Aaaaand another RE8 drawing because ya boi needs to be up for work in like 5 hours and I might as well just pull an all nighter xD
Bit of story behind it too so imma justttt:
The beast was found by the daughters on their summer rounds of the castle grounds.
It was scared, fighting against the manacles on its limbs, the pronged collar around their throat, and a harsh muzzle that seemed to be locked to their face.
The girls, of course, brought it straight to their mother, ignoring it's kicking and growling.
It wasn't like the lycans that Heisenberg and Mother Miranda kept under 'control', it seemed... more human than beast... When it wasn't growling and howling at them to release it of course.
Alcina was just as intrigued as her daughters, and unlike the many other injured beasts they had brought her in the past (injured cats, rabbits, at one point they somehow found a snake they wanted to keep. It didn't last the winter.) she allowed them to keep it.
It put up a fight of course, tearing apart the clothes they had at first given them to keep them warm.
That was until a large man arrived at the castle, grubby clothes and a rifle slung over his shoulder. He spoke with the utmost respect but still Alcina couldn't keep her nose from wrinkling in distaste.
The man-thing claimed that this beast was his, that he owned a number of exotic beasts to show off to common folk, or to sell to the richer folk overseas.
Alcina immediately purchased the creature, who stood silently in the corner from the moment the man entered her study. He had warned her of it being 'feral', but this just intrigued her and her daughters more.
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Note: originally posted Dec 30th, 2016 6:32:36pm on my main blog.
Sprinting through the woods, the man had to remind himself not to look back. He could hear the loud CRACK of splintering wood behind him, followed by another and the sound of trees falling. He'd heard the rumors of the giant werewolf that hunted in these woods, and like so many others, he hadn't believed them.
The creature that was after him was truly mountainous, he thought as he shot between two large trees. Seconds later, he heard both of the five-foot trunks splinter behind him. The sound of the large trunks crashing down through the trees pulled his gaze from where he was going, against his better judgment.
Just as his eyes settled on the dark brown fur of what was behind him, an arm caught him by the throat, laying him out flat. He skidded across the ground for several feet before he finally came to a halt. The slender, white-furred woman that had knocked him down was standing a short distance away, leaning against a tree.
He quickly rolled over to push himself up, only to see a single, gigantic paw in front of his face.
"You put up a good chase," rumbled its owner's deep voice. One huge hand easily lifted him from the ground, giving him a perfect view of the beast's mammoth, snarling face. Glowing red eyes bored into him, the hulking werewolf's maw twisted into a smirk.
"Chasing you has made me... hungry," he growled happily, letting his last word rumble on for several seconds. Fear petrified the man as the blood drained from his face.
The last thing he saw was the werewolf's maw opening wide before snapping down on his neck.
"Where. Is. He?" growled Dimitre. He'd already asked this question several times in the few minutes he'd been there, and he had yet to receive an answer. Standing at six feet tall with a slender build, he didn't look like much- but the werewolves in the cave with him refused to be within arm's reach. "I will not ask again."
When they still didn't answer him, he turned to the cave wall and slammed his fist into it. The wall shook and cracked from the impact, creating a small shower of dust and debris.
Getting to you much today? came the familiar mental voice of his intelligent coat. He'd had it for centuries, and for a while, it was also his only companion. Well, it and the irritating voice of Feith.
Always, he thought back with a mental grumble.
It wasn't often that the vampire lost his composure, but the werewolf he was looking for had made it his life's work to piss him off as often as possible.
"Who, Feith?" asked a sweet voice from behind him. The woman it belonged to walked around in front of him. She was covered in pristine white fur- except for the bright red hair on her head- and her large fennec ears were pointed up. He couldn't stand the shapeshifter- largely because she was with the werewolf, but also because he found her incredibly annoying. "What, you can't even tell when he's behind you?"
"Outbursts of violence, Dimitre?" Feith's deep bass rang out. "How... unbecoming."
A long, slow sigh was released from the smaller man's mouth as he brought himself back under control. He dusted of his sleeves and snapped his coat once to shake the dust from the rest of it.
