rather die young [OPEN]

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[style=font-family:times; font-size: 16px; border-bottom: 1px dotted #000000; color: #000000; letter-spacing: -2px; line-height: 60%;]IF I DIE YOUNG, BURY ME IN SATIN. LAY ME DOWN ON A BED OF ROSES. Time for a fresh start. The clouds were probing dramatically across the sky that was their theater: their low-swung bellies were the curtains, the tremulous rain and poised thunder waiting to perform. Thick fingers of shadow lay accusing across the disturbed grass; they ran from the trees, the rocks, the distant hillside, until they were consumed by the vast, gaping fissure, swamped in inky black. All was silent, but the plains were smothered with that oppressive apprehension, that stillness shot through with shivers of half-movement, that great weight which always proceeds a storm. The raindrops wormed against her stolid frame, little bullet holes of wet darkness. A few despondent flies still whirred with intrepid hope about her person, but they were quickly dispelled by the tossing of her tainted tail; and besides, a bite or two was not likely to kill her. A fresh droplet landed with an explosion of spectrum color upon her nose, trickling across her quivering nostrils to settle on her lips. The female shook her head, dislodging yet more of the tiny shards of water; her gaze wandered past the swathes of shivering grass, boring into the stark silhouette of a lone tree. She had never minded rain, yet neither was it her desire to be drenched: besides, lightning had always .. unnerved her, slightly. Not that she would admit that to anyone, of course. So as casually as she could manage, Mimidae Zavalla began to pick her way through the saw-toothed grasses, awarding the greedy grin in the ground a wide berth as she walked. She was certain some fool would proclaim the belches of steam wafting up from its depths to be the breath of Satan, or what have you - whatever it was, the leopard was quite sure it was hot, and she had no wish to be burned at that exact moment. The searing flash of forked lightning blinded her for half a second: the lagging thunder growled as she started involuntarily and threw up her head. Cursing herself, the patterned female plunged forward, dropping her head to avoid the welcoming sweep of a branch. Under the canopy it was cool and dark, thrumming with the clicks of leaves and the tally of falling water. Again Mimidae shook herself, brow creased with irritation. She was like a kitten, jittering at distant flashes in the sky. It was only then that she noticed him. Her senses really must be dimming, she reflected, that she had not seen him before. The avian stood a little way off, on the other side of the far-spreading tree. He did not seem to mind the rain: in fact, he was standing happily amid it. Despite herself, despite the urge to leave and find somewhere more deserted, she found herself watching him curiously. His build was the complete opposite to hers' - where Mimidae was massive, muscular, powerful, he was slight and light-boned, skin bound tightly to his bones and feathers fluffed amid it. His feathers bore the glorious sheen Mimidae had seen on a particular breed she knew to have a sharp and keening call, though she could not remember the name. She looked away. To continue looking would have required starting a conversation, and the words were dead on Mimidae's black lips.[/style] Fallen here: "There are 548 WORDS in this post, which is positively OPEN. Lyrics and muse brought to me by IF I DIE YOUNG."

[HUXLEY VANDERBILT]

There are many things one could say of Huxley, but apathetic is not one of them. He had been following a beautiful pale bird all day-- since before sunrise, when he had seen its feathers shining out of the corner of his eye. Now it was late afternoon and the sun was barely visible behind the army of smoke-black clouds, engorged on their own self-important fury. Huxley didn't like the rain, but he wasn't going to give in so easily. He had set his heart on this bird.

His paws ached and he was soaked to the bone, so he limped along like a half-drowned kitten, but he wasn't going to stop. He had kept his distance all day, not wanting to frighten it away. All he wanted to do was admire it. Someone had to. It was so perfect: the fold of its wings, the gloss of its feathers, the angle of its tiny beak. So tiny and flawlessly-designed; a true miracle of life. How had it been designed so elegantly? How was it possible? If anything, this is what would have made Huxley believe in a higher power. Something had to have designed this beautiful machine.

As the bird approached a large acacia tree, Huxley followed a few careful yards behind, trying to walk as silently as possible. This was it: it had stopped to peck around the tree's roots, and he had a moment to catch his breath and to admire the finer workings of that magnificent creature. So delicate and fragile and yet so strong.

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lawl I'm sorry this post is shit, I got interrupted by dindinz >:

