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+---- Thread: i like when you get mad, tarnished (/showthread.php?tid=25646)
i like when you get mad, tarnished - Sabbath - 11-21-2019
SabbatH
i'll let you play the role. i'll be your animal.
She has mostly kept to herself since she found Adna in the north. Her rage has kept her warm throughout the winter months but now spring summons her from the depths of her jungle home. The serpent girl travels to the east in the hopes of stretching her legs for a while and shedding her worries over the latest disaster hanging like electricity in the air. Her parents had told her the dead were walking amongst the living once again but she found herself uninterested in such matters. They aren’t trying to eat anyone and she doesn’t know anyone who has passed on, so what does she care?
Sabbath passes through the autumnal forests of Sylva and the desert hills of Loess until she comes to the forests. She likes it best here, she thinks. All her worst memories revolve around the river or the regions further east. But she doesn’t reflect on the bitterness that wells up in her heart that threatens to spill over into her mood. Instead, she pushes it down as she always has. She carries on with her head held high, broken horn raised proudly.
The sun bleeds through the fresh spring leaves to highlight random inches of her dappled rose gray coat or to reflect off the vibrant scales adorning her hips and shoulders. She doesn’t know how beautiful she has become now that she has matured. Her mother’s high cheekbones and soft gaze, coupled with her father’s fierce green eyes, have come together to form something venomous and divine all at once. But she only loves her fangs, which she now runs her tongue over just to remind herself what she is.
A monster, cursed.
Where her ancestors were ashamed, however, she remains prideful and arrogant. The scales across her face and the venom in her jaws keep her safe from those who would harm her anymore. She is the medusa of the modern age, come to turn men’s heart to stones.
Sabbath passes through the autumnal forests of Sylva and the desert hills of Loess until she comes to the forests. She likes it best here, she thinks. All her worst memories revolve around the river or the regions further east. But she doesn’t reflect on the bitterness that wells up in her heart that threatens to spill over into her mood. Instead, she pushes it down as she always has. She carries on with her head held high, broken horn raised proudly.
The sun bleeds through the fresh spring leaves to highlight random inches of her dappled rose gray coat or to reflect off the vibrant scales adorning her hips and shoulders. She doesn’t know how beautiful she has become now that she has matured. Her mother’s high cheekbones and soft gaze, coupled with her father’s fierce green eyes, have come together to form something venomous and divine all at once. But she only loves her fangs, which she now runs her tongue over just to remind herself what she is.
A monster, cursed.
Where her ancestors were ashamed, however, she remains prideful and arrogant. The scales across her face and the venom in her jaws keep her safe from those who would harm her anymore. She is the medusa of the modern age, come to turn men’s heart to stones.
RE: i like when you get mad, tarnished - Tarnished - 11-23-2019
burning cities and napalm skies
fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes
fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes
“You look just like her.”
Tarnished isn’t sure when it happens, just that it does. A dark veil lifts and the world spreads out before him again, marvelous—magical. Wicked. He might have been disoriented by it all if the colors here weren’t so dull. The sun, a silver sliver, hides behind the miserably gray clouds. He glances up, just long enough to spy a lonesome sort of large scavenger circling overhead, then lets his yellow-gold eyes slip back down to the bleak brown beach. It’s dotted with jots of white. A sun-bleached skull here, a set of ribs picked clean jutting up out of the sand over there. There’s a group gathering nearby over a fallen loved one and it sends a shiver down his spine. He recognizes this place, knows its purpose well, as everyone who has ever lived in Beqanna should, but that leads him to wondering what series of events led him here.
“Did I… die?” The shifter muses aloud, but he’s much too eager to leave once he gathers his bearings and forgets the question.
(At least, for now.)
He follows the brackish river inland, stopping only long enough to snatch a fish from the water when his stomach begins to roar in protest. It aches when he eats, as if the fish is the first thing he has eaten in a very long time (’Not true, I went hunting with mom—I went hunting with mom, I was supposed to go to the Deserts, and then I fell asleep…’), but he still scarfs it down quickly despite the discomfort.
