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[fancypost bgcolor=black; borderwidth=1px; width: 400px; overflow: auto; color: grey; font-family: georgia; text-align: center][size=10]YOU DO ANYTHING TO MAKE ME SUFFER
[fancypost bgcolor=#242424; bordercolor=white; borderwidth=1px; width: 350px; overflow: auto; color: white; font-family: arial; text-align: justify][size=8]ooc . everything's leading up to it -- the only crucial bits are the last three paragraphs, really!
I hope you're breathing you last breath,
Marshal Dear.
The late afternoon sky was painted with blues and oranges, streaks of wispy white curling lazily across a canvas of warmth and sun, hazing like smoke and converging in loose patterns, dotted infrequently across the open landscape of the world above. Ebony dots, birds most likely, occasionally swooped by and, even rarer and towards the horizon, the thin line of a plane's meandering journey to or from an airport. The atmosphere was thick and humid, sweet and sweaty, and time crawled by, slowly. Nobody seemed hurried, nobody wished to move, really. People were lounging, fatigued yet content, under a spell almost as spring ticked into summer quite pleasantly.
And you will die, you will die soon,
I give you a quarter of an hour.
Through the green foliage moved a golden blur, his tail twitching behind him, olive optics locked on a bird hopping along the ground. Its feathers, glossy, navy, rustled as it moved on startlingly green feet, beady eyes searching for a scent it believed was hunting it, though it could not find. It was uneasy, though not to the point of fleeing, which was good, for Imperialpaw. The serval had followed this avian for a while, now, and was close to making the hunt. His claws had already unsheathed and he'd lowered his chest down to the earth, haunches raised as far as they would go, hind feet further onto his tiptoes than usual, and his paws up to the elbow flat against the earth for his forelegs. He was ready to spring, strike, and only had a few more, painstaking heartbeats to wait before the bird wandered into the perfect position ...
Oh Marshal Dear,
Can't you see I'm winning?
So used to hunting by now, when he struck he did so without consciously acknowledging his movements, driven by some inner instinct that he did not quite understand. He lunged out of the bushes suddenly, relaxed as he'd been hidden by metre-tall reeds, body uncoiling like a spring or serpent as he chased the desperately flapping bird up into the air, forelegs outstretching to clamp his front paws around the fleeing avian and bring it back to earth, snapping its neck and finding its throat with his jaws, clamping tightly and rising up. He wore a rather pleased expression on his face, though not to the point of beaming, as he was not that type of individual. Rather, he was just smug, turning to take this oddly chartreuse-legged prey back to camp.
Oh, can you hear me now?
Silence yourself, silence yourself,
Silence yourself, silence yourself!
He was glad the hunt had gone successfully, he noted, as he had been suffering from an odd issue all day. From the morning, his stomach had ached, and his body had itched beneath the skin, a white hot irritation that had been difficult to ignore as he completed his daily tasks. Unaware of what any of it had meant, he'd continued without ever delving into pondering what his problem truly was, his jaw clenching occasionally when the pain increased, only to relax when it abated. He had done well, thought he, even if he had rubbed at his skin insistently until it felt raw behind his fur, most likely reddened by his desire to destroy the itch. Alas, he'd been unsuccessful, and he was pleased that, even with the distraction, he had been able to hunt so successfully, without any hindrances whatsoever.
There are suicides in every dream,
Oh, Marshal Dear.
The serval reentered camp, pushing through the emerald foliage into the slate grey rubble of the city in which ColouredClan made their home. He could see a dog at the edge of his peripheral vision lick its lips as it eyed what he held in his jaws, and tossed the prey its way, glad his hunt would be eaten by somebody who evidently desired it. Now freed up for the rest of the hot and heavy evening, he made the decision to try and find a doctor, again, to see if they could diagnose his ailment. His steps were surprisingly lethargic despise how quick his reflexes had been on the hunt moments ago, and he faltered a little as his eyes watered, and a particularly heavy hit to the gut hit him, the waves of pain rolling over him, agonisingly acute pinpricks of flame jabbing into his skin, forcing him to literally light up as he collapsed in the shadows against rubble, managing to drag himself just out of camp and into an alley, beneath some bricks. This, however, took quite a while -- ten minutes, at least, and by the time he reached his hidden spot he was heaving and panting and he didn't understand why.
Even more when the army's on its knees,
Crowds grow crazy and fire;
His vision blurred, and he felt his body shift, the similar rolls of discomfort he felt whenever he shapeshifted. However, this was not of his own accord. His power, acting up, slimmed his chest somewhat, widened his hips somewhat, deepened the curve of his stomach, typical now, and his rosettes altered a little, eyes flaring copper. There was little change, truly -- he was still a golden serval, only this time, rather than being predominantly male, this was a female hermaphrodite, the organs working like a she-cat's. And yes, unfortunately, it was this form that had been attacked primarily quite some time ago. But, still ... The time that had passed between the event and now was not enough to warrant birth. So ... What was-
Oh, Marshal Dear,
Can't you see we're losing?
Another wave of pain passed through him, starting at his throat and pushing downwards, forcing him to constrict his muscles, as it worked its way towards his abdomen. Imperialpaw hissed, pushing his forehead into the cold brick of the rubble that sheltered him, flexing his paws. Here, in the shadows, he felt safer, but drowning, out of his depth. He did not understand pregnancy, nor birth. He had no idea what was occurring, here. He had a moment of peace, a moment to breathe, before again there was that tightness, that pressure, pain as his gut knotted. His body arched, curled in on itself, and then stretched out again, because oh, that hurt more than before. Imperialpaw worked his jaw, drooling a little in shock, not at all accustomed to this. If he thought Bill's entry had been bad, then this was ... This was beyond anything. It made Bill feel small.
Can you feel it now?
Silence yourself, silence yourself!
He struggled to find his voice, and managed only a small squeak. He did his best to sever the bonds he possessed with Charcoal and Avenue, and hoped that somebody had followed him, perhaps seeking innocent conversation. He needed aid, and fast. And he didn't know what for.
[/fancypost][size=10]BUT I COULD NOT LET YOU GO; YOU'RE SO PERFECT![/fancypost][color=transparent][size=2px] #rabimperialmind