faustine never felt so home away from home, a place that she had dreamed of as a child. this swamp, so much different than the bluffs; it was darker, empty of much life, and it carried a stench as putrid as it was thick. to the common beast it may drive them away, but to faustine it was simply another life to live. of course she would always heed the calls of her family first, but they could never find her here. her little sanctuary, the very root of her heart.

wading through it was like swimming. there was an effortless grace to it that made the action so much more easy. the muck and grime clung onto her thick fur coat like a second hide. she looked far too monstrous than just a simple lioness now. should a crocodile see her, they would assume faustine was one of them. and, as for her, she would think of them as another family. @Sage

code: cala | art: drifty

choleric, indignant – and it is conspicuous in the downcast torque of his features as he aimlessly trudges through thick marshlands. it were a world away from the perfumed flowerbeds of mother’s densite (the only home he had ever known in such early stages of his youth), and a world in which he’d easily find fault in every nook and cranny. the manner in which the humidity infiltrates his barrier of plush fur to trap early autumn heat, the drone of hovering insects as they flit about his face, the desperate cling of muck to his limbs and underbelly! — it were all too inconvenient to appreciate for a creature, so irritable.

and she — she is of no comfort to the seething tyke. she is a child adorning the facade of the wicked, the monstrous, and her prowling form is met with a childish sense of curiosity: half awestricken, half fearful. he is quick to stop in his tracks with wariness of her company, allowing the scowl laden upon his features to deepen with the intent of masking the underlying terror he feels. “stay back, freak!” he snaps, metallic gaze hardening upon @Faustine despite the sudden urge to flee. perhaps he were equally as intimidating, he thinks – what with his diminutive size and lacking physique.

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i am the storm / and im coming for you

this was unexpected, but it wasn't unpleasant. quite the opposite, in fact, for a wish to be answered so easily like that. it felt fate truly adored her, as she slid her body out with reptilian ease. grime and snapped twigs wove themselves through her thick fur coat. it would not do faustine much help to have her clean herself here. not when such a helpless little baby was present. even with her nose drowned in the sweet earthy scent of the swamp, the boy's scent -- that joyous scent of a rogue -- swept through. faustine knew what she must do.

a freak, little one? why, you wound me she said, exaggerating a sigh. have you no parents to teach you manners? she narrowed her eyes, before her ears twitched, expecting to hear a growl of warning. surely someone would be lurking nearby watching him? when she found no indication of another lion's presence, a wide grin split her face as she leered down at him. the boy was small and young, enough so that faustine could carry him home if she wanted to. he also had a nice coloration to his pelt, one that she wouldn't mind keeping for herself as an adornment. what's your name? or should i just call you my new pet lion? her voice was low, threatening almost, but hidden still underneath the thinly veiled politeness. @Sage

CODE BY DAANYEN + ART BY HUSH

her motions are predatory, serpentine, and the inadvertent bristle of fur along his spine communicates of an unease his tongue would not. but a preference for fight over flight is established in the rooted stance he adheres to as her trajectory shifts: crosshairs centered between his eyes. and while his bravery were commendable from the ignorant perspective of a child, it were foolish at its core to disregard such bodily cues of danger – and especially, when oh-so very alone.

her words are seemingly innocuous – melodramatic – but his insecurity were quick to latch upon a piece of a much larger picture she paints. “little one?!” he shrieks; and from his own delusions, do the trees quiver at the magnitude of his fearsome outburst. and how conspicuous the fragility of his ego as his posture straightens, chest inflating with the deep breath he purposefully suspends to appear much larger, much more imposing. “uh, yeah. try two of ‘em,” is the assurance he offers @Faustine upon mention of his parents – as if it were a great and unobtainable feat, specific to him.

his own vulnerability forgotten, he seethes as the parisian looms before him: all lipstick smirks, and depraved intentions withheld in her crimson stare. her brazen request forces physical recoil from the tyke, protest hot upon his tongue. “i’m nobody’s,” he asserts, levelling his gaze with her own despite their obvious difference in size. he scoffs.“nunya,” is the cool answer he offers, unwilling to gift her with a name – just to spite, and defiant as all hell. he's not little, she will learn.

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i am the storm / and im coming for you

aw, you're so adorable faustine cooed, watching how the cub instinctively puffed himself, making him all the more desirable as a pet in her eyes. once their members produce cubs, they could play with this little boy. think of him as a future gift to all of wolfbron's children. yes, that would be what faustine would like to do with him. maybe her own siblings can teach this child a lesson to obey women and the dieudonne. although faustine would have the final say. she walked closer, undisturbed by the boy's words. they made no sense, for there was only one of them. yes, you are very, very little she said, lowering herself onto her belly. and little lost children get to go with whoever finds them first. she smiled again, her dark eyes narrowing into slits. this was now a proper claim, from her to him. normally, faustine would like to do that within the observation of others, but at least now nobody would contest it. you're going to the bluffs with me, so behave on the way there or else i'll bite, she then attempted to grab him by the scruff with her front paw. no carrying just yet, faustine wanted to make sure the boy knew what would be happening. @Sage

CODE BY DAANYEN + ART BY HUSH

heat pricks the space behind his eyes as she twists the knife, desecrating what little ego he’d retained in the face of such deep-seated insecurities. her words are saccharine, laced with venom; and how potent the poison she injects into his impressionable mind with such simple, seemingly-harmless statements. if @Faustine were perceptive, she would note the horror in the flash of his stare as she coos, and again in the brief quiver of his bottom lip as his little heart shatters in the following silence. but they are only fleeting displays of weakness, for big, tough men like sage do not cry in the face of adversity — and, especially, not for the likes of a dumb girl.

his scowl hardens as he takes a defiant step towards her, huffing his disapproval with the claim she so-brazenly places upon his hide. “don’ want no bluffs!” he proclaims on indignant tones, firm in his decision to refuse for the sake of refusing – and without truly grasping what it were he’d be denying the young heiress of. there is only a sense of returning pride that rekindles his spirits as he sticks it to the woman, causing his posture to further straighten while a shit-eating smirk worms its way across his youthful features. “how bou’ that?”

but she is persistent (and unapologetically so), and his lids lower in suspicion as she encroaches upon his close quarters with grasping hands and malicious intent. despite the threat posed by her outstretched forepaw as ruthless nails vie for the loose flesh of his nape, still, he is noncompliant with the snarl that wrenches free of his jaws. “i said no!” he shrieks, skull dropping to avoid her clutch as his own right forepaw lifts in an attempt to bitchslap the oncoming fist with claws: splayed and at the ready. if he were going down, he’d go down swinging.


sage vs. faustine
for
freedom
one of three

hits:

Rolling 1d20: 19

dodge:

Rolling 3d20: 18 + 16 + 4

luck:

Rolling 5d20: 7 + 6 + 2 + 17 + 4

art — code/code — bg

the boy was loud and defiant; he was peak specimen of his gender, the holy grail of what all fathers taught their sons to be. which was why faustine must instill order and disicpline in his mind, in the way only a dieudonne would know. thus, she didn't stop him from his little attack. rather, she rejoiced, knowing it'll allow her an excuse to harm something, even if that something was a cub fattened by his mother's milk. she barely felt it, though she allowed him to give her some superficial scrapes. allow him the illusion of a small victory. in the meantime, faustine attempted to snap at the tips of his ears. not to harm, but merely to provoke that primordial fear into awakening from the little boy's heart.

faustine vs. @Sage
for cubnapping
i ii iii
hits:

Rolling 5d20: 14 + 5 + 13 + 3 + 8

dodge:

Rolling 3d20: 10 + 9 + 14

luck:

Rolling 5d20: 5 + 20 + 14 + 19 + 6

code: cala | art: drifty

child’s play devolves at the fault of his own hand, and how thrilling the resulting shift in tone as the tension breaks around them. the unspoken promise of danger offered in her flash of ivories is conspicuous (and even from the standpoint of an inexperienced child, as he); and foolishly, does sage fall victim to adrenaline’s deceitful pull with a body, electrified. there is a sick sense of satisfaction attained with the success of his counterattack, and a prideful smirk threatens to upend the furious snarl he dons as his nails unzip the thin flesh of her forepaw. and while it is only just a minor feat – shallow, thin carvings left in the wake of baby claws – his ego soars.

“take that, you dumb— hey!” he screeches in protest as her jaws find purchase on an ear – and with a bite made loosely. instinctively, he seeks to rear back upon his hinds in hopes of tearing free of her grasp: forepaws hopeful in their attempt to gouge the sides of her neck in a violent embrace. and in that moment, the tyke does not know which angers him more: the pain she inflicts upon him, or the intentional lack of effort @Faustine places in her assault. were he not threatening enough to earn the brunt of her power? no, no; that couldn’t be it… right?


sage vs. faustine
for
but i am big :(
two of three

hits:

Rolling 1d20: 4

dodge:

Rolling 3d20: 3 + 5 + 13

luck:

Rolling 5d20: 7 + 3 + 1 + 18 + 14

art — code/code — bg

i am the storm / and im coming for you

faustine allowed @Sage to escape. she had no qualms with allowing a cub to go unscathed, believing he would take the chance to beg, to cry, to say he was sorry. yet, apologizing wasn't ever in a child's brain, only a selfishness that petered off once they grew up. still, she knew little of what would happen once they reached adulthood. she and her siblings were taught to be selfish in moderation, enough to call it ambition. her grin was rich with that of joy and the knowledge that she will take the cub no matter what. his fate was sealed the moment the crocodile found him.

this time, faustine took a step back only for sage to swipe at the side of her neck, creating shallow lashes that could be considered scratch marks. a rumbling noise slipped out of her, likened to that of a reptilian over a lioness. her dark eyes flashed and she lunged forth, attempting to flatten him with her body. of course, faustine was raised kindly, as a noble young lady, and she would never, ever hurt a child. thus, if she made contact with the boy, she would not fully keep him beneath her. he just needed to stay put so she could bat him around a bat. all so she could easily drag him home. silly little boy she said.

faustine vs. @Sage
for weenie weenie [blows raspberries]
i ii iii
hits:

Rolling 5d20: 5 + 9 + 4 + 6 + 7

dodge:

Rolling 3d20: 19 + 3 + 13

luck:

Rolling 5d20: 17 + 5 + 12 + 15 + 14

CODE BY DAANYEN + ART BY HUSH

teeth clip the length of his ear as he forcefully retracts, rearing back upon his hinds like the stallion he envisions himself to be. reality, on the other hand, denies him of such grace – his movements rendered choppy, desperate, and frantic with inexperience. and as @Faustine, too, withdraws with backwards step to avoid the brunt of his swipe, his clumsiness becomes all the more obvious as he scrambles to regain footing.

despite his panicked efforts, the tyke is still too slow to escape her serpent strike. a flash of dark flesh and flying debris – the last thing he registers before the breath is knocked from his lungs with the force of her assault. a (very manly) yelp wrenches free of his jaws as he rocks back upon his spine: overpowered and near-flattened beneath her heavier mass. “gedoffa me, you stinky!” is the mad screech that prefaces the attempted clamp of tiny jaws upon whatever it were he could reach in his pinned state. and blindly, does he seek to thrash: intent upon wriggling out from underneath her — if only to be rid of her putrid stench.


sage vs. faustine
for
damn girl take a bath
three of three

hits:

Rolling 1d20: 7

dodge:

Rolling 3d20: 20 + 6 + 15

luck"

Rolling 5d20: 2 + 15 + 17 + 16 + 18

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