---

open to EVERY char currently in the savanna
Uhuru etc etc

warm, newborn autumn. the sun sunken, sky rimmed with last blue. moon rising yellow and swollen.

piazza san marco full of life. a resplendent crowd. hitched skirts and tapping shoes. an impious minuet. strings ablur in accompaniment. thousand masks black, white and colored.

candles flickering mirrored in languid waters.

she, gleaming pearl of the night.

the gondola glides to her stop. an assembly of young men descends to offer hands, arms, whispers. her paramour's borrowed servitors attend. the lutist pauses, then hastens his tune.

she is hidden beneath the face of a lapis hound. women of lesser graces flock to her, those of piousness huddle and mock her. men with money, men with soul, line up to offer their discreet coins, their gaudy poems.

she laughs at all behind splayed fan.

the lutist hopes she looks his way.

a knife in the dark.

bejewelled handle. tearful eyes of a betrayed heart. you made me do this, you made me do this. he cuts through the crowd like his blade through the gamurra.

scream, but not hers. men grab his arms, his shoulders. he spits curses through broken teeth.

she sinks to the cobblestones, ladies gripping at her. they invoke the mother, weep for the whore. blood pools kermes red. her fan slips out her fingertips.

through the eyes of the hound, she watches last light fade from the heavens.

the mask never leaves her face.

---

october 6th; morning before the blood moon

a pink moon hangs low in the sky.

newly risen. odd. fuller than it should be. it's begun the steady ascent to the summit.

at sunset, its true color will show. nights of tar-black will follow. after each, a slower dawn, a darker day.

come sabbath of its existence, there'll be no light but for the mosquito-moon. face near enough to leave fogged breath on the glass of the vivarium.

but for now, it is pink.

and in the low mists where grasslands and the wellspring meet, gentle stalks sway with the breeze.

those which prostate the deepest, touch the crown of a beast.

a kiss.

a kiss.

the blue hound sleeps.

---

leader 1/5

the savannah had grown silent. uhuru did not follow the lionesses as their trails became quieter.

alone, the great golden beast paced through gilt grass beneath an unrelenting sun. he hunted warthog in the evening, picking clean the bones of piglets.

but he was lonely. it was not easily or often said, especially not for a man of his stature, but uhuru knew why he roamed.

large the unknown lump in his sunlit land. or once it had been so; now a bleeding mouth in the sky gathered all light to it and spat it back poison.

he knew it canine, and broad teeth unsheathed in broadsword fashion.

uhuru paced until he was within feet of the animal, a grating growl growing louder in that gloom the color of exposed muscle.

---

unreliable pov. still believes herself to be human, but all actions are taken by a dog body

she did not dream.

the pleasant dark is filled with rumbling. a storm blown in from the adriatic. she rested enough. now is time to see young caterina, and pretend to have thought on the glassmaker's offer.

eyelids drawn, from the tight curl she unravels into a full length stretch, spine lifting off the bedsheets. a relieved sigh, one hand rubs the sleep out her face. high water eyes flutter open.

ah, so she has not yet left the dreaming.

el leon de san marco has come to her rooms.

she smiles to him, arms gently folding over her chest. modesty before a saint.

in the shared language of dreamers, which it does not perturb her to know, she asks the lion;

have even i been a pious one?

---

leader 2/5

that dependst upon thy god, uhuru growled. she was not within his territory, but was not all the golden land his to roam? his to claim? a odd beast, not hyena but tall as one, not wild dog but with the accouterments he had come to associate with canine wanderers.

her voice was even. her skin fell in thick wrinkles. uhuru had never seen such a creature before. innately his skin wished to prickle, but he was larger than her. his bulk was great. the gleam of half-seen teeth in the ponderous mouth did not match his claws.

confidence then did not waver. who art thee? and from where hast thou come?

ah, but isn't there but one? she is coy, inward proud to see the test for what it is.

from where? one brow curves. modesty discarded, she stretches her arms back with a small moan. fish market first, of course. clams to break fast.

with ease she talks, speech tinged by the accent of the canals, the form of the jaw. her head rolls as she observes the lion. shows him every angle of her smile.

then, the tailor's, to fix the stitching. last my girls, to know which mask to pick. and with them gone, i retreat to...

she looks past him, at the grasses. pushed up by an elbow, she lifts enough to look around.

delighted, she laughs, face to the morning skies.

oh, of course! she falls back down. not my rooms, that's for certain!

she grins at him. beast of the republic.

where are your wings, leon?

---

leader 3/5

she was not well, uhuru decided. she walked in a world that did not burn her with sunlight nor threaten her with the stampede of the hooves which he knew would come again. uncountable wildebeeste. did she know how to outrun them? her laugh irritated the cat; her lackadasical grace set tufted tailtip to twitch.

his whiskers followed suit.

the entire crag of the lion's face was wholly disapproving.

broad paws sent scimitars to strop sandy soil. only the vulture hast wing. look, and his own broad head lifted to the winging shadow above, deceptively miniscule in its length.

he who eateth the dead. perhaps he be the god thou seekest. tawny brow in arch. uhuru believed the beast to be sun-addled. why else did she speak in riddles and with words he had not heard?

high waters follow the lift of his regal chin, to the vulture above.

this she is mesmerized by. as if pulled, she comes to sit, gracelessly.

my god. she whispers. then giggles.

again she looks to the leon.

you wish to trick me, no? after all, woman like me must be easy to trip. her own chin defiant, with a throw of wrist she pushes wild hair out her face. but i assure you, sior, i remain loyal and obedient to my only lord.

---

leader 4/5

she seemed to paw at her temple. uhuru studied her, nostrils searching for the sickness or the death that was surely there. and yet -- nothing, only her own odd fragrances and the sting of doggish blood.

his nose was not suited for it after all. at last he stood and his tall maned shadow fell across her, the woman and her oddity mouth. come, uhuru decided. get up and follow.

this moon might well burn them if they stayed. he had not processed its appearance; his feline curiosities were engaged fully in the other.

would another lion have remained? stayed? not raked her odd rolling skin with the hook of his claws only for the amusement of it?

---

i spent the past several months roleplaying with teenagers on discord writing with you again feels like if i substituted on wet potatoes for a year and then did a line of cocaine

fearless. her chin tilts as he rises.

when bid to follow, she does.

tries.

wait. a step - where it should have been the reach of hand to tighten the shawl about her nightgown.

she does not understand what she sees as she looks down.

sior leon, curious, she extends an arm. watches it. could you procure a mirror?

still, she'll follow.

it is how dreams go.

---

lolllll thx

leader 5/5

no.

how odd, her movements! a madwoman but not one gifted in violent arts.

smooth gait of the feline brought the doggish stranger to the watering place of the pride.

not a mirror, but a way to glimpse what he saw. she seemed confused by her own flesh. thou hast not yet said thy name, observed the lion, his eyes watching her with a peculiar sort of curiosity. uhuru himself was alight with an intrigue that should not be shown.