Post by » r.andom on Oct 26, 2006 17:01:13 GMT -5
This is my p a r a d i s e. Don't tell me other w i s e.
Assurance, that was he.
Self assurance to the point of over confidence, infinite and lethal, stretching ahead of him as a one-way road with no way back, curves and twists, double-takes and checkpoints – that was Arziki. Snide, swift, elegant and agile – warrior-like with a curving body and cat-like reflexes, he was all of this and more, much more. Servant of the devil, dark soul, Satan’s second in command (and this he was not afraid to admit – this was a thing, to him, to be proud of, not to hide.) oh, he was stereotype, typecast to the extent where he was in a league of his own.
The stink of salt and sea and bird stung delicately flared hybrid nostrils as he slipped smoothly through the trees that were (typical to the sea lands, typical to the forestry about beaches or inlets or such things like that) wiry and strong, bushy and lean, with limber branches that entwined and twisted in a most curious manner that, typically, did not truly interest Arziki in the least. Yet he wound his way through, the white of his coat simply a void in the chilly spring light, a watery and weak sun shining upon the Inlet that he was sure would become some mare’s paradise.
Ah, his step was smooth, gliding as his pace increased, for he seemed somehow to have discovered a way to reduce the friction of his walk, and now he appeared upon the sandy shoreline of the inlet, his hoof prints light and shallow and his hurried pace quickly replaced by the easy grace as he slipped across the startling white beach to the side of the shore. Daggers leaving the earth her allowed his lyrics to taint the wind. "I Arziki, claim this land as mine. If any disagree let it be said as a challenge to the king."
Assurance, that was he.
Self assurance to the point of over confidence, infinite and lethal, stretching ahead of him as a one-way road with no way back, curves and twists, double-takes and checkpoints – that was Arziki. Snide, swift, elegant and agile – warrior-like with a curving body and cat-like reflexes, he was all of this and more, much more. Servant of the devil, dark soul, Satan’s second in command (and this he was not afraid to admit – this was a thing, to him, to be proud of, not to hide.) oh, he was stereotype, typecast to the extent where he was in a league of his own.
The stink of salt and sea and bird stung delicately flared hybrid nostrils as he slipped smoothly through the trees that were (typical to the sea lands, typical to the forestry about beaches or inlets or such things like that) wiry and strong, bushy and lean, with limber branches that entwined and twisted in a most curious manner that, typically, did not truly interest Arziki in the least. Yet he wound his way through, the white of his coat simply a void in the chilly spring light, a watery and weak sun shining upon the Inlet that he was sure would become some mare’s paradise.
Ah, his step was smooth, gliding as his pace increased, for he seemed somehow to have discovered a way to reduce the friction of his walk, and now he appeared upon the sandy shoreline of the inlet, his hoof prints light and shallow and his hurried pace quickly replaced by the easy grace as he slipped across the startling white beach to the side of the shore. Daggers leaving the earth her allowed his lyrics to taint the wind. "I Arziki, claim this land as mine. If any disagree let it be said as a challenge to the king."
