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 Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 4:41 pm
 The pink lioness was stalking around the borderlands of the Kitwana'antara. She knew better than to attempt to teach anyone, or strategize, or anything that required dealing with other people so long as she was in this mood. And more importantly, every pridemember that saw her had made the effort to stay out of her way. That was just fine with Mittere. She certainly didn't feel like pulling any punches today, nor avoiding fights. It was an effort to not call out after retreating shadows, and even harder not to give chase. She had that much self-control, at least. The Warrior rounded a bend and came up towards the place where she'd seen the strange god lying in a heap of fur and feathers. She still had absolutely no idea what he'd been doing there, but maybe there'd be some traces left to indicate whatever it had been.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 5:05 pm
If Nemanja'janan had moved from his heap of feathers and fur, it was truly difficult to tell. Still as a statue, the lion was collapsed upon the ground, breathing slowly. One might have questioned if he himself had caught the disease and collapsed from sickness, but . . . that wasn't the case. He merely had no reason or purpose to move, and at this rate, it was very possible he'd be there for a few more months. There really was no reason to leave.
So if Mittere had hoped to find him gone, she was sadly mistaken.
His eyes were open, staring almost lifelessly out at the horizon. His fur was disheveled, his wings limp, and a few mice were collapsed, half-dead next to him. Those that were still alive were not at all inclined to move, and didn't bother to even glance at Mittere. Whether or not Nemanja heard her approach, he gave no sign.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 5:07 pm
...well. She certainly hadn't expected this. The heap of fur and feathers was still there, in the same place. She noted absently that he seemed to have been joined by mice who either felt no fear of the lion god or were too stupid to run.
But what in all the hells was he still doing here? Surely a god had better things to do, better places to be! The pink lioness hissed in frustration, stalking towards the stranger.
"What the hell are you still doing here?" she demanded harshly.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 5:19 pm
The lion heard the approach of another, but he didn't look up, didn't register her presence physically. Instead, his black gaze continued to stare out, and his body remained completely still. He heard her demand, but also was in no rush to speak.
What was he still doing there?
Did she really wish to know the answer? Did he really wish to speak? . . . did it really matter either way?
For a long moment, it seemed as if Mittere had been completely ignored. (Or perhaps he was deaf.) But as it was, finally, the large lion twitched an ear to turn towards her. He heaved a larger breath, almost like it was painful or tedious to do, and slowly lifted his head. He turned his ebony gaze to focus on her, blinking lethargically, before he spoke. "Existing."
That was what he was doing. Living sounded as if he was actually embracing life. Existing was something they all did, until there came a time when they would not. That was what he was doing. . is what he would continue to do . . regardless of the setting.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 5:24 pm
It was a good thing that Mittere was an ordinary mortal lioness. If not, the blue fires of her eyes might have burned Nemanja in her fury. The pink lioness' tail lashed rigidly behind her and she stalked towards the god. Her claws were unsheathed, and the Warrior made no effort whatsoever to pull them back in.
Other lions would be too angry to even speak at this point. Mittere was angry enough to speak.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snarled down at the living heap, having stopped just out of his reach (or with him, conversely, just out of hers). "Existing? We all exist! Why are you just ******** lying there, doing nothing!? Why are you in this pride, at this time? Why don't you just leave?"
He could leave, after all. He was a god.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 5:33 pm
So she was angry. Peculiar really, but not something he specifically cared to think too much about, or read too much into. Every creature could feel anger, could feel pain, could feel those extreme emotions; even the black and white lion could recall having felt such passions before in his own life. . . . but it seemed centuries ago, like a fading memory. There was no need to feel such things these days. In fact, he did his best to avoid getting emotionally caught up in anything. That would require having someone, or something, matter. And he did not want to live that sort of lifestyle any longer.
So it was, the lion kept his hollow gaze upon the pink lioness. He saw her wrath, heard her fury, but once again seemed to labor over a response. What could he say? Did he even bother to speak? Uh . . . .but he should at least reply. Meh. "If we all exist, why should it matter where or when or how I choose to do such a thing?" He spoke mildly, words monotone, not at all angered or upset by her snarls and unsheathed claws. Let her get mad. Let her dig her claws in to him.
It mattered not.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 5:39 pm
Some part of Mittere's brain acknowledged that the question did have some merit. That the god was right. The rest of her drowned out that small piece of logic with anger and rage.
"Of course it matters!" she spat. "You are a god, you alter the balance of the mortal world simply by existing, and wherever you exist, things change!" Someone had told her that once and the pink lioness could clearly see some effects already of the god's presence. The mice around him, for one, simply lying there, not dead yet, but scarcely alive that she could tell. No real vitality to them, no speed or spunk such as the punks the cubs chased through the grasses had.
The Warrior's claws tore long ruts in the ground beneath her paws and her breathing was heavy. It was only sheer force of will keeping her from attacking the god. Though, given how little he'd reacted to anything else, it seemed unlikely she should fear retribution...
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 5:52 pm
So much anger.
So much rage.
He could think of a few of his contemporaries that would cherish someone like Mittere; that would draw off her rage, or at the very least, exacerbate such a feeling. Still, though she spat her words at him, it was like pouring oil on water; he simply let the rage rise up and float over him, completely unaffected.
If she hoped to get a rise out of him, she was sadly mistaken.
Her words were about as effective as they might be if spat at a mountain.
"Mmm." He grunted softly, slowly, ever so slowly pushing himself back in to a sitting position. His bones practically creaked beneath him from disuse. He was a large god, a powerful god, and yet he chose to do little with his gifts. His body was scarred, but it was unlikely from battle such as Mittere saw.
". . . and is that not the same definition of any mortal? Does not your presence alter the lives of those around you? Does not a tree provide shade, or life, or fruit, where it would not without?" Mortals were . . . could be. . . . amusing with their ideas of the gods.
As if they were truly something special. Bah.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 5:56 pm
Oh well now he was moving. Sitting. And still treating her as if...as if she were hardly more important than the mice around him! Almost beneath her awareness, the pink lioness could feel...something...that wanted her calm, relaxed, uninterested. But damn if she'd give in to such a thing here and now! Her anger gave her the strength to fight it off, and still it didn't extinguish.
"A god's presence counts for so much more," she snarled back. "I wonder, do you even bleed if scratched?" He had scars so it seemed logical, but one would think a god had some sort of protection against a mortal's anger.
Assuming he chose to use such a thing.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 6:01 pm
Nemanja'janan honestly wasn't trying to be threatening. He was merely sitting up because . . . well. . . . he felt like moving. He could just as easily have flopped over, but his cubhood manners were habitual at this point; bets to at least pretend to acknowledge the other.
His wings were still flopped, untucked, and his tail had been unmoving. When she claimed that his presence counted for so much more, he almost wanted to raise a brow. But he did not. If that was her thought, than so be it. He couldn't entirely understand why such a thing was true; because he could fly? Because he looked different? Because he had magic? There was no doctrine of godhood . . . . They were purely mortals . . plus. Plain and simple.
"You may find out for yourself, if it is what you desire." He half-grunted.
And with that, he flopped back on to his side. It was far too much effort to actually sit up. For now, he'd just . . . wait. And lounge.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 6:06 pm
That was it. Just...it!
"Aiiyieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
The old warcry ripped from Mittere's throat as she lashed out with a pawful of claws at the god's nearest limb. She could feel the flesh and muscle give way beneath, smelled the hot coppery scent of his blood as it was splashed into the air.
Slowly, deliberately, she brought the bloody claws to her lips and daintily licked them clean. The god's blood tasted like...blood. Ordinary blood. She wasn't certain what this had proved, but for now it had dulled her interest in learning more.
The lioness hissed at the stranger once more before slinking off. Oddly enough, her anger seemed to have been blunted. She was still upset over several things, Nyesha's pregnancy most of all, but it was no longer the all-consuming rage that it had been.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 7:08 pm
The lion watched numbly as Mittere suddenly cried out, her claws digging deep in to his left leg. She sliced the god good and deep, and the pain stirred something in him. Almost. He recognized the sensation, and his tail tip flicked out of natural response, but ultimately he stood still and waited for her to . . . . either continue to maim him, or stalk off.
Instead, she brought her paw to lips and licked it clean. His ebony eyes never left her as she quietly got up and stalked away. Whatever purpose that had served, he really didn't know, and soon found his own interest waning. As Mittere stalked off, the lion looked down at his arm, the wound bubbling with blood and staining his coat crimson.
He should clean it.
But why? It wouldn't matter. If it became infected, if it did not. Heaving a large breath, the lion flopped his head back in to his main on the ground, and resumed his (now bloody) existence. Veri's snake was likely around, and would be quick to snatch up the lingering mice he was certain. Until then he would remain unmoving once more.
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