- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Writing Levels
- Douche
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
It was uncommon.
When Zen darted away, making for the alley where Meds had been tossed, it was perhaps with the assumption that Azazel would follow. After all, who could last in this city without a quick tongue and a quicker step? Azazel was thus the anomaly to the hustle and bustle, moving no faster than an ink blot. He could not match a human's pace.
It was uncommon.
And even the attempt was thwarted as he felt the wind pick up. Sand and trash spiralled airward, like spirits raised, and each eddy stabbed the fear into his core. Azazel took shelter by the wall of the alley which Zen had rushed down. And there he flattened himself, pulling the heavy coat around him, hood and sleeves folding inwards.
If the wind caught him and got inside the coat, he would be dissipated. He would be flung wherever the breeze desired, and would spend the rest of the day reconstituting. And so he stayed and curled himself as best he could, hoping in resignation that the scarlet woman would return his companion to him.
"Mrow?"
The Owl and the Pussycat had not gone to sea, after all. And for the second time Meds found himself choking on feathers. Scrambling out from under Arkie's scruffed wings, the kitten found a place on her chest to sit and look up at Rul.
It was that bored look, the kind of look a cat gets when it has nothing better to do, and neither wants to be petted, fed nor interfered with.
...And Meds' expression wasn't much different.
They stared at each other and Meds waved his tail back and forth, shifting his paws now and then to make Arkie's breasts more pliant.
"Mrow."
When Zen darted away, making for the alley where Meds had been tossed, it was perhaps with the assumption that Azazel would follow. After all, who could last in this city without a quick tongue and a quicker step? Azazel was thus the anomaly to the hustle and bustle, moving no faster than an ink blot. He could not match a human's pace.
It was uncommon.
And even the attempt was thwarted as he felt the wind pick up. Sand and trash spiralled airward, like spirits raised, and each eddy stabbed the fear into his core. Azazel took shelter by the wall of the alley which Zen had rushed down. And there he flattened himself, pulling the heavy coat around him, hood and sleeves folding inwards.
If the wind caught him and got inside the coat, he would be dissipated. He would be flung wherever the breeze desired, and would spend the rest of the day reconstituting. And so he stayed and curled himself as best he could, hoping in resignation that the scarlet woman would return his companion to him.
* * * * *
"Mrow?"
The Owl and the Pussycat had not gone to sea, after all. And for the second time Meds found himself choking on feathers. Scrambling out from under Arkie's scruffed wings, the kitten found a place on her chest to sit and look up at Rul.
It was that bored look, the kind of look a cat gets when it has nothing better to do, and neither wants to be petted, fed nor interfered with.
...And Meds' expression wasn't much different.
They stared at each other and Meds waved his tail back and forth, shifting his paws now and then to make Arkie's breasts more pliant.
"Mrow."