Maybe you should try meditating, it suggested helpfully.
Shut up, the vampire told it as he turned around.
Unsurprisingly, the gargantuan werewolf was utterly naked. It was rare to see him in any other state, and Dimitre had quickly gotten used to it. While he could ignore the werewolf's nudity, the blood was another matter altogether- and the reason he was there.
To add to his scowl, Feith was doing nothing to hide his amusement about the situation.
"Get your useless pack out of my sight," he ordered Feith, "before I start to kill them."
Feith laughed until he felt the other's intrusive command. Narrowing his eyes to slits, he finally waved one huge hand, dismissing his pack. Within moments, the only other person in the chamber with them was the shapeshifting Lor. She rarely listened to anyone, and especially not Dimitre.
"You hunted down another of my Messengers." It was a simple statement, yet he could barely keep the venom from his voice.
"Your messenger?" Feith asked innocently.
"Don't play stupid with me!" Dimitre snapped, balling one of his hands into a fist before his chest.
Feith laughed again. "Why, vampire, I was simply hunting on my favorite grounds- how was I to know that he was your messenger?" He was really playing the innocence card this time, though Dimitre knew better than that. He had felt the death of his follower and Feith's glee at the kill.
Dimitre could feel his anger building up again. Even knowing that Feith was trying to anger him didn't help much; the damned werewolf knew his buttons too well. He forced himself to calm down.
"You know as well as I do," he growled, "that those grounds are a common place for my Messengers to pass through. Is it that difficult for you to leave them be?"
"Then maybe you should send them a different way," the other suggested. "It's not my fault if they're passing through while I'm there."
The vampire's foot shot up so quickly that neither Feith nor Lor knew it was coming until Feith was on his back. "Yet for the past two weeks, you've conveniently been there only when my Messengers are passing through!"
"Maybe next time you'll actually break something!" he taunted as he stood back up.
"Stop hunting my Messengers," the vampire warned, "or I'll wipe out your pack."
Feith, as obstinate as ever, chuckled at the threat. "You know I'll just make a new one."
"I also know how long it takes," he reminded the beast. "I may not be able to destroy you, but I can slow you down, just as you do me."
The hulking werewolf glowered at him. He was right- they would never be able to kill each other without killing themselves as well, and neither was willing to do that. He didn't really care if his pack lived or died, but he disliked having to remake it from nothing.
"Touch one of my Messengers again, and your pack will be dead before you return," he promised as his body faded to a quickly-dissipating mist.
A few moments later, Lor lovingly wrapped her arms around one of Feith's tree-like arms. "So when do we go hunting again?" she purred.
The werewolf lifted her up and brought her against his massive, bloody chest. "Not for a while yet," he replied. "Give him some time to calm back down first- then we go looking for his messengers again."
Lor giggled as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Sprinting through the woods, the man had to remind himself not to look back. He could hear the loud CRACK of splintering wood behind him, followed by another and the sound of trees falling. He'd heard the rumors of the giant werewolf that hunted in these woods, and like so many others, he hadn't believed them.
The creature that was after him was truly mountainous, he thought as he shot between two large trees. Seconds later, he heard both of the five-foot trunks splinter behind him. The sound of the large trunks crashing down through the trees pulled his gaze from where he was going, against his better judgment.
Just as his eyes settled on the dark brown fur of what was behind him, an arm caught him by the throat, laying him out flat. He skidded across the ground for several feet before he finally came to a halt. The slender, white-furred woman that had knocked him down was standing a short distance away, leaning against a tree.
He quickly rolled over to push himself up, only to see a single, gigantic paw in front of his face.
"You put up a good chase," rumbled its owner's deep voice. One huge hand easily lifted him from the ground, giving him a perfect view of the beast's mammoth, snarling face. Glowing red eyes bored into him, the hulking werewolf's maw twisted into a smirk.
"Chasing you has made me... hungry," he growled happily, letting his last word rumble on for several seconds. Fear petrified the man as the blood drained from his face.
The last thing he saw was the werewolf's maw opening wide before snapping down on his neck.
"Where. Is. He?" growled Dimitre. He'd already asked this question several times in the few minutes he'd been there, and he had yet to receive an answer. Standing at six feet tall with a slender build, he didn't look like much- but the werewolves in the cave with him refused to be within arm's reach. "I will not ask again."
When they still didn't answer him, he turned to the cave wall and slammed his fist into it. The wall shook and cracked from the impact, creating a small shower of dust and debris.
Getting to you much today? came the familiar mental voice of his intelligent coat. He'd had it for centuries, and for a while, it was also his only companion. Well, it and the irritating voice of Feith.
Always, he thought back with a mental grumble.
It wasn't often that the vampire lost his composure, but the werewolf he was looking for had made it his life's work to piss him off as often as possible.
"Who, Feith?" asked a sweet voice from behind him. The woman it belonged to walked around in front of him. She was covered in pristine white fur- except for the bright red hair on her head- and her large fennec ears were pointed up. He couldn't stand the shapeshifter- largely because she was with the werewolf, but also because he found her incredibly annoying. "What, you can't even tell when he's behind you?"
"Outbursts of violence, Dimitre?" Feith's deep bass rang out. "How... unbecoming."
A long, slow sigh was released from the smaller man's mouth as he brought himself back under control. He dusted of his sleeves and snapped his coat once to shake the dust from the rest of it.
Maybe you should try meditating, it suggested helpfully.
Shut up, the vampire told it as he turned around.
Unsurprisingly, the gargantuan werewolf was utterly naked. It was rare to see him in any other state, and Dimitre had quickly gotten used to it. While he could ignore the werewolf's nudity, the blood was another matter altogether- and the reason he was there.
To add to his scowl, Feith was doing nothing to hide his amusement about the situation.
"Get your useless pack out of my sight," he ordered Feith, "before I start to kill them."
Feith laughed until he felt the other's intrusive command. Narrowing his eyes to slits, he finally waved one huge hand, dismissing his pack. Within moments, the only other person in the chamber with them was the shapeshifting Lor. She rarely listened to anyone, and especially not Dimitre.
"You hunted down another of my Messengers." It was a simple statement, yet he could barely keep the venom from his voice.
"Your messenger?" Feith asked innocently.
"Don't play stupid with me!" Dimitre snapped, balling one of his hands into a fist before his chest.
Feith laughed again. "Why, vampire, I was simply hunting on my favorite grounds- how was I to know that he was your messenger?" He was really playing the innocence card this time, though Dimitre knew better than that. He had felt the death of his follower and Feith's glee at the kill.
Dimitre could feel his anger building up again. Even knowing that Feith was trying to anger him didn't help much; the damned werewolf knew his buttons too well. He forced himself to calm down.
"You know as well as I do," he growled, "that those grounds are a common place for my Messengers to pass through. Is it that difficult for you to leave them be?"
"Then maybe you should send them a different way," the other suggested. "It's not my fault if they're passing through while I'm there."
The vampire's foot shot up so quickly that neither Feith nor Lor knew it was coming until Feith was on his back. "Yet for the past two weeks, you've conveniently been there only when my Messengers are passing through!"
"Maybe next time you'll actually break something!" he taunted as he stood back up.
"Stop hunting my Messengers," the vampire warned, "or I'll wipe out your pack."
Feith, as obstinate as ever, chuckled at the threat. "You know I'll just make a new one."
"I also know how long it takes," he reminded the beast. "I may not be able to destroy you, but I can slow you down, just as you do me."
The hulking werewolf glowered at him. He was right- they would never be able to kill each other without killing themselves as well, and neither was willing to do that. He didn't really care if his pack lived or died, but he disliked having to remake it from nothing.
"Touch one of my Messengers again, and your pack will be dead before you return," he promised as his body faded to a quickly-dissipating mist.
A few moments later, Lor lovingly wrapped her arms around one of Feith's tree-like arms. "So when do we go hunting again?" she purred.
The werewolf lifted her up and brought her against his massive, bloody chest. "Not for a while yet," he replied. "Give him some time to calm back down first- then we go looking for his messengers again."
