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Steal from the rich to give to the liars; (OPEN FOR ANYONE)
Topic Started: February 6, 2012, 10:31 pm (156 Views)
Demyx
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"Seriously? Seeeeriously?! Ug. This is such a pain in my furry arse."

Demyx sighed, staring down at his reflection. "The mission mentioned a costume change. But THIS?!"

And what, pray tell, stared back at him?

A cheetah with a mullet. I kid you not.

He stood up on all fours, stretching and looking himself up and down. Unlike a normal cheetah's pelt, his was more of a sandy brown, rather than strictly golden. His paws, muzzle, and underbelly were all a rich chocolate brown, while the tip of his tail was black as the spots littering his body. His eyes were still aqua blue, with cat-like irises, and a bit of his proud hairstyle still stuck up off his head. His claws were short, and a little uncomfortable, his teeth gleamed white, his legs long, his muscles powerful...

Overall, it made him uncomfortable that he was a giant cat.

Sighing, he padded away from the pool. "I will not. Let Saix. Hear the end of this."

The savannah sun beat down on his dull pelt, warming it pleasantly. It was a lovely day; just enough clouds to break the glaring sunlight, but few enough so it wasn't chilly. A slight breeze, the grass was soft under his paws; the water glittering...It was, well, lovely.

Too bad he had to get his claws dirty in this mission. How could anyone give a mission on the perfect slacker's day? No one could. That's who. Or at least, no one should. And on a world that hardly anyone's ever visited? He wasn't cut out for this kind of work.

And how would he battle? No way was he going to hold his beautiful sitar in his mouth and swing it like a barbarian! That would shame Darcy forever. So, what, he had to fight paws-on? Ridiculous.

Luckily enough, he supposed, he hadn't met a single soul. Not a Heartless, not a lion or hyena...A few gazelle, a giraffe, and one unfortunate incident with some flamingos, but besides that, he's met no hostile enemies. And he planned to keep it that way.

He closed his eyes, struggling to remember his mission. Of course, they had written the mission down THIS time. And the note was in his pocket. But how does one get to their pocket when one isn't even wearing clothes?

"There's this...stone thingy...at Pride Rock, GREAT, perfect. I gotta steal from royalty. They've got me stooping that low." Still, it was this, or be turned into a Dusk. And he liked this life, however monotonous and threatening it might be.

Who knows, maybe today, he'd have a fun adventure for once.

He set off at an easy lope towards the Pridelands, wondering what would be in store for him there.
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Franziska von Karma
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Franziska von Karma was pissed.

Not only did she wake up here, but she was an animal. A foolish animal. Granted, she was a lioness that was the color of her hair--sea blue-green, and she still had her whip, safely around her neck, but she was an animal. It was a disgrace to a genius prosecutor like herself to in the guise of a foolishly foolish foolhardy animal. It was to the point where she wanted to hunt something. Most have been those animal instincts. She didn't want to admit that part of her felt all right at being a strong, dominant lioness, because then everyone should fear her... because she'd bring justice down upon the pridelands.

It was too bad she wasn't wearing her epic boots.

And then she was angry that she couldn't be a wolf, or some sort of canine creature... but... then she thought about it. The lioness was the one who ruled everything, did the hunting, and tore throats out. Suddely, Franziska was much happier with this choice of animal and could endure this stint here... as long as she found her way out of here in due time. Besides, she had a case to attend to and WHERE WAS THAT FOOL, MILES EDGEWORTH? She remembered she needed to give him a good whipping and... here she was.

Franziska figured she'd follow something--namely, her prosecutorial instincts. So, she began to wander, meeting other talking animals--calling them all ridiculous. They gave her strange looks. She demanded to know where she was, because there were other animals asking her why she wasn't with the other lions. Well, more lions, hmmm? Maybe they'd know the answer. As she began to pad off at an even, militant pace, she saw...

... a cheetah with a mullet.

This was all... so very foolish. Whip still at the ready, because Franziska was never complete without her whip, she continued her pace.

Really? A mullet?

Did he think he was David Bowie, or something?
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Demyx
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The Pridelands were still a ways away. It would probably be the afternoon by the time he reached the huge rock structure. The thought of being out in the heat of the day on a giant, unprotected rock made his spots prickle.

He quickly thought back to the mission report; what he could remember from it anyways. Maybe the others were right; he DID need things written down for him.

"I'll need to be back by...evening...? Probably will take a few minutes to locate what I need, and up to an hour for me to get it..." Demyx mused to himself, half under his breath. He slowed his pace to an easy trot, slightly winded. The savannah heat, though welcomed as it was, had long-since started to take its toll. He paused from talking to pant for a little. Then he shook his head, his breath coming back, and mused on.

"So I can probably afford to stop...until the worst has passed?" he concluded, grinning, his pointed teeth flashing in the sunlight. Cat nap. The perfect solution. All he needed was a shady place--preferably with something to drink--and life would be wonderful again.

He looked around for such an oasis. At first it seemed doubtful that he'd find one. But, he revered, the Pridelands had to have SOME form of watering hole with shade that was relatively close to Pride Rock. Where else would the lions and lionesses drink?

He lifted his nose and took a deep whiff. Hell, as long as he was a cheetah, he might as well put those instincts to use.

To find a place to nap.

To avoid doing hard work.

...Yeah. That's the way you use instincts right.

He assumed he'd be able to track something down, but the smells that hit his nose overwhelmed him, causing him to stumble back into his easy trot. The grass had a musky scent, the air itself seemed to have that warm, oven smell, the odor from the ground was dusty, and made him want to sneeze...But there was another strong scent. It wasn't exactly a scent, but a cool, wet sensation filled his nose. His ears pricked, and he looked in that direction. Was that the glimmer of a hallucination that you get when you were dehydrated in the desert, or was that...?

He wasn't dehydrated, right?

One way to find out.

A sudden urge overwhelmed him. To run. To get to his destination in record time. He stopped for a moment, muscles tense. Then, with a powerful lunge, he took off at full speed, eyes narrow to reduce the wind from striking his eyes. His four limbs seemed to never touch the ground. He was flying. He was rapid. He was swift. He was power.

And all this time, Demyx was unaware that he wasn't the only stranger in these lands.

Not the BEST hunter on the savannah.
Edited by Demyx, April 19, 2012, 8:09 am.
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