Your CS Pet Pairs? :3 (NEW THREAD!)

[starfighter123]

but this litter we just got
please clowsia i dont know

[Mura]

I like to think of them as sweet and sour :3

I thought this was very cute. <'3
*Huggles the two PPSs*

[Whippersnapper.]

.

[ Mojo - M ] ---------------------------<-3---------------------------- [ Corsova - F ]
full & poor ------------------------------x------------------------------ rich & empty

But I'm shakin' at your touch
I like you way too much
My baby I'm afraid I'm falling for you
I'd do 'bout anything to get the hell out alive
or maybe I would rather settle down with you

x

"Seven trunks? Miss, you have to understand...Perhaps one or two could manage, but seven? The hold is full enough already, it is."

The dog bit his lip in hesitation, claws tapping fitfully against the polished wood of his desk. This female, she was an important passenger, yes, her pockets laden with gold and pearls, had become a frustration to him and run his patience thin. For three days she had been aboard the ship, and for three days she had argued over the slightest deformation; the fact that she was unable to wear silk because the sea spray would tear her dresses, or, in this case, the fact that she could not toat seven trunks along with her. Feet hidden behind the desk where she could not see, the dog dug his claws into the grains of the floor with annoyance and frustration.

The female too could feel her cheeks reddening with annoyance and frustration, and the frilly bow atop her head wobbled dangerousy, the way it did when she was angry. Everything about this ship was a profanity to her; the smell of sweat and fish that swathed the deck, the pestering flies that surrounding her ears, and espically the rough canvas cot that served as her bed. It had only been three days, she hadn't even set sail yet, and the dog was tired of this ship life already. Now they were denying her trunks laden with jewelery and pearls and clothes, some of her most prized things and favorite possessions.

"Then perhaps you should come to my home in Barbados and see how many trunks I have stored under my bed." She snapped, clueless as of how she could not be able to take such a few number of trunks in only a short trip. A week, it was nothing too long, was it? Straighting the bow atop her head with paws clumsy in anger, the female told herself to inhale and exhale deeply, the way her maid servant instructed her when one of these worthless creatures attempted to order her about. Almost shaking with the effort, she dug her claws into the side of the desk to steady herself and added, "Then perhaps my two most beautiful and intricate trunks will have to do. Instruct your men to place them in the hold."

Though he had cringed at her first sharp, angry words, the male let out a shaky breath of relief; though she had criticized his ship and men many times now, she seemed to have a sharp determination to keep aboard Of course, the two trunks that she would have liked to keep with her would take up a fourth of the hold as was, but the male simply replied, "Thank you. I'll have them placed with the upmost care...Miss Corsova?"

"You'd better, or my grandfather'll have your hide," The female grumbled, or, as her true name was, Corsova. "And its pronounced COR-SA-VA." Laying her Barbados accent thick on what she considered to be a beautiful name, Corsova whirled around out of the thick oakwood doors, hardly noticing the beautiful accents and patterns, but busying herself instead with collection her heavy silken coat around her.

This life was disgusting, something she would be shamed to live. The salty water that pooled on the deck stuck to her paws as she walked, and whereas she would have normally taken refuge in the cabins below, it was out of the question; the smell of horses and cargo was thick and stuffy. Corsova, giving a dramatic sigh and holding up her silken coat much too high than was normal, felt that her life was very complicated and hard on her at the moment. Since birth she had lived in the wondrous Barbados with her grandfather, who had own a molasses plant, with its snow white sand and sparkling beaches. Her grandfather had grown rich shipping his crop to Americans and serving as a one-dog refinery for sugar, but recently he had fallen ill. He had ordered her to America to find her aunt, who was a medic and could perhaps find a cure for her beloved grandfather.

Now she was aboard this sick, dastardly ship. She was still ported on a part of Barbados, but it was a dreary and grey part where the waters lapped hungrily at the ship and thunder reigned in the sky. Never before had she been to America, or even left her island of Barbados, but she was not willing to journey any father than she already had; tales had been told of the Americans and their large factories that belched smoke into the sky, of the wars that they were quick to engage in, falling one dog after another. "And to top it off," Corsova sniffed as an afterthought, "It smells like sweating horses."

"Oh, I suppose you like the smell of flesh more, chained in the hold and half rotted, do you?"

The voice was totally unexpected, rough and deeply accented, sounding heavy and low...Perhaps African? The voice came from above Corsova, and she whirled around from where she had been leaning against the railing of the ship. Above her, she could see, sitting upon a pile of stacked boxes and cargo, was a dog. His fur was dark and brown, lighter and sun tanned around his chest and face. His eyes were the color of rich coffee and caramel, and around his neck he wore a string, a tooth that looked very much canine laced through it. Corsova could see that his tail was a mere stump, and by the way it was positioned, ragged and low, she felt that it had not been like that at birth.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" She replied coldly, studying the dog with a critical eye. How dare he address her in such a manner! Another barbaric servant, she supposed. "Should you not be off swabbing the deck?"

Ignoring her last remark, the male narrowed his eyes and replied with equal coldness, "You do have slaves on Barbados, don't you? Such a lady like yourself should have many. Haven't you ever wondered where they come from, how they're treated? Of course not. I'm sure you'll pay a fat price for black or even mildly dark brown fur, though."

