Post by Thorn on Feb 1, 2013 22:18:33 GMT -6
A short story I wrote because I really wanted to see a picture of Procella and Ivonne fighting and, as I am no artist; this was as close as I could get. xD
(This story is non canon)
***
The snow crunched beneath her feet as the young wolf cast her eyes warily about the forest's edge. Green though they were, they may as well have been blue, for they were as cold as any eyes could be.
"Come out," she called softly. "I know you're there. You think you can scare me? Surprise me, perhaps? I won't be fooled so easily."
Taking a rare risk, Procella turned her back slightly towards the forest and kept on moving, her gaze roaming now across the hilly landscape while her ears strained for any hint of an attacker's approach.
At last, the soft crunch of snow. Without a word Procella whirled, dagger flashing, and lunged. To her surprise, her blade met with the barrel of a revolver. She ducked under the newcomer's guard, sweeping behind her and out of range as the feline fired.
The feline whirled, a little unsteady from the gun's recoil, and the blade and barrel met again with a dull ring of metal. The feline had another pistol, which she now pointed at Procella's head. With a muted gasp the wolf batted it away, and was surprised to see it tumble into the snow. A surprise for her opponent as well, it appeared; for the young feline flinched and tightened her hold on her remaining weapon.
Procella ducked as the feline fired once more, but the bullet grazed the top of her head as it passed. She hissed under her breath, more from anger than from anything else, but soon her eyes cleared and widened in apparent horror.
"Please, miss. Why are you doing this?"
"You killed my friend, and you stole his clothes."
"Oh, right," she did know about that, then.
The white tiger aimed again and, with all the energy she could muster, Procella propelled herself upward and into her jaw. The feline cried out and fell back a step or two. The wolf rolled quickly aside, her body aching and her head throbbing momentarily, but she still managed to make it to the treeline and scramble for cover behind a large oak.
The feline snorted, putting a hand to her jaw. "Coward."
But she looked more uncertain now, her eyes bright and anxious as she tried to manoeuvre into a position where she could aim at Procella. For her part, the wolf shifted further around the tree, Stabbity in hand and unveiled determination in her gaze.
"Just go home," she called out, hoping that she'd read this tigress correctly. "You can't take me. I was born doing this."
"Is that why you're hiding behind a tree?"
"Perhaps."
Procella could no longer see her opponent, and was having to gauge her location based on the sound of her voice and the crunching of paws on snow. She was tired and hungry, but she had to take out that feline somehow. She flicked her ears to remove some snow, and listened hard. Where was the tigress now?
"Can I at least know the name of my killer?" she asked, turning quickly to see if she had somehow managed to sneak up behind her.
Nothing. Procella was getting nervous now. Why couldn't she hear her footsteps?
"For what it's worth, my name is Dorianne," she said.
Suddenly, the creaking of a tree branch overhead. Procella lunged aside as both revolvers fired, catching her in the back. She fell forward, gasping and flailing as hot pain blossomed from her midsection. Rolling over allowed her to register that there was blood on the snow and that the feline was again raising her revolvers. She looked much more confident now, her hand not even trembling as she zeroed in on Procella's heart.
Dammit. There was blood everywhere now; her clothes sodden with the stuff and her hand coming up red as she pulled it away. She scrambled behind another tree, barely avoiding another gunshot, which sent a small burst of snow up into the air. Was she bleeding out? She couldn't tell. But it couldn't end here- not like this. She tore off part of her cloak and pressed it to an exit wound on her front- dear Lord, there was an exit wound. And the two wounds in her back…
She slumped against the tree, glancing up into the canopy to see if her attacker was approaching from that direction. How had she missed that the last time? Her body felt cold, and her heartbeat was much too weak. Was this what dying felt like? No. She couldn't…
"Your name isn't Dorianne," said the feline, pulling the dagger from the maned wolf's cold and clammy fingers. At first the youngling resisted, but she hadn't the strength anymore. As she tried to slash at her opponent, the white tiger tugged the dagger free of her grasp. She stood, looking down at her defeated enemy.
"My name is Ivonne," she said softly. "You won't hurt my friends anymore."
The wolf coughed. "I didn't think you were one for taunting."
Ivonne frowned. "I'm not. You wanted to know. Goodbye."
The wolf tried to move, but Ivonne caught her and pressed the gun to her heart. She was so close now that the wolf could feel her breath on her neck. Then Ivonne tightened her finger. There was a bang as the gunpowder ignited, and the wolf slumped forward into the snow, her features twisted in panic and her eyes glazing over with the mists of death.
Alone at last, Ivonne contemplated the dagger in her left hand. It was a disgusting, stained object. She let it fall into the snow, a smile of relief spreading across her face as she looked upon her vanquished foe. The look turned to wonder as she watched the snow settle upon the dark heap of cloth and fur, and she laughed with joy as a few flakes even settled upon her own nose. She sheathed her revolver, checked that the other was properly in its place, and turned to greet the newest shower of snow. Somewhere across that undulating land, the Barracuda awaited her. With another smile, Ivonne sprang forward and hurried to inform the others of what she had achieved.
(This story is non canon)
***
The snow crunched beneath her feet as the young wolf cast her eyes warily about the forest's edge. Green though they were, they may as well have been blue, for they were as cold as any eyes could be.
"Come out," she called softly. "I know you're there. You think you can scare me? Surprise me, perhaps? I won't be fooled so easily."
Taking a rare risk, Procella turned her back slightly towards the forest and kept on moving, her gaze roaming now across the hilly landscape while her ears strained for any hint of an attacker's approach.
At last, the soft crunch of snow. Without a word Procella whirled, dagger flashing, and lunged. To her surprise, her blade met with the barrel of a revolver. She ducked under the newcomer's guard, sweeping behind her and out of range as the feline fired.
The feline whirled, a little unsteady from the gun's recoil, and the blade and barrel met again with a dull ring of metal. The feline had another pistol, which she now pointed at Procella's head. With a muted gasp the wolf batted it away, and was surprised to see it tumble into the snow. A surprise for her opponent as well, it appeared; for the young feline flinched and tightened her hold on her remaining weapon.
Procella ducked as the feline fired once more, but the bullet grazed the top of her head as it passed. She hissed under her breath, more from anger than from anything else, but soon her eyes cleared and widened in apparent horror.
"Please, miss. Why are you doing this?"
"You killed my friend, and you stole his clothes."
"Oh, right," she did know about that, then.
The white tiger aimed again and, with all the energy she could muster, Procella propelled herself upward and into her jaw. The feline cried out and fell back a step or two. The wolf rolled quickly aside, her body aching and her head throbbing momentarily, but she still managed to make it to the treeline and scramble for cover behind a large oak.
The feline snorted, putting a hand to her jaw. "Coward."
But she looked more uncertain now, her eyes bright and anxious as she tried to manoeuvre into a position where she could aim at Procella. For her part, the wolf shifted further around the tree, Stabbity in hand and unveiled determination in her gaze.
"Just go home," she called out, hoping that she'd read this tigress correctly. "You can't take me. I was born doing this."
"Is that why you're hiding behind a tree?"
"Perhaps."
Procella could no longer see her opponent, and was having to gauge her location based on the sound of her voice and the crunching of paws on snow. She was tired and hungry, but she had to take out that feline somehow. She flicked her ears to remove some snow, and listened hard. Where was the tigress now?
"Can I at least know the name of my killer?" she asked, turning quickly to see if she had somehow managed to sneak up behind her.
Nothing. Procella was getting nervous now. Why couldn't she hear her footsteps?
"For what it's worth, my name is Dorianne," she said.
Suddenly, the creaking of a tree branch overhead. Procella lunged aside as both revolvers fired, catching her in the back. She fell forward, gasping and flailing as hot pain blossomed from her midsection. Rolling over allowed her to register that there was blood on the snow and that the feline was again raising her revolvers. She looked much more confident now, her hand not even trembling as she zeroed in on Procella's heart.
Dammit. There was blood everywhere now; her clothes sodden with the stuff and her hand coming up red as she pulled it away. She scrambled behind another tree, barely avoiding another gunshot, which sent a small burst of snow up into the air. Was she bleeding out? She couldn't tell. But it couldn't end here- not like this. She tore off part of her cloak and pressed it to an exit wound on her front- dear Lord, there was an exit wound. And the two wounds in her back…
She slumped against the tree, glancing up into the canopy to see if her attacker was approaching from that direction. How had she missed that the last time? Her body felt cold, and her heartbeat was much too weak. Was this what dying felt like? No. She couldn't…
"Your name isn't Dorianne," said the feline, pulling the dagger from the maned wolf's cold and clammy fingers. At first the youngling resisted, but she hadn't the strength anymore. As she tried to slash at her opponent, the white tiger tugged the dagger free of her grasp. She stood, looking down at her defeated enemy.
"My name is Ivonne," she said softly. "You won't hurt my friends anymore."
The wolf coughed. "I didn't think you were one for taunting."
Ivonne frowned. "I'm not. You wanted to know. Goodbye."
The wolf tried to move, but Ivonne caught her and pressed the gun to her heart. She was so close now that the wolf could feel her breath on her neck. Then Ivonne tightened her finger. There was a bang as the gunpowder ignited, and the wolf slumped forward into the snow, her features twisted in panic and her eyes glazing over with the mists of death.
Alone at last, Ivonne contemplated the dagger in her left hand. It was a disgusting, stained object. She let it fall into the snow, a smile of relief spreading across her face as she looked upon her vanquished foe. The look turned to wonder as she watched the snow settle upon the dark heap of cloth and fur, and she laughed with joy as a few flakes even settled upon her own nose. She sheathed her revolver, checked that the other was properly in its place, and turned to greet the newest shower of snow. Somewhere across that undulating land, the Barracuda awaited her. With another smile, Ivonne sprang forward and hurried to inform the others of what she had achieved.