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[style=font-family:times; font-size: 16px; border-bottom: 1px dotted #000000; color: #000000; letter-spacing: -2px; line-height: 60%;]OH SINK ME IN THE RIVER AT DAWN. More raindrops found their way onto her quickly darkening pelt, then ran in little rivets down her sides and to her legs, creating stripes much like that of a zebra, only thinner. She had an awkward moment in her mind where she saw herself among the huddle and warmth of a zebra herd, their eyes miffed by her rain patterned pelt. Would they believe her one of them, or would her scent and size give her away? They were slightly unintelligent animals, despite their amount of speed and power of hind-legs. She'd never been kicked by one, but she had heard from her Momma that it hurt. A lot. It may be amusing to actually test her theor- Mimidae flinched violently, but not from the lightning. Another feline was here. It took all her willpower to keep from screaming, going on a violent rampage. She barely managed to stay still, her muscles quivering with a sick kind of anticipation beneath her skin, but then she froze over completely. She felt like a rabbit, and the male roughly ten yards away was the fox that was stalking her. She was trying to blend in with her surroundings as she crouched and turned her pale green gaze to him, to use her natural camouflage like a rabbit would. But alas - Mimidae was not a small leopard. She possessed none of the chameleon-like skills that she needed, and she could feel his eyes on her shining body. Why, oh why must she glimmer like that? The good news was that while a few raindrops might make her shine more, when she was drenched she would be as dull as a tree trunk. And she was getting closer to that with every second, with every teardrop from the clouds. Mimidae realized that she was still trembling slightly, but not enough so that the male could notice it. She was not a very good rabbit, it appeared. Notorious almond-shaped eyes darted to the corners to get a good look at this intruder without turning her head. She was still trying to use her prey coverup, though she knew for sure it wasn't working. The first thing that she noticed was the odd gangly appearance of this guy and his absolutely huge ears. He was the poster-boy for awkward teenagers as far as caracals went, and she found it somewhat amusing. It just gave him an .. inviting look? Even if the expression on his face wasn't. No, she shouldn't think like that. Yes, the expression on his face wasn't exactly sweet and innocent, but it wasn't shunning her away, either. That was already a star in her book. The tawny and onyx female tried to pursued her twitching muscles to relax and turn towards the male. It took a good minute for her system to calm down, but she was quickly enough staring straight back at him. Well, he wasn't looking at her anymore. She took a quick glance at him again, saw his too tiny build. He was almost infant-like compared to her - she couldn't tell from the distance. Still, it wasn't the height and weight issue that would bother her and gnaw at the edges of her mind. It was the interaction part. She crouched silently, dropping her gaze to the wet ground below her as she waited for him to say something. They normally waited to hear her angelic voice, or her lack of social skills to whisper among one another. It was probably a good thing he was here alone. Each passing second took its toll on her, though, her heart beating too slowly. Mimidae knew what was coming - the ridicule, the odd looks, as if she was from an entirely different planet. She wanted so badly to tell the male to get on with it, get it over with quickly. .. Because she was from another planet, in fact. But would he really mind?[/style] Fallen here: "There are 657 WORDS in this post, which is positively OPEN but at this moment directed directly for the lovely HUXLEY. Oh, btw, SORRY SHE'S A BIT CRAZY RIGHT NOW, :3. Lyrics and muse brought to me by IF I DIE YOUNG."

[HUXLEY VANDERBILT]

Huxley crouched down, nestling his haunches between two particularly large roots of the acacia tree. Under normal circumstances he would wrap his tail around his forepaws but he didn't have one to do that with, so the gangly caracal tom contented himself with tucking his paws neatly between his broader hindlegs.

The rain hummed down like a sheet of angry white bullets. It didn't rain much in the summer in Kenya, so Huxley found himself cherishing the drops' cool damp contact as they kissed the nape of his neck, running in swollen rivulets down his sandy gold pelt and splashing down his cheekbones to his paws. He watched with cross-eyed fascination as a particularly pregnant droplet gathered at the tip of his black nose and, with a kind of suicidal determination, hurled itself to the muddy ground at his claws.

The damp was a welcome relief after his long hot afternoon of marching after that beautiful bird, but he knew that by nightfall in a couple of hours, the added chill would be exactly what he wouldn't want. Still, Huxley wasn't known as being particularly pragmatic, so he realized with a sinking feeling that he'd probably find himself spending the night out here: shivering and miserable, dreaming of far away birds. Just like every other night.

The bird was so oblivious to its own intricacy, just nonchalantly pecking along the same acacia tree that Huxley was leaning against. Its bark was warm and slick against his shoulder. The bird clearly didn't recognize Huxley as the fellow who had been stalking it all day, and Huxley was grateful for his anonymity: bird weren't like cats. They didn't judge you for the deeds you did. They could care less, as long as you didn't eat them-- and Huxley had no intention of doing that. It would be sacrilegious, he felt, to destroy something so flawless.

The tininess of its organs... it was so frail. He could see the delicate membranes of its wings throbbing with every pulse of its heart. He could see right through it, almost, to those interior workings that ran like clockwork all the time. A miniature miracle. Beauty was, after all, in the details.

Huxley was so enthralled that, briefly, he let his guard down. Those famous caracal ears of his were relaxed, pricked with good-natured interest towards his bird. So he didn't first hear the figure behind him: he watched the bird freeze and raise its head. He listened to its anxious croon and wondered what was wrong. Had it seen a mate?

Holding his breath with anticipation, Huxley followed his gaze to a shadowy shape in the branches above him, something large and heavyset crouched a few feet away from him. At first, it didn't occur to Huxley to feel fear, or at least not for his life: his first thought was oh no, he'll frighten away my bird!

A second passed and Huxley's whiskers twitched as another thought occurred to him. What was that shape? Clearly another cat. Something large, at least double Huxley's weight. He scented the air but the rain was washing away any scents as quickly as they came.