Lor giggled as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
The great wolf huffed in annoyance and pulled at his binds in the cold October air as Liliya and Constance stood beside the cage that trapped the animal. He snarled viciously at the two women that watched him, the beast’s eyes yellow and tinged with red, looking for blood. The observers were not impressed by the display.
“So, what exactly brought all this on now?” Constance asked the younger raven haired woman to her side. “I feel as though I had only just repaired the markings four days ago.”
“You did.” Liliya answered, her strong russian accent mixed well with Constance’s british accent. “This is something new.”
Constance tilted her head to the side, as if peering at the beast from another angle would explain everything. She sat down on the grass next to the cage and the wolf lunged at her suddenly. The older woman didn’t even flinch.
“Yes yes, we are all deeply impressed by your savage display, Dimitre. I would be more impressed if you could control yourself for five minutes so that I could get a look at you.” Constance said to the caged animal.
The animal just growled in response, the usually intelligent look in his eyes was completely gone.
“How long has he been like this, Liliya?” Constance asked.
“This only started about two hours after your left for the city. My husband and I were cleaning out the stageing tent when I heard a great growling and turned and saw Dimitre had changed into this form. I tried to speak to him, but he did not listen. He charged me as if he did not know me. I screamed and Grigori and Antoliy hear me. They rushed in and Antoliy hold him up off the ground. He is wild, like this. We put him in the cage and he starts slamming himself against the bars, he hurt himself. We then tie him down so he would not hurt himself anymore. Nothing I say he seems to hear.” Liliya explained, looking at her husband, transformed in the cage. Her face seemed impassive enough, but Constance was her very dear friend and she could pick up on the faint lines of worry that were on her forehead, not to mention the dark circles around her eyes that told of several sleepless nights.
“Don’t worry, Liliya.” Constance assured. “Once I can examine him more closely, we will know what is happening.
“He has not been like this since we first met.” Liliya voiced her doubts. “But even then, he could still understand me.”
Constance looked sharply at her friend then back to Dimitre. Liliya was a rare manner of elementalist, and if she could not communicate with any being of earth, that was a very particular sign. He either was ignoring her, or he couldn’t hear her. If only she could get closer.
“Where are those two drunken wretches?” Constance asked. “It would be easier of Antoliy was here to hold him in place.”
“They left with Pasha about 15 minutes ago.” Liliya said easily. “It is just you and me.”
“Rotten luck, indeed.” Constance commented. “If I could get him to lay still… I need to check his senses.”
Liliya nodded, then reached for her belt. In it was her performance whip, it was mostly for show, but that girl could use it masterfully. “I will make him calm.”
“Careful, Liliya,” constance warned, but her friend just looked at her with her haunting smile.
“I am the animal tamer am I not? I can manage this animal will enough.”
Constance stood aside as the other woman cracked the whip on the ground to the right, the wolf turned to the sound distracting and Liliya directed the cord in between the slots of the cage. The rope shot around the muzzle of the canine. The wolf growled fiercely and tried to pull out of the trap, but the more he struggled the tighter it got.
While he floundered with the one, Liliya got in closer and pulled the roped around the wolf’s legs. In one sharp tug, the beast’s feet were all tied together like a swine.
“Forgive me, my love.” Liliya whispered to the immobilized, whining and growling wolf.
Constance didn’t take any time getting in close next to the wolf and taking it’s black and grey head in her hands.
His yellow eyes were red and irritated looking, but the most interesting clue was found in his ears. As Constance moved his ears about, she saw a fibrous material inside. Using some tweezers from her Doctor’s kit, she pulled out some one the white substance inside. It was spider’s web. She checked his nose and found more of the same.
“As if one curse was not bad enough.” Constance muttered to herself, then spoke louder for Liliya to hear. “It looks like your husband here got hit was a pretty nasty spider’s curse. You two working inside?”
“Yes, we are cleaning the animal tent.” Liliya answered. “I am sure that there are spider’s in here.”
Must have knocked down a web of pregnant mother spider. That is usually when people can get hit with curses like that.” Constance stood up again and reached into her packets, looking for some crystal water that they had collected. “Normally, I would suggest killing the mother before she lays her eyes, but I also know that is impossible.”
“What do I do?” Liliya asked, her voice was in complete control.
“We are going to wash out his ears and nose with this water. It is from a source and that will purify such a minor spell as a spider curse.” Constance handed the water to Liliya. “Would stay but that could be bad given my… occupation. I will be back in my cart. See that he is sent to me as soon as he is able, we need to check to make sure the tattoo is still in place.”
“I will Constance. I swear to you that I will. Thank you for this.”
Liliya kneeled down by her changed husband's side and started to ease the water into his ears. Liliya was a good veterinarian, Constance knew that the man was in good hands.
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I feel like I'm the worst, so I always act like I'm the best || @Dimell {flashback}
A loira de corpo rechonchudo e pequeno invadia os salões e corredores da fortaleza vermelha e os preenchia com gargalhadas e brincadeiras fora de hora. Ela tinha cinco anos e mais parecia um furacão. Se comparassem o seu comportamento dessa época com o atual, certamente veriam uma pessoa diferente surgir no auge de seus quarenta anos. Outra Isobel. Agora mais tímida, retraída e reservada. Também confusa e dissimulada, mais Carmesim. A menininha de rosto sardento, como mil beijinhos de anjos, outrora imitava um passarinho com os braços abertos e muito bem esticados enquanto corria em direção ao seu quarto. Fazia barulhinhos com a boca para avisar aos criados que estava passeando tão impetuosa. Sua ama, coitada, corria atrás da menor afim de segurá-la e contê-la, mas a princesa era duas vezes mais ágil.
Era tão curiosa quanto um filhote de gato, explorando tudo à sua volta, perguntando sobre estrelas, a santa Árvore e até sobre a morte. Sobre os soldados e as guerras, os casamentos arranjados e as flores engraçadas que agora já desbotavam a tinta rubra. Mas quando o assunto chegava em “Alice” tudo virava um silêncio mortal. Ninguém desobedeceria as ordens da própria rainha e contaria as façanhas da humana intrometida. Que já deveria ter seus vinte anos ou mais. Nunca chegou a conhecê-la. Ouvia apenas os rumores aqui e ali, a mais nova ia aprendendo aos poucos. Era tão astuta quanto uma Carmesim poderia ser. Tudo bem, talvez até um pouco mais.
Sua atenção foi capturada por uma capa reluzente e verde. As letras em relevo dourado e as gravuras estonteantemente coloridas. Um sorriso travesso apareceu em seus lábios, um risinho escapou-lhe quando o pensamento de “tomar” o objeto emprestado ocorreu-lhe. Ninguém repararia. Era tentador. Precisava descobrir o que era aquilo em cima da mesa de ouro. Com alguns pulinhos e as mãos esticadas, conseguiu pegar o livro segundos antes da gravidade puxá-la para baixo. Caiu de traseiro mas não se importou. O joelho estava machucado, mas a pequenina nem mesmo sentira. Estava animada. O objeto era estranho, familiar. O reconheceu. Por que não estava na biblioteca? Certamente esperavam que ela o encontrasse. Foram feitos um para o outro! Era isso! Estavam tão predestinados quanto seus pais!
A menina dançou brevemente sobre o tapete, um ato desengonçado e altivo. Não haveria problema algum se outra pessoa a visse assim, seu quarto estava logo ali naquele corredor. Subir na cama alta fora um verdadeiro desafio para a Carmesim corpulenta. Escalava os próprios lençóis e os desforrava. Não descansava. Puxava-os resfolegante até atingir seu objetivo e deitar no acolchoado cansada e orgulhosa de si mesma por ter conseguido subir na cama sem a ajuda de ninguém. O trabalho desta vez fora dobrado já que a pequena recusara soltar o exemplar de sua mão. Se não pudesse lê-lo completamente, o guardaria ou pediria para que uma de suas damas o fizesse. Mas onde será que elas estavam agora? Teriam desistido da princesa também? Não bastasse sua mãe? Isobel encontrou a si mesma sozinha no quarto, ela e sua única companhia dali em diante: um livro.
