she should have been having by burying herself in something or other as a means of not thinking. that only worsened during her stay.)
But do you really think it'd be worth me being that angry again? The way that I was in Volsinii near the end as I kept watching the way they used, abused, and did everything they could to claim a win at the cost of multiple lives?
Or the way that I felt it after the fire? (the words are hummed out, again, her lips take another patch of skin. another hard suckle and her tongue brushing along it slowly. to taste her, to leave those bruises. the leather fabric of her gloved hand brushes along more pale skin with each squeeze, each passing second getting rougher. the scents getting more obvious and thicker from texas, she might be considering ignoring the game and playing it. not the way they intended, anyway.)