As he examined him further, though, he realized that the newcomer was quivering all over, as if terrified. From below, he could see only the white of his underbelly and the dim outline of a pair of massive dappled shoulders: a leopard. Huxley gnawed on his lip ferociously. He couldn't tell if the leopard had noticed his presence yet: although the leopard's face was turned towards him, he couldn't see his eyes, and it was hard to see much through the driving rain. Plus Huxley hadn't made a sound. He lowered his gaze, his instincts raging an internal battle: fight or flight?

As if to answer his question, the bird uttered a bemused squawk and trotted closer to Huxley, looking inquisitive. Huxley nodded to himself. Okay, he definitely wasn't leaving, not if he'd have to leave this poor bird alone with this ugly hulking beast. Steeling himself and keeping his expression blank but warm, he called upwards, "D'you mind my staying the night here?"

He didn't really want to spend the night under the limited cover of the tree-- he just wanted to hear this leopard's response and judge for himself how far he could push his opponent.

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[style=font-family:times; font-size: 16px; border-bottom: 1px dotted #000000; color: #000000; letter-spacing: -2px; line-height: 60%;]SEND ME AWAY WITH THE WORDS OF A LOVE SONG. The steady thrumming of the rain around them was a lullaby to the leopard, but she couldn't help but flinch with every strike of lightning above her. She couldn't manage to conquer her trembling, she couldn't convince herself that she was safe beneath this tree. The angry rumbling of the thunder was a pure threat to all creatures beneath black storm clouds. She was definitely no exception. But maybe out of the three of them, the bird would be the first to go. It seemed the most disposable, the easier left for dead. The caracal may be upset with such a find, but she herself would gladly sacrifice it for their own safety. But yes, this caracal male would obviously go through quite the turmoil at the death of this bird, which she could not quite understand. He was just so .. this bird seemed to be the center of his universe. The center of his world, the very breath he inhaled and exhaled. He was concentrated solely on this bird - this bird which was not rare, this bird which was not particularly beautiful compared to any others - with the adoration of a lover. And while she didn't necessarily want to admit it, she was a mite bit jealous. Mimidae Zavalla coiled her muscles backward, dragging herself deeper into the shadows away from the male and his bird, being sure to do so absolutely silently. She paused when she reached the deepest of the blackness behind the thorny tree, pale green eyes gleaming through the torrent of rain as she watched him. She was not necessarily jealous of his odd love for this bird, no. She was not attracted to him in the least, but she was more-so jealous that he gazed at that bird as though he wanted to fuck it. She .. no male had ever given her that stare. Whether out of physical attraction or emotional connection, she had never before experienced it. And it made her angry, it made her sad, it made her so fucking jealous. She wanted to eat the bird. She climbed in the true fashion of the leopard: swiftly, quietly, and with all the power her body was capable of. The bunch and release of muscles beneath her soaking pelt was nearly beautiful as she took a mere three sharp strides vertical onto the lower branches of the spindly tree, pacing along the branches until she hovered only ten or so feet above the small male. She froze, all areas of her being tensing into pure ice as she wondered for a moment what he may taste like. Would he be lush and bloody as a warthog infant was, or would he be stringy and tough like the carcass of a hippopotamus? Drool pooled into her mouth as she anticipated dropping onto her prey, and Mimidae pulled all of her appendages beneath her belly. She poised herself on the edges of the branch, tossing her tail and yawning widely once before lowering her head off the side of her paws so she could watch him. And it was right as (right fucking as) she narrowed her eyes, curled her tail, pinned back her ears, focus all of her physical and emotional and mental power on the one goal of her prey .. he looked. The fucking bird tipped him off, and he glanced up into the branches. She froze again, locking everything in place once again, and watched him. He did not see her. She watched his yellow-gree-whatevercolortheywere eyes trace through the shadows, squinting through the rain as he gazed upwards and theeeen .. BOOM. She saw the toss of his ears, the tense of his body as he coiled involuntarily away from the hulking mass above her, and his eyes widened when they finally pinned to her form. And for a moment, she thought he would run. It would have been smart, she mused, if he had fled before she made her decision to chomp him up like the baby he appeared to be. She smirked slightly when his bird solidified his decision to stay, when he turned his eyes to the ground and asked her if it was alright to share this space for the night. She stifled back her amusement, and decided to play it from here. She wanted some entertainment. The predator purred deep within her throat as her heartbeat fluttered like butterfly wings within her chest, and her pelt rippled with the pulse and release of her muscles in anticipation. She measured herself, took a small stride forward onto her branch, and leaped - Massive padded paws landed mere inches from the caracal and she breathed heavily across his skin, lips pulled back slightly from her long teeth. The gleam in her pale green eyes was distinctly hungry, and the snarl coming from the very depth of her chest was a pure threat. But, as she edged slightly forward toward him, all her threat faded like the sunlight over the horizon. She tilted her head just slightly, expression becoming slightly child-like and inquisitive. She licked her lips swiftly, and chuffed almost like an infant before finally opening her mouth to speak, Spanish accent rolling across her tongue. "For what have you followed this bird, little caracal?"[/style] Fallen here: "There are 878 WORDS in this post, which is positively OPEN. Lyrics and muse brought to me by IF I DIE YOUNG."