inspect before you sign the lease; or don’t, like olive. with an allegiance recently pledged to violarum, there is little she can do to evade nature’s wrath as the mire succumbs to a presumed plague. an unknown illness wracking smaller, weaker creatures that dwell within the merciless grasp of toxic algae, eliciting an endless cacophony of wheezes and hacks. it is a curious phenomenon – a threat to her health she does not yet heed in favor of sating her budding intrigue. morbid in its nature as it forces her closer and closer (brazenly or stupidly) to its source: the banks of a murky waterhole. beautiful, but deadly. blooms of vibrant green that entices even she as she lingers near the shoreline, reclined upon taut haunches. and she is silent as she observes a frog that resides within this cursed swamp, perched upon a rock, surrounded by floating figures of its kind. a survivor amongst the dead, and olive watches him intently, as if expecting his demise at any moment. doomed, she thinks. doomed like the others that fell around him. tag! @Gunnhildr

art by yumpy!

Grave times lay ahead for all the lions of Ecrosia. Thick algae presented itself atop the water, though even the waters outside of the pride land didn't seem promising. Some might choose to drink out of desperation, curdling their stomachs, but not she. Parched throat yearns for a cool drink, requiring travel outside the borders of the pride that she was currently resisting for fear of what lay outside the pride borders.

Curvaceous body slid through the wetlands, often sticking to the damp grasses that grew in lumpy masses about the loam. Cream and coffee eyes observed the verdant waters, noticed the bloated and dead frogs that washed up onto shore. Even small fish. Indeed she should collect some of the algae for her own purposes. Thoughts of how to do so drifted through her mind as she walked, deciding that a large leaf might do well to scoop some up.

A large enough leaf took some time to find, once procured she would set out to find a particularly thick patch of the green growth atop the water. Brown flashed across her vision as it had swept over the swamp, colors very akin to Violarum's that caused her to double take onto the canvas of @Olive. Miffed by the similar appearance she approached the lioness, due in particular to the cherry eyes, she approached the stranger with vague interest.

Scents notably set her apart from the other pride sovereign. Good, she wasn't fond of those overly attached to the boy-man. Observations lead to the algae thickly growing about the area in which the earthy lioness stood. Paws drifted forward to lower the leaf into the water, effectively scooping some of the algae from the surface, turning to deposit the leaf carefully nearby. Interesting, isn't it? Cool tone questioned the other, testing the level of interest this other woman had in the phenomenon within the pride land.

+5 Gather poisonous plants
+1 - Make a BWP-related post

code by shelby | art by irish

how tempting it were to lap at toxic waters, to drag her tongue along the lengths of boulders cloaked in silken sheets of emerald. its appeal to lesser creatures a transparent phenomenon as she, herself, silently marvels at its dangerous beauty, yearning to touch – as had the fallen. and although foolish naivety plagues the youth, she is not entirely stupid, grasping at the single iota of self-control remaining in her curious mind as she refrains from acting on impulse. resolving to instead touch with the eyes as her pupils hungrily ravage the watery graveyard, offering her undivided attention for the time being as she attempts to pinpoint a reason behind this (presumably) rare event. but it is the freckled form of @Gunnhildr in her peripherals that entices her crimson gaze, yanking her from the depths of her pensive trance. intrigue left to bud and blossom as she surveys the unknown woman’s slinking motions, as she maneuvers closer and closer still. olive’s skull left to cant with childlike curiosity as gunn scrapes the toxic algae onto the broad face of a leaf, adapting to the role of a mad scientist as she collects her deadly specimen. the image of a deranged witch brewing her poisonous concoctions enough to curl her lip into an amused smirk – one that only deepens as the woman encroaches on her close proximities. for olive had not had many witch friends, if any at all. “so long as it doesn’t get us, sure,” she responds to the witch’s inquiry, tipping her crown to the bloated carcasses of frogs and fish littering the waterhole. but gunnhildr is interesting, and soon, olive attempts to lure the woman closer with a wave of her paw. “that one’s me. see?” she extends a forelimb towards the lone survivor, her digits outstretching to point to the perch where the frog sat – triumphant. and she spares the witch a sideways glance then, a simper crawling across dainty features as her paw traces a line to the nearest deceased. “-- and that one’s you. after your little snack,” she informs the witch, well-aware that the substance were not for her to consume. an implicit plea for an explanation written in the lines of the mischievous grin she offers; who do you hate, witch?

art by yumpy!

Wicked twines claws around thick cords and pulls the strings tight to play a marionette. While Alaric had pleasantly surprised her by not being the daft man she'd thought he would be, there was a presence of interest in concocting poisons for the benefit of her very selfish needs. Careful, cautious not to let lips touch the verdant material that clung to the top of Ecrosia's waters, she extracted just the right amount to experiment with. Just enough to slip into the meal of a hungry lion. Even dried there is hope toxicity remained within the curious phenomenon.

Although her actions seemed to attract the presence of a rather dull, earthy lioness. Gaze lingered for a few seconds before she deposited the leaf almost tenderly beside her, careful again not to touch the substance atop the ladle. Pulled toward the other, she had closed the gap though not completely. Enough space remained to allow comfort that throats couldn't be snatched.

Throaty laughter occurred at the lioness's remark over the strange substance that skimmed the surface of the water. Afraid of it? Paw edged toward the leaf, though the flicker of mischief in her eyes fizzled under @Olive's rather suppressant words. Eyes flitted to each frog that @Olive motioned to with a cruel curve of lips. Ah, but you know as well as I that this is not meant for myself. Wicked, the glint in her eye appears dangerous as she turned back to the monochromatic woman with deep brown markings. But the little froggy who gets the poison is for me to know and not for you. For she didn't know this woman, there was no trust to offer. Only sly remarks and twisted smiles.

she is pretty – the most foreboding, dangerous type of sorceress. a cherry gaze flitting across every facet of her freckled countenance with silent appreciation, acknowledging aesthetics meant to bewitch even the most reserved of lions. and as the woman encroaches upon her close proximities – permitting a generous cushion of personal space the youth would sooner damn – olive finds herself resisting the gravitational pull of gunnhildr’s orbit. reluctantly tearing her gaze from the tawny of the witch’s irises as she inquires of fear, and the ghost of a smirk tweaks a corner of her satin lips. “sure. but it’s cool to watch it get things, yknow?” she admits, unabashed by her own apprehension towards the strange substance. and while youthful naivety manipulates her every thought, fostering a false belief of invincibility and immortality, olive allows herself to heed the tacit warnings of the dead. gaping, rotting victims to an unforgiving poison she avoids, but observes with caution – from a distance. the witch’s voiced sadistic intentions are enough to earn a sly, sideways glance, and a trill of muffled laughter resounds from jaws clenched in a simper. she is ultimately denied the luxury of knowing, and a single brow quirks with growing intrigue. “oh, so you’re a witch,” she accuses, tones lack of any objection to gunnhildr’s planned course of action. rather, her vocals contain a faint trace of reverence as she envisions the endeavor to poison, believing the target to be an enemy to the mire – but it's not quite, is it? “remind me not to get on your bad side, then,” she resolves, dipping her crown to the discarded leaf. not that she had desired an adversary out of @Gunnhildr, anyway, but a friend. “olive,” is the simple introduction offered, curiosity evidenced in the ravenous glint of her gaze.

art by yumpy!

Wicked women always take the time to ruminate, planning accordingly among the ideal nature of their crimes. Crimes of frightening nature erupted from the most precise plans. Plans such as the thick woman created within her mind, scooping some of the surface of mire water in collection of the rounded green dots that brewed numerously atop the water. Already they'd witnessed the toxicity of whatever the verdant plant was. It's quite the show how quickly the poison seems to work. Agreeance with her current company brought a heightened interest in the woman that remained poised within her grace.

Progression of their conversation proves @Olive to be a person of interest. Intrigue only heightened, enamored as the two-toned earthen woman seemed unperturbed by the idea of poisoning another. Laughter - or is it a cackle - emits from the sultry maw at the prospect of being named a witch. Maybe I am. Lips pursed hesitantly, for once withdrawing thoughts from entering the space between them. Gaze drifted to the leaf, gestured at by the other's cerise gaze, before a deep shaded paw moved almost protectively toward the leaf. Yes, we should be sure you don't end up on the wrong side. Though, Olive is already on the wrong side, isn't she? Unknown to the witch there would come a grave disappointment once the realization of how far Violarum's gilded paws reached. This one she actually likes.

Gunnhildr. Returned from Olive's introduction came her own guttural name, equally as curious toward the other woman, clutching to the morbid humor shared between them.

admittedly, their encounter is sly of nature; veiled intentions and wry smirks casting a shroud of uncertainty within the air that olive finds borderline intoxicating. a concoction of curiosity and impatience festering beneath a coy exterior as she surveys the witch with a trained gaze, yearning only to peel back her layers and bypass this game they play. @Gunnhildr is evidently unique in comparison to the youth’s typical crowd – reserved in the most coquettish of manners and absolutely mature. it is enough to dilute olive’s fire, to stifle teeming mischief, to force forethought before spoken word: a product of uncharacteristic timidness in gunn’s presence. she does not deny the accusation olive thrusts upon her, and the cackle she emits merely serves to heighten the suspicion. jaws gape in a grin in response to gunnhildr’s contagious laughter, head canting with infantile curiosity as if uncertain in regards to the underlying truth of their jesting. but the proceeding threat sets her nerves aflame, and soon, her intrigue gets the best of her. “there an enemy to the mire i should look out for?” she queries, eyes narrowing with pretend paranoia as she glances to her peripherals with dramatized suspicion. “i can take ‘em,” is the lie she offers on deepened tones, chest inflating with feigned pride. and surely she can – if the adversary were actually a frog, that is.

art by yumpy!

It was not so much the way in which she went about things as the way she carried herself, she supposed, that caused others to seem to bend to her will. A thought kept privately to herself as she considered the brown shaded lioness, catching all the right curves in the dim of swamp light, conversing casually about poisoning those who might cross a fragile line. There was the stiff embrace of something quite enamoring about @Olive that caught her off-guard, drawing her into the idea that she wanted to spend more time with the other woman.

Lured forth, paws tamp into the loam if just briefly to tread closer to the earthen form. Coffee with cream eyes survey the innocence within the display of vigor that Olive produces, bringing a slight vein of nervous laughter from the sultry cinnamon lips which twinge with the onslaught of a soft, jagged smile, yearning to place a kiss on the other's lips and yet flitting away. The mire, I'm sure, has it's own enemies. Tell me, do you have any? Suddenly, it wasn't enough just to associate with the female, she wanted to know more about the other. Pluck notes of information from the soft mind and place them away in snippets of memory.

Though of course, one couldn't forget the vial of potential toxins she'd gathered atop the murky waters of the mire's currently unpotable water.