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play it cool then smart - draco - 08-23-2019 draco His father being the proud creature he is, it is only right that Draco follows suit. The crimson horns on his head are still small, but they are handsome, and they cast shadows upon his face that sharpen the glow of his stars. The glimmering red of his eyes tell truth upon truth: he has seen too much for a colt six months old, and his mind constantly spins with the knowledge. Father failed me, he might think, when the cremello king turns tail to tend to Pangea. I am but a bastard child. Still, the boy holds his head high with the grace and prowess of royalty. His eyes are disdainful when they settle upon the citizens of Loess, and they grow even darker when he observes the one member of Sylva. His mother the unwillingly leader of Sylva and his father an unwilling warmonger, it only makes sense that cruelty is the sword that he wields. Or, that is what he tells himself as he casts his fear upon small creatures and nips his sister too harshly. It’s not my fault. If mom and dad were not so distracted . . . But even those sentences betray him, whispering that he is self-aware and not coming to terms with his reality. Perhaps it is the acting out of a boy lost, one so desperate for attention that already volatile magic becomes wild and untameable in his grasp. I wish I could not read their minds. He thinks this over and over again. Every time that he leaves Sylva or Pangea, he thinks this. He is sure his mother sees the darkness that writhes in his mind, but he is hardly bothered to mask it. Let her feel her guilt - or whatever it is she feels. He thinks he might hate his parents, so he blocks their thoughts from his mind as much as possible. Against the truck of a tree, he focuses, red eyes glowing with that hellish light he knows so well. If one were to walk by he could turn on his fear in an instant, send them flying away with tears in their eyes; instead, only the small creatures of the woods flee, and he is left to listen to the rustle and sway of the canopy. play it cool then smart, don't take it to heart @[despoina] RE: play it cool then smart - despoina - 08-24-2019 DESPOINA I was a heavy heart to carry; my feet dragged across the ground and he took me to the river where he slowly let me drown RE: play it cool then smart - draco - 08-25-2019 draco Draco thinks he is cursed, spat upon by the gods and forgotten - at least, just by the gods. He walks amongst mere mortals, peasants (except for his sister that he begrudgingly loves . . . though, her kindness makes her weak). Kept by such small, regrettable company, he cannot say he is forgotten. The fear and confusion in their eyes gives him the only recognition he needs: those that experience his fear will never forget the magic that snapped their spines into place. A god’s magic, if you will. Against the tree he resides, head tilted lazily to shimmering jewel-tones of autumn leaves. From a distance he may look sweet, perhaps even tranquil, but upon further inspection one will find a gleam in his eye that begs to raze each crinkly leaf. That’s why I keep my distance, he thinks with snark, mouth turning into a smirk as he slowly drifts his attention back to the ground. A little shit, that is what the colt is, an honest and true entitled son of a king. Whatever. The snap of a twig drags him from his thoughts, and he straightens with a start. The demon boy cusses at himself when he spots the hellhound. A normal child might feel fear, but Draco numbed himself to the rush of endorphins a mere month into his existence; that, and he thinks she is goddamn beautiful. What a fucking sight to see. “Come here.” A demand, albeit one void of the typical fear-inducement in his eyes. play it cool then smart, don't take it to heart @[despoina] RE: play it cool then smart - despoina - 09-03-2019 DESPOINA I was a heavy heart to carry; my feet dragged across the ground and he took me to the river where he slowly let me drown RE: play it cool then smart - draco - 09-09-2019 draco They are creatures of the below, and they meet just as they are. Draco, head spinning with excitement and confusion, peers at the hellhound with excruciating detail. Not a single piece of her goes unnoticed: from the gleam of her puppy’s teeth to the curve of her back claws. Despoina is sublime, the punkish counterpart to Draco’s studded leather jacket and yellowed cigarette-smoking teeth. He grins. The demon boy decides he does not like the filly’s silence, so he stares her down with a demanding ferocity he only now knows he possesses. There has always been a monster sitting idly in his chest, plucking here and there at his harp’s strings, but it drags its claws across wires. They snap with a violence the colt relishes, and he leans into it with a beauty such cruelty should not possess. I am the devil himself: this he has decided, as he stares down the girl he now knows is his. Hades mustn’t be without his Persephone. Perhaps she’ll like Draco, but for now, that idea is beyond him (and does it really matter to a violent creature such as he?). “Why aren’t you speaking?” he whispers, reaching forward to touch the iridescent shimmer of her filly’s fur. It takes hardly a moment for him to decide he likes her like this, too -- pretty equine lineage and all; but most of all, he likes her silent, timid, and he begins to wonder if he will like her when she speaks. This guise of submission fuels the little hellion. “My name is Draco. Tell me yours.” don't take it to heart @[despoina] RE: play it cool then smart - despoina - 09-09-2019 DESPOINA I was a heavy heart to carry; my feet dragged across the ground and he took me to the river where he slowly let me drown RE: play it cool then smart - draco - 09-22-2019 draco It seems as if Draco cannot decide if the two are divine are hellish. Surely Despoina is of the fires below, with her supernatural wolf’s form, but all the demon-boy can see is the sparkle of the light as it glows on her coat. He smiles a quiet, small way, brilliant eyes drinking in the chance encounter that has blessed him. “Yes, you do,” he counters, when she admits she has nothing to say. It is impossible that she has nothing to say to him, not when a million ideas are orbiting around just Despoina’s existence. Draco cannot fathom that another may not feel exactly as he does, not when he feels this strongly, not when he feels this possessively. Some small part of him knows he is crossing an unspoken boundary; still, he is too young to know what that boundary is, and he may even grow up to never fully understand the feelings he wants to birth inside of the hellhound girl. The universe falls into place when she whispers her name. “Despoina,” Draco parrots, eyes glimmering with prophecies and fantasies and everything in between. The line between reality and his endless and mesmerizing thoughts begins to blur. He likes the way her name sounds so different coming out of his mouth, so much more confident and possessive than her. Like her name is his to give. Like she does not know she belongs without another placing her. “I know you have plenty to say, Despoina, wolf-girl. I can see it in your mind. Tell me what I can’t see.” don't take it to heart @[despoina] |