In a way that Corsova was not used to feeling, she felt...intimidated? Perhaps it was the strength and fullness in his voice, or the way the blinding white sun outlined his features and made him look like a god. Either way, his remark offended her. Tossing her nose into the air and trying to control the way her bow wobbled atop her head, Corsova marched her way off, calling over her shoulder, "Of course we have slaves on my fathers plantation. Who else is there to do the work? You'd best not talk to such royal folk with a manner like your own, or I'll make a slave out of you yourself."

Surprisingly, she heard not the frightened silence that her words were meant to cause, but that low, thickly accented chuckling behind her as she stomped her way away. "You can't break me into something I've lived the life of already, lady."

"And by the way, the names Mojo."

x

References to slavery & all that. Should I keep on?

[Smithereens]

I'm crying now ;-; I love that song so much, but it's so sad.
And the pair is lovely too.

Yeah, I know. D:
Thanks c:

[Mirza]

Is'tia ♀ && Daseno ♂

Part I
"Teach me." she begs, trying not to let a whine creep into her voice and destroy the bits of respect that she had carefully founded in him. Or perhaps it was only her imagination; did he ever listen to her properly when she was talking about her ideas? Or even--but no. He wasn't as calloused as she was making him out to be, never in a thousand years! Even though everyone in the village prefers to avoid him, Is'tia had found that his inner-self was so...so...beautiful. And he was so talented, too. His craft was unmatched by anyone. And surely, he would teach her, and then, she would--

"No...I'd rather not."

She feels her dreams crash down as quickly as a bird felled by an arrow plummets to the cold earth. She looks up at him, avoiding his ruby eyes and instead looking at the myriad of black and red designs that grace his shoulder. "But...but I can-"

"I said no, Is'tia." he says firmly, tilting his head and looking at her curiously. What an insistent one. Still, he had been the same not so long ago, when he had plagued the fire dragon of the Ishta mountains for her secrets. And here was someone else, doing the same...should he bend? He looks around his small workshop, which is crammed to the gils with assorted supplies. Matches litter the tables, and books of all sizes and conditions rise up from the floor in towers. Tufts of cotton and other flammable objects are scattered around the floor along side an unhealthy amount of dirt that has collected from about a year of neglect. The single lamp that casts the room in a warm glow is cracked, and wax is leaking out onto the shelf that it's on... At any rate, he certainly needs someone to clean up the place...and she's been following him around for months, bugging him. Perhaps this would be a good way to get rid of her permanently..."Hm...you know what?"

"What?" there she goes again, her hopes rising like a kite on a spring breeze.

"I think I could use an apprentice, you know, to carry on with my work once I'm dead." he shouldn't mention the cleaning part--he'll make it look like he thought that she assumed that it would be a part of the deal. He grins at the way she meets his eyes, and then looks away again.

"T-that would be wonderful!" she whispers. "Thank you so much, Speaker of Fire--"

"Oh please," he says, lifting his head up at the use of his proper title. "You can just call me Daseno while you're my apprentice."

xoxoxo

Being Daseno's apprentice wasn't at all what she had expected. In fact, if someone had seen her, they would have sworn that she was just his maid. All she did was clean, organize huge volumes of books, and buy new materials for Daseno. Oh, and once he asked her to cook him something, but that didn't turn out too well. The aroma of burnt fish had lingered in the small house for days. Sometimes, before she caught herself, she felt a stab of resentment at her mentor: while she was scrubbing floors he was lounging on his chair, immersed in a book. But then she felt guilty, for after all, he was giving her a chance that she had wished for her entire life.

Daseno, on the other hand, was actually rather pleased. So far, he had his entire home cleaned up and had managed to dance around the subject of teaching his 'apprentice' any actual magic. All it had cost him was just a small room and some extra food. Of course, sooner or later she would get tired of this little game and leave, and he wouldn't have a servant anymore. But still...at least he had time to study. He was almost on the brink of discovering a new incantation; there were notes about one in his books that would supposably turn someone's soul to ashes. As he flipped the weathered page of the huge book that lay before him, he became aware of a presence hovering over his shoulder. He sighs.

"What?" he says bluntly, turning around and facing his apprentice. As usual, she ducks away, not meeting his eyes.

"I was just wondering if you would be able to teach me something..." she says, a red-rimmed ear flicking back nervously. "Nothing big or anything, just...something."

"...did you finish tiling the roof?" he asks after a moment's hesitation.

"Yes."

"The parlor is swept?"

"Yes.

"The kitchen has been scrubbed?"

"Yes, I finished that just an hour ago."

"The bookshelves? The floors? The food has been set out for me to prepare?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. Oh, and I added a bit of cilantro to the sauce for the chicken." she was rather pleased with herself; she had finished everything he had cared to ask her and even had done a bit extra.

Cilantro... he groans inwardly, closing his eyes and raising his head to the heavens. Well, not directly, as the ceiling was in the way. He hopes that she'll leave, scurry off to somewhere else into the house and leave him and his secrets alone. But apparently, the girl can't take a hint. "Fine!" he snaps, trying to ignore her look of delight. Daseno wheels around and snatches a book from his desk. He shoves it into her waiting jaws. "Fine! Go on and read that book. If you don't understand it on the first try, don't come back.

She runs off to her room, her paws pounding on the wooden floors, her heart pumping with happiness. Is'tia tosses herself onto the small bed, ignores it's groan of protest, and delicately noses the book into place before her. For a moment, the black and red wolf merely gazes at it with misty violet eyes. This is the moment where she will become...become...become something great. She flips it open, and begins to read.

Part II
She learned quickly. Everything she read, she practically absorbed within minutes without having to puzzle over the concepts too long. Is'tia was also extraordinarily adept at working the actual magic; unlike most novices, any flame or spark that she managed to create was in her control at all times, and the biggest thing that she had burnt was the corner of the book (she had accidentally lost her focus, and a spark strayed from the candle onto the page). Even Daseno, however reluctant, was impressed. He never admitted it, but she had learned faster than him. And she hadn't even burned the house down yet, like he had.

A week passed, and things were settling into a rhythm. Is'tia would wake at the crack of dawn and do all of the chores that needed to be done. If she happened to be too loud, Daseno would wake up, growl to himself, drag himself out of his room to snap at his apprentice, and then go back to bed for another hour or so. They would then eat breakfast (after Daseno had woken up again) and then their studies would begin. Daseno would bury himself in the library, delving into the ancient books that he had so carefully collected, trying to rediscover the incantation for turning souls to ashes. Is'tia would go to her room, read, practice a bit until she mastered the lesson she set up for herself, and if she finished the book, she would then go to Daseno for a new one.

Often times, the two of them would become to engrossed in learning this archaic branch of magic that they would inadvertently end up skipping meals, only noticing when the light outside the window was radiant with the sunset. Everything, however, was perfect. Is'tia was achieving her dream, and Daseno didn't have to worry about his house becoming horribly messy.

It's a pity that it couldn't remain that way.

Their troubles began with a knock on the door.

It was a loud knock, one that made Daseno jump and knock his oldest book to the floor. His ruby eyes narrowed angrily as he swooped down to pick the book up and tenderly place it back on his crowded desk. The book was undamaged, which was a surprise, as it had fallen on top of another stack of books, then slid its way to the ground. Whoever was at the door knocked again, even louder.

"I'll get it!"

Is'tia's voice sounded from her room, and then there was a clattering of paws as a red-black blur swept past the open door of Daseno's study.

"No, wait!" Daseno snarled, carefully picking his way through the piles of books to get to the door. "It's probably some stupid villager, wanting me to fix their bloody lamp or something..."

There was another knock, almost shaking the walls. Then, as he tripped over his only copy of Ignis Anima, he heard the door creak open, and a cheery little voice chirping, "Hello sir, how can I help you?"

"Ignore her, I'm coming, I'm coming!" shouted Daseno, snarling in anger as he stumbled into the hallway. He raced to the doorway, tripping numerous times over small boxes of matches and piles of candles. Daseno pushed Is'tia aside, ignoring her little hurt gasp of astonishment, and looked through the open door. A burly draft horse was standing in the doorway, an irritated look on his bay and black face.

"Hello, I'm Das–"

"I know how you are," sniffed the horse, lifting his head up a few inches, peering at the wolf with narrowed amber eyes. "And I'm from the village council."

A sinking feeling overwhelmed Daseno. The village council? This wasn't good, not good at all...out of the corner of his eye he noticed Is'tia's angular face at his side. Her amethyst eyes darted away from his, just as he noticed that she was studying his face, as though she knew every thought that ran through his mind. He had never really noticed her eyes; they were like a flame, a brilliant violet flame that flickered warmly in a lamp, radiating it's light...

"Yes?" said Daseno, shaking his head slightly and redirecting his gaze to the horse, who seemed to be an envoy of the council.

"Well, the council has decided that you are a hazard to the community."

"What?" he gasped, his jaws agape. "A hazard? Why on earth would they say that? I'm the only one who knows the fine branch of fire–"

"–And," the horse continued on, unruffled by Daseno's outburst. "You have neglected to pay your bills and your taxes for the past...what was it? The past six months?"

This, of course, was true. He hadn't bothered to pay because, well...just because! But wait, apparently there was more:

"And accordingly, the council has decided that you should leave the village immediately."

"Why?" Is'tia said with the advent of Daseno's sudden silence. "I mean, couldn't he just pay his debts and stay?"

The horse snorted, swishing his long ebony tail. "No," he said in a patient, almost bored tone. "He cannot pay his debts in time. I hardly think that he has enough gold to pay in a week's time?" he lifted a hoof and flicked it towards the decrepit brick home.

"What if I repaid the village via my art?" said Daseno, letting a whine slip into his voice. "Normally, I would make the lot of you pay, but I would do anything that you wanted for free."

"Oh really? You would do that?"

Daseno's heart lifted; there was a way out of this, there definitely was. Ah hah! He would finally be able to flaunt his talents, finally would receive the notice that he deserved!

"Well, too bad. You are to leave immediately. Pack up your vital goods, and leave. The same goes with you, miss. You left the orphanage, and signed documents stating that you were now under Daseno's care."

"But, what about all of my things?" whispered Daseno, "All of my books, and supplies..."

"I thought that we would get to that." a smug grin crept over the horse's face. "Your belongings will be distributed in the village to those who need them."

"But I can count on my paw the number of citizens here that can actually read!" he replied, shooting a glance at Is'tia. Now that he thought of it, how had she learned to read? "No one would want my books, so if I could only have an hour or so to pack them up–"

"Sorry. Can't do; council's orders."

"But what will you do with them!?"

"Burn them. There are lots of families in the village that need extra kindling in order to make it through the winter."

A choked sob wrenched it's way out of Deseno's throat. The world seemed to spin as the draft's words resounded in his mind. His precious books, his magnificent collection of such a rare branch of magic...burnt to a crisp in a blazing fire? How horrible; the irony made him sick to his stomach...

Is'tia staggered to one side as Daseno's limp form toppled over onto her flank. Carefully, trying to ignore the horse's quiet chuckles, she let him slide to the ground, not really knowing what else to do. He lay there for a moment, his breathing ragged. She hoped that it was just the shock of having to loose his books, and not some medical condition that had remained dormant for all this time. Inhaling once, she looked up at the horse, who nodded and began to trot off.

"You have fifteen minutes to pack," he whinnied over his shoulder. Is'tia nodded in response, and looked down at Daseno. She shouldn't stand here, staring wistfully at him like this, she should be packing, racing around the house to collect as many books as she could before the time was up. But...he was so vulnerable here, so peaceful. At any rate, he wasn't snapping at her to stop making such a racket.

He shifted, making the swirling red-black patterns in his fur ripple like a flag in an evening breeze. Is'tia blinked, and then scurried inside, lest he wake and notice that she had been standing there that entire time.

xoxoxo

They watched as a team of foul-mouthed sled dogs dragged the remainder of Daseno's possessions to the village centre. The scruffy band of dogs were straining at their harnesses, swears flying out of their mouth along with strings of saliva. They insisted on taking all of it out in one haul, but apparently, they didn't realize how many heavy books Daseno had collected through the years.

No one seemed to notice how all of this was effecting Daseno. No one aside from Is'tia, that is. She stood by his side, occasionally sneaking glances at his somber face. His features were hard, hard as a diamond. She had expected him to break down sobbing or at least shed a tear (for after all, he had fainted earlier), but he remained as stoic as she had ever seen him. He kept his head high, retaining his pride even as they were escorted out of the village boundaries with their travois packed with as many books as they could carry.

They didn't speak as they traveled through the darkening country-side. Is'tia desperately wanted to, to break this silence that prickled at her mind like a hive of buzzing bees, but...she couldn't force herself to open her mouth and utter a single word. They walked on a small dirt path for fifteen minutes, until Daseno stopped abruptly.

"We're turning back."

Is'tia blinked in surprise, actually looking at him. He was faced forwards, staring at a point in the distance.

"Why?" she asked, shrugging off her half of the harness that bound them both to the travois. "We should stop here, and sleep."

"No, we're not going to stop here."

"...why?"

He turned to her, his eyes glinting in the half-light. She ducked her head as usual, avoiding his gaze. He didn't speak for a moment, but when he did, the ice in his voice shook her to the bone;

"We are going to burn that village to the ground."

Part III
Essentially, the first thing that any sort of magician learns is that magic is merely the manipulation of molecules. It seems simple, but it's more complicated. In the beginning, before magic was 'discovered', scientists noticed that there was an inherent quality in the atoms of a molecules, one that they had overlooked. It acted like an electron, but when it encountered another of it's type, it surreptitiously changed the properties of the atom, which in turn affected the molecule. This caused an extraordinary uproar, as this changed several of the scientific laws that had existed for as long as anyone could remember, and it explained numerous things that had been going on, such as strange illnesses. Soon, it became apparent that most creatures had the ability to manipulate this new thing via their voices or speech-patterns. And there it was, the birth of magic.

But the science behind it all didn't quite explain the various sensations that the practitioners of magic attained. It was difficult to describe; some felt as though their entire self was in tune with the essence of the universe, while others could feel the earth moving beneath their paws.

That morning, as flames towered above her and licked the brightening sky, Is'tia's voice sang out in chorus with Daseno's. She felt a mixture of guilt and exuberance bubbling inside her, dripping out into her voice and giving depth to it (contamination, Daseno would call it later), making the flames rise higher and at times, almost sizzling out. It seemed immoral to her, to destroy the village center and market (she managed to convince Daseno that the houses should be spared). But soon, within an hour, they fled, the crackling of the flames still in their hearts and the sting of the smoke in their eyes.

Having burnt off his fury, Daseno had decided to stop running and for them both to take a break by a small stream. They both stood there for a moment, panting and wheezing, not moving even when the travois slipped a foot down the muddy bank and almost tipping into the water.

"Now, since that was finished, we will...well..." said Daseno, pausing to readjust the travois. His voice was cracked and dry from the combination of smoke and singing–-the two of them needed to find a merchant who would sell them honey, or sugar and water–-and Is'tia was surprised to hear the change. She rather admired his rich voice. "...fine. I don't know where to go from here. I mean, I know what I need to do, but where to start..."

It wasn't a good idea to ask what he needed to do, if Is'tia didn't want to get snapped at, so she decided to suggest something.

"I know that there's a town about a mile from where we are," she began cautiously, digging a furrow in the mud with a slim paw. "We could go and get something to eat...and maybe start a shop?"

Daseno blinked. A shop? That wouldn't work at all. He had lots of things to accomplish; he needed to rebuild his book collection and find the incantation to turn someone's soul to ashes. Setting up a shop would be too time consuming. Speaking of which...having Is'tia tag along with him was also pretty tedious...he thought quickly, scrambling to find a better alternative.

"Hm...I rather like the 'getting something to eat' part, but the rest...oh, I'll have to give it some thought." he said, waving his tail in the air. Daseno ignored Is'tia's crestfallen face––if his plan worked out, he would ever have to see it again––and continued on. "I'm assuming that you know where this town is?"

An hour or two later, the two of them found themselves sitting at a table in the cheapest tavern in the town. It was stereotypical, complete with a seedy clientele, grouchy bartender, dim lighting, and tables that creaked if you put the slightest bit of weight on them. However, there was a menu, which was unusual, as it was made of crisp pale blue paper and written in beautiful cursive. After warning Is'tia that she could only have one inexpensive dish of her choice, Daseno's red eyes scanned the menu. He could tell that a variety of species frequented the grubby place. The special for that day was a fillet of roasted salmon and mint, and the special soup was made of pureed carrots and parsley. The latter seemed utterly disgusting to him, and the former was a bit too exotic. But they offered a single lean steak of venison with a small pint of carbonated water, so he decided on that.

"You have your order?" he asked Is'tia. She nodded in reply, her eyes slightly narrowed as she gave the menu another look. "Alright. Uhm, you there, manager...?"

The scruffy wolf who was wiping the bar-counter with a faded rag looked up, and after shooting a look (as though to say, how dare you interrupt me?), he slunk towards them. Daseno returned his glare with a smug smirk, flicking his paw and subsequently making the lights above them flicker. The wolf froze, his yellowish eyes growing wide as he stared at the flames in the lamp.

"Sir?" Dasneo's polite voice seemed to break the wolf out of his trance.

"I...uh...whaddya want?" he stammered to them, his eyes flicking up towards the lamp every other second.

"One order of the lean venison with carbonated water, and, Is'tia...?"

"An order of the roasted salmon, please." she whispered. Daseno blinked (The salmon, really? he thought) and accidentally made the lamp flare, making several of the nearby customers jump. The wolf nodded his grey-blue heard rapidly, and scurried away to the kitchens, barking orders at the cook.

"...did you use the nonverbal Zatro charm of Ignis?" asked Is'tia curiously, shifting in her chair, keeping her paws on the table.

"I...uh...oh yes, of course," replied Daseno, taken aback. He had been using the charm for so long that he had forgotten it's name. "I use it all the time."

Is'tia blinked, impressed. "I've tried it, but I've found it fairly difficult...I think that it's partly because of the concentration that's involved."

"Once you've mastered Kreer's spell, you know, the one that incinerates metal, you'll find that it's easier."

"Ah...I wouldn't have thought that there was a connection there...I think that I'll try it out sometime soon." she said, beginning to visualize exactly how this would be done. " Thanks!"

Daseno smiled at her amiably, feeling a strange sensation of success. It didn't make sense for him to feel even an ounce of pride at Is'tia's accomplishments. After all, she was self-taught; he only supplied the books and materials. And it wouldn't do for him to get attached to her now, since he was so close to getting rid of her.

"Y-your order...?"

Daseno looked up to see the wolf standing next to the table, an elaborate system of ropes strapping a large tray to his tawny back. Three small birds, all with large black eyes and red wings, hovered next to him. At a flick of his tail, they flew over to the bowls of food, and lifted them with near invisible strings. They teetered towards the table, screeching at each other in shrill little voices when the bowl tipped violently to one side. Eventually, all of the bowls were in place, and the group left in a hurry.

Hmming contentedly, Daseno lapped a bit of the water from the smallest bowl, and spluttered, reeling back and staring at the liquid in disgust.

What did they put in that? he thought, trying not to retch. The flavor was much, much, much too strong to be just carbonated water...

"You alright?" inquired Is'tia in between delicate bites of her salmon. Naturally, she didn't look up, but she was a little concerned. It wasn't like Daseno to outwardly display contempt at his meal. Hearing no response, she glanced up in time to see Daseno sniffing the venison suspiciously with his ebony nose.

Sighing softly to herself, she continued to eat, leaving Daseno to ponder the legitimacy of his meal.

xoxoxo

After cheating their way out of paying a meal (somehow, the lights in the cantina started flickering violently and changing colors––), the two recollected their travois from where they had hidden it in the nearby woods. They had to disarm the copious spells that Daseno had woven around the radius of the pile of books, and luckily, only came away with minor injuries. Smoldering slightly, the two wolves padded to the town centre, and swiftly found a goat who happened to be selling his shop in the main market.

"It'll need some fixin'," he said in his gravelly voice, tilting his head and looking curiously at the two wolves and their pile of books. "There was a fire about a week ago, and everything––"

"That's not an issue," interjected Daseno smoothly. "Name your price."

"Five hundred gold rubles."

"Five hundred––!" gasped Is'tia.

"That's a bit much...especially considering that it was damaged in a fire..." Daseno didn't bother to mention that he could fix the damage in a snap. "What about...three hundred and fifty?"

"Four hundred." replied the goat, narrowing his gold and black eyes. "I invested almost six hundred in it, and I'm not about to loose that much."

"Well, you'll loose more if you keep waiting for another buyer." countered Daseno. He smirked as the goat stuttered, and then glared at him reproachfully. They were led away to the local scribe, who was a small parakeet with beady eyes and brilliant blue-green plumage. The goat brought the papers, and they settled down and prepared to sign them. Going over the details of the numerous nuances of the papers was extraordinarily tedious to Is'tia, and she found her mind drifting amid the excitement of opening a shop. In addition to becoming a fire mage, she had always wanted to manage some sort of a store. And now it was happening! She didn't quite know what the shop would be called, only that it would be renowned throughout the kingdom, and that for miles, people would come just to see the marvels in the store. Daseno would finally be happy with her, maybe even celebrate her accomplishments instead of merely observing. Maybe he would come to actually care for her.

"Is'tia? Is'tia!"

"Huh?"

Daseno shook his head disapprovingly, sighing. "Didn't you hear us? You're going to sign the document."

"I––uh, me?" she squeaked. "Why not you?"

Groaning inwardly, Dasno leaned towards Is'tia, his check brushing hers, their fur meshing. "We both just ran from an arson, remember?" he whispered softly, smiling all the while in order to erase any suspicion from the two onlookers. "You are a minor, and your name won't pop up in their records, remember?"

Is'tia nodded, feeling breathless and flushed all of a sudden. Surely it didn't have anything to do with Daseno being so agonizingly close. It was just guilt at her crime, that was it. Leaning back, Daseno grinned at the parakeet, gesturing for him to write Is'tia's name on the paper. The bird hopped forwards on one foot, a small bunch of iodine-soaked hair in his talon. Swiftly, so as not to let the iodine dry on the brush, he swiped it across the yellowing parchment.

Daseno took one look at the scribbly, amber-black letters and blinked at the parakeet. "Nice talon-writing." he sniffed. The sea-green bird fluffed his feathers, glaring at Daseno.

"Do you have opposable thumbs?" said the bird. "No? I thought not. Get out the ink, please, for the lady to finalize the documents."

The ink was retrieved from a small box of assorted writing materials. It was set before Is'tia, and she lifted her paw, about to dip it in the ink. She hesitated, glancing at Daseno, then, closing her eyes, saturated her grey paw-pad in jet black ink and planted it on the parchment. Daseno's eyes gleamed.

That's it then... Is'tia thought, staring at her pawprint, her mind reeling. The only reason she had to sign this instead of Daseno was because of their crime... I've gone from an artist to an arsonist.

...it's been a while since I posted parts one and two. ^^;

[Animall]

[center]Tasha [f] && Devon [m]


Made a wrong turn
Once or twice
Dug my way out
Blood and fire
Bad decisions
That’s alright
Welcome to my silly life

Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Mis-knowing, its all good
It didn’t slow me down
Mistaken, Always second guessing
Underestimated
Look, I’m still around…

Pretty, pretty please
Don’t you ever, ever feel
Like your less than
F***in' perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like your nothing
You’re f***in' perfect to me

"God, Tasha. Stop cutting yourself..."
"Devon, Its a habit. Im sorry! I try to stop, but I cant stop."

Tasha pushed her face over her eyes, to cover herself crying. Devon knew when she was balling, so he gradually calmed her down. He wrapped his arms around her, and layed his head on her shoulder. "Its ok. Im here, everything is fine." He pulled himself away, to fix her hair. He looked into her eyes. He then said in a stern voice, "Its ok."
Tasha smiled and fixed her running makeup. "Im sorry for being this emotional. I just cant help it. Lets go to school."

They walked through the heavy front doors of Traybridge High. Tasha grabbed Devons hand, and held it tight. She then let go to not seem clingy.
"Oh, look. Its the EMO girl! Have any knives on ya'?" scowled Monica, the ringleader of the popular crowd. She was horrified, but boiling with anger. A tear rolled down Tasha's fragile, beautiful face. Devon stepped in. "Do you have anything other to do than hurt Tasha? This is ridiculous!" Monica stepped forward, with a prissy look on her face. "No, I dont. Now Get out of my way!" She pushed Devon to the ground, and punched Tasha so hard on her nose, she started to bleed. "You B*tch!"
Tasha ran, crying as hard as ever. Devon got up, wanting to get revenge on Monica, but knew he couldnt. He dashed after her, eventually catching up and holding Tasha back from going any further. She fought to go, but ending up crashing. Eyes gushing tears, and collapsed. "Why me? Why do I deserve this?" Devon was scared for her, but tried to show courage. "Tasha, calm down. Its ok. Lets go down to the nurse to get that nose of your help."

---

A start. Should I continue this? ^^

[asexual]

.

[ Mojo - M ] ---------------------------<-3---------------------------- [ Corsova - F ]
full & poor ------------------------------x------------------------------ rich & empty

But I'm shakin' at your touch
I like you way too much
My baby I'm afraid I'm falling for you
I'd do 'bout anything to get the hell out alive
or maybe I would rather settle down with you

x

"Seven trunks? Miss, you have to understand...Perhaps one or two could manage, but seven? The hold is full enough already, it is."

