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  1. (18:33:29) Locasta had been searching for what felt like hours. This rare root she needed for a spell, that she knew was in this damn jungle, somewhere! She wasn't far from the line between the Jungle and the garden when she finally found it! Wearing nothing but a large piece of fabric across her chest, and one that draped over her bottom half, it was decorated with the feathers and bones that made her look the part of a voodoo witch. The black, painted markings on her hips and over her face is something she's come accustomed to in practicing her ways of witchery. An unnecessary step, but something she's learned to do since she was young. Running around with her, was her trusty wolf. But alas, the wolf didn't look normal right now. You see, while Locasta is confident in her own magic to take down any predators or creepers, she enchanted her lovely companion to take on a bi-ped form, resembling much like a werewolf, but he couldn't talk nor did he think much like a human, either. She (c)
  3. (18:33:35) Locasta. used this form as a security measure - to deter people from trying to harass the poor woman who's only trying to live her life and make a bit of money on the side by providing magical services. And with her standing a whopping, 5'2", weighing no more than 90 pounds, she looked like a damn midget next to the large bi-ped wolf who's no doubt, standing close to seven feet tall. Cutting the root from the ground, she placed it in the basket and had turned to gather the rest of her things. But just before she did, the damn mongrel of a beast stole her root, playing a game he knew she didn't like, "Wait! No! I need that!" She yelled at the wolf, who was holding it above her head and giving playful huffs and growls. Her thick, swedish accent is easy to spot, "Damn it, Lucifer! I will take back this form from you!" She huffed his name, doing what she could to try and retrieve the rare root. She might as well have looked like a damn child trying to climb a tree! She would (c)
  5. (18:33:41) Locasta. usually use magic, but she didn't want to hurt the beast. He's her body guard! The scene is quite comical... The girl, having climbed her way up the brute's chest and sort of reaching up at that clawed hands that held the root. Meanwhile, the raven that keeps watch for her is bouncing around on the ground, making noises like it's some sort of alarm. This is what she gets for giving a wolf thumbs and large human-beast-looking form. Fucker. (d)
  7. (18:39:37) Oliver Hastings had left the confines of the tether that had simply become suffocating. There was a storm brewing, somewhere deep within his chest and the emotions carried in the form of fire within sapphires. Black longcoat fluttered behind him as the gentleman carried a bottle of whiskey in one hand and it's glass counterpart in the opposite -- currently half filled with whiskey that sloshed dangerously around in the open container. Red hair had been drawn back from handsome sea worn features as those orbs scanned the gardens for a good place to relax. Blasted dimmunitive fae bastards were copulating everywhere, so deeper into the jungle he went to seek solace from the plague. As he walked a couple of fingers would slide under his cravat to free his throat and slip it into his pocket, the top few buttons of his shirt would follow leading down to all of the buttons on his vest. Sunset flowed like multicolored gold through the le aves of the jungle, casting hues upon hues throwing off the >c>
  9. (18:42:53) Oliver Hastings. regular ambience of the jungle and her denizens with the light. Gentleman collar stood a few inches above an average man's height, tall frame chiseled by years of conflict fought on the front instead of the back. Eventually glass would be emptied, mind would be fogged, when finally Oliver found himself in a jungle clearing mostly devoid of fae. A small smile split the stone of his features, until he noticed an odd sight. There was a small woman climbing a beast seemingly trying to reach for some sort of... Herb? The man narrowed his eyes out of confusion and made to approach, glass tossed into the jungle carelessly to free his hand in case combat erupted. A flintlock pistol's handle showed from the sash at his waist, the golden basket of a hilt rattled beneath the left side of his longcoat. His voice gravelly, like rolling tides against the hull of a ship would call out to the woman a nd, hopefully, her beast. >c>
  10. (18:43:49) Oliver Hastings. "You there, woman. What exactly is it that you are doing with, that wolf beast?" <e<
  12. (18:52:47) Locasta, nor did her animal companions catch on that there was someone else who decided to wander the jungle at this hour. She's too busy trying to grab the root, and her beast, busy holding it away from her like an older brother would do to taunt his baby sister. I took years for her to train this damn dog tricks on how to use this form and the fucker is using it against her! The sound of the man's voice had all three pausing. Her raven, instantly going quiet and the heads of her wolf and herself turning to look at him. She felt the beast tense, "Don't you -" Boom. The damn wolf immediately changed back to it's normal form, scampering off like a scared puppy and leaving her to fall on her face! She grunted as she laid there, face down, in the dirt. It took her a second to gather herself, huffing, "Ya little pussy!" She grabbed a rock and chucked it in the direction the wolf had ran to. There goes her body guard. But of course, he'd come back if there ended up being foul (c)
  14. (18:52:54) Locasta. play and this dude who just rolled up on them like a paraplegic turned out to be an enemy. She got up, brushing herself off a bit and picking up the root to throw in her small basket, "I'm.. He's.. Uh." Words, Locasta. Words. She's not very social, "He was helping me gather." She placed her hands on her hips, giving him a little pose of sass, "What's it to you?" She talks big for someone the size of hobbit. After a moment, the wolf came back to her side, looking like your normal animal now, and not some giant werewolf-thing. "Don't tell me ye was about'a save me." She smirked, laughing with a cocky grin. Her swedish accent rolled off her tongue, but not so thick that it's hard to understand. (d)
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