The Lost Islands
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we're the trash in your bed ((raid))
Posted on August 5, 2016 at 05:34:28 PM by PSYCHEDELIC


This would be the second time Psychedelic was traveling to Salem and, truth be told, once was enough. He’d never been to Tinuvel but heard it was cold year-round and that made him think he should avoid Tinuvel at all costs. Why anyone would want to live on either island (Salem or Tinuvel) when there were more pleasant places to be was beyond him. Idiots, the lot of them.

But he’d told Kasabian he was willing to do whatever the boss wanted him to do and they’d decided it would be a grand time to stir up trouble on the islands. For whatever godforsaken reason they’d turned themselves to Salem.

“UGH!” Psychedelic said as soon as they hit the beach. Even with the ocean water damp on his coat he felt the oppressive weight of the heat and noted the way it raised off the ground. “This place is disgusting,” he complained with the grumpiest tone he could muster, his wet tail snapping behind him as he moved forward. “Let’s get this over with so we can get out of here as quick as we can.” He flashed a glance toward Kasabian and rolled his eyes, following the bosses lead as to which direction they would travel.

The one nice thing about Salem was Psychedelic blended in with the hues of the land quite nicely. He didn’t stick out like a sore thumb among the golds and yellows. Still, he was a horse and a moving horse is very, very easy to see.

The pair crested a ridge of sand (or a dune, if you will) and Psychedelic spotted them: two mares having a conversation with no stallion in sight. Psychedelic grinned wildly, his head lowering and shoulders bunching as he pinned his ears. Down the sand he charged, hips buckling to catch himself wildly as he half-slid, half trotted, hitting the ground with a jolting pace and setting off toward them both. He eyed the black, skinny mare’s limbs in case she thought to give him a kick but otherwise attempted to crowd and snake her away from the dunes and back toward the ocean. Kasabian was near and perhaps, even if she was a fighter, their strength in numbers would help coerce her to bend to their will rather than fight it.


we're the drunken gods of the living dead
WE'RE THE VOICE, WE'RE THE VOICE, WE'RE THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD


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