kedim viii: coelacanth

BAA humbug, am I right?  Accountability is hard.

I have been writing more often than I let on but a lot of the writing I do is for a game called WOLF.  I actually received Member of the Month for May.

Since I already have several uploads and posts to catch up on, I decided to post some snippets of things I have written for my main character so that I can look back on this one day, cringe at my flowery verbosity, and laugh.  It bears mentioning that Coelacanth is the inspiration for the artwork that I use for INKDOG.

Seelie is my life’s mascot, and maybe my totem.  ♥

In the WOLF universe, Coelacanth is a wolfdog who looks impossibly like her purebred Belgian Groenendael ancestors but for the narrower keel of her hips and chest, her bright cerulean eyes, and her tufted ears.  The wolf blood is mainly because without her being 50% wolf, I couldn’t join a pack with her.

takes place after weeks of solitary confinement

Coelacanth was a wisp of shadow among other shadows, and not even the violent trembling that intermittently wracked her vividly gamine frame gave away her position.  It was only when she opened her eyes, startled into doing so by the different sort of silence Atshen’s heavy-boned presence wrought, that she could readily be seen.  Perhaps she startled him in that moment, bright Neptune globes winking suddenly through the dark, but if she did, she couldn’t tell.  She hadn’t really been sleeping — the line between the nightmares both sleeping and waking was so finely drawn they were practically one and the same — but it was easier to keep her eyes closed.  She felt invisible then.  It was simple coincidence that she very nearly was.

Suspicion had her whipping around, a skittish, spindle-legged blur of ink.  He was here — the orange-eyed, pale-bellied behemoth — and she feared that the gray phantom, too, might be regurgitated from the bowels of the Wolfskull as he had been once before.  Her slimly tapered muzzle swung toward the impenetrable dark as she skittered backwards, pressing against the wall, the belly of the Wolfskull to her left and the maw to her right.  Her lips drew taut but did not quiver or curl — she had learned via the fangs of other tormentors that such behavior was not to be tolerated.  Tufted ears flattened against the gentle curve of her skull as she made herself infinitesimal, tucking her small body as tightly as she could, the tip of her tail a frenetic flutter as her spine arched impossibly to fold in on itself.  Why had he come?

What have I done?

takes place when she first gets kidnapped

Betrayal of this magnitude was a new and harrowing experience for Coelacanth, but the hurt it engendered echoed a long healed hurt from the tiny Groenendael’s earliest memories: the first betrayal.  For just as Lotte had nipped at Seelie’s feathered heels to drive her toward her captors, so too had Selkie nipped at the heels of her infant children to drive them away from Nanaimo.  Oh, she hurt!  For the first time in hours — days, maybe; she didn’t know how much time had passed — Seelie stirred, a thready whimper trembling upon her lips.  Her gamine frame was littered with bruises and punctures, but as far as she could tell, she was generally sound.  Dainty paws shifted as she gingerly took stock of her injuries, unfolding the tight bud of her fear-knotted musculature to explore her dimly lit surroundings on tenterhooks.

She appeared to be in a cave that smelled of old blood and the fetid stink of terror, its ceiling and floor infested with ugly, serrated fangs.  Yellowed with age and spattered with rust-colored stains whose origins she had no care to discover, they seemed almost sentient in the tenebrae — and she flinched involuntarily at the sight of them, tufted ears flattening and Neptune eyes squinting as she sharply recoiled.  The empath felt quite plainly the panic and pain of the Wolfskull’s previous victims, and the grim miasma was intensified by the fact that she was literally backed into a corner.  As a rule, Coelacanth was decidedly unfond of cages, caves, and corners — and she did her best to flee, nimble paws darting fleetly between the macabre weave poles like a little black pinball.  She moved with instinctual swiftness, reaching the Wolfskull’s maw in record time.

Open air filled her lungs, billowing out the fragile swell of her breast, the parameters of which were clearly delineated by the scalloped gradient of her rib cage — but with only a single pawstep lying between Coelacanth and freedom, she froze.  Tufted ears piped alarum as she looked intently down at her catlike paws, tipping her delicate head first to one side, then the other.  They stood in sharp contrast to the sallow floor of her prison — and they served as a chilling reminder of everything that had led up to this very moment.  She had no reason to expect rescue or respite — she could do nothing but endure.  In a spectacular display of learned helplessness, she drew her rose blush tongue anxiously across her lips and issued a shaking whisper-whine of indecision, her ears crumpling like black silk and her carriage folding in on itself as she backed away from the promise of freedom and moved deeper into the cave of nightmares.

There, Seelie curled herself into a little dog doughnut and settled down, waiting for the pain.

It was not long in coming.

If anybody out there enjoys games like WOLF and would like to join, I do have a character up for adoption as well.  Part of what I worked on for WOLF involved drawing up a background and profile for that character, whose name is Ixchel.


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