02-10-2019, 09:16 PM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
For him, the trek had been brief. It was brimming with frustration. Multiple times, Castile expelled a plume of fire into the clouds only to barrel through it and let the heat kiss his skin. He wanted – no, still wants – to wreak havoc on the Island for having expelled him. The time will come, surely, but he decides to bide his time while soaring across the open sky. The Resort – and its filthy inhabitants – will still be there in the months to come. Let them brood and wonder whether he will return with a fiery vengeance. Suspended in uncertainty. When they’ve begun to settle, he will loom like a storm and create unrest for them, even if it is only brief.
In his rage, Castile had left behind Sochi and Reia.
He knew they would follow. He knew they were capable of the trip on their own.
It doesn’t come as a shock when she sidles to him, her footsteps mere whispers across the ground. ”I suppose it will,” he murmurs without yet looking at her, his eyes trained on the distant horizon as the sun dips lower in the sky. A lopsided grin breaks the concentrated stoicism of his face when his head eventually turns to regard her. Loess will be their home now. No one has opposed yet. While this place – a kingdom, no less – grants more power than the Island, it still sours his mouth to reflect on having lost something… again.
Castile reaches toward her and cradles the small curve of her chin with his lips, tasting the residual blood curiously. It reminds him how hungry he actually is. Much to his dismay, however, his hunger is set aside for now until everything is truly settled and Loess is confirmed as his own. A breath sighs from his lungs and his brows quirk quickly. ”We’ll be on our toes,” he confesses, but he isn’t at all afraid. ”We will keep the captives. We may have use for them,” ideas are already reeling through his mind, playing out options until a noise pulls him abruptly from his thoughts.
The footfalls of the boy are not nearly as practiced and silent as Sochi’s. The pebbles and small rocks betray him almost immediately, and Castile regards him with fascination. ”This is Loess,” he confirms with a nod of his baroque head while his eyes trace the boy’s face with heavy scrutiny. ”I haven’t seen them,” which is true, but he hangs on the familiar name as it tumbles easily from the lad’s tongue. ”Lepis. Is she your mother? I’m her uncle,” not by blood, but his childhood-long friendship with Ivar has forged titles he never expected. A couple of his own children perceive the kelpie as their uncle, just as Lepis has perceived Castile as hers. His mind tingles with curiosity as his mismatched gaze slowly and occasionally sweeps between the boy and Sochi.
In his rage, Castile had left behind Sochi and Reia.
He knew they would follow. He knew they were capable of the trip on their own.
It doesn’t come as a shock when she sidles to him, her footsteps mere whispers across the ground. ”I suppose it will,” he murmurs without yet looking at her, his eyes trained on the distant horizon as the sun dips lower in the sky. A lopsided grin breaks the concentrated stoicism of his face when his head eventually turns to regard her. Loess will be their home now. No one has opposed yet. While this place – a kingdom, no less – grants more power than the Island, it still sours his mouth to reflect on having lost something… again.
Castile reaches toward her and cradles the small curve of her chin with his lips, tasting the residual blood curiously. It reminds him how hungry he actually is. Much to his dismay, however, his hunger is set aside for now until everything is truly settled and Loess is confirmed as his own. A breath sighs from his lungs and his brows quirk quickly. ”We’ll be on our toes,” he confesses, but he isn’t at all afraid. ”We will keep the captives. We may have use for them,” ideas are already reeling through his mind, playing out options until a noise pulls him abruptly from his thoughts.
The footfalls of the boy are not nearly as practiced and silent as Sochi’s. The pebbles and small rocks betray him almost immediately, and Castile regards him with fascination. ”This is Loess,” he confirms with a nod of his baroque head while his eyes trace the boy’s face with heavy scrutiny. ”I haven’t seen them,” which is true, but he hangs on the familiar name as it tumbles easily from the lad’s tongue. ”Lepis. Is she your mother? I’m her uncle,” not by blood, but his childhood-long friendship with Ivar has forged titles he never expected. A couple of his own children perceive the kelpie as their uncle, just as Lepis has perceived Castile as hers. His mind tingles with curiosity as his mismatched gaze slowly and occasionally sweeps between the boy and Sochi.
castile
@[Sochi] @[Pteron]