catgotyour (catgotyour) wrote in theunboundic, @ 2019-07-17 10:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! time: june 12 - june 18, ciara byrne, henri danior |
Stranger On The Mountain, Hanging On Your Words
Who: Ciara Byrnes, Henri Danior
What: The Cat Drags In
When: Unification Day, Shortly After The Explosion
Where: Antoine's Blues Palace
The huge cat stalked through alleyways and side streets, once the rooftops ran low enough to warrant dropping into the shadowed undergrowth of the urban terrain. The high roads, the treetops built by human hands, were fast, but the darkness was safe. The false thunder had jarred the leopard's bones and sent a high ringing through the ears, the bright lightning left strange patterns burned in sensitive amber eyes, but enough distance had been achieved that the nose was no longer full of the stink of phosphor and gunpowder. MEAT People stared at the sky, gasping and chattering at the spectacle, distracted by fear and surprise. Despite the presence of the party at Ceddon's Bounty, The Palace had its own supply of faithful regulars. Their eyes, however, were cast upwards, instead of the dark corners of the streets. The leopard darted from the darkness, powerful legs springing forward across the open expanse before slow human eyes could track the spot-mottled streak of motion.
The leopard shook its head, trying to clear the stars from its eyes, and let out a low growl of frustration.
GO. QUIET.
It turned in a circle beneath the darkened windows of the Palace, tucked to the side away from the central streets, pausing only to lift the head, to breathe in the air.
To catch a scent.
HER.
One window shone with light, and there was movement behind the curtains, someone inside. The leopard twitched its tail, settled into a crouch, curved the spine in preparation, then exploded in a leap. Sharp claws grasped the wood, the thick cords of muscle pulling the body to the balcony. The leopard padded around the door, chuffing at the barrier, reaching out to dig furrows in the base of the wood. It felt the strength draining; the stress had been too much, too fast, for a thing that had slept fitfully for ten years. It snarled in anger at its own weakness, gold teeth and golden eyes in the darkness. Self-loathing did not suit a predator, but the Man would not be so quiet yet.
HER.
SAFE.