Blood running from his mouth and dribbling down his chin, it dries and crusts along his skin as he eventually makes his way towards a forest he intends to explore, at least, until he hears someone moving through the brush. The clouds are less dense here, the air less chilled despite the shade of the trees; she looks bewitching slithering between the patches of light bleeding through the leaves, surreal—her scales shining like jewels, a murderous little glint in her eye. She carries herself like the predator he fancies himself to be and Tarnished finds himself conflicted on what to do next.
Fortunately, he opts to simply approach her. It’s not as if he knows where the fuck he is anyway and she might have that nice little tidbit of information he needs. Besides that, he finds her enjoyable to look at. Interesting, if nothing else. “How’d that happen?” Tarnished grins, motioning towards her broken horn with a nod of his head. It’s a rude question, sure, but he knows what he’s doing and has always liked making strangers feel uncomfortable. It weeds out the weak ones. Besides, he’s a mural dedicated to violence itself; his body is littered with scars, big and small. The most notable one being the scythe-shaped one he’d put on his own face to remind him of why he existed and what he was supposed to be.
Tarnished isn’t sure when it happens, just that it does. A dark veil lifts and the world spreads out before him again, marvelous—magical. Wicked. He might have been disoriented by it all if the colors here weren’t so dull. The sun, a silver sliver, hides behind the miserably gray clouds. He glances up, just long enough to spy a lonesome sort of large scavenger circling overhead, then lets his yellow-gold eyes slip back down to the bleak brown beach. It’s dotted with jots of white. A sun-bleached skull here, a set of ribs picked clean jutting up out of the sand over there. There’s a group gathering nearby over a fallen loved one and it sends a shiver down his spine. He recognizes this place, knows its purpose well, as everyone who has ever lived in Beqanna should, but that leads him to wondering what series of events led him here.
“Did I… die?” The shifter muses aloud, but he’s much too eager to leave once he gathers his bearings and forgets the question.
(At least, for now.)
He follows the brackish river inland, stopping only long enough to snatch a fish from the water when his stomach begins to roar in protest. It aches when he eats, as if the fish is the first thing he has eaten in a very long time (’Not true, I went hunting with mom—I went hunting with mom, I was supposed to go to the Deserts, and then I fell asleep…’), but he still scarfs it down quickly despite the discomfort.
Blood running from his mouth and dribbling down his chin, it dries and crusts along his skin as he eventually makes his way towards a forest he intends to explore, at least, until he hears someone moving through the brush. The clouds are less dense here, the air less chilled despite the shade of the trees; she looks bewitching slithering between the patches of light bleeding through the leaves, surreal—her scales shining like jewels, a murderous little glint in her eye. She carries herself like the predator he fancies himself to be and Tarnished finds himself conflicted on what to do next.
Fortunately, he opts to simply approach her. It’s not as if he knows where the fuck he is anyway and she might have that nice little tidbit of information he needs. Besides that, he finds her enjoyable to look at. Interesting, if nothing else. “How’d that happen?” Tarnished grins, motioning towards her broken horn with a nod of his head. It’s a rude question, sure, but he knows what he’s doing and has always liked making strangers feel uncomfortable. It weeds out the weak ones. Besides, he’s a mural dedicated to violence itself; his body is littered with scars, big and small. The most notable one being the scythe-shaped one he’d put on his own face to remind him of why he existed and what he was supposed to be.
tarnished
are you not entertained?
RE: i like when you get mad, tarnished - Sabbath - 11-24-2019
SabbatH
i'll let you play the role. i'll be your animal.
She does not know to fear death. Sabbath is still young enough to imagine she might live forever, if the world is kind and she stays entertaining enough. But she’s old enough to keep her head down low when things become dangerous now. She learned what it means to be the nail that sticks out, the one that gets hammered down. The serpent woman is not like her parents – pillars of strength, the ones brave enough to sculpt their own fate and leave their mark on this world. But what she lacks in greatness, she more than makes up for in cunning.
When he approaches, chin still coated in fish blood, she turns her pale head slowly. Those sage green eyes almost seem angry at his approach and her chin lifts a little higher as she regards him. He’s not close enough that she could seize him by the neck before he could react. Either he would run or he would fight, neither of which interest her. But then he speaks and her ears turn backwards to lay flat against her head while a hiss is drawn from her throat, slow and warning. Her eyes examine the curves of his muscles and the scars across his body but she says nothing regarding them. If she’s pleased or disgusted at the sight of him, she gives no sign of it.
“I’m doing well, thanks so much for asking. My name is Sabbath, what’s yours?” she says, chin lowering to its normal position though her eyes remain narrowed. Her tail flicks and she shifts her weight to get comfortable. At the very least, it’s a sign that he’s not fumbled this whole ordeal so badly that she’s eager to leave it. “I broke my horn because I hate perfection. You aren’t beautiful if you aren’t flawed.”
And maybe she was close to perfect once, with her pointed little teeth all shimmering like royal pearls. There are no scars across her body like his and so she seems to have no story without that broken horn of hers. She bent over backwards and forced herself into the role of ideal daughter only to be overshadowed at every turn. It had hurt so badly to snap that horn in half and yet it felt so good to unleash the real her, the thing lurking behind locked doors and biding its time.
“Let’s keep the rude questions rolling. What happened to you?” she asks, nodding that broken horn toward the largest of the scars on his face.
When he approaches, chin still coated in fish blood, she turns her pale head slowly. Those sage green eyes almost seem angry at his approach and her chin lifts a little higher as she regards him. He’s not close enough that she could seize him by the neck before he could react. Either he would run or he would fight, neither of which interest her. But then he speaks and her ears turn backwards to lay flat against her head while a hiss is drawn from her throat, slow and warning. Her eyes examine the curves of his muscles and the scars across his body but she says nothing regarding them. If she’s pleased or disgusted at the sight of him, she gives no sign of it.
“I’m doing well, thanks so much for asking. My name is Sabbath, what’s yours?” she says, chin lowering to its normal position though her eyes remain narrowed. Her tail flicks and she shifts her weight to get comfortable. At the very least, it’s a sign that he’s not fumbled this whole ordeal so badly that she’s eager to leave it. “I broke my horn because I hate perfection. You aren’t beautiful if you aren’t flawed.”
And maybe she was close to perfect once, with her pointed little teeth all shimmering like royal pearls. There are no scars across her body like his and so she seems to have no story without that broken horn of hers. She bent over backwards and forced herself into the role of ideal daughter only to be overshadowed at every turn. It had hurt so badly to snap that horn in half and yet it felt so good to unleash the real her, the thing lurking behind locked doors and biding its time.
“Let’s keep the rude questions rolling. What happened to you?” she asks, nodding that broken horn toward the largest of the scars on his face.
RE: i like when you get mad, tarnished - Tarnished - 01-17-2020
“I don’t remember asking how you were doing, Sabbath.” Nish pulls a face, mocking her. There’s nothing between them but empty space, no witnesses besides the birds in the nearby trees and they won’t sing songs of her demise if he demands them not to—they know, you see. Especially the crows. Their ancestors saw what creature did to one of their own and they passed the legend down from one hatchling to another.
He would eat them, too.
But she’s interesting enough he doesn’t want to eat her. Besides, he enjoys the way she looks when she draws herself up like a viper. Running his black tongue along his fangs, he supposes if he annoys her enough he might be able to get her to do it again and she won’t be none the wiser as to what he’s up to. There’s a hitch in his plans, however, when Sabbath doesn’t seem the least bit phased by his boorishness.
In fact, he swivels his ears forwards and listens close when she answers his question rather personally. Nish is so stunned when she shoots back a question of her own that he almost forgets it’s his turn to speak. It’s never happened this way, you see. They’re usually angry with him or falling at his feet within the first few minutes of them meeting.
This one?
She takes it all in stride, fully capable of holding her own and holding a conversation.
It’s… a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.
“Tarnished,” he offers, clearing his throat after the long pause. It’s been a while, though, so he figures she might not know what he’s giving her. “Tarnished, or Nish, is my name.”
“As for this?” Nish grins again, trying to regain some of his composure. He could have—should have—been nice and answered her just as sincerely as she did him, but alas. It is not in his nature to drop his pride and let a total stranger in. “I might end up telling you if you don’t bore me.”
And then, without warning, she spit venom in his eyes.