she's trouble in a tank top

Eyes flash within the gloom with triumph as the little vagabond turns on her heels, immensely pleased with her haul. The break in had been easy, almost too easy, and for several moments her mind flits back to the tales she had overheard. This place, this land for that matter, was guarded by a massive cat. Now if that was true then kitty must be busy licking his ass to allow her to get this far in. Wouldn't his owner be pissed that his precious store of shiny things was vandalized? The notion caused her lips to quirk; she would never belong to another, never bend to the will of another being. She, a wild fox, a sneaky fox, a sly fox would never be caught and if she were...well let's just hope it is not a male. She did have a fond hobby of collecting little dangly pearls of reproduction. As for a female...she had other thoughts; images of such delightful tortures causing the Sadist in her to uncoil. Skeletal fingers reaching for the surface but the Bitch in her was not ready to let go, oh not yet.

Hauling the pack onto one leather clad shoulder she makes towards the door, barely resisting the urge to spit at the choking cologne of the guard cat. Her own subtle perfume from her earlier marking of the place a thin thread of silk, beautiful despite being dragged down in a bog of putrid flesh; that was the image their scent profiles created in her mind. With a resolute pop, she frees her finger from her mouth, the flesh angry yet at least it no longer leaked. So intrigued was she about her finger that when the soft sound of claw on wood reached her ear the damned creature was before her. Mind instantaneously processes who it is, for really no other scent rides the air. Well, look who decided to join the party?!

Flecked eyes roam his body, noting the muscles, and the way they moved under his golden pelt. Had she been inclined to even remotely like felines then he might have been an impressive specimen...might. Her inspection is brief as they delve into the pits of his eyes, eyes that seem to glow with malice. He seemed to almost vibrate with the promise of pain and that my friends brings the Masochist within her strongly to the front. So strongly that her eyes widen momentarily with the urge to yip and roll about the room as a naughty fox. She wanted to throw herself to him, to submit to the promise of torture, of pain, maybe even death. Such things thrilled her...kept her up at night and really it has made her place her delectable body in one too many precarious positions.

Movement draws her eye and her ire yet in this situation she had already mastered the poker face at the tender age of 14. Her face betrays nothing but slight amusement as she holds her ground. Fox she may be, but she would not retreat like a coward...like a prey animal. Should he make a move to pounce she would only shift, her tiny form darting beneath his and out the door. Yes, she would have to leave her stash behind but she would be free to come again...and again. That damn cat will not be here twenty four seven and she will make it her point to memorize his schedule. Ah, that was her folly to begin with. She should have scoped him out more instead of dismissing him as a boy.

Fur began to recede when he was upon her, creamy flesh replacing his tawny bathrobe, spots melding into a massive mop of dark hair. Dark chocolate, not unlike Hershey kisses, stared ruthlessly, a stare that she returned defiantly. Her chin subtly lifting in opposition when he points at her bag which rested against her hip.

"I am not sure what you want me to give? The bag? My panties? My outfit? Surely you don't mean my SKIN?!?!"

Her face screws up in innocent mock shock. Delight flickering briefly as he begins to snicker, taking note very much of the maniacal grin that stretched his lips way too far. Okay great now he thinks he is the Joker to her Harley Quinn. Nonetheless, if she were to get caught at least some part of her would be immensely pleased. To this her masochist tumbles with glee.

"I'm sorry but to play with you would require you having something to play with. As of now nothing stands for me to play with so sadly no. Maybe next week after I take my blighty. "

She salutes him, as if to bid him adieu. Moving to sidestep him, she eyes him, her own optics finally taking on the gleam of the wicked. Of one used to such games, of one who enjoys them much more than breathing, for to feel pain would mean she was still alive. It meant that she hadn't succumbed to death yet and that there was still time to fight.

Submerged in BLOOD; The DEAD they SMILE