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The forest woke first in a gentle murmur, gradually raising its voice to a heady crescendo as the sun peeked over the horizon and painted its red dawn fingers where it would reach. Spears of sunlight stabbed through the protective boughs, breaking up shadows where they lay - all but two, that was. No light could hope to pierce or dissolve the pair nestled into the forest floor, their limbs a complex knotwork tangled during the overnight in a way that confirmed the evidence of an ill-advised coupling.

Neither had yet to stir since the break of dawn, save unconscious shifts and shoves that helped to manipulate the other into a more comfortable position - Evike herself had hardly moved save to bury her face deeper beneath the thick ruff of the king's neck, possibly leading an observer to wonder how one could comfortably breathe from such an angle.

A flick of an ear broke the stillness, suggesting the small female had begun the process of rejoining the waking world, her ears alert though her body remained stubbornly at rest. She puzzled for a time, somewhat awake, mostly asleep, what it was that had disturbed her. Was it the birds? Perhaps she'd noted another pack member, or even a brazen predator lurking nearby. With her nose pushed beneath the massive male there was no way to search the air without moving and breaking the oddly comfortable cuddle puddle she'd formed with a creature she'd described vehemently as little more than a sadistic brute as recently as the night before.

Funny how things like that worked out. 

Automatically, she found at the thought of some potential threat, that her wing lifted up to drape over his side, her body shifting and turning inward toward his as she hugged the appendage about his shoulder like a shield. Beneath the cover of her feathered pinion, her ears continued to twitch, listening for whatever it was that had disturbed her slumber - the lazy wolf's equivalent to hitting the snooze bar, if you would. 
<b>[ ooc</b> using the same table i used for the first devya/ares/art altercation 'cause #nostalgia lol <b>]</b>

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<style="padding:5px;"><table background="" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="25" style="width:490px; border:1px dashed #000000; background-position:top; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-color:#252c32"><tr><td><div align="justify" style="padding-bottom:0px; padding-left:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-top:430px;"><font color="#bfbcbd" style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; line-height:15px; letter-spacing:0.5px;">it is the entwined fragrances of prodigal son and <i>gutter rat</i> that procures an influx of the ghoul’s rare intrigue. presumed savagery and carnage envisioned within the malignant confines of a most <b>cruel</b> psyche -- the figmented bait that coaxes the elysius into avid pursual of the dynamic duo with the desire to witness barbaric combat and a haughty slave’s DEMISE. chiseled appendages serpentining through a labyrinth of compact foliage as she hounds their mingled ambrosia with predatory finesse <b>;;</b> so <i>furtive</i> in her swift approach as gargantuan paws purposely evade dispersed leaves and splintered brambles alike in prudent fashion. pulse accelerating with sadistic <u>euphoria</u> beneath an infallible pretense of absolute indifference as the potency of their aroma intensifies and fully saturates the surrounding atmosphere. adrenaline the intoxicant that contributes to her disregard of surrounding cacophony -- or <b><i>lack</i></b> thereof, and a prominent indicator that battle between her kin and <i>toy</i> does not transpire. 

yet it becomes conspicuous to the phantom that her protege has <s>failed</s> to heed her <b>{</b> <i>provocative</i> <b>}</b> counsel as she encloses upon an inconceivable scene. a heap of interweaved flesh -- brindled and <i>dark</i> -- encompassing her vision and eliciting rancorous sentiment <b><i>doused</i></b> in derision. <b>{</b> and ultimately repressed<b><i>!</i></b> though internally prevalent in the fermenting inferno of her chest cavity. <b>}</b> velveteen lips set in a firm <u>line</u> as she scrutinizes their nestled forms from her vantage point with frigid gape, objection duly worming through twisted thoughts. bitter and newly-rekindled memories of her brother and his incompetent <s>whore</s> an invasive notion that ignites the looming wraith’s hopelessly short <i>fuse</i> as the resemblance between odysseus and ares grows apparent. and yet, artemis would sooner forfeit her very <u>life</u> than lose another of her cherished kin to machiavellian harpies whose sole purpose resides in serving as prospective weaknesses to their proficient paramours. an internal oath tacitly made upon the spot to safeguard her remaining blood from the prying clutches of <i>tender sentiment</i> that <b>{</b> she presumes <b>}</b> will morph her <b>KING</b> into a meager <u>puppet</u>. 

