PERFECTION IS A DISEASE — open, joining

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    • PERFECTION IS A DISEASE — open, joining


      tick, tick, tick.

      the sound seemed to echo in the silence, in the darkness. it all seemed to come from the hellhound, or more specifically, the bag beside her.

      it wasn't a bomb, it was a watch. a pocket watch, one of her many items. the bag, a rusty colored thing, resembled the fem's eyes and horns. her fur, a lovely shade of gold, contrasted quite nicely with the curling ram's horns extending from her forehead. she was large, closer to the size of a bear than to a wolf, which her body most resembled. but still, she was lovely - a gentle giant with a knack for things she saw around and subsequently acquired.

      the fem, with her ticking back, sat at the border of the district, patiently waiting someone, anyone.

    • What a goofy breed of dog she was. The humans were getting out of hand with that sort of thing, that or the dogs (and he assumed she was one, too) were being loose about who they bred with. Still, her horns were a tad pretty and that whirring of the mechanism was rhythmic after he tuned his ears to it. He could grow fond of it. "How d'y'do. Reckon we got an auto-acceptance thing since most everybody does."

      love cal

      the only compass that i need
      is the one that leads back to you.
      ( ext. tags )

    • | Talks in Purple | Thinks in italics | Attacks in underline |

      "Yes we do" she would say as she padded up toward shoot and the newcomer. Of course this was assuming she wanted to join. It would be great if she did, aand she had no scent so she could be assuming that she did want to join. She would give a smile and have her wings fold neatly to her side, adjusting her purple flower crown. "That is saying if you wanted to join, what's your name and business anyways hun?"

      [ Played by; UnitedTitans]
      She played a fiddle in an irish band

      But she fell in love with an English man
      ( bio -- roleplayer )