the bleachen minx prevails ;;

[Moulin]

<sup>A flash of rouge, was all she could remember. As her first had passed, this one had fallen also. A single item she held from the brute, a spawn. Yes she had recived but one from a brute quarterd in a land not to far, but the spawn was killed, life leaving the babe. A male the first had coem by, she could not stand to look at it. Traits bearing all she had left, grown bored with. Would the fool come again? She was striken with loss, her little filla had grown, met age. Ashen pelting had grown darker, glare of chaos growing with hidden anger, rage, sorrow. The title of her previous was Dersk, Dersk it was forever. They were standing in the greenery of their choosing, the little filla tottering at their leggings. Moulin was drawn so close to the one whom had stolen her heart, stolen her being, stolen all. He stood protectivly, the residence of the lands unable to set gaze upon the young. The dubbance of the spawned was Ameria, as carefully spun as herself. The strong, delicate hadns holding the chisel marked the filla so carefully, dots and lines drawn with such precision. But there was a slip in his chilsel, a mark left unnoticed. The chisel had slipped, digging into the sires heart. The killer was the stallion dubbed Vladimire, foolish bronc. It was of his own, as the pair of three stood he approched. Labriums curled, the glint in his pools was one to scorn upon. A whisper emerged form Moulin's trapts Dersk, turn please. Listen to me . But he did not respond. Vladimire rose, rose with all his might. He appired as the threstral taking her dear first, what was this? Has Moulin forgotten the dubbance of the first? But this was old, Dersk was the new. Vladimire rose, taking his tole upon the one of lead ranking. Force dropping upon the spine, Dersk released a sudden scream, unexpected. Moulin snapped at Ameria, forcing her flee. She knew what Vladimire was after, Ameria. Dersk refused to allow this incest, but one begged to differ. Moulin was only a second too late, a moment. Dersk had fallen, oh but so would Vlad. She struck repetivly, unable to stop this rage. Vladimire remained beaten into the loam, one could not even decipher who this mass of rouge was. She would never speak, her leavence taken once more.

The filla was not to be found again, but she knew none had touched. She would follow, follow with great accuracy. Moulin moved through the unforgiving fog, the geo she had traveld upon of many times. No not the exact, but the lands of claimence, foolish brutes and very *friendly* persons of the species roaming theese parts. She would not follow one brute so easly, no. Pelting was smeared with rouge, yes this flash back was so fresh, new. But the rouge was not of her own, but of Dersk, and Vladimire. She had remained at Dersks side for a seeming eternity, the stench of the hessian strong upon her. A nudge was offerd the he of many times, dial moving slowly. A few whispers of a reply had been taken, but could not be desipherd. Just the humm of his leavence, the wishes he could have avioded such. Apologie of some sort, but Moulin wouldnt allow the apologie to be compleated. She shared the few moments in silence, only the few faint crys of sorrow drifting to the surface. The essa of ash stood in the open veiw, stood for all to see. Try me, all come foward. It will amuse me so, I will never be taken in such away ever egain. Serpintine dropped only slight, a delicate arch forming. The pluck of the braces held the same curve, such moving slowly upon the geo. Tresses dragged upon the loam, wisen she had become. No not old, never. Youthfull, but an aged grace and beauty. Her pacing lasted but for a few moments, the intricate movements leaning twards a stopping points.

Cords whipped around the braces, a few strands carressing the diaphram so boldly. Labriums once held still parted, her sinfull melody making its revealence upon the empty waves. Sweet hisses, beckoning tones. She would enjoy the events to find its way once more, pools searched for one. A collector had he become? Scent strong in theese regions. Finding every sleeper of the lands and chasing them back to his domain, lovely. She would not be chased, do not poke and prod thy form foolish broncs. The very item of iron you prod with shall remaine unmarred, but you shall be tossed to the very fire it was forged from. The whispers drifted, seductry finding her, old ways never die. "Moulin thy dubbance, come speak rhyms to me. I have left, enured much. Do not come to poke and prod, that is my trait fools. Do try to show a hint of intresting traits, think with your mind. Have you forgotten what that is? Brute force may not give you it all, it surely wont. Come now, perhapse a little play it shall be "

