Test One-Two-Three...

[Ravage Nocturne]

Warning: Mature Content is implied

The autumn moon hangs high in the stagnant twilight, bathing the sleeping world in soft ivory and providing a stark contrast to the eternal darkness looming ominously above. The streets of Kirigakure no Sato mirror the evening sky, placid shadows capriciously stretching along the cobblestone only to be banished by the infrequent placement of lanterns. Amidst the embrace of this curious darkness roams a single young woman whose strides match both the elegance and simplicity of the dusk encapsulating her. Although veiled by the haze of the eve, it is immediately apparent that she is beautiful, her slender body shrouded beneath vestures suggestive of casual nature, appropriate for the stroll she has embarked upon. Her yukata is the color of ground cinnamon stirred into warm milk, a white obi sash tying -quite literally- the outfit together.

Approaching the infamous water gardens, a playful giggle escapes from between her lips as she skips along the marbled stones and kneels before the pools. Marveling at the bizarre interpretations of the surroundings within the water's surface, she sweeps her palm against the liquid, further distorting the reflections into abstraction.

Her mischievous smile has, in the past, been described as addictive. In a world where people wear their masks to fit in with the expectations of the social crowd, she is the catalyst rebellion, shattering misconceptions of self-belonging with her narcissistic obsessions and venomous disregard for others. Oddly, in spite of ill intentions she exists as a beacon of courage to those who desire to shed their complacent attitudes and conformist hearts.

Her eyes are the colors of polished amethyst and sapphire, each belonging to a single eye in the case of genetic malformation. Such a deformity, however, has the expected tendency of garnering attention in a positive light, more so than the alternative. Nearly everything about her proved to be captivating in some sense.

And through these magnetic features, she has learned to love herself.

Tucking a particularly insistent bang behind her ear, she comes to regret having not done her hair up. Although she kept her hair cut fairly short -typically resembling that of a boy's- she allowed her bangs to grow out, which plagued her with various vexations of their own, but allowed her to retain a personal sense of femininity. The way that her golden locks catch the moonlight is fascinating, providing a peculiar soft-edged iridescence it would otherwise lack.

Having conquered the boldness of her bangs, she now resorts to satisfying her oral fixation by gently gnawing the nails of her fingers, allowing a soft melody in the form of a whistle to intercede between bites.

"Hyaaah~ I'm so b-o-r-e-d..."

She complains to no one in particular, releasing a frustrated sigh as she slides her feet into the water, afterwards pressing her back against the cool stone. Relishing the sharp decrease in temperature, a shiver fingertips down her spine and provokes an impossible smile. She squeezes her eyes closed and allows her mind to drift into the paradoxical surreality that dances behind her eyelids, her imagination once more taking the reigns, providing her with a temporary quenching for a never-ending thirst.

Edited October 3, 2011 by Ravage Nocturne

[Hardcore Skittlez]

Upon a bench that was neither 'here' nor 'there', but was instead nestled against the edge of a peculiar display of freezing and rapidly thawing water spurts, there lay a man. The man was even more peculiar- he wore the image of a porcelain serpent's countenance; and, it was not just the man's expression that was masked: the remainder of his entirety was hidden behind the folds and ripples of a grey-white coat. The slight incline to the man(or woman, perhaps?)'s head indicated that the appearance-consuming article of clothing had a hood that may have voraciously enshrouded its wearer's masked features in further shadow. Yet, the coat's hood remained bundled beneath the entity's head as a prop to better gaze upon Water Country's arrangement of constellations. What was visible upon the sprawling creature, however, was a messy head of golden-blond strands that dared to extend no further than, perhaps, the person's chin.

Changing perspectives, then, it would be found that the creature was in fact a man. His eyes were subaqueous in nature- blue/green melding into an immaculate 'teal' hue placed within sharp, almond, sockets. Those same orbs found themselves quite the contrary to popular metaphor; instead of allowing one to peer within the depths of this man's soul- or even emotions, they instead reflected that affliction back upon another. Gazing into his blended hues showed one not the ideal of themselves, but rather, the reality of what is. It was an adequate feature to compliment the man's mentality, for he was a realist beyond anything else; but, even a realist deeply entrenched in the study of what was, what is, and what may be could even be found to have their vices. As a realist, he knew the simple truth behind the implied negativity in his own nuances: vices are what define a man for who he is. Overcoming a vice was a mark of personal progression, but to live without was comparable to a life without definition. But, the realist found that definitions mattered little when a particular phenomena had writhed its way into the forefront of his consciousness. He was an addict, and his addiction whispered the sweet lullaby of relief into his thoughts. He might have contemplated resisting the siren's song for a moment longer, but instead opted to indulge it. His hand, covered by a glove much as the remainder of him, slipped into a pocket within the shadows of his coat. When the appendage(s) returned to the moon's lighting, they could be seen trapping a slender roll of tobacco and a small contraption with which he might ignite the aforementioned.

Behaving as he did, even being here, broke his profession's calling. It mattered little to him, however, as he peeled the reptilian mask away from his countenance to expose the slender and notably sharp features beneath. A single movement reflected the man's surroundings with its fluidity in bringing the tobacco roll to his lips and lighting the tip into a dim cherry. A light pull of his lungs filled them with the savory musk of his cigarette, though the succulence was fleeting at best, and returned shortly thereafter to pollute the night's air with its carcinogenic properties.

A voice caught the man's attention, then- feminine and youthful. His eyes lowered to draw her expression into his memory for brief consultation; no matching persons were found. She was neither friend nor foe, and definitely not one of the many faces detailed within the Bingo Book. She proclaimed boredom and incited a brow's crinkle from the smoking hunter-nin. "Bored? It's late, perhaps you should go home and sleep like anyone else," his words rose to be audible only to the pair of shinobi and held a tone that was paradoxical in its serious sarcasm. Truly, it defined the realist as what all realists were: cynical. And somehow, he found himself defying the nature of his utterance with a smile that found itself caught somewhere between a playful jest and a friendly greeting in pantomime.

[Ravage Nocturne]

Momentarily caught off-guard by the sentiment, the youth's brilliant eyes open wide to the esoteric source, and subsequently stirs from her resting place. Gathering herself, she dusts the posterior of her yukata with both hands, exorcising any remnant filth, and glowers towards him. Purveying that she is indeed the subject of such scornful sarcasm, opens her mouth speechlessly, and retorts with silence.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, the young woman pulls the back of her hand to her mouth, as though her fragile senses had been offended.

"E-Ew, what did you say? Are you talking to ME?"

Her ubiquitous arrogance, seemingly, is impenetrable, as if only she truly exists in this world. Ruffled by this man's crass over-familiarity with someone of her outstanding stature, she folds her arms haughtily, and scoffs in his direction wordlessly. An irritated flush rises to her pale cheeks as she considers disciplining the stranger, evidence of her perverted gauge of self-worth. Twisting away from the man, she stumbles awkwardly before catching her balance, as though having been briefly sapped of her strength. Her palm rests atop her bosom, eyes closed and breathing shallow. A familiar heat begins to surface in her countenance, and she exhales in exasperation, attempting to regain composure. Her knees, wobbling, prove unable to shoulder the burden of her weight, and with no further due, she begins to fall...

[Hardcore Skittlez]

Another inhale drew smoke into and subsequently out of his breath just prior to the light emergence of a chuckle. He had heard somesuch rumors of the denizens of Mizu no Kuni- that their haughty displays were second to none; it appeared as if this woman would prove no different. For a moment, the coat-clan figure lifted his eyes from her form and settled upon the star-sprinkled panorama. Knowing her sort, or what he had come to assume was 'her sort', the man allowed a moment to drag on in a dulled silence, broken only by the shallow patter of their combined breath. On and on, the lack of response went- indulging her in neither acknowledgement nor rhetorical whip.

At seeming-long last, the enigma of a man allowed his eyes to fall upon the woman's features. "Ah, no. There was a little bird fluttering around, complaining. You'll for-..." his words ceased immediately as he recognized a weakness infectiously spreading through the lengths of her limbs. When she wobbled and finally fell, the man's response was war-hardened to occur faster than most younger shinobi would even perceive. Bright crimson bled into his hues as three additional, swirling, pupils flash into existence within the man's eyes- a fact that decidedly marked him as of "Uchiha" descent despite his features suggesting quite the contrary. Chakra flashed outward from his pores to fill the air about his shrouded frame and caused the space around him to distort and then twist inward, collapsing upon itself. He ceased to be for the slightest fraction of a second, before a similar ephemera brought him into existence behind the falling woman. Arms jerked outward as infantry lining their pikes against whatever foe and he caught her, only to lower her much more gently onto the ground.

His eyes remained sanguine in their coloration, allowing the man to observe the most minute detail within the woman's smaller form. A quizzically familiar sensation pushed itself beyond his olfactory's honed, but still limited, perception. A single brow lifted, though the man bit back his assumption- even going so far as to ignore the subtle oscillations in her leg's movements. "Are you alright, Miss?" presumption had long since fled his tongue, and was instead filled with the reflexive tone of concern.

[Ravage Nocturne]

She was swimming in the provocative illusions swirling within her mind, tongue passing over her parted lips to moisten them. She moans softly as she instinctively flexes her muscles against her tensile skin, and opens her eyes. The entirety of her body jerks with a smooth twitch, similar to a wave cresting across the ocean, until she comes to be still. Her ankles periodically flex and relax for moments at a time, and she brings her index finger to her mouth, where she sinks her teeth into the skin, the most suggestive of expressions painted upon her ever-so-satisfied visage.

"S-Sorry, I just imagined...killing you."

She exhales loudly, clutching a hand to her breast, and shakes her head dismissively, as though to banish her gestures, as though something far greater awaits her.

"Th-The look on your face, as I bathed in your blood, was so...delicious..."

She pinches her lower lip between her teeth, and stretches her legs, fingers clawing into the skin of her shoulder as she tightly grasps her yukata in an unconscious attempt to restrain herself from removing it entirely.

"Ah~ it's the best, you in pain, I have to have it!"

She murmurs softly, eyes sparkling with determination. Her tongue lackadaisically hangs in the corner of her mouth as she rushes a palm through her hair, fingers weaving tight knots between her knuckles, and gasping with mirth as the pain courses through her body.

"It's...intoxicating...Please, please bleed for me!"

She pleads, prostrating herself before the man.