Posts by Black Widow

[size=25pt]MILES.[/size]
[size=6pt] time to lay claim to the evidence:
fingerprints sold me out,
but our footprints washed away
from the docks downtown[/size]

Miles whirled around, slipping out a plastic spork from beneath his shirt sleeve. He felt ridiculous crouching there, staring up wide-eyed at the sheer immensity of the beast, its crude and ugly head leering down at him, its savage eyes burning holes through the front of his skull, but he did it anyway: pointed the four little tines at its broad and ape-like chest in an invitation to fight.

[size=25pt]MILES.[/size]
[size=6pt] time to lay claim to the evidence:
fingerprints sold me out,
but our footprints washed away
from the docks downtown[/size]

"Yeah? Napoleon lead the invasion into Moscow wielding a spork. So give me your best shot," he spat, his wings struggling to break free from their restraints.

[size=25pt]MILES.[/size]
[size=6pt] time to lay claim to the evidence:
fingerprints sold me out,
but our footprints washed away
from the docks downtown[/size]

((Migraine.))

Miles quickly sprang out of the way, twisting in the air and landing on the tiles as nimble as any cat, and just in time too; he had barely dodged that knife.

[size=25pt]MILES.[/size]
[size=6pt] time to lay claim to the evidence:
fingerprints sold me out,
but our footprints washed away
from the docks downtown[/size]

"Well, that was quick," Miles said. And just when he was venturing an estimate on how many lives he had left in him, a girlish high-pitched scream pierced his ears like a spear. He clapped his hands against the side of his head and turned to the counter, behind which the cashier girl was huddled, her knees clasped to her chest and her head cradled in the crook of her elbow. She was rocking erratically back and forth on her heels, muttering to herself and stealing glances at the patchwork Frankenstein lying on the floor, still bleeding, and the movie star freak show standing relatively unharmed in front of her. What was she going to tell her boss?!

[size=25pt]MILES.[/size]
[size=6pt] time to lay claim to the evidence:
fingerprints sold me out,
but our footprints washed away
from the docks downtown[/size]

Miles got up, slowly brushed the invisible dust from his shirtfront and picked at the fraying threads that ran along the side of his fashionably torn-up jeans. If Tony could be the movie star, then Miles was the slacker rock star, casual, with a bite that wore the guise of a smile. "Someone knock her ou-," he stopped himself before he could finish, remembering Rogue's outburst earlier about refusing to take orders. Why not do the dirty work himself?

The poor girl didn't know what was coming, simply stared up at him like he was the holy Messiah come to rescue her from this hellish nightmare, or maybe he was the nightmare. Either way, she did not struggle, and the hit to her temple was as gentle as Miles could manage, a display of what little mercy he could spare.

"You're right, Gracie. We should leave now." He stepped back outside and removed his jacket and shook out his dark wings. The wind felt great tonight. "See you around, Rogue." And without another word, he took off into the night, his wings beating lazily in time with the pulse of the current.

And then he was nothing more than a dark shadow outlined against the moon.

((I know, right? Lol. And I see that she met Winterpaw. You should make a banner for Sereneclan and advertise it in your signature. You'll get more attention that way. :D))

He stopped struggling a moment to glare up at her, his eyes narrowed into thin slits of accusation and ire. "You will rue the day you were born," he hissed, but his gesture had a playful, light air to it as he batted the sugar off of her nose with a sheathed forepaw--the other was pinned beneath her fat, queenly arse. "If you wouldn't mind removing yourself from me," he meowed, "I'd greatly appreciate it."

[size=25pt]GEORGIE.[/size]
[size=6pt] I'll get over you…I know I will
I'll pretend my ship's not sinking
and I'll tell myself I'm over you
'cause I’m the king of wishful thinking[/size]

He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, but he mumbled her meek little, "Sorry."

[size=25pt]PRIMROSE.[/size]
[size=6pt]some damage here, some damage there—
something's lost, but nothing's found—
you just build yourself another
a little further down[/size]

Of course it's not working. You can't just bulldoze the snow and expect everything to go back to the way it was. But on the outside, Primrose was all sunbeams and rainbows and smiles. She plopped her furry butt back down onto the snow, for only a minute of rest--as she told herself--and looked helplessly at the haphazard track of intermeshed pawprints that zigged and zagged and just went all over the place. She took a deep, calming breath, and the cool evening air did her good in the way of providing clarity to her otherwise outraged trainwreck thoughts.

"Okay. Let's try it this way: walk back to me at a little less than normal pace, and make sure you don't leave any footprints this time. Be extra careful where you place your tail, for balance."

2805

I have Primrose from Thunderclan! She's my spoiled little kit kat. Here's her lovely bio!

I have adopted Vanilla Twilight from Theron. :)

[size=25pt]VANILLA TWILIGHT.[/size]
[size=6pt]nightly, beside the green, green grass
swing, swing, swing the spinning step
you wear those shoes and i will wear that dress[/size]

A small kitten slender of body, lean-muscled, with bright and starry eyes, minced in through the entrance. She took no heed of the welcoming warmth of the interior, only shook from her silver-striped pelt the tiny mountain of snow that had accumulated during her nighttime stroll outside.

Name/ Vanilla Twilight

Age/ 2 Moons

Gender/ Female

Alliance/ Envyclan

Rank/ X

Appearance/ A long-haired silver tabby sporting large, dewey violet-tinted eyes.

Personality/ A dreamer by day and a wanderer by night.

History/ She was born to Wildleap and Quillfur in Envyclan.

Notes/ Adopted from Theron.

Adoption Thread/ Click!

Thank you. And I know, right? I just love the name, so ballad-like. You know what's a real rockstar-esque name? Fahrenheit. And then you can add Celsius, and they'll be a package deal!

OMG, ADORABLE. *cuddles*

And thank the lawd you're reopening the sigs soon. I'm dying for them. I've got a whole truckload a kitties waiting. xD

[size=25pt]GEORGIE.[/size]
[size=6pt] I'll get over you…I know I will
I'll pretend my ship's not sinking
and I'll tell myself I'm over you
'cause I’m the king of wishful thinking[/size]

((Thanks. It's a free template Minta designed. :) And I'm not saving up for anything in particular. Do you like foxes, by any chance? I have a mute female named Mello I'd like to give away. She's a scared little beast, a real foil from your usual characters that might prove to be an entertaining challenge. And I have a red eagle too. He's on my profile.))

The tom still had the audacity to crack a smile. "Not old enough, sweet thing." He shrugged the sugar from his shoulders and shook out his pelt before settling back down onto the floor; he started on his forearm, rasping his tongue across the sugary skin and savoring every lick of it. Did that make him a cannibal?

3

[size=25pt]GEORGIE.[/size]
[size=6pt] I'll get over you…I know I will
I'll pretend my ship's not sinking
and I'll tell myself I'm over you
'cause I’m the king of wishful thinking[/size]

((Yeah. xD I sorta character splurge. It's this addiction to making new characters. And that's great!--she's yours! (The koi was also another... splurge. It's a chronic sickness. I can't help it.)))

Georgie was just about to retort with a rather colorful and utterly inappropriate comment on the state of personal affairs--something alone the lines of none of your business and go throw yourself off a bridge--when he heard the thud of heavy boots coming down the hallway. He swallowed the sour words and looked around wildly. There was that mess of canvas and sugar behind, the sunlit door in front, and suspended on a row of identical wooden pegs protruding from the wall to his right were the English saddles and the shining brass bits and leather bridles, and to his left was nothing but a large bale of sweet grass and hay. It was a split-second decision, and by the time he understood what he was doing, Georgie had already disappeared down the neck of the bale.

Congrats Hazelsong!

[size=25pt]GEORGIE.[/size]
[size=6pt] I'll get over you…I know I will
I'll pretend my ship's not sinking
and I'll tell myself I'm over you
'cause I’m the king of wishful thinking[/size]

((Mello the Red Fox))

Mr. Zuckerberg shuffled about in the tack room, scratching his head, wondering what could have caused all the hot-blooded fuss his prize stallions were kicking around, when he saw that the floor was littered with a sort of white powder. When he came upon the dusty heap of canvas tucked into the back corner, everything clicked. The nosebags had fallen, spilling sugar, and the noise had scared the horses. Nothing that he couldn't fix.

He rolled up his sleeves and got to work sorting through the mess.

Georgie, meanwhile, couldn't come up with a solution to his problem as easily as Mr. Zuckerberg had. He was stuck in quite a predicament, sandwiched between the soft hay beneath and Ophelia above, and he knew that her scrawny body was still substantial enough to plug up the opening. "Find your own hiding place," he hissed. "I can hardly breathe here."