A live of silver dropping to bronz. A pang of guilt was it? Should Moulin have dropped also, the one of her belonging wishing her to do so? She had tones been able to think over the words musterd, the tones reading the embers shall burn, burn and renue. Ashes from ashes, death from death. Dersk shall rise again, upon that date she shall flee, flee to his being. Flinging herself upon, unable to be pealed from. But could one wash away her tears once more? Once more clensing her hard surface, to see the shine? Perhapse, her life of silver returned. First class, eloquence silver held. Seh cared not of title, a wording held by a strand of faith, and the mutters of a godforsaken pig of a louse bronc. Strands of silver began to still, the single line of silken threadings laying neatly, a transformation she had enured. Rustic appirence had smothed, as if the touch of her lost still followed her. To watch, to hold, to confide. She will never forget, a new era was to begin. Coem now brute, I dont bite....too hard.</sup>

[kyr]

the past is never forgotten**

Recently, the obsidian czar had been with his queen, Titanic, and filly, Phantasie. But now, he was branching out. He was off to the claiming lands, which was actually a new experience, for Titanic had not been acquired to do claiming. No, the tale of her becoming his was much more deceitful, much more interesting. A story woven of lies, actually. But, that was not what he was doing now. He was adding to the harem of Cotandra, which, right then, was so minuscule. Such a vast terrain was fit for a grand band of equines, and he was actually somewhat looking forward to this trip. He saw it as a necessity, but, somewhere deep within, he knew he would enjoy another mare's company. Appendages rose and fell with ease at the steady, yet quick paced jog, a flash of ebony through the wooded bed as he strode. He had soon lost sight of the ocean shore, now he was passing several other terrains, but held pride at the thought of his own homeland, which seemed quite stunning, if he was one to comment. The land was one due to the absence of the formal ruler in battle, but whatever way he claimed the Terra, he still felt a sense of accomplishment. This was a true step in the lands of Lemorsea, a step that was coming to make his name. Flints crushed the leaves that had fallen from the giants that loomed overhead, a crackling noise even startling himself as he trod over a twig in his path. Plume occasionally slapped at his gleaming hocks in a state of being idle, the sun's rays cast upon him illuminating his pelt to a glossy ebony, a gleaming onyx. He was the picture of health as he moved, each stride powered by the execution of the sinewy bulk, hide muscled from his wild state. He was also the picture of beauty, as if he could have been painted into the scene. The backgrounds an array of hues from the fallen leaves, oranges, reds, and yellows, and himself in contrast with his obsidian bodice, standing out and more distinct than ever. Cranium was aloft, held by his thick nape, honers laced forward, occuli opening as various scents began to flood through widened salmons, at first, very subtle, but then, overwhelming. Instantly, he knew he was approaching the claiming grounds. The scents were feminine and masculine mixed, and all sorts. A rush of adrenaline coursed through him as he became excited. It felt good to being doing this. For some reason, it really did. Mug falling to his diaphragm as boa was an arch, plume flagged, he seemed to dance into the lands, the prancing position held, obviously showing off. Still, it was good to look nice, no? Now, the decision came of which femme to court. Or which femmes. He may take home more than one banshee, because he really didn't favor to come out several times in the winter months, when the traveling would be treacherous. He was generally cautious, until danger really came close, than a wild streak over took him, and he was a genuine daredevil, who took all the risks and chances he could. Now, he could do that, and that he might. Glances were continuously thrown to the skies, invisible brow furrowed, trying to calculate how much time had had before what seemed a storm would hit. He had no idea, but, he would make do. He was strong, healthy, sturdy. He would survive. Right now, he had to add to the herd, no matter what it took. So, he focused on the task set before him, with an air of confidence and determination. Nothing would vex him, he wouldn't be a bundle of nerves. But, when was he? Usually he was very calm about situation, not hysterical in the least. He could be cold about things if he was disturbed, like that one situation, a few months ago. Then, his old heritage and his father's personality would shine, coming out in him. But now, he was at ease. Well, at least for now. He just had to wait and see what came up, because you can't look into the future. He had no idea what would happen, or what was going to happen to him. Harks sill strung forward, occuli searching as the blurs of arrays of hues became more distinguished, into the molds of various equines, some male, some female. As he narrowed his choices into mares being courted and those not, he picked the option of uncourted femmes. He wasn't in the mood for other studs just yet, but maybe after this first dove he would be. He never knew. Mirrors narrowed to a squint, he inspected each and every minx, as if to sort them. With an exasperated sigh, something caught his eye. A flash of white. Turning to wards it, he realized it happened to be a "free" femme, of a porcelain stroking. Grinning, as she really was quite the beauty, he decided to go to her, see what she was like, just based on attractions, which, most likely, wasn't something good to base a decision on. But, he had to admit, looks usually played a big part in stallion's lives. They always went for the prettier mares. But maybe he would change that soon. After this doe. He wanted to see what she was like. If he was horrified by her, or he found her grotesque, he would move on. It really wasn't a big deal at all. So, with that thought, he began to ambled to wards her, in a more casual, nonchalant state than his feisty one previously, having settled into a more docile state. But, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. He just had to wait and see, let the minutes slip past. She couldn't be that bad, now could she? No, impossible. Oh, he truly was a novice.

