"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
Maternal instincts drove her towards the edge of the two kingdoms. Teetering the boundaries of Sylva and Pangea along the ridgeline separating the realms... Searching. Surely a cave was boared out of the side of one of these towering piles of rocks. Maw to the ground as daggers drove her on. She slithered thru each crack and crease. The search even more grave with the lack of light. Even the stars hid tonight...
Caw! A bird of equal ebony as the night called to her. She halted and looked up at the buzzard circling above her. Or was it circling something else? Nares inhaled deeply the scent of another... creature. She was not alone that was for sure...
Show yourself! Hiss escaped her as horns flattened against her crown. Fleeing was out of the question in her current condition so fight she will... If required.
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
“If you insist,” he drawls, moving forth from the shadows with an alien grace, the darkness peeling away from him with the arrogant apathy of a man shrugging a cape to the floor. He regards her with eyes that are dark, too dark, appraising her openly and unabashedly. He was, after all, Prince of Pangea, but more than that, he was Prince of the Fear. He was raised to be both owner and master. Nothing was not his own.
Taking a step forward, he lifts his chin, pressing his lips together in thought. “Is it wise for you to enter into Pangea and greet us monsters with such demands?” His voice is velvety and low, pooling out into the space between them—a space he does not bother to respect, Bruise moving to close it swiftly.
She had forfeit any right to space the second she entered his domain.
“What is your name?” He comes to her, curling around and coming up the other side, the sooty gold of his coat pressing against the mahogany of her own. He reaches over and lets his lips trail lazily along the edges of her neck. Nothing but a pretty new toy. Nothing but something else for him to mold and own.
For a moment, he peers into her eyes, hoping for the brilliant flash of green and growing frustrated at their plain darkness. “What brings you to Pangea?” he asks, breathing the question into her flesh, the heat of his breath rippling across her neck, the space between them humming with what could be mistaken as tension but Bruise knew as untapped potential. He plays along the edges of the Fear, tempted to pull upon the strings of it to see how she reacted but holding off for now. Not yet. He’d get his hands dirty first.
Out of the shadows he came for her. Inching nearer as if she were prey... A piece of meat to be devoured by a starved lion. Dark orbs narrowed as she processed his intentions. Knees locked in position of tension to fight if call for. The wheels in this one's mind spun faster, darker. She did not fear for her safety though. No not at all. She feared no one. Devilish grin tugged upon her lips as he questioned her. She was not that easy. Not a pet to answer when called so she dismissed his first. Her name though...
Hmm she hummed softly, You wish to know me? Grin even more prominent now as he circled her. Watchful orbs never losing sight of his every move...
A touch trailed down her...How dare he touch what was not his to touch... Grin dissipates as her skin crawls under his touch. Ebony whips lashed harshly in his direction. Fangs ached to taste his sooty hide but she resisted. Best to play nice... For now. So she stood, taking what was being given to her for obviously she had crossed boundaries in her searching. The banshee hissed to satisfy his question,
I am Karaugh of Sylva. A diplomat to the new rule there. I find myself in need of a cave within this ridgeline. I must have crossed over the borders in the darkness.... My apologies. Choking out the last part. It was not like her to apologise for anything she did but in the position she found herself, it may help. She may have acted out differently if not for her need to find a shelter safely and soon. Sides at maximum compacity as she grew weaker from this burden carried. She did not let it show. Not to him. He would prey upon any weakness she showed that she was sure of...
Well, it was nice to meet you but I really should be on my way. Her voice was smooth, nonchalant in a way. As if they were two friends parting ways. Side stepping slightly from his carassing then a step forward. Would it be this easy?...
01-15-2017, 01:51 AM (This post was last modified: 01-15-2017, 01:43 PM by bruise.)
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
He does not love that she is round with child; he does not appreciate that she comes here, mocking him with visible confirmation that she is owned by someone else, that she has been dirtied. It brings out a cruel streak in him—crueler than he was already, at least—and he finds that he would not mind to sculpt this masterpiece differently than he was sculpting Rhae. She, his shy and golden child, was being built up. He was pressing her foundation together, carving into her confidence and hope. Eventually, he would rip that from her, leave her gaping and open—all too aware of what could be there but was no longer.
It would be beautiful, and he almost hums with the thought of it.
Karaugh though. No. She would not receive such a treatment. She is already too confident, already been given too much—and to think that she would flaunt it before him. His pretty mouth pulls into a snarl as he regards her, as she gives her name and home as if he cares why she has come. He is no diplomat. He is not here to broker piece with their neighbors or to ensure the legacy of Pangea. The land, like his toys—like his beauty, like his gifts—were all just tools for a grander design. Let it burn for all he cares.
“Apology not accepted,” he says flippantly, tossing his head back, the thin, watery light reflecting off the onyx of his heavy horns. He moves to block her path, his speed and grace supernatural, his body seeming to dissolve from her side and reappear before her without any effort exerted at all. “And you’re not going anywhere.” His lips pull back into a flat, cold smile, his shark eyes showing no emotion.
Reaching upward with the pleasure and anticipation of a maestro sitting down to his instrument, he begins to pluck at the strings of the Fear, hoping to shift the landscape, meld it into a tapestry of his choice. He hums low and deep in his throat as he saunters near her again, flesh rippling with disgust as he sidles near her, body touching the swollen curve of her belly. He leans over again so that his mouth can rest near her temples, voice low as he whispers into her ear. “And it’s never nice to meet me, Karaugh.”
By the way, how / if she responds to fear induction is completely up to you!
Step forward cut short she stood firm once more. If his thoughts were bending her to his will or breaking her down he was sadly mistaken. Clearly a new approach to the situation was needed. Her mind focused on how far the border could be and getting nearer to it. Though she doubted crossing back into Sylva would halt him from pursuing her further. There was something deep within him she read as dark and damaged. A wickedness that enjoyed being the feline torturing his prey... Did she fear what she saw? Hardly.
His sharp words fell to deaf ears... Threats. Pfft... Shoulder rolled in a nonchalant shrug. Guess she will stay and play his game... For now. She eyed his colorfully hued coat which didn't seem to match his persona. She almost couldn't take him seriously. Grin pulled back her lips again. His irritation furthered the more he gazed upon her condition. She snickered deeply, he didn't wish to play nice so why should she...
Does this look not suit me? A darkness in her orbs matched his. It was a good time that's for sure. Kirin is hardly kind when it comes to such things... A prying wink shot his way. Stillwater hadn't been much kinder but had controlled himself... Somewhat. Their interaction had been very recent so surely he had tasted him upon her nape. