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tampered2006-10-15 12:30 am
singingguardian.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-10-15 12:30 am
Log; Ongoing
When; October 14th
Rating; G? PG? PG-13? Who knows.
Characters; Anyone who wants to see the alien.
Summary; The dragon horse sings.
Log;
Guardian had already submergered herself in the hot springs. They were comfortable to her, although having a thicker coat than norm, needing a trim, or a shave, would merit much weight upon pulling herself out after. A minor annoyance; she was strong and a little soak would hardly be a hindrance.
At times, she wondered why she had pulled herself away from the comforts of the library, of the walls of the City where few had seen but many have taken for granted, but the underlying loneliness had surfaced to remind her with its cold gnaw. It made her belly heavy and legs weak with the burden. Not even her cybernetic enhancements could shoulder the amazing gravity of depression.
There was a greater pleasure, she found, in being appreciated. Her duties as Guardian were taught but her lapdog origins were undeniable. It explained how her kind had incorporated social status with how lovely the mane was. Her own mane had been neglected into a scraggly mop, but normally she kept it tied and cropped. Sometimes it had been trimmed down to a sort of bristle, like the short manes running down her necks. But, among her species, in terms of peltage, she had more than a mane; bred for aesthetics as well as strength, she was both a great Percheron and a Chinese Crested.
But enough of that. She shall be appreciated, by primates, but a warrior must be resourceful. Should she need company, these primates she formerly had mentally played with, with how many she could kill, with how she could kill them, with the quickest and cleanest ways to kill them, would do. There was no Herd to protect. She had not scented another puppeteer since she had arrived. Perhaps, she mentally, bitterly smiled, that this Herd were the primates. She was still a Guardian.
A good warrior could adapt.
With that, she began her concert with an ancient marching song, a peppy piece of grace and power and prosperity.
Rating; G? PG? PG-13? Who knows.
Characters; Anyone who wants to see the alien.
Summary; The dragon horse sings.
Log;
Guardian had already submergered herself in the hot springs. They were comfortable to her, although having a thicker coat than norm, needing a trim, or a shave, would merit much weight upon pulling herself out after. A minor annoyance; she was strong and a little soak would hardly be a hindrance.
At times, she wondered why she had pulled herself away from the comforts of the library, of the walls of the City where few had seen but many have taken for granted, but the underlying loneliness had surfaced to remind her with its cold gnaw. It made her belly heavy and legs weak with the burden. Not even her cybernetic enhancements could shoulder the amazing gravity of depression.
There was a greater pleasure, she found, in being appreciated. Her duties as Guardian were taught but her lapdog origins were undeniable. It explained how her kind had incorporated social status with how lovely the mane was. Her own mane had been neglected into a scraggly mop, but normally she kept it tied and cropped. Sometimes it had been trimmed down to a sort of bristle, like the short manes running down her necks. But, among her species, in terms of peltage, she had more than a mane; bred for aesthetics as well as strength, she was both a great Percheron and a Chinese Crested.
But enough of that. She shall be appreciated, by primates, but a warrior must be resourceful. Should she need company, these primates she formerly had mentally played with, with how many she could kill, with how she could kill them, with the quickest and cleanest ways to kill them, would do. There was no Herd to protect. She had not scented another puppeteer since she had arrived. Perhaps, she mentally, bitterly smiled, that this Herd were the primates. She was still a Guardian.
A good warrior could adapt.
With that, she began her concert with an ancient marching song, a peppy piece of grace and power and prosperity.
no subject
Leaning slightly over the stick of the broom, she began turning in wide circles while decreasing altitude. As she began to pass through the rooftops, a song touched her green ears. Intent on fiding the source, she turned sharply back and scanned the City. What is that? It's beautiful!
no subject
Grumbling under his breath, he walked out into the hot springs, and just stopped. He was used to seeing strange spirits, and monsters, but the appearance wasn't what brought him to a halt. That singing, it was beautiful. He could only there, the steam quickly obscuring his glasses goin unnoticed, in awe.