Rire went in search of the cloud of flies today.
He did not find it, alas!
But he did find a new friend
It was a long, laughter-filled dance.
And then Rire had an idea! He'd gathered some purple flowers earlier, and his friend had picked up some poppies. Then they got themselves a couple masks... And Rire's mask was purple as well.
So why not go all out?
On a whim, Rire took off, new buddy in tow, and made a beeline for the crying statue. Red! And then a red mask...

But they never quite got to being all red and all purple and back to dancing; buddy had to go. Oh well, perhaps next time!

Rire certainly had a good start to his morning, today. Thank you!
http://i49.tinypic.com/14av5n4.jpg
http://i49.tinypic.com/155oqqt.jpg
http://i45.tinypic.com/2n7qxpx.jpg

[=9]{ If you're not aware,
Thistle is a daughter Rowan had out of
some nasty cirumstances wayyyy back before she 'came here'.
Lol I was trying to write something sweet and this happened. Rawrg. }

---

The summer weeds had grown tall, up to the little awkward doe's tummy. She dipped her head and nipped hungrily at the sweet roots of the wildly grown plants.

"Momma!"

She raised her head, and swiveled her ears lazily. Her awkward little offspring was nowhere to be found, and so she returned to grazing with an ear out for a second cry for her. Surely Thistle would call her feathery mother twice if whatever she needed was of dear importance.

"Momma!"

As if on cue, her status was proclaimed loudly and childishly.This time she shot up so quickly she spied the little gray-and-blue fairy sinking back into the weeds. Oh, that, then? Another game of watch-Thistle-vanish-in-the-weeds. Rowan smiled and stooped down into the weeds. She was young and streamlined. At this point in her life, her neck feathers were short and puffy, and she bore no signs of a tail train of feathers. Her colors were still pale and she was small and graceful. Despite her age, at which time she should be shyly flirting with the young stags but running off in giggle-fits, she already had a fatherless little bit of herself stalking her in the grass. She had proved to be a most valuable mother, since her own childish instinct was not as far buried and she played for hours with Thistle happily in the shrubs.

She lowered herself into something like a stooping crawl, and proceeded to move predator-like through her twisted green obstacles. But like the little downy hen-baby she was, Thistle burst in a flutter from the brush and overtook her mother in a great wave of kisses and giggles.

Sorry if this is a spam thread, I don't know but...
I swear I've seen people's usernames on here, on impressive title. O_O

I just realized that Trunks never had an official biography, so here it is for him:


(Thanks to Spyrre for the beautiful artwork)

Name:
Trunks

Meaning:
His pictogram looked like a pair of boxers

Title:
The Guardian of Lost Souls

Additional:
Honorary Transylvanian

D.O.B:
Unknown, but his 'rebirth' is dated at 4/16/09

Passing Day: