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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    kensa;
    #1
    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
    Castile’s curiosity piqued the instant Litotes confessed he no longer had a hold on Hyaline, or even a sliver of the East. He wants to believe the lion, to accept his word so readily. It’s an interesting, albeit brief, tale. Fascinated by such a random bout of turbulence, Castile decides to extend his wings and soar among the clouds to confirm the news so easily handed to him. It’s an excuse to roam, to be honest. It has been since the plague’s beginning that he last rested his hooves on Hyaline soil. Even then, with his children and Solace held by his gaze, and his memory of being a resident, Castile never felt so detached than in that moment.
     
    That hasn’t changed.
    He’s still an outsider. Forever will be. Hyaline never had his heart.
     
     But naturally, it has caressed the hearts of many. There had been Amet and Solace. Kagerus. Now there is a Queen, whose scent lingered on Litote and in Loess. Ever observant, Castile saw her trespass. Her scent pulled him from the inner workings of his mind, but he didn’t react. From a distance – farther than a normal eye can see – he watched her with the former Primarch until she eventually fled. That, mingled with Litote’s recent confession, ignites the fire in Castile’s gut to investigate.
     
    Hyaline’s border eventually looms, and the draconic King descends fluidly. He doesn’t cross the border (as tempting – and familiar – as it is) but instead folds his wings and waits. His body holds steadfast, straightened and proud as he counts the minutes until he’s met.


    castile



    @[Kensa]
    #2

    for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
    in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

    She had run home and it was not until she reached the lake that she realized she could have just teleported back from one of the many springs she’d crossed though. Fear and heartache had clouded her thoughts. The sabino had rinsed her wounds and groomed away the rusty bloodstains, tears making tracks against skin. Now only the slowly healing wound is left, where a lion’s teeth had struck and caught at her. She pretends it isn’t there.

    Kensa is returned from a visit to the field and trotting a familiar path along the river when a break in the trees and cloud cover offers her an unexpected glimpse of a black and white stranger. Winged creatures always secure her jealous attention, she never has been completely satisfied being trapped here on the ground. Additionally there is no one she would be expecting to make such a flyover, especially no one who would be turning back towards Loess. This she observes as she steps into the open green highlands south of the massive blue lake, her topaz eyes watching the stallion descend toward the border.

    Turning towards that carefully maintained edge between her world and Loess she throws herself into a gallop. The gold on her skin glints dully in the sunlight when she pulls up before the tall stallion. Flicking her eyes over the bands of muscle that cord his frame, drawn the gold that harnesses the angular features of his unfamiliar face she takes his measure before saying a word. She has grown accustomed to being stared at and so observes others with the same open appraisal they give her. She is always inclined to be pleased with what she finds, and the tobiano with his coveted wings, is no exception.

    ”Is there a reason you stand on my doorstep Loessian? Have you come to tell me a secret?” Her lips tilt, amusement, her expression confident even as her gemstone eyes are wary. If he thinks they have something she wants, he’s terribly mistaken and completely right. Her stomach twists with worry for her former lover but she steeles herself against it, telling her traitorous heart to shut the fuck up. She’s not ready to think about him, or discuss him, but she suspects it is unavoidable in this particular situation.

    kensa
    for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.


    @[Castile]
    #3
    Mother had been sad on and off. Father had not returned in some time. Star did not dare ask what had happened even if she ached for answers. Instead she lurked, lingering, and learned to be quiet and listen. Even now when the black and white stallion had dropped in their home, smelling of someone else, she had watched him. Hildy and Crynn were off playing, or doing whatever it was they did when she wasn’t watching them. And so she was completely free, to wander closer.

    So she does.

    Then momma is there, speaking to the stranger and she has wandered close enough to hear Loessian, assumes he is from Loess. She blinks, having long ago shifted her white and orange coat into some greens and reds, oranges, browns. She mimicked the leaves of the trees, the grass on the ground as she slid closer. She was not invisible but she was less noticeable and she crouches, blending in almost perfectly with the leaves and brush of the grove of trees that she creeped up into, careful to stay out of both of their lines of sight.

    The wind blows towards her, so she can catch both of their scents on the wind. She smiles a bit at momma’s familiar one, but the other one...he smells like Hildy and Cleave. Fire with a hint of brimstone. She narrows her eyes slightly and waits.


    (Uhm, I'm sorry she's crashing this. She's basically just super quiet and hidden and nosy.)
    #4
    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
    Her blood. If anything, that is what’s most familiar when Castile draws in a lungful of air. The iron tang claws against his nostrils and stirs a most primal growl to rise in his throat. Hunger churns within him immediately. A sideways glance confirms that he is alone, not even near a deer. Unfortunately, hunting will have to wait.

    Another breath. Another taste of her clotted and dried blood.

    Castile swallows past his instincts – predatory, reptilian – as the strength of the odor escalates. She, Litote’s victim (perhaps, lover?), arrives exuberantly. Despite a limp from her recent rendezvous – he observes her shoulder and leg fleetingly – Kensa arrives with the summer wind. It tousles her mane and frames her forelock around the edges of her face. It’s no secret that she is beautiful. There is a delicacy that cradles her, but it reminds him of Solace. She, too, had been so kind and delicate with a kindle in her soul. She was the first one he hurt – physically, emotionally – and the memories race to him when he blinks following the primarch’s arrival.

    A lopsided, bemused grin tips the corners of his mouth when she snips at him. Loessian, she calls him, and he shrugs in a silent agreement. ”That’s what I am, but not who I am,” he remarks coolly as he inches closer, stepping into the Hyaline grass. His wings ruffle against his sides as he tempts fate and her space. His muzzle reaches forward and hovers above her skin, threatening to touch the soft curve of her jaw or her arched neck. ”Actually,” he breathes, his voice husky and deep, ”I was thinking you could tell me a secret.” He retracts slowly, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake and spiraling from his nostrils. ”Despite having company,” he doesn’t turn his head to acknowledge the child. His mismatched eyes merely dart sideways in a silent implication. He can smell her on the wind, his predatory senses piqued inquisitively. ”I would like to know what Hyaline has been up to. It seems the monarchy has faced a little… turbulence…” Litotes has already provided the slightest amount of insight, but Castile craves to know more. One side of the story is never enough.

    After a moment of reflection, Castile inclines his head although his intense, smoldering eyes never waver from her pretty face. ”Speaking of doorsteps, aren’t you glad I came knocking instead of trespassing?” He doesn’t accuse her openly, but it simmers underneath the calm surface of his question, letting her realize that she had not escaped his notice in Loess.

    castile



    @[Kensa] @[Astarielle]
    #5

    for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
    in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

    If she could know the stranger thinks her delicate she would laugh. She has a lean and lovely blown glass appearance these days, plague  slimming her hearty curves into dainty fragility. Her carriage is graceful, feminine, even while favoring her leg, but her movement has a controlled precision, nimbleness and restrained power. Beauty seems to camouflage what was apparent when she was just a rough cut, pretty little thing climbing through the mountains like a bighorn lamb.

    The stallion steps over the invisible border as they bandy words, but Kensa gives to consequence to it. Her head tilts, "Then please. Tell me who you are.". She stands her ground as the Loessian reaches out toward her and turns toward the heat radiating from him like she is turning her leaves toward the sun.
    Actually, I was thinking you could tell me a secret.
    She draws his scent from the air between them, her muzzle hovering inches from his own skin as he draws back, her topaz eyes flicking to the curls of smoke drifting from his dark nostrils.
    Despite having company.
    Mismatched eyes flick sideways towards the trees and brush and Kensa breathes in the scent of smoke and stallion, and... of her child. Kensa rotates a gold trimmed ear, but Astarielle does not approach. Luckily it is this daughter that has discovered the meeting and not brazen Brunhilde. Star just seems to be hiding and watching, though she shouldn't be spying on adults, especially not potentially dangerous ones.

    Of course he knows she is there as well. Kensa's attraction to the male is overshadowed by her instinct to protect her child. However it's clear he is not currently all too interested in their little eavesdropper.

    Kensa snaps her flaxen tail against her hocks, devoting her attention to this very unexpected meeting and counting on Star to practice her espionage tactics without getting herself into trouble.
    "Oh, but that's no secret in Loess is it?" The sabino murmurs without effect. "But since you're curious, Amet has taken Litotes' place as Primarch, and of course Kensa, she's not going anywhere." Her tone takes on the savor of gossip.

    The stallion, who has not taken his eyes from her just as hers have not wavered from him, coolly refers to her ill-fated visit to Loess days before. Kensa, grimly amused, sighs before replying. "I should not have trespassed, but I had been hoping to see a King." And he must have some idea of how that had ended.





    kensa
    for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.


    @[Castile] @[Astarielle]
    #6
    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
    ”Castile,” he murmurs his name easily enough, quickly so that it can marinade in her mind and coat the inner workings of her thoughts. He lets it caress her ears tenderly, making her want to play with it on her tongue. A lopsided grin continues to lift the sharp edges of his face as he notices the ease of his lure. Kensa is close – so close – to his skin, breathing him in, observing him. The urge to lean into her prickles where her breath had fleetingly been, and he wonders if that curiosity is mutual. As arrogant as he’s become, Castile wonders if he is a forbidden fruit. Hyaline’s Primarch has curled into and coupled with a cat, but not a dragon. Not many can say they have.

    (Arrogant. So arrogant)

    He does not linger on the wonderment of her soft flesh against his own. Litotes crawls beneath his thoughts, hovering, pressing. What information he has provided was enough to draw the monster from his rocky precipice. The taste of knowledge is there, just barely outside of his reach but creeping slowly closer. His want for confirmation (for chaos) far outweighs the touch of another woman or the prospect of another child.

    The name of an old memory reminds him and pulls him from his harrowing ideas. Recognition flashes across his expression, surprise stitching his brows. ”Amet?” Their history is closely tied. They were friends, childhood companions, but fate reeled them apart into different directions. Funny how everything comes full circle. First Loess, now Amet. ”Interesting how quickly your Queens changed their mind for Hyaline, all because of a steal.” It fascinates him probably more than it should, but what the Caretakers have gained as an enemy could help forge a path of friendship for Loess. Change the tides, Castile pushed. Make them regret their decision.

    Litotes is ambitious, and Castile wants to feed that monster, to be the hand guiding the lion’s path at no charge.
    His pleasure would simply be watching the East’s power teeter.

    While she doesn’t offer an apology, she at least expresses a sliver of remorse and of knowing. Castile’s eyes glisten. He pieces things together and mapping this interesting puzzle. ”… and instead, you found disappointment.” His voice flattens as his gaze traces down her injured leg, noting the clotted blood in the punctures and dried rivulets reaching toward the grass. ”I can imagine the second Primarch wanting to check on her cohort,” he had spared them only a glance that day, uninterested in watching or listening, ”Or lover.” He shrugs then absentmindedly looks toward the mountains behind him – the alpine border between their homes – before returning his eyes to her. ”So confirm this for me. You, my dear, are Kensa, the Primarch that isn’t going anywhere.” He could touch her now, reward himself for guessing correctly, but he harbors his primal instincts. ”Would you, or the East, even take him back?”

    castile


    @[Kensa]
    #7

    for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
    in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

    Castile is surprised to hear Amet’s name and this is curious to her, but he is not diverted from his prying. He makes a statement that echoes her own smothered thoughts and the corner of her mouth pulls slightly but she fights off an agonized grimace. Interesting…
    “Isn’t it?” She replies and though the words are almost mutinous, she cannot regret them. Her life has been pulled apart with the indifference of a great cat pulling muscle and sinew from bone. It’s an image that hits too close to home and she quickly shoves it out of mind.

    It is Hyaline she tries to put above all else, her home, quiet and majestic, and it is a part of the Eastern kingdom no matter the blood in the water. Blood that draws Castile to her border as eagerly as she might draw him into her bed… if they weren’t playing this little game, that is.  

    “Yes. Another disappointment for the pile, in this and my identity you are correct...but who is Castile to be so intuitive and so curious?” A cursory glance beyond him, towards Loess and the very path she’d taken to trespass. “A King, or just a lackey come to warn me away from visiting my lover?” The Primarch has no compulsion to conceal her prior attachment to Litotes, tucking her chin she replies to his last question with the coolness of a woman scorned. “I do not speak for the East in this matter, believe me I have had very little say in anything that has transpired.” There are those that do not believe that perhaps but she is not inclined to be dishonest. Now though, she does do as she pleases, people, especially the people of the East will think whatever they wish of her either way. “As for me personally...” She shifts, resettling the hoof attached to her wounded leg. “I do not imagine he wants to be taken back.” Its more than she has said anyone else as of yet. Flicking her flaxen tail against her hocks Kensa steps gingerly around Castile to mirror his trespass in the opposite direction.  “I think he’s a fool in that, at least.” Her words are spoken low, coyly admitting that she does not consider the Lion chained in Loess to be a traitor. She lets her feet settle into Castile’s domain, like she too would try to take something from its Dragon-King.

    She just wouldn’t steal anything outlawed by the Queens in the Cove.

    kensa
    for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.


    @[Castile] just for purposes of continuing this I'm going to pretend Astarielle left /shrug <3




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