further still, nimble strides lay waste to the distance lingering betwixt transgressors and enigmatic lady. detachment swathing the disfigured margins of her countenance as her vexation dissipates in favor of gelid apathy, pupils unwavering from the slumbering forms of the <b><u>wayward</u></b> as heavy contemplation persists. curiosity upon the status of her son’s affiliation with the pompous harpy a nagging thought upon her conscience <b>;;</b> did the serf simply share his <i>bed</i>, or had she begun to seize and govern his <s>heart</s>? <font color="#b08aba">“the slave and the ..<i>tyrant</i>, was it?”</font> the ghoul unveils her looming entity with intervening vocals laced with faint amusement. robust thighs reclining approximately eight feet from the duo’s makeshift bedchamber whilst maintaining infallible composure, skull minutely <i>sloped</i> with feigned intrigue and mismatched gaze fixated. the indistinct mockery of her speech methodically uttered with the intent to strike a nerve with her protege ----- of whom she suspects craves to be <b><s>feared</b></s> by the masses as opposed to being perceived as <i>soft</i>. <b>{</b> and while the ghoul has no desire to engage in petty conflict with her own <b><i>flesh and blood</i></b>, she supposes it is occasionally <i>necessary</i> to ruthlessly butt heads with the titan in order to refine his tact and demeanor. <b>}</b>

<center><font color="#b08aba">“quite the  <i><b>SCANDAL</b></i>, don’t you think?”</font>
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ooc - mature for ody's potty mouth

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He slept dreamlessly, soothed by the protection of his domain and worn out from the previous day. The weather was warm enough to permit sleeping out amidst the forest, but he would quickly come to regret such a decision. Limbs had stretched out, his body arched around the woman at his side. He stirred only when a wing slide across his back, locking in far too much heat around them. He would shift, slowly exiting his peaceful world of sleep. It was not the first time he had slept beside another, though it had been awhile, and it was certainly the first time he woke to the sound of his mothers voice. Inwardly he groaned in protest, knowing his day was going to start out rapidly going downhill. Lids fluttered open, taking a moment to focus on the world around him. His dark figure rolled from his side to his belly, crown lifting to peer at his mother. A yawn stretched his jaws, a threat spilling from her ivory lips, the promise of a scandal. <font style="color: #2B1313; font-variant: small-caps;"><b>"Come now, threatening words really don't suite you."</b></font> Silver gaze turned towards his mother where she sat a decent distance away. 
He could see the feigned interest on her features, the gentle slope of her skull as she fixated her icy gaze on them both. He did not move right away, though he suspected that his mothers voice would have immediately ripped Evike from her sleep rather than his movement. He was already mentally preparing for the hell that was about to break loose, for the venom his mother would shoot at him, for the anger of his sole possession. Limbs would finally push him up to his full height, stretching as he went, shaking the sleep from his muscles. The expression on his face remained neutral, words cool and collected. His mothers silent worry of having his heart toyed with were unwarranted, for it was she who had taught him to not have one. He believed that he would indeed follow in his mothers paw steps and not love in the normal sense of the word. 
Silence surrounded him, waiting his mother partially deserved wrath. Muscles remained lax, ears tipped loosely forward in his mothers direction, tails curling at his hocks. Dark crown elevated above his shoulders. He did not know much of his mothers past or her irrational dislike of any female company he chose to take up. All he knew was her overbearing nature and her desire to see him as successful. He had grown up under her supervision, under her rule and schooling to become only the greatest. With her sudden death, he was left to his own devices, forced to figure out the world for himself with no guidance. He had grasped at the indolence, struggled to learn what to do with it at first before he learned to revel in it. Yes he had been pleased to see that his mother was in fact not dead, and found herself in the same land as he, but he had spent a year and half under his own commands, not those of his mother. And he knew that if he was going to be successful as King, and earn the respect of those in his pack, he needed to ensure that <i>everyone</i> knew their place. 
His mother and Evike included. The woman at his feet was indeed unruly, but perhaps that was what kept him amused and kept him from effectively silencing her completely. His mother on the other hand, was headed down a path that would result in toes being stepped on. <font style="color: #2B1313; font-variant: small-caps;"><b>"Now, if you would like to start unnecessary shit by informing the pack of who I'm fucking, then let me do it for you. Because perhaps you have forgotten, but I will be ensuring that the Elysius line does not end with me."</b></font> Words never rose above their normal octave, nor they did they hold an ounce of hostility, though lips curled into a smirk that exposed the tips of his elongated canines. He would step over, or around, his slave, seeking to approach his mother head on. <font style="color: #2B1313; font-variant: small-caps;"><b>"Perhaps you can do your <i>job</i> and ensure that someones call a pack hunt together, today. Or go out and recruit someone."</b></font> It was with his determination that this pack would see him for the King that he was, his mother included. He would ensure that she could go about her days without worry about his every move, that he could do as he pleased without her showing up unannounced. 
It was the woman before him that instilled this determination, that ensured it was part of his very DNA, that there would be no other choice in life than to rule and empire. And he would be damned if she was the one to tear it down with unnecessary worry. He would not have his throne broken by a woman he had claimed, a woman that if he told her to breath, she would stop just to spite him. At the back of his mind, he figured that by the time his empire was large and a force to be reckoned with, he would be an expert at managing overwhelming amounts of estrogen. He nearly chuckled at the thought. He refused to be pulled in two directions by two different women, he would not be ruled by them. It was his nature to use those around them to their fullest extent, to ensure that his pack reached its full potential. He knew that he would not be able to achieve this with his pack tearing each other apart from the inside out. There was no denying that he had made it clear that slaves were the playthings of the pack, to be used as others saw fit. But it was his mothers need to possess that had overrun into him, caused him to possessive -<s>protective</s>- of what was his. Perhaps he needed to find his mother her own toy....

