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| Subject: .s i s t e r l y l o v e. | |
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Author: Lucky |
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Date Posted: 21:15:11 09/04/03 Thu In reply to: Ruby Slippers 's message, "click click click..." on 19:29:24 09/01/03 Mon So she would be a dun, then. Unknowing to her, there was a large white star between her well-set eyes, which were an unusual but aesthetically enjoyable gray. Her mane had finally given to the defiance of genetics and fallen to a side—but it was still nowhere near the idyllic locks of sensuality which she so desperately pined. Her tresses were, like the rest of her coloring, usually not found—almost like a born brown with the yearn for blonde, the dun seemed to have sprouted the gold locks to cover the lavish brown which had attempted to sprig from a sweetly crested neck. Her mane had begun to take on the same texture of her mane, with rich browns toppled by stippled, yet covering blondes down to her back, where a dorsal stripe drew to her tail, which followed suit in palette. There was a beginning of brandished zebra stripes on her legs, which she seemed to despise—any connotation with a Zebra was not her idea of an articulate, thin, pleasing frame. She gave herself a once over, like a female straightening the pleats of a lavish gown, checking her lissome form and scuffing over anything that would lower her face value. Letting her lithe frame scoot forward she pinned her ears and raised a hind leg temptingly. Girls, girls, play nice. Those teenage years were great for siblings—especially those with such stature and of the same age. The others seamed to beat the living shit out of each other at any moment—but the narcissistic sisters were so enthralled with soiling those pretty silken coats to lay a hand on each other. It was only a matter of time before the champagne would explode...but until then they played off each other’s sullen behavior with a sultry flair. Following suit, she snorted rudely, lowering her head to the ground and ripping up the bronzing blades distastefully—she hated autumn, for every reason except the complimenting colors to her coat. Too hot, too cold, sloppy or sandy—nothing to eat and nothing to do. For the twins, it was the time for cotillion—coming ripe of age for the taking (in their own eyes, anyway) it was time to cut down on conditioning—tone their muscles, skills, posture—of course the beauty would follow suit, and brains were not a problem; heritage had granted them that at least. Snorting, a cloud of ornate mist erupted about her own sand tainted muzzle, and she yawned lazily unto the dust. Lady [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |