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So Condescending, Unnecessarily Critical

I have the tendency of getting very physical

So watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle

A beast they called him, and a beast he was. In size, in mentality. Rakasa was a force to be reckoned with. Everything about him was overbearing. His body, far too large, taking up all available space. His voice, though rough at times and smooth at others, was always much too chilling. His personality was one that couldn't be contained - even by his large mass. Where ever he went Rakasa drew the attention of others. He carried with himself an aura of Look at me. and You weak fools. He wreaked of entitlement and superiority. One might call him pompous, haughty even, but Rak knew he just held a healthy dose of self-importance. Why stoop to a lower level to please those who can not claim heights as high as your own? Thus far he had yet to find a worthy companion, other than his little protege Oliver. And even so, the scrawny white kalak was hardly good company. He was merely a hobby. Someone to waste time on, someone to clean up the messy trail Rak left in his wake. He was damage control. Nothing more.

More than anything Rakasa wanted to have his own heir, his own minions. Little creatures to train and mold into what ever he wanted. With his own blood flowing through their veins. His primal need to procreate was becoming unbearable. It had been so long since he had been in the presence of a femme worth his time. What did a demon have to do nowadays to find a suitable body to warm his den? Beg? The thought itself was laughable and all together cringe worthy. At best he'd ask nicely. Once. If his offer was rejected then he'd just have to take what he wanted. He had no time for pleasantries.

While lost in thought Rakasa had wandered out into the open. Into the fields it seems. Ash crumbled under his enormous paws as he stalked onward. Life was beginning to regrow on the fire torn side of the valley, but not enough to ruin the perfectly fatal environment. Everything was grey and marked in charcoal, the whole area practically smelled of destruction. Rakasa fit in quite well here, blending in seamlessly. The vixen up ahead, however, did not. Her form was a stark contrast to the burnt flora around her. Rakasa raked his eyes over the female and rose his brows in appreciation. She was pretty, yes, but appeared to be fine all on her own. Impressive. Most other females he'd met had fallen at his feet begging for someone to take care of them. Interest fully piqued, Rakasa took off at a rocky lope to catch up to the female ambling on ahead. As he reached her he slowed to her pace and put on his best wicked grin, turning on the charm.

Hey there miss. Not to judge a book by it's cover and all - but a pretty flower like yourself surely belongs on the other side of this divided field, hm?

{Rakasa} :: {Brute} :: {Adult} :: {Chained to None} :: {No Spawn} :: {No Allies}

Does it kill? Does it burn?
Is it painful to learn that it's me that has all the control?

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