<font style="color: #2B1313; font-variant: small-caps;"><b>"Speech."</b></font> <font style="color: #64110B;"><em>Thoughts.</em></font></div></div>
The second call to wakefulness was not one she could refuse, lifting her head with a practiced grace to the unflattering assessment of the situation as Odysseus himself came awake with a nonchalant yawn. Evike shuffled to the side, retracting her wing partially so it still hung over his back as he rolled onto his belly, her gaze fixed silently upon the white spectre. There was a strangely protective quality to the way she held her wing out, as if anticipating the Lady's wrath not to fall upon her, but rather the young conqueror. As if she <I>minded</I> the possibility of an altercation, or the spilling of <s>noble</s> blood.

No litter would come of this pairing, and she wondered if that realization should have struck her with cold fear rather than relief. A great many things had put her off the concept of children, a list on which Odysseus didn't even number, as there were monsters and terrors in this world far larger and crueler than the tyrant. Their tryst had been an effort to save the crumbling foundation on which she'd staked her claim to safety, though it would not hurt her now to confirm his claim by keeping her mouth shut. With a titled Mistress among the ranks and a great number of women without the stigma of slave choking their merits, she did not anticipate the argument holding water no matter how obliging a shut mouth might be. Elysius blood might have been precious, but would that still be the case in a baseborn litter? Evike didn't care to find out, unable to stomach the thought of carrying even another child to term, only to have it ripped away from her.

Beyond awake, Evike was charged by Artemis' intrusion, smoothing her wings across her back as she remained pressed against the forest floor, rolling onto her stomach and drawing her limbs beneath her, though making no further effort to sit or stand. Odysseus was a monster, capable of horrible things, but he had also proven himself to be reliable, in a sense. Evike was making a concerted effort to vest some trust in his promise of a purposeful end, and though there was evidence to support his claim, there too were whispers in the back of her mind reminding her that it wasn't death that she presumed Artemis would dish out.

The contest between mother and some had yet to become her own personal battle, and yet Evike watched with a practiced calm, her gaze intent and focused upon the pair. Not a ripple of emotion betrayed her concerns, nor the nagging uncertainty in her gut. She'd sold herself into his protection, but now concerns about how effective his defense and his authority truly were bloomed in the back of her mind, amidst the twisted and spent bones of potential babes, conjured by his armor. Was it truly worth it?