The dog bit his lip in hesitation, claws tapping fitfully against the polished wood of his desk. This female, she was an important passenger, yes, her pockets laden with gold and pearls, had become a frustration to him and run his patience thin. For three days she had been aboard the ship, and for three days she had argued over the slightest deformation; the fact that she was unable to wear silk because the sea spray would tear her dresses, or, in this case, the fact that she could not toat seven trunks along with her. Feet hidden behind the desk where she could not see, the dog dug his claws into the grains of the floor with annoyance and frustration.

The female too could feel her cheeks reddening with annoyance and frustration, and the frilly bow atop her head wobbled dangerousy, the way it did when she was angry. Everything about this ship was a profanity to her; the smell of sweat and fish that swathed the deck, the pestering flies that surrounding her ears, and espically the rough canvas cot that served as her bed. It had only been three days, she hadn't even set sail yet, and the dog was tired of this ship life already. Now they were denying her trunks laden with jewelery and pearls and clothes, some of her most prized things and favorite possessions.

"Then perhaps you should come to my home in Barbados and see how many trunks I have stored under my bed." She snapped, clueless as of how she could not be able to take such a few number of trunks in only a short trip. A week, it was nothing too long, was it? Straighting the bow atop her head with paws clumsy in anger, the female told herself to inhale and exhale deeply, the way her maid servant instructed her when one of these worthless creatures attempted to order her about. Almost shaking with the effort, she dug her claws into the side of the desk to steady herself and added, "Then perhaps my two most beautiful and intricate trunks will have to do. Instruct your men to place them in the hold."

Though he had cringed at her first sharp, angry words, the male let out a shaky breath of relief; though she had criticized his ship and men many times now, she seemed to have a sharp determination to keep aboard Of course, the two trunks that she would have liked to keep with her would take up a fourth of the hold as was, but the male simply replied, "Thank you. I'll have them placed with the upmost care...Miss Corsova?"

"You'd better, or my grandfather'll have your hide," The female grumbled, or, as her true name was, Corsova. "And its pronounced COR-SA-VA." Laying her Barbados accent thick on what she considered to be a beautiful name, Corsova whirled around out of the thick oakwood doors, hardly noticing the beautiful accents and patterns, but busying herself instead with collection her heavy silken coat around her.

This life was disgusting, something she would be shamed to live. The salty water that pooled on the deck stuck to her paws as she walked, and whereas she would have normally taken refuge in the cabins below, it was out of the question; the smell of horses and cargo was thick and stuffy. Corsova, giving a dramatic sigh and holding up her silken coat much too high than was normal, felt that her life was very complicated and hard on her at the moment. Since birth she had lived in the wondrous Barbados with her grandfather, who had own a molasses plant, with its snow white sand and sparkling beaches. Her grandfather had grown rich shipping his crop to Americans and serving as a one-dog refinery for sugar, but recently he had fallen ill. He had ordered her to America to find her aunt, who was a medic and could perhaps find a cure for her beloved grandfather.

Now she was aboard this sick, dastardly ship. She was still ported on a part of Barbados, but it was a dreary and grey part where the waters lapped hungrily at the ship and thunder reigned in the sky. Never before had she been to America, or even left her island of Barbados, but she was not willing to journey any father than she already had; tales had been told of the Americans and their large factories that belched smoke into the sky, of the wars that they were quick to engage in, falling one dog after another. "And to top it off," Corsova sniffed as an afterthought, "It smells like sweating horses."

"Oh, I suppose you like the smell of flesh more, chained in the hold and half rotted, do you?"

The voice was totally unexpected, rough and deeply accented, sounding heavy and low...Perhaps African? The voice came from above Corsova, and she whirled around from where she had been leaning against the railing of the ship. Above her, she could see, sitting upon a pile of stacked boxes and cargo, was a dog. His fur was dark and brown, lighter and sun tanned around his chest and face. His eyes were the color of rich coffee and caramel, and around his neck he wore a string, a tooth that looked very much canine laced through it. Corsova could see that his tail was a mere stump, and by the way it was positioned, ragged and low, she felt that it had not been like that at birth.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" She replied coldly, studying the dog with a critical eye. How dare he address her in such a manner! Another barbaric servant, she supposed. "Should you not be off swabbing the deck?"

Ignoring her last remark, the male narrowed his eyes and replied with equal coldness, "You do have slaves on Barbados, don't you? Such a lady like yourself should have many. Haven't you ever wondered where they come from, how they're treated? Of course not. I'm sure you'll pay a fat price for black or even mildly dark brown fur, though."

In a way that Corsova was not used to feeling, she felt...intimidated? Perhaps it was the strength and fullness in his voice, or the way the blinding white sun outlined his features and made him look like a god. Either way, his remark offended her. Tossing her nose into the air and trying to control the way her bow wobbled atop her head, Corsova marched her way off, calling over her shoulder, "Of course we have slaves on my fathers plantation. Who else is there to do the work? You'd best not talk to such royal folk with a manner like your own, or I'll make a slave out of you yourself."

Surprisingly, she heard not the frightened silence that her words were meant to cause, but that low, thickly accented chuckling behind her as she stomped her way away. "You can't break me into something I've lived the life of already, lady."

"And by the way, the names Mojo."

x

References to slavery & all that. Should I keep on?

Me likes. I love things tied to history.

~Atome

[micah]

Everyone's pairs are so great<3<3
___

--
Karok [m] &" Nicias [m]


The Wahpeton tribe meant no harm. They had attacked Nicias's ship out of pure self-defense; wouldn't you do the same if they came with a foreign weapon?