As he started to wards the bleached femme of a pearl hide, she seemed not to notice him, for he did move silently and without sound. She began to speak, and, for a moment he questioned if she heard him, but realized she had not, and was just making a statement to, well, the general public. As her words were processed, something was sparked within him. Something from oh-so long ago. A feeling he couldn't describe. An emotion that had been locked away, but she had been the key to opening it. It was his past. No, not his past. It was Karneval. Kyr had been so much like his father as a colt, with the dark ways and such, but had lightened over the years. But now, with this femme's curt, and almost arrogant, words, the darkness came to him again. He felt the rush of adrenaline that was not hot, but cold, something that overwhelmed him and made him act like, well, his father. And he was not straining against it, for, this personality really was a part of him. As he once more processed her words, the few statements she had made, he slipped out of the secrecy he had held in hearing her, speaking, curtly, and with a cold, harsh tone. Oh, please. Coming into her range of sight, he allowed dentals to place a single, yet harsh, nip on her hide, snatching and clenching the skin for a seconds time, just to cause the smallest bit of pain. Just so she'd know he was there. He stood there for a moment, wordless, formatting his statements in his clever and keen mind. He wouldn't make a fool of himself, no matter what he said, but still, he'd like to present himself as the way he was, intelligent. Moulin, eh? Well, you're a bit full of yourself, no? He spoke without a drop of kindness in his words or fulfilling his statements, a devious smirk playing upon his mask. This the way he used to be.And he was like this temporarily, for better or worse. He continued on, but sidled so he was facing her now, instead of at her side. Think you're clever? Think you can fool anyone, hm? Well, you're wrong. He was very to the point, not bothering to speak in riddles or anything of the rather, but he was not done quite yet. You aren't going to get the best of me. Of course, you might have toyed around with some idiots, but now, you're crossing the line from cleverness to foolishness. He paused for a moment, occuli holding a cold glare, staring at her, as if to taunt her to try and uphold the gaze. With a breath, he started again. Now, did you ever give a thought to the fact that winter is rapidly approaching? Think any stud in his right mind would want to come and invite you to come with him? No, I'm not even quite sure why I'm here. Well, actually, just because I was attracted to you, but, believe me, that means nothing any more. Yes, since no one would want such a fae as yourself, you'd be stuck here in the claiming lands during winter, freezing, without shelter or protection. You'd be insane to want that. His little speech had sparked a question. Why was he still there? Fatal attraction. With one last thing to say, a devilish glint came to his eye, this he was to enjoy. You want to play games? Oh yes, this can be fun. But you'll be my toy in our fun.


[ooc-ended abruptly, so you could reply, but kyr is evil again, tehehe; I think my kyr muse is starting to recover after kiley ]

[Moulin]

