ZILA SHAPIRO
URAKATA
RABID DOG
Posts: 1
Animal: GROENENDAEL SHEPHERD
Master: SADIE ARMITAGE
Occupation: SLAVE
Played By: VERNESIA
MP3 Theme: http://k007.kiwi6.com/hotlink/dvafkgcnti/Let_Go.mp3
Gif Image: http://i.imgur.com/EZ0YEcL.gif
Bio: BIO
Tracker: plotter
|
Post by ZILA SHAPIRO on Dec 14, 2013 2:02:35 GMT -5
excuse me too busy you're writing your tragedy, these mishaps you bubble-wrap when you've no idea what you're like so, let go, let go, jump in, oh well, what you waiting for? it's all right 'cause there's beauty in the breakdown, it gains the more it gives and then it rises with the fall so hand me that remote can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow? such boundless pleasure, we've no time for later, now you can't await your own arrival, you've twenty seconds to comply ★ Zila took one step in front of the other. She wasn't usually one to go out on her own but she found herself wanting a bit of mischief in her life. What better way to get into trouble then being an urakata at a pub unattended? Her expression was cool and calm as usual. Her arms were crossed and her hair lay at her back in it's usual luster. Her amber eyes as mesmerizing as the color's namesake gem. She wore tights with a strapless mini dress colored black with her black heeled ankle boots. She wore black gloves and her tail reached to the edge of her dress that didn't even hit her knees. She entered the pub and immediately caught the sight of a few males. One whistled and another immediately called out to her. Zila's calm expression didn't falter as she made her way to a table on the opposite side of the room from the loud obnoxious men. The black dog knew exactly how to get attention, ignoring them flat out without so much as a glance would turn back any weak-hearted fool. Only a drunk idiot would pursue her after she had so blatantly blown them off. Her amber eyes skimmed over the rest of the pub crowd, calculating and sizing up the pieces she had available to her on the board. Not much to work with in this lot but maybe something would happen along to make these horrible pieces worth playing. For now, the black dog simply sat at her table, her arms crossed in a relax posture at the table, her legs crossed at her ankle-high boots. That was the thing about Zila, she loved her games so much she found the patience to sit long enough for a star piece to come into play. The one thing life had over a chess board, the fact that the pieces and environment could change without warning. She absently twirled a few strands from her bangs around her gloved finger, the black of her hair lost within the black of the fabric. |
|
SADIE ARMITAGE
MASTER
THRIVING SURVIVOR
Posts: 2
Slave 1: ZILA SHAPIRO
Occupation: Master, CEO
Played By: Eru
Bio: bio
|
Post by SADIE ARMITAGE on Dec 14, 2013 2:26:37 GMT -5
They laugh and whistle when her Shuck walks in, but the CEO laughs softly into her gloved palm, the glove which hides the missing fingers, and pulls her hat down over the brow of her face, letting it hide her features, guilty as they are; she has come here to drink, to be merry, to watch the ragged roustabouts murder one another in the dead of the night, and she will certainy get this; the CEO twitches her hand, motions a patron over, dips her head and winks her eyes and within a moment there is ale upon her table.
The patron of Armitage Pharmaceuticals sits, quiet and waiting, in the background of the pub, and watches as her Shuck strides and shoots down; her lips curl into a satisfied smile, for this is the benefit of mastery that more equates itself to friendship; this is her closest companion, playing her games, and it is convenient that when Zila looks around her, there is a waitress-woman in the way of the CEO. Armitage pulls a quiet smile and chuckles into the palm of her hand, wiggles her prosthetic fingers. They can bend and curl with robotics, but oh, the falseness.
It scorns her, and she merely blends back into the crowd, ragged appearance deliberate, nothing more than a drunken--semi drunk, perhaps--bar wench, loitering in an unnoticed corner; her lips pull into a crooked grin, and her clothing is grimy, greasy. She is well-disguised; few have seen the CEO in person, of course, and her eyes linger lazily upon her hound...and whomever seeks to enter the dog's game.
It is best to refrain, however, for the moment, at least for the Master's part. As it is she adjusts, plays with the ripped glove, and as long as it doesn't fall free, revealing her prosthetic fingers, she is alright.
|
|
