[P]  beautiful one

Orrin

0 y/o large Male
""

Cold. A sensation he hadn't known before, not when warmth and safety surrounded him. Where had that gone? He wasn't sure. A young, muddled mind with only the barest of instincts could not hold such complicated thoughts. He was too young, too vulnerable. He hardly remembered how he got here in the first place, body trembling, small compared to everything. Nothing was familiar to him. Not even his nose which had always led him back to the warmth. Absolutely no trace of that word he had just started to learn and understand- family. There was no understanding this. No comforting himself with words or memories, and he had not yet been taught any means of survival. He had not even a name to call himself.

Surely he should shed tears, yet only weak whimpers left tiny lips. What could he mourn? Perhaps the reality would set in soon enough, or with age. However, the only sorrow he felt was for his own self. He was a child, whose world centered around himself. He was cold, hungry, and tired. A gurgle of air pushing through mud brought azure eyes up only to see an expanse that he could only describe as a giant puddle of muck. Patterned ears perked at the sight, and edging closer the child stared into the oozing brown from the safety of the bank.
@Amaltheia

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Amaltheia

5 y/o xlarge Female
Facilifer, Male Poodle moth
Unnoticed, Facilifer remained little more than background scenery. Soft wings, iridescent in their gentle flutters reflected the fragments of light that filtered between the trees while his eyes followed the frame of the small, nearly unnoticed child. Shivering and abandoned, he could see no sign of his siblings or parents, so what was he doing in the heart of Amaltheia's domain... or was he a gift, some misbegotten token to earn the Bayou witch's favor? A whine escaped the child, pleading and begging. A symphonic sound for warmth and comfort to return and Facilifer pushed off from the trunk, fluttering up into the sturdier branches where the vixen lay poised in comfortable slumber.


Amaltheia was a thing of exquisiteness. Divine in appearance, enthralling with those tails that writhed even while her conscious mind slumbered and a torso that was simultaneously lean and curvaceous. Her only flaw was the useless oculars that bore into nothing. Blind. She was tarnished but even that only seemed to add to her saccharine beauty. The moth landed near the base of her ear, wings fluttering lovingly as he whispered his findings into the shell of one lengthy pinnae. Her eyes snapped open, in silence her bodice twisted and with Facilifer's guidance, her tails descended, a drapery of fine silvers, subtle purple hues and grays. The nine tails writhed, twisting through the air in a passive ability that was meant to entice and enrapture. They swirled around the boy and if he would let them, they would lift him effortlessly into the air, bringing him up to rest within the tree upon her ribs... and if he struggled, she would let him be, but her voice would trickle out to him all the same. “Aye, lost in da swamps, where are ye parents> Mo'der? Fa'der? Dis land be no place for a babe so lost.” Enchanting, her words possessed an almost lyrical quality, bellied by the thick Cajun accent and a subtle curiosity.

"Speech." 'Thoughts.'

table © freakshow



@Orrin
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Orrin

0 y/o large Male
""

 A mind of confusion would find no answers within the mud, but as he stared.. a bubble came up from the swamp. And slowly, an impossible seedling grew where he stared. His eyes widened curiously, not understanding that it was he himself that grew the plant. It had no leaves, no flowers sprouted. It was but a stem with no purpose, and it would not survive the mud. Yet it was the first happening of power that had been gifted to him since entering these lands.

Distracted by the stem, the boy froze as something brushed his small body. Instinct told him only two things; run or fight. Exhaustion, however, would hinder those responses. He was being lifted upwards when the voice rang out- his opportunity for flight gone. Odd words, but ones the tot understood in part as they were simple much like his own experimental speech. Could he fight? He dared not look at the source of the voice. All he wanted to do was tuck his tail and hunker down, hoping submission that any pup would know innately would save him. Fight was not an option. And no words slipped past his lips aside from feeble whines. He was fear personified.
@Amaltheia

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Amaltheia

5 y/o xlarge Female
Facilifer, Male Poodle moth
The pup curled against her writhing tails, it's keening cries echoing like a haunted melody through the drooping trees. It added to the ominous despair of the swamps and yet, Amaltheia made no effort to stop or silence the child... instead she let him expunge the fear, let it drip from his skinny frame and leech into her ribs, the thickest part of her lithe frame and the perch for which he now rested upon. She was silent for a long time, unable to see him, but listening to his dimensions as Facilifier whispered in the shell of one long ear. Tiny. Incredibly tiny. He couldn't be more than a few months old. She couldn't even feel real claws yet, just tiny pinpricks of little daggers as he cowered and hid.


Twisting her agile frame so she could crane her skull around to him, the cold tip of her snout bumped the crown of his skull before sliding down his neck and along his spine. The only way for her to glean a true image of him was to touch and obtain the tactile image. He weighed almost nothing, the entirety of him refusing to hinder her ragged breaths in the slightest. "Enough, quit ye cryin'. There ain't no monsta's here but meh and I ain't gonna hurt ye." Her voice was an enchanting purr, slipping from her tongue with a melodic charm. Most of her magic revolved around enticing and enchanting those around her, how pathetic would it be if she couldn't do the same to a pup? "What is ye name little one?" Surely... he could speak because if he couldn't and this was the bling leading the mute... they wouldn't get very far now would they? A smile teased the edge of her mouth at the sheer irony. "What happened to ye? Whisper it if ya need? These ears hear well."

"Speech." 'Thoughts.'

table © freakshow



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