[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]tracking so i can reply <3
Posts by ( MEGAERA )
This is an archived version of FeralFront. While you can surf through all the content that was ever created on FeralFront, no new content can be created.
If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]/ intense track
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]bump so you can find this :^)
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]alright I'll go ahead and make them !!
thanks jen,, I'll reply later tonight <3
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]aaaa awesome !! i'll make the thread where she goes searching for him and send it to you via PM :^)
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]smol bump
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]Her sides are heaving rapidly now, a series of ragged puffs of air blowing past her pale lips as she pauses alongside the long, winding dirt paths that sprawl out evenly before her. She's attempting to compose herself, her breathing finding a steady, yet constant rhythm to follow before summoning the courage to continue onward alongside the rocky, mountain terrain. The trip here is unlike anything she has ever experienced before, the landscape all too difficult to navigate with the layer of thick, heavy fog that looms over their territory like an ominous, shielding blanket. It's different than walking across the familiar, flattened moorlands of her home. She knows those roads like the back of her hand. In fact, she's almost positive she'd be able to find her way even if blindfolded or impaired in some way. Not here, though. Everything about the place is unfamiliar in her eyes, and it leaves her with a distinct sense of vulnerability as her pace visibly quickens.
Is she even going the right way? Megaera has little to no clue at all of her location, her instincts going completely mute, mercilessly leaving her to fend for herself out in uncharted territory. "Oh dear... I think I might be lost." Her words are spoken in a devastated whisper, uncertainty clinging evidently onto her tone. This can't be right. It just can't be! It's almost as if she's been walking in circles this entire time, and as realization hits her like a brick, irritation quickly makes a subtle appearance on the femme's lovely features. Now, this certainly wouldn't do. If she was somehow unable to find her way, then she'd never be able to seek out the man she had come looking for in the very first place. And if that were to be the case, the entire trip would have been in vain. She couldn't have that happening. Too much was at stake.
Feathery, downy colored wings unfold from her sensitive spine, gradually expanding outwards in one swift motion before proceeding to blow away the coat of mist that surrounded the alabaster canine. And just like that her petite form is fully exposed, powder blue visionaries focused solely on whatever she can grasp from her current surroundings. There's something about her -- whether it be the light that shines so innocently in her eyes, or that gentle expression worn so easily across her beautiful features -- that looks mildly out of place against Skyclan's backdrop. She's too pure. Too angelic, to actually belong in the mortal world.
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]here it is <3
https://feralfront.com/index.php?topic=2430988.new#newwhen you remember that kata was actually married to meg's sister agatha at one point. -
[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]/ there's a lot on angst coming up in meg's life, so i'm going to be rolling in with these light hearted au threads cause they're honestly good for the soul. have fun with it, and don't feel obligated to match muse at all !!
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Rain is beating down furiously upon the cemented side walk, water now gradually accumulating thus flooding the bustling city streets as pedestrians flee in order to find shelter from the storm. The sound of active windshield wipers fill her ears as she walks down an abnormally active block, coupled by the distinct splashing noise of feet purposefully meeting puddles. She could have sworn that the sky had been a brilliant blue only moments ago -- and now it has instead been completely overtaken by mute shades of grey, bright flashes of lightning accompanying the gloomy backdrop as they proceeded to illuminate the darkened canvas above. It's not the ideal weather she had been hoping for, and just like most unexpected situations she had been caught completely unprepared for the sudden alteration in climate.
Beads of water hit her skull one after another, and she's nearly squealing as she breaks out into brisk jog in order to round about the nearest corner. She's certainly not dressed for the rain, with her shoulder bearing, ruffled blouse that nearly exposes her midriff and those white jeans that compliment her curves so nicely. At least she's wearing closed toed shoes this time around, but other than that she's deemed unlucky by the universe itself. No umbrella, no sweater, no anything. The dire situation leaves her with no other choice, long fingers immediately clasping the handle to the first door she lays her sights upon. A bell chimes as she enters, notifying her arrival to those present, the overwhelming scent of coffee beans soon hitting her like a speeding train. It's a quaint, rustic themed coffee shop, the walls made of red brick, and the furniture consisting of things such as bear-skin hide rugs and comfortable sofa chairs.
Long strands of hair stick to the young woman's face, droplets of water cascading evenly down her porcelain cheeks and onto the wooden floors below. She's both cold and unmistakably wet, a wretched combination in anyone's book. As she walks forward she bravely attempts to suppress a subtle shiver, hands working helplessly on her dampened hair. With any luck it would dry quickly and with ease, especially in this enclosed environment. Bystanders glance at her with looks of both bewilderment and admiration, some noting her current, wet state while some focused on other things -- namely on her appearance. She's petite in stature, standing at a mere five feet three inches. Her hair is blonde, though it carries an almost white hue to it in terms of shade which match nicely with her baby blue eyes. Her skin is pale, and her cheeks are rosy and pink, similar to her lips. She's attractive, to say the very least. Perhaps even beautiful in the eyes of some.
Megaera has half a mind to meet these people with statements of triggered aggression, though she's stopped in her tracks as a barista soon inquires her order. Something to drink. Something warm. Her eyes scroll the menu repeatedly, carefully contemplating her options before placing her order. "Hot chocolate, please." She's never been one for cold, hard caffeine. Too bitter. It'll be a while before it's prepared, or at least that's what she's told. With that she sits down on a nearby couch, her hands continuously rubbing her arms as she attempted to increase her own body temperature. At this rate, there is no other choice but to simply wait out the raging storm.
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]Having lived the majority of her life among bloodclan's ranks, she's all too familiar with that distinct, pungent odor that seems to waft so freely into the atmosphere surrounding their border lines. Her old dessert home had been littered continuously with the corpses and shattered bones of their victims all of which eventually rotted away under the harsh, beating sunrays and undesirable sandstorms, never to be seen again. It's something quite normal to her; death. Since birth she's seen series of close friends both come and go, being unlucky enough to personally experience the demise of a select few she actually cared about. However, time moves on. The familiar faces of those you once loved soon become nothing more than haunting memories, and if you're lucky the unrelenting pain that accompanies that loss becomes nothing more than a constant, dull ache. Perhaps it's different in Windclan; the ways in which they both express and interpret their grief. She hasn't been here long enough to find out.
She moves with obvious caution as she approaches the gruesome scene, baby blue visionaries observing the mangled frame of the feline with the slightest hints of guilt and remorse. Death was so final, so permanent. A truly terrible end to someone she had no prior knowledge of. The alabaster canine suppresses a strangled sigh, her gaze moving to the note with a sense of disdain. Megaera can barely interpret what is written in the parchment due to her own lack of knowledge on the matter, though that doesn't seem to stop her from wanting to fulfill the burial request. "Does anyone recognize the body, or the handwriting?"
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]// just meg being a sulky mess. don't feel obligated to match muse at all !!
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It's so subtle, the noise that is incessantly tickling the insides of her sensitive eardrums, nothing but soft murmurs and barely audible whispers that struggle to get through to her. She can't quite distinguish what they're trying to say, the multitude of voices all clustered together, speaking all at once in hopes of somehow reaching out to her. They're trying to tell her something, she just knows it, though whether or not each voice speaks the same tale as the next is currently a mystery to the femme as she visibly struggles to decipher their message. Something's happening to her. She can feel it. Her heavy, mental chains are gradually weakening as time continues to pass her by, threatening to release whatever it is that she has kept securely under lock down since early childhood. Perhaps this is a warning sign, a method in which her senses attempt to alert her of the changes occurring within her mind. It's not the first signal she's ever gotten, and certainly not going to be the last. It always starts with them, though; the voices. The insomnia. Whispers will eventually evolve into frightfully vivid screams, and restlessness will soon become a permanent part of her way of life. In fact it's already beginning to show, the beginnings of sleepless bags now burning an indentation under her powder blue visionaries.
There's a distinct frown etched onto the alabaster canine's pursed lips as she sits at the very center of the forest floor, tiredness evident on her lovely features as she feebly attempts to keep herself awake and functioning. She can't sleep. Not even for the smallest of second. If she somehow fails to do so and proceeds to drift off, then it would mean the vulnerability of her memories and thoughts possibly being manipulated and altered against her by that thing. The shadow. She had only seen it once or twice before up close in a dream, long ago, and yet she remembers it so clearly. It was almost as if its body had formulated from the darkness itself, every inch of it shrouded in a veil of swirling shadows. Its face held no particular expression. It was a blank void, with nothing but deep, volcanic eyes at the center of its face. It had no mouth to her own knowledge, and yet it had somehow managed to let out the most terrifying shriek she had ever heard in her entire life. Even thinking about it now causes chills to cascade up and down Megaera's spine. Her father had interpretted as nothing more than a figment of his young daughter's imagination. However, she knew it was more than that. It was always more.
Her petite frame aches for rest and even then she does not allow herself such pleasure, instead remaining in her place among the large, billowing oak trees, silently listening to the voices only she could hear. They were, for a lack of a better term, fuzzy. Everything the winged wolf was able to hear sounded unclear to her ears, and it was enough to cause frustration to boil within her very core. Why. Why was it starting again? Couldn't she ever just be... normal? It was too much to ask it seemed. As if sensing her discomfort and anger, frost begins to accumulate around her paws, and soon enough at just about every corner. Trees are beginning to freeze over with thick coats of ice, the material cracking through the bark and lining the now dying grass. Her uneven breaths leave her in frosty puffs, the particles wafting through the air, building condensation. And just like that it begins to snow in the middle of summer, coldness over taking the area all because of her unsteady emotions.
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]She's supposed to be studying for her upcoming biology exam during her only free block, something that she had most definitely forgotten to do during her free time the previous night -- all due to the piles of work she had been assigned prior, combined with the late hours of practice for their rally performance. She's a cheerleader, in fact, she's team captain this year -- her last year. Not all that surprising considering just how well she fits the role, with that blonde hair that almost appears to be white in hue, and those soft, pale blue eyes that give off a certain gentleness to them. She's bubbly and full of determination, however contrary to the extremely popular high school stereotype, Megaera is no barbie-doll snob. She's probably the most down to earth person you'll ever meet, and it is because of this highly appealing quality that she's managed to befriend just about everyone in her particular graduating class. Everyone knows her name, and like wise Meg has made a giant effort to remember those who have approached her.
This test is something the blonde can't afford to fail, and so she finds herself entering the library for some much needed peace and quiet. Her plan is to check out some study guides on cellular biology -- particularly those that revolve around genetic make up, as she recalls those being seen most frequently on the handouts. Perhaps after reading what she must, she'll make a set of flashcards, all organized thoroughly by color which will help her significantly in terms of quizzing herself. Yes, that sounds about right. However, like many of the female's plans, they are soon trumped by something she deemsmuch more important. This time she's significantly distracted by the piles of legos surrounding one of the wooden library tables, and the all too familiar face of one of her friends -- It's Bruce. And he's ... building something? "You're using your free period to play with legos." The words are spoken as nothing less than a factual statement, completely free of judgement. Her eyes are practically sparkling with child-like mirth, a warm grin spreading across her pretty features as she quickly invites herself in, pulling up a chair. "Can I help, Bruce, pretty please?" And just like that, studying was long forgotten
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]intense track
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[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; overflow: auto; width: 420px;][justify][size=9pt]alright so i really want this girlie to form some connections with other characters ( deep, meaningful bonds, friendly relationships, being a motherly type figure, etc. ) so in order to do that she'll need threads. they can be any type of thread, really, as she's open to almost everything except the obvious; litters, torture, death. they can be advanced - uber advanced threads, casual threads with a paragraph cap ( i.e. a limit to how much can be written ), generated situations ( we can use a starter generator and see what we get stuck with ), fun au threads, you name it.
i really don't bite, and love plotting with everyone so please come and join me in the plottage circle.
also just a little heads up, that meg is sort of going back to her unstable ways ( hearing voices in her head, having eris screw everything up, experiencing bouts of insomnia ) so she's struggling atm with her identity. we can, of couse, use this to our advantage and base a thread around that seeing as meg hasn't quite opened up to anyone about it out of pure fear of being judged like she was back in bloodclan.
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]She doesn't quite remember the last time she participated in an actual raid or battle, much less a friendly spar between comrades. Fear of failure and the knawing possibilities of unrelenting humiliation have always kept her from actively volunteering, a nervous knot consistantly forming in the very depths of her stomach whenever something relative to such a topic was mentioned. She doesn't know why it happens, but it just does. Born and raised in Bloodclan, first act of murder preformed at only six months old, daughter of a legacy, trained by the deputy and eventual vice leader himself and yet the femme was still so hesitant. Perhaps it was fear that kept her mouth sown shut, not wanting those around her to become aware of her technique, but instead intent on keeping that all too innocent aura that radiated off of her form in waves. Maybe just this once, she could ...
"I'll spar with you, if you want, Win." The alabaster canine chimes as she approaches the forming group, pale blue eyes focused solely on the larger male before her. That same warm smile is framed carefully onto her lovely features, though there's now a visible tiredness that seems to cling to her with obvious desperation. The insomnia; it's getting visibly worse each passing day as her mental chains continue to unhinge.
/ sorry if this is complete crap - i'm being a rebel and replying in class ;-;
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[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; overflow: auto; width: 420px;][justify][size=9pt]hey jaws i have some free time,, you want me to make their thread ?? :^)
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[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; overflow: auto; width: 420px;][justify][size=10]sorry this is so late !!
but I would totally love something like this :^)
who makes the thread ??
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[fancypost bgcolor=;border:0px; font-size: 9pt; width: 430px;height:auto; font-family: ; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: -0px]/ INTENSE TRACK
I'll reply in the next hour or so aaaa the tears ;-; -
[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; overflow: auto; width: 420px;][justify][size=10]track !!
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[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; overflow: auto; width: 420px;][justify][size=10]if you're looking for a few other people i can also offer up meg
cause she knows him pretty well so she'd probably recognize him to an extent,
and we could definitely use this as some type of plot device or something seeing as she was infatuated with him before he died and really trusted him >:^)this could probably work out for the reason that eris goes looking for him,, for revenge maybe ??