|| Let's unwrite these pages...! [V.elocity]

[Storeh]

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[bg=#FF00CC] Languidly the arching boughs of the willows swept upon a breath of wind, caressing insistently the shaded pelt of the mixed fea. Hushful, she made stance, a deathlike statuette in the fabricated stillness. It was no true soundlessness, for the mare had witnessed such tranquility in her brushes with the pale horse. Nay, this was but a faux impression of that balance of quietude, the equal scale of harmony that only came with death. Truth, the motionless mare could clearly witness that flutter of wings, the smell of fresh blood in veins. Only a true fool would think this an actual undisturbed place. None could bear any witness to her presence, at the very least by the usual method of sighting. Few could come to the defined conclusion that ones senses could be honed and perfected beyond the limited scope that came with the right of birth. Though it was through her sire's blood which she came by her right to mask her very existence, though his origin and veins she drank deeply that which gave her right to the way of the Reaper. Half-blood through Lucy may have been, walking the tightrope of harbinger of discord, these were mere things she was entitled to. Blood was a sacred thing, a possession not to be weighted with indolence. To exchange blood with another being of either planes of existence was to form a bond stronger than even the most honest fabrications of love. Life's most sacred nectar, by which she fed, the only substance that sated the hunger that chaffed without ceasing. Her nostrils flared to inhale the smell of the metallic in the surroundings, yet she mad not a motion to seek. One should only feed when they are truly hungry, so not to squander the presence of future meals, nor the pleasure of the kill itself. The untempted mind settled with ease upon the remembrance of events long since choked to erase by the swelling tides of time’s wide berth. Tasteless to the sorrow of the mind unrested, the moment savoringly bitter to her tongue, as though a single swallow of her emotion could force her into the drowning pools at her feet. A name lost to her voice, a peculiar longing that Lucy wished to merely dispose of into the chasm of indifference, yet here the mind persisted where the soul seemed ripe to fail, lingering on lips. For on to dabble in the past was torture to the wary mind, why was the fea wondering about the events that led her down too few roads at present, binding her to the isles that she had already come to explore? The thoughts settled as though such turbulence had molded to the bone, only to rear the head once more as her frame did nought even quiver with mindset. Memory presented itself in song, in lyric, in poem that tempted her very existence, ash in stomach. Dare would the Harlequin flirt with fate and marry temptation all in vain hope of voice? A mere whisper would suffice, the song in the stone, but it would not rise nor serve the path it was meant alone to call. An exhale spoke the truth she dared not utter to the landscape, the trees moaning with the breath. Mere myths and fairy tales spun like spider silk in her head, vacant and meaningless to the isles of the secrets, to the cliffs of the damned. Longing, it might be, to speak to the dead, to converse with them in the graves through the song of her origin, the song of her blood. Yes, it was the blood that was calling! The song that bound her to her blood before. One had known the unveiling of the words hidden in the depths. Dust were the ones who called it first. The world darkened as she called to the shade. 'Os iusti, Meditabitur sapientiam, Et lingua eius, Loquetur iudicium, Beatus vir qui, Suffert tentationem, Quoniam cum probates fuerit, Accipiet coronam vitae, Kyrie, Ignis Divine, eleison, O quam Sancta, Quam Serena, Quam Benigna, Quam Amoena, O Castitatis Lilium,' Deceit trickled from her tongue as words sweetly rolled from the chambers of throat, ancient tongue muttering its echo through the willows’ reach. The motionless splendor rested in awe of that which could not be witnessed, only suffered in the weeping of the world. The darkest sparks of her existence thrived in the ashen borders of these islands, drawing from her heritage to summon the shadows, breathe life into the wraiths so they could once more walk. The crystalline leaves shivered with the burden of the passing snows, this pristine world of purity now so tainted by the song. A mindful uttering of curses, a calling to the world not kin to the plane that now bore the fruit, gave grace to the womb of life. No mortal would understand this call, for only he who resisted temptation witnessed. The halfblood could have then summoned a response, a reprise in the uttering, calling back to such temptation that was conversation, vanquished the darkness. Instead, the mare bore the weight of those words. Hidden from view, her voice beckoned without heeding the warnings, summoning more than crows, more than mortals. Lonesomeness was the tree from which she thrived, but idle monotony had to be broken. Muse: Back into the swing. OOC: Calling all immortals! Music: Lilium - Elfen Lied

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[Vel]

✘ C R O W L E Y ✘

As always the distracted demon had taken to wandering. There was nothing left back in the homeland he now ruled. Valdis just kept proving to him that she was incapable of leading such a herd. Nevertheless, she was still the Lady of the land and was treated as such by the others. She was so young compared to the rest of them. Nothing more than a naive child who needed to learn to grow up and take responsibility. Reapers and Grims would come and go from the land, still calling it their home though they never stayed for long. But that was just their breeds. They had always been like that. When you were centuries upon centuries of years old, you kind of got bored staying in one place for too long. Wandering was a necessity so they could save themselves from insanity.¹

There was another reason not to go back to his homeland. Bside the fact there was no leader there keeping things in order or other interesting horses to talk to, Crowley's brother was there. Just as with any siblings, they would be fond of each other one day and trying to kill each other the next.² True, his brother was just as intelligent as him and was always pleasant to converse with, but Crowley did not like the fact that that little brat hung around him. Maybe it was more the fact his brother practically doted upon the stupid colt that followed him around. After not seeing him for a few decades he had come across the ebony stallion when wandering one day only to find him with one of those mudblooded horses. A sparse blue roan colt who had apparently lost his parents to a Zunden attack. Why he was fond enough of the scrawny thing to take him in, Crowley would never know. Some things were probably best if they were unknown. Crowley was always good at turning away from things that should be left unspoken. He just had a feeling that this was one of them.

The musings of his frantic mind were put to rest when he heard something. A voice to be specific. It was just not any random voice, belonging to a stranger. It was a voice that was all to familiar to Crowley. It was that voice he enjoyed listening to. That voice he could linger on as the melodies it made wrapped themselves around him. It was the voice that belonged to Lucy.

His pointed ears were at full mast as he broke into a quick canter, zeroing in on the ancient song that pierced the muggy air. What was she doing here? He had not seen her for months. Hell, it had practically been a year, had it not? What ever the length of time, Crowley was just glad that she was around. Fate certainly favoured him today, making sure that they were both in the same general area. He just loved talking with her. She was one of the only ones who actually said things worth listening to. That was a rare thing these days.

"My, my, look what the cat dragged in!" he exclaimed with a smile once she came into view. His pace quickly slowed to a walk as he shook his dark pelt. "It's been ages darling." he said with a playful smirk. "Who would have thought that I'd find you here singing those lyrics lost to most of our kind. Were you hoping to call one of them to you? Ah, it doesn't matter I guess, you reeled one in whether or not you actually want him." By the time he finished rambling, he stopped a respectable speaking distance away from her, a smirk plastered on his velvety maw.

¹If that was not an issue already. By this point in their lives most Grims and Reapers, if they were aged, were not, by definition of the word, sane. Time did funny things to an individual's mind.

²Which would not be as dangerous if they were not hellish beings who could possibly end up destroying one another and everyone else with a mile radius.

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✘Muse: okay I guess
✘OOC: Sorry for the late reply ^^ And trying a different writing style I will only use for Crowley based off Terry Pratchett's style since Crowley was based off of Crowley from his book Good Omens. XD
✘Music: Neji - Elfen Lied Soundtrack[/size][/color][/font]

[Storeh]

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[bg=#FF00CC] Tideless musings rested with assurance from the ease of the mind whom had casted them aside with such urgency. Ill formed thoughts dropped themselves without the grace of expression, functions stilling themselves in the preparation for reactions to the song. The fea understood, as it must be, that consider she had spun herself the spider’s web in order to then draw herself a fly, there was the air of knowing that with this idea that came across as clever, the conditions rightfully calculated, helpless kin would not be taken to snare. For that which was drawn to become such, it would have to be of ephemeral natures, as the spirits churning the air, or of immortal blood, as herself. An Elemental, at the very least, though she could not deny that there was a particular soul to, specifically, she had cast her line in order to hook. Becoming a statuette to stand unmoved, the silence breathing as though their own form of spectre, haunting the surroundings with their soundless noise, as though with the hanging of an omen they wished to speak. The multicolored strands of her tail swished once in reply to this, in accordance to her patience with other equines. If the Harlequine were to draw wraiths instead of breathing soul, it was not of likelihood there would be much fruits of conversation to be had. Over her years, Lucy had seemingly exhausted the knowledge of the world beyond, at least to the collective point where no spirit dared speak more. The shadows once more snapped with instance upon her hooves, forcing her to will them back into control. Unruly, untamed, just as their nature should be. Collectively the conscious began to bend the scenery, darkening by the momentary feeling, fleeting, of another powerful presence. Petaled ears swiveled then to catch the tones breaking through the underbrush, footfalls soon to be discerned, emerald eyes intent upon the forest surroundings. Snapped to attention was her form, peering out in strained grasp, listening, feeling the approach. Familiarity hung in the air, though it was noted so briefly as to not taste it completely. Motionlessness snapped the rest of the senses into acute accordance, the shade once more writhing at her stance as though to voice its indifference. With concealment dropped from dark hued hide, Lucy felt oddly exposed in the expanse, naked under the branches of the willow trees. Yet one could hardly greet another with courteous regard when cloaked to the world surrounding. It was something that had to be done, in this respect, no matter how much she then wished it otherwise. A form soon presented itself, forcing dished nostrils to flare with the sudden feeling of surprise. It flooded without consent into each fabric of her being, overriding her usual sense of serenity to allow a quickened smile to spread across her maw. Though it did not seek to touch the rest of her features, there was relaxation in muscles one prepared. The smallest show of delight not to be ill received or squandered. Yet the stallion before her knew enough of her nature to take this as was intended, the familiarity once more drawing with closing remarks. Sense. 'Strange enough how the gods have grace to smile upon us at such times,' Sparking eyes traced the contours of his maw, the refined features of head, movement of muzzle with speech. It was rare she allowed herself such dissection of another's finer features, but this was a time were it seemed inappropriate to do anything otherwise. The stretch of his maw to smile encouraged her own farther, words ringing with wonderful weight into her once hollow a mind. Crowley. The true blooded Reaper of the isles, seeming to carry within himself the only intelligence amongst the breed, perhaps to compliment appearance. The ways of the intellectual mindset, intrinsic things, meant more than such things to the mare, of course. 'Fortune could not have willed a greater gift, if truth be told. The days have passed in their ways, yet conversation has been as scarse as ever on the isle.' There was the gracing of smile once more to maw, fading as though the sunlight on a day blanketed with clouds. There was not a rush to her words, speech flowing easingly into the surroundings with the air of calmness composure. There was nothing to hurry about, for the time bowed to them both, and Lucy had no other pressing matters to which she had to attend. The day, however long it could become, was to her friend. 'I am delighted to see you once more, Crowley.' Finally she allowed his name to pass over her tongue, the calling a blessing that she did not utter often. It was something of sweetness, not bitterness, and each time she savoured the implication. Conversation was not to be squandered, and it was always within her cravings. The Reaper before her could give her this as well as knowledge, the product of things that marked and passed. Speaking eloquently of the lands beyond as well as the things the fea had yet to mark for herself. The mixed blood loved to wander the isles, but even some places she had not yet ventured into, had no yet cast herself to tread. Eyes traced themselves to the surroundings, begininning to lighten with the presence of the other. Or did it darken? Her dished head tilted slightly, the smile replacing itself with contemplation. The day had began at last. Muse: Back into the swing. OOC: Digging the new writing style. Music: Lilium - Elfen Lied

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[Vel]

✘ C R O W L E Y ✘

"Always destined to find each other." Crowley said. "I feel its that way with a lot of us, with mostly everyone in the world. There are those people, er, horses, who go in and out of our lives. They go in and out like the flicker of a dying flame, but there are those times when fate decides to stop blowing on that candle and let the fire flourish. You and I seem to be two souls who fate likes to play his little game with. We are meant to go our separate ways and live our lives, yet we always somehow manage to find one one another. That is so much more than pure luck." Ah, it felt good to ramble again. A week and a half without seeing another living soul to talk to like this.Just like the normal joking nonsense that would fall from his lips, there were times when the more intelligent, profound things found their way out into the open.¹

"Tell me about it!" he groaned with a roll of his yellow eyes when she mentioned the days of silence Crowley was easily falling out of his wise state and into what could only be considered normal by Crowley's standards. His mind was a fickle thing. One moment he would be showing up the great philosophers ever to walk the planet, and the next he would be ranting on about this or that. As proven by history, madness was a key competent to genius. "You would think half the island died. Either that or somehow everyone has obtained a sixth sense that lets them know when a Reaper is coming so they can head the other way. Really, I don't get why they are so frightened. Well, I do but that's not the point. All I ever want to do is have a little chat with them. The nerve of some people." Yes, it had been far too long since he had last laid eyes on Lucy.

It made him so happy to hear his names from her lips. Everyone else seemed to taint it with their unintelligent tongue. He was an intellectual being, only seeking those who were like him. Many were put off by the slight flamboyancy he often displayed. Many were fooled by his nonsensical rambling. Lucy understood him. Where was the fun in acting like a retired college professor? "And it is a pleasure to see you again my fair lady. Tell me, do I have to fend off any unscrupulous brutes who think that they can steal my princess away?" he said² with a mock bow as if he were some knight addressing the fairest maiden in the land.

"So do tell me Lady Lucy, what has been going on in your life since I last saw you?" he asked, ears perking. Crowley was curious as to her whereabouts for the past couple months. Even if she did not have anything exciting happen to her, he still wanted to listen to what she had to say. At this point in his life a story about standing under a tree for days straight was just as entertaining to him as a story about two twins who got drunk one night and decided to crash a wedding.³

"I'm sure that you've had many interesting, exciting things happen. Oh! Who did you meet or run into? Anyone I know?" Once Crowley got started, it was hard to get him to stop. Today was one of those days when the more obnoxious side of him came out. Thank god Lucy could put up with it. Most would ignore him and walk away. Off his rocker they would say. Damn straight he would tell them.

¹ Crowley, being as old as he was, had more wisdom than most Chikaos did. He just chose to hid it under his constant strange sense of humour. Who ever said the elderly had to constantly spew profundities?

² When things got really ridiculous, like calling a horse of death a princess, it only meant that Crowley was genuinely happy to see someone. The last person he felt this way with had died almost a century ago.

³ Quite literally crash. They had stolen a tractor and drove is right through the church doors.

✘Muse: Blah
✘OOC: I am le tired. -_- Sorry that this reply is not the best ^^;
✘Music: Falling - Emmy Rossum [/color][/font]

[Storeh]

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[bg=#FF00CC] Langorously devouring each articulation as though the pronunciations falling freely from the chambers of his mouth were the culmination of each of the mares endeavours. Returning, it would seem, all the blandness that had been abided throughout the moments since time had last given grace. Petaled ears caught each word separately to turn over, inspecting the tone as it changed like verse in songs the fea held in knowing. Poetry, at times, the hum of his voice in mind, others simply the gossips held on the wings of the crows, prattling in tune to all of Isola Dei Dei's awakening. Spring melted the frost from brooks, allowed flora to bloom, and Lucy found this evident even in Crowley's ease of tongue. Seasons ran their course, even in Death's veins, attentive as a whisper in the silences. A laugh with all the lightness of small bells chiming in the wind reached from her maw, gracing the darkness with sparks of shade before echoing simply at his mention of the standoffishness others equines, even Elementals, thus gave their presence. Unnerving, the Death Herd, so much so that one could tread in almost all of the lands without fearing disturbance. The smile that tugged on her features felt truly genuine as ears once more collected the spinning of questioning, the truths of his mouth precipitated from the wandering of the mind lost not to the ways of ignorance or deceit. Kindly, almost, to take her calling, allowing her to capture as many fruits of conversation as the mixed breed deemed fit, dished head lightly bent to allow the thoughts not to stumble, flowing from one part of brain to the next. Though silence was the most constant of her companions, after a while such things were hardly the interest to snare that which kept her expectant. Wandering had taught so much, the Reaper stallion before her more still, together piecing quite the testament to the flowing of idle speech. To be in each others confidence, especially after the ripples created in the lands of Territorio Dei Morti. A home in name, but not in practice, as so few things to become deserving of the title. Actions rebounded to draw tight the string looped endlessly about the straying of thoughts, tied directly the the bow gifted upon her then by the stag still stationed her opposite. Such a small movement caused her hide to heat with the foolishness that sometimes could be displayed. It was not for want of change, in mind, for the half Reaper gave a soft giggle to reward such an act. Truly, a gentlemen, if a bit out of state with his personality, swaying as he liked, as he would. 'Naught a brute upon these isles is puerile enough to approach me with such intent, I assure, dear Crowley.' Dished head lowered a fraction once more, lightened emerald eyes intent upon his own pair, feeling the wonder of lightness upon her chest. Much too long, to be sure, since that feeling had been had, close enough for her to take into hands and savour. The natures of his asking once more began to continue, piquing the thoughts of her own questions. The fea always enjoyed the stories that floated from his lips, never of dullness or unsound reckoning. Not a speak of the weather, not a comment of the heat. Never the thoughts of eating the grass nor the cloudlessness of the skies. Yet, news was something they both could bargain with, gossip the way of the trees, of those who wandered the lands without heed. Currency, she believe it was called, currency for conversation. The two of them dealt in tales, in words, as much as they traded in views, thoughts. Enwrapped into the minds, deep into the conscious ramblings of another. Like minded individuals who understood the pool of tides from heart to thought. Understanding, indeed, was more important that any of the emotions that could thus be held within. Lucy did have a story, in actuality, one which she had meant to ask about for a while, yet had died on her lips since their last meeting, running circles in the chambers of her mind. 'I have heard of a stallion recalled from hell to walk the earth and seek vengeance. Though that, my dear, is within our station, what follows in close shall not be in liking. Upon meeting his mate, the angels mourned for him, gracing him with a pair of wings. Some have called him an angel. What would you think of this?' Patience was a thing upon life that she could easily fabricate and admit against. For whenever alone to her own device, it could be replicated to splice with the needing for company, occupying the mind for the short bursts of while it took for there to be something for her to task. Yet with the stallion standing close nearest, there was the thoughts silenced to collapse. It was this, in a sense, that allowed her add, another bit that had struck her without consideration. 'He has been said to be residing in the Elemental lands, in Animus Elegancia, of all places. What would the Konjou have in need of such an equine unlike themselves? Pray, I do not understand these things...' Elder in the sense of the common horse, those who had tasted not the chains of immortality, the mare was hopelessly young, ignorant in all for the comparison made the the Reaper opposite. Her conversational partner was more than the cracked shell sometimes he masqueraded as, an deep study the fea could never hope to fathom the complexity of. Personality was something to be cast aside as though a mask to put on a performance. Each time the two of them met, perhaps another would be tried and cast, throwing of the dice said which he would task her to speak with. Crowley, the complex, never without the truths of the lies, weaving the webs as they span to the skies. Never a dull moment, and that was all she could ask. What more was there to want of a life meant to last? Forgiving the world for all the time it wasted, it was not of her standing to be without her own obligations. Explanation was there when he was in present, and with the sincerity to bring, there was nothing else but the breeze between them. Flirtation meant nothing, emotions cast to draw. Lucy thought not for a moment what others Elementals spent their entire lives trying to obtain. Power, yes, was something to savour. But questions were her grain. With patience again in mind, the mixed breed stood with ears then pricked, attentive as she waited for a reply. Muse: Back into the swing. OOC: Ouch, Greymarch would surely dislike that comment about his breed. Music: Lilium - Elfen Lied

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[Vel]

✘ C R O W L E Y ✘

"You never know Lucy." Crowley said when she mentioned that any stag around with devious intentions would not dare approach her. "There as some pretty 'bad' stallions out there who think that they can do anything. Their egos are inflated to an extent where they think they can do anything and everything, even coming after a horse such as yourself. That's okay, some of them would probably like the danger involved with one of our kind. Who knows, you might just attract someone who fancies a Reaper. But, as always, it would be a fruitless attempt for them to make. In the end we're always the only ones left. The curse of our kind as I like to call it. Never, ever get emotionally attached to a being who will die before you. Time is insignificant to our kind. We age with each passing day but we don't show it. Our bodies don't deteriorate, nor do our minds. We must watch every other horse around us suffer the fate that every mortal does. But I digress." The stallion rambled on and on, finally glad to have someone to talk to. He would say anything and everything that came to his mind, diverting from the original topic of the conversation.¹

"A stallion who came crawling out of the depths of hell you say? Interesting." Crowley mused, his feline-like optics drifting to the left as he turned her words over in his own mind. Was this fact of fable? Crowley had heard of things like this before, but it had been ages. He could not even remember the last time a kindred spirit had mentioned something like this. "I haven't heard of this one before." he informed her, trying to recall if he might possibly have overheard one of the ravens rambling about this.² "I want to know who this hellion is that you speak of. I'm half tempted to seek out this brute myself and see what's going on. There aren't many of us who are truly from the fiery depths of hell."³ Crowley would be ready right now to search for this horse. Perhaps he could convince Lucy to help him. It would give them something to do. Plus this was a very unusual case and Crowley was curious. Then again, what individual would not want to investigate?

"Animus Elegancia? Really? Huh. I was expecting something a bit... well, I dunno, more." Crowley stated. "I mean the Konjou, just what use would they have for a stallion like that anyway? And why Konjou if he is truly a hell spawn like you say. what was the reasoning in having the appearance of such a horse? Unless, of course, he had been a horse once and only been sent to hell only to come back. Its all so confusing sometimes. I can't even keep it straight. But why Konjou? One would think that he would choose to come to this world as a Grim, a Reaper, a Zunden, an Arrat even. Hell, why did he not come back as human? Assuming you know what humans are, I can't keep these things straight anymore. You were born on this island, you probably don't, but what do I know? There is just so much more he could do on or off this damned island. What I wouldn't give to go back."

"Sorry you have to put up with me today Lucy, it seems as if my mouth has a mind of its own." he said with a small chuckle. "Are you as curious as I am about this bloke?" he inquired, actually pausing in his speech for once to let her answer. "You and I could always cure our boredom by delving further into this matter you know. Find out who he is, what he's doing, what he wants from the rest of us..." he offered, trying to coax her into following him. He was going to dig into this matter whether or not she wanted to come along.

¹ Most of this nonsense he spouted was because he liked hearing his own voice. He heard it often enough in his own head (or even aloud to himself at times), but it was nice to have another being there to talk to. It just showed him that he still was able to maintain some level of sanity. The world was a cruel place to demons like himself.

² As annoying as they could be, they often carried valuable information.

³ There was a difference between Grims, Reapers, and true demons. Reapers and Grims were nothing more than horses who were strangely intertwined with death himself, just as the other elemental breeds were with their element. Demons were just that; creature from Hell, Lucifer's right-hand men. Lucy was part Reaper. Crowley was a demon cast in a Reaper body.

✘Muse: ehhhh
✘OOC: fkjdsfsakd late reply is late. I apologize ^^;
✘Music: I'll Find My Way Home - Gregorian[/color][/font]

[Storeh]

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[bg=#FF00CC] Interminably audits reigned through the labyrinth of her stable mind, anchored firmly now as it were, to bear its witness to the swinging of silver tongue. Through the throng of rambled words to which Lucy must now observe were snatches that counted toward a substantial phrase, though most were leeching on her day. To the fea it would always seem that Crowley had the tendency to lean toward the smallest little thing, staying far from where a thing could call its origin. Without interruptance she stood her stance, accustomed to this song and dance, listening without regard to the bits he spouted as though in trance. A companion to the mind, indeed, though with a inclination to waver and wean, it was a wonder one could continue to lend what could be called an accepting ear. Absorbing each articulation she may be there was the thought to pull the seams and unleash the lashing of a word that would keep him cultured enough to endure. The mixed blood felt not the frustration that vexed the lesser ranks of mortals, yet plucking a string to produce a chord, replayed incessantly, would lead most to mourn the ache their head produced. A wonderful mind before her stood, cultured with the ages supplying all the knowledge that was always underlining each sentence to which he spoke, smooth voice cleverly leading lasting notes. The wonder, however hard it struck, was an impression that, yet unwaning, dug into the edges of her pelting, tearing off shards of skin. Patience was a trend she cultivated so cleanly, yet it was apparent Crowley had been without audience for a time that could be assigned little meaning, though for a while, indeed, it had been. Silence, her companion, gave its eye to the fountain of words the world could not hide, and shook in mourning without grace, transmitting not onto her face. Though the original smile had faded, there was the sense of more than idle interest she gave to the topics without the fluff, ears flickering to catch this important stuff. Shedding thought away from the speak of stallions to whom she could easily bring to the doors of death, there was the words to which she had come to claim, his wonderings that searched her state. Indeed, he mirrored her own concerns, if such a thing could be assigned the word, its definition falling short of the curiosity that uplifted his thoughts. Crowley was a curious thing, always wishing then to see the topic of the gossip unfold, so his eyes could then judge the product. Opinion was strictly in good taste, especially if he could mask it without distaste, and though Lucy was not, strictly, eager to please, this was a journey she herself would like to see. There was the slightest bit of laughter on her breath, the wind it sought then to caress with the speaking of his apology in lending to his soliloquy. 'Apologize nought, for I know it but your nature to speak, however idle the conversation may seem," Slightly so she was taken aback by the question and pause he then had to inact for an answer to be given fromt he other. Her ears flickered, dished head raising slightly in thought. Animus Elegancia was a land that she had, in the past, considered, but had not sought. The lead was surely to find their presence in distaste, but it was a thought that was pushed aside, for their breeding meant that they could not be denied. Konjou Lord or not, Spirit was something that if pressed, could be fought. The long strands of her tail flicked in thought as he continued to coax her into seeking the brute from which the story lent. Her emerald orbs turned on him, a small playing on her maw in slightest sense, lids lowering as he poured the words as though into a cup, beckoning her to drink them up. Ears flickered and smile grew, wondering what a mare could do. Crowley seemed to wish this be, and who was she to deny him these things? 'You never cease to amuse with your most arrant form of curiosity,' There was the slightest of purrs to her voice, the truth coming out in velvet choice. 'Boredom is, indeed, in such distaste. A journey to Animus Elegancia would surely erase whatever lingered,' There was the smallest pause, for she was no him, able to leave off and then begin. 'I am sure the Konjou Lord will find our presence not to his liking, but as I am sure you note, that may be able to hold its own amusement,' Lucy's bright orbs left his own, lingering on the surroundings for a moment before returning in her speech. 'If you wish to tread there, pray, I will follow,' There were times in which she wondered what would occur then if she denied him such things. The mare always bent to the stallion, never broke, and certainly never would walk away. Their first meeting had been a miss then a stray, and all the days now compared to this, to the fates laughing themselves to fits. Her solitary world struck amiss by the brute who always found her wandering form. A seeker of knowledge though she considered herself to be, the war forced upon them had withered the leaves that had once provided so fruitful a thing. Even the shores of the Spiagga Del Nord washed up fewer equines than it had before. As the seasons sought to change, the fea found her mind without sustenance in which to feed itself. Seeking, she did not, of others, for it seemed they found her in the Unclaimable lands. The spring had forced her back to the metaphorical wall, so much that she had lent out the call. Low behold Crowley before, his mind spouting what she had not endured since the last time they had sought to meet in the lands of the Reapers. The final time she had made that journey, the meeting of Valdis fueling nothing but distaste. Territorio Dei Morti was not to her liking with the leader in shambles as it were. Instead, she made her stance on wandering the isles. Even then she knew that Crowley would find her still. Always, it would seem, without the use to fail. Deny him not did she, for the encounters always seemed to be a fabric of other things, woven with the strands of that which was unspoken, a concept that she could grasp not. Lucy had not the ideas in mind to waste contemplation on this puzzle, not when the pressing mind was before her, bending her backwards and providing words. The words never ceasing, the words always being. Never did they yield nor break, the reminder of her youth, though age was nought an issue. Time had no meaning, no reason to her. That was the calling of her blood, the curse that Crowley so eagerly spoken, bearing its talons into her world. It was then that she shook her dished head, tail flicking itself once again, the warmth of the spring pressing around, from which the shadows then staked out their bounds. She willed herself the darkness come, the shadows darkening the world in call. Sometimes she swore the light was to much, as though she was a creature of the dark. There was a reason why she usually chose to disappear. Vanishing was a trick and a style of life. Muse: Back into the swing. OOC: ... Music: Lilium - Elfen Lied

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