[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]did no one ever tell him foxes and hounds seldom get along? well, except for that disney movie... anyway, moving on!

"is that so bad?" she offers casually. there's an unmoving air to her, a stillness that almost feels unnatural. she blinks, once, and continues her stare. in the shadows of a forest, in the creeping darkness, it's merely the eyes of a wolf that remain.

the ghost at her side snickers, even as his hound begins a dance. she knows this movement, enjoys it even, but there's a fault to the roles: the hunter never wants to be prey. she's more than equipped, sure, but how frowned upon is it to stab an admin's dog?

"call off your mutt. maybe i'll tell you," the flippant remark dances between them, settling nicely into shadows. and perhaps just to further her point, she flashes teeth. of course, it's followed by a glinting blade unsheathed from her thigh but that's neither here nor there.

Remiel Calcifet

[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]are monsters born or are they made?

an ancient question, one that bleeds between spaces of fluid thought. it echoes in empty corners of a mind and demands to be heard. to be weighed, to be considered, to be solved. begrudgingly, she wonders if she'll ever figure out the correct answer. a particularly heavy footstep snaps a twig and her head is snapping up.

silence surrounds with smothering arms and bony fingers. she's alone - for now, her brain reminds sharply - and if there's one thing she's learned over the years, it's this: silence in a forest is never a good thing.

the gengar at her side is halfway between shadows, sneaking in and out of hers with ease. the ghost enjoys this setting, almost as much as he enjoys their usual happenings. it's not as thrilling but that little flicker of unease in her movements keeps him entertained.

to think, a monster would be unsettled by the thought of what can go bump in the night. a laughable concept, really, considering what she's really doing here in this region.

she's whipping around, then, at the shiver down her spine. if she didn't know better, she'd say someone is watching. and yet, her breath never hitches in her throat with the telltale sensation of overwhelming fear. instead, she turns toward the blanketing darkness of night, an eerie stare of unblinking gold giving her away.

open duo

[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]romantic could be a nice term for the scenery. you know, if one considered a painful run through trees romantic. she, unfortunately, is not that one. if they were strolling, that'd be one thing but god, this is torture.

"barely," she retorts. her lungs burn a little more now and there's a growing ache in her side. fuck, she's so out of shape. good lord.

his smile is met with barely maintained indifference. the mild beginnings of an aggressive smile bleed through despite her best attempts.

"full of dead people. you?"

calla mccoy