Karok and his fellow tribesmen knew no 'gun', 'bayonet', or 'dagger'. They fought with small carved sticks, which did not come easily to them--it was quite the strenuous major--but Karok seemed to be a pro.

"Look at this." He would brag in his native tongue, laughing all the while.

His tribe mates would laugh a bit, or put a sneer across their faces. Karok was quite the popular man over in the Wahpeton district; the ladies fawned over him, the men wanted to be him, and the elders respected him. He had boundaries, rules to go by; his friends, however, did not.

"Hey, hey!" They'd yell in their language, trying to call Karok's attention. "We're going to light this place up...!"

"You best not be setting fire to the--" But before he'd even finish his scoldings, they'd already have done their arson.

But, you see, the arsons matter no more, for this quaint village has been ravaged by a greater force...

Pirates.

They ran and screamed, scaring the villagers. They went on ridiculous rampages, hurting and even murdering helpless people; but they showed no resistance, they showed no mercy.

Karok couldn't take it, he couldn't help either--he ran to the far corner of the island, trying to save himself. While he felt huge grief and pain, like no other, he had to do something. Who else could preserve the great things his tribe has done? What he didn't know was what huge matters his tribe did; they attacked the ship...

"But why?" He'd screech, among choking sobs and hysteria. He'd scratch and scrape at his skin until he bled, just to have a sliver of how the immense pain felt. But, alas, his pain and suffering was much worse than what his tribesmen went through.

What Karok had been--outgoing, adventurous, and brave--had vaporized, completely left his being. Until, a few days after the raid, he mustered up the courage to wander to his old place of residence.

What he saw was simply horrifying. His old friends, parents, lovers, dead; alone on the cold sand. Collapsing on the beach, tangy tears dribbled across his cheek.

"Som..." A voice hacked, trying to get help. "Someone... P-pleasss..."

Karok's chin glided up as he slumped his body off of the sand. Eyes scanning the torrent, he finally saw someone who was breathing, alive... He wasn't alone anymore. Breezing over to the limp figure, his eyes grew wide.

It was one of them.

Unsheathing a wooden knife from it's holder, he raised above his head in a false triumph. His entire body was shaking, his bones were brittle. Tears glinted in his emerald eyes; his emotions were crumbling.

What would this solve? He whined inside his mind, gently letting another set of tears sliver down his cheek. He tossed the weapon aside, and not a moment sooner he collapsed onto the corpse. His harassing cries continued; they swallowed the air and consumed the silence. Moments that seemed like decades passed by, the pirate's slow breathing comforting Karok.

Pulling himself up as if he were on strings, Karok felt something sticky on his face. Touching his rough hand to his face and then drawing near his vision again, he noticed blood. Jolting upward and back, he realized that this man had been severely wounded.

"He...Help me..eh..."

He quickly tried to lift the pirate, but had no luck. Karok quickly decided that he had to drag the man. Sifting his hands under the guy's shoulders, he slid him into the nearest body-free hut.

"Thank..yo--u, but I..."

He continued to speak gibberish as Karok wrapped his wounds.

[Alianna013]

[center]
Is'tia ♀ && Daseno ♂

That story is awsum.

[~~*~Isis~*~~]

Yin

Yang

Yi looked over at her long time mate, Fier. They were perfect for one another, soul mates if you would even go so far. She gave him a weak smile and looked down on their one pup, just newly born, a male, Yin was his name. He looked a lot like his father, glowing black eyes and all. She looked down on him, pride in her eyes, as she glanced over towards the other pup that stayed with them. It was a female that had been abandoned by her parents, and Yi and Fier had adopted her into their small family pack without hesitation. She was getting along quite well with Fier, they never fought, they were always with one another. Yi had decided to name her Yin, since her other parents had never named her.

As Fier went to smile back at Yi, everything seemed to happen in a flash. They were sitting out in the open of their territory, their den just a ways off to the right hidden in the shadows. The pups played a game of tag in front of them, only the sound of their laughter and the occasional bark of amusement, but that happy semi-silence ended with the loud echoing sound of a gun shot. Yin let out a gasp of horror when she watched a blossom of red blossom in her mate's chest, and her eyes filled with distress and grief when he crumpled to the ground. His black eyes faded into a blank-ness that was undesribable, and Yin had no time to cry when a bullet struck the ground near her paw. She snarled and grabbed thei-her, pups in her jaws and took off towards the den. As she ran, the tears flew behind her, almost seeming like rain drops. She felt a bullet pierce her side, but she had to get those pups to safety! As she finally reached the den she collapsed and the pups scurried inside, fear lighting their faces. "Run children!" She exclaimed, and another bullet drove through her side and her eyes went dull. Yin and Yang glanced at one another and ran back as far into the cave as possible, trying to get away from the things that killed their parents. This cave was filled with swirling paths and dead ends, but somehow, some miracle, they managed to get out on the other side. They lived together for the longest time, staying near those caves were they had always been. Finally, they moved on to the mountains, where they met a pack of wolves known as the Northern Lights, where they still stay today. Brother and sister they are now not any longer. They claimed their rightful places as alpha male and alpha female.

this story made me cry
but it was really good