It is freezing {in this heart of mine}

Relentless winds pounded against the thin flesh of moulin, the fae refusing to move from her preffered position. The dial remained tucked, boa some what sheilding herself from the iced breaths. "What is taking so long?" Her mind began to churn, thoughts drawn forth from the deep abbys of memories. Her last, her favorite. There was Pistol. Ebon stag, sired her two. Ameria, the fallen, and Thalbe the strong. He was nearby, it was felt. Silly boy. His dark nature had fled his dappled bod, it was pleasing. But this dame, mistress dressed in white, could not excape the strong clutch of the devious. Pistol had been a stern one, but he was so easily distracted. A tight leash kept on his, there was no challenge. Her heart was bleeding, inside and out. Her flare had sortof, faded. In no mood for a tussle at this time. The cold getting to her. It was an odd thing. The vix alway sup for a brawl, a smart reply always dangling on the tip of the flame licked tounge. Today was oh so different. Hunger clawed at the ivory flesh of Moulin, optics of burnt almond set to the loam. Nape began to near the geo, freezing sprigs of yellowed greenery poked at the tender flesh. A harsh exhail of carbon curcled from the nares, the white drifting away with the moving winds. A rustle was heard in the near by brush, the dial shooting up from the typo immidiatly. Lappets folded, aura shifting. She felt weak, and this scared her. An actress she was indeed. This horrable character she so perfectly played. The tempting dame, oh yes. Perhaps she indeed is, the part slowly morphine into what she really was. Dial tucked neatly, silken locks twisting around the lengthy toned leggings of the mistress. An ebon leggings truck from the desturated foliage, a grin forming upon her maw. Memories of Pistol flashed, crawling forward in her mind. Such memories where instantly ripped away. This is the new, the now. There is no time for this nonsence. The silent steps, she knew he were there, but chosed not to let a sound emerged from the chapped lips. Her heart screamed for help, but her mind remained cold, hard. The ebon stag neared, dial swayed to the side as the pose of a tempt was taken. Plate rose slightly, peering down upon the bruten. "Moulin, eh? Well, you're a bit full of yourself, no?" He seemed stern, wise. Until he spoke, her dream world came crashing down. Labriums curled, weight shifting back upon the heels as she instantly turned her back upon the hessian. What an ass, she mused to herself as the brute continued his speach. Her mind wandered once more, blocking out the tones of the bastard. Dial shook suddenly, the czar moving before her. "Excuse me, are you still talking? Do you believe this is the way to come, prancing in, and winning a fae? You, claimin gme as your toy. I wont be degraded to such a name. You scent, is familiar. I know of yoru lineage, Karn's little tut. Oh my." A little giggle sounded as the little one two step took place, the nymph begining to move. Her movements however where harshly interrupted. The rake of enamels gracing the puresto f ivory, rouge marring the purity. Dial snapped in his direction, a harsh exhail of carbon folding as the right peg kicked out at the tender flank. "Mind yourself, brute. I have done nothing to bring up such horrid comments from your rotting trapt. What is the matter with your little mind. Acting s a little colt, prancing around the fae's attempting to sho wof perhaps? Showing your rough and tuff side ey? I ahve seen it all my dear, afterral, I was a the cherished on eof Pistol recently. It is a sham ehowever, his recent falling."

There was something about this hessian, something soo....fresh? Yes that was it. So new. "Tell me brute, why is it you have come if you find me so utterly repulsive. I enjoy the little games my dear, as I am sure you have heard of me. Very few have mastered the tricks of the trade to handel my ways, and I am not so sure you are one if these words have always flown. But I must say, you do indeed have guts. She side stepped, ivory pelting brushing the coarse black of his own. A mischevious glance upwards was taken, the cut previously inflicted now frozen from the harsh cold. Pelting quivered, the once warm blood running slightly cooler. The look turned to one that of annoyance, resent.

[kyr]

Digging that hole deeper and deeper**

He had received an unlikely response from the dove, she ahd not seemed surprised a bit. She had actually seemed prepared. Obviously, she had atleast been somewhat use to the scoldings, or, she had given them herself many, amny times. He thought the second choice seemed correct, but, hey, who was he to judge? He could not keep the rush of dark adrenaline from coming, and he was actually, well, ahving a bit of fun. He knew this stage shouldn't last too long, but, with Moulin aound, would it? He wasn't sure, and he wasn't even sure what Titanic would think. But now, that was not on his mind, because she began to speak again. He did not say one word through all of her talk, he remained silent, just listening, harks somewhat pricked, yet not quite laced forward. After listening to the pearl hued speak, honers immediately flicked back, and he squealed in anger as she pinched at his flesh, and with that, hinds swung from beneath him as he rammed brutally into the femme. He was not letting this Moulin become the mroe dominant. She would learn in time. He truly was acting the way Karneval had, the relation between the two seemed stronger than ever now. On that thought, the banshees words came flooding abck to him, and this was his time to reply, when she would not interrupt, but she would listen. Degraded to such a name? Why, I think you've been upgraded, petty little mare. The words snapped from his mug in the cruelest of tones, not offering the slightest bit of kindness. I'm Kyr. True, Karneval's son, but will not be known as such. He spoke curtly, and arrogantly, in a demanding manner. Think I wastrying to impress some femmes when I came in? You're right. That's the only way you can win them over, by impressing them. What other way do you expect me to do it? And you think I'm trying to win you over? Oh, dear Moulin, you are wrong, oh-so wrong. A burning fire was within his occuli, growing and growing as the conversation continued. He lost no momentum, but gained it rapidly, coming into his own as he continued on. You have not deserved such comments? Oh, I beg to differ. And Pistol, I do not recall. No matter. He snrted in gruff amusement, fore extending as it struck out at the atmosphere only to scrape away at the sodden loam, before he continued, in full force. You ask why I'm still here. For one reason, and one alone. To teach you a lesson. Perhaps you could grow into something, but I don't know. Who does? You say I have guts, I must agree, to take on such a task. He chuckled quietly, what had come over him? Now, Moulin, I must ask a question. Why, if you seem to think of yourself as so smart, do you need a bronc? Why are you in claiming ?Why? He ended, taking short, shallow breaths in the cold, night air.


[ooc-WOOHOOO YAY FOR SHORTNESS]

[Moulin]

The sting, irons grazing the barrel of the fae, chalky soil imprinted upon the ivory pelting. So she was to live as this, roughed up. She would not back down, silly little brute. Labriums curled in amusement, she could go on for days. Giggles escaping the mug of Moulin with every insolent wording offered by little Kyr. "kry, hush. Your always trying to outdo. So you have come to teahc me a lesson? So do it. Waste my time why dont you. Dont give me that crap, claiming you have coem only to taunt. There is no way something as pathetic as that could attract such a brute. You act just as Karn does, or well did." She looked away from a moment, the vicious cold getting to her. Breath falling short, feeling as the oxygen was being sucked from the lungs. Knees began to buckle slightly, hunger roaring once more. She refused to fall, dial thrashing for a moment as strength was regained. Refusing defeat. Flesh began to burn as she drifted back to reality, cloudy mind clearing slightly. A slur of wordings found te lytho once more "If you are here with no attempt to win me over, hten what do you need?" Her question was oh so clear. The ivory fae began to lean to the side, barrel finding the rough bark of a naked tree. Thoughts churned in he rmind, resent shown twards Kyr. "so you think you have won? Seeing me in a state as this? No, you ahve not. So the elments have turn cruel, no I am not up for the winters harsh beatings at this moment in time". Dial dropped to the diaphram, a deep sigh released. "Kyr you hav enot the slightest clue, do you? Of coruse I come for a brute. My demenor, it separated the foals from the ones I may find interest in. So far, you may have cleared the finish line. But your reasons for coming seem oh so unbecoming. If you only with to teach me something. She paused, regaining strength. "Then dont let the door hit you on your way out." She grinned, dial swaying as the ivory locked sheilded one almond pool, the other peering at the ebon stag.

[kyr]

The obsidian stroked czar let out a single gasp. Everything seemed rushing at him at once. How he ahd been acting, the devious dark ways. Of course, they had been fun for a little while, but they had now since worn off. He didn't want to be like that anymore, well, atleast now. Karneval, he admired his sire, but his style did not suit the stag. He felt overwhelmed all at once, almost dizzy. What had he been doing? What had he accomplished? Nothing. That's what. He had just dug himself into a hole, and dug it deeper, and deeper. Now he had to climb out of it, but he would do it, he would commit. At Moulin's first words, the effects of the cold adrenaline had not worn off, but after she appeared weak, they had disappeared. he had bullied her around, and pushed her past the limits, to fatigue and weakness. She was a mess. That was the only way to describe it. Yes, she regained strength after a few minutes, but she was not in the health for such things, at least in his point of view. Moulin.. He almost choked on the words, he felt his reputation spiraling downwards. He did not want to admit defeat, but in a way, he wasn't, was he? She ahd been lowered to such a state of agony, he could not stand it anymore. Moulin, you're right, you're not in condition for winter. He pasued, before continuing. And I'm not in condition to push you around like that. It's just not me, it's my sire, and I won't do it anymore. He turned away, slightly embarrassed, but figured he ahd best get this over with. I'm not doing this anymore. This was the finishing statement, and for this, he actually went to the point of looking her in the eye. Listen. You can go to Cotandra if you'd please, my land, an ocean shore. It's lush and warm, even in the winter months. You'd be greeted by Titanic and Phantasie, my queen and filly. You can rest, become strong. I don't know where it'd go from there. He actually had mroe to say, so he said it quickly. I'm not of a dark heart, I don't know if you are. But if you're looking for one, I must say, we're parting now, and not to see each other again. With that, he turned and strode off. She could make the decision without persuasion.

[ooc-yeah, so she's invited to Cotandra kyr's probably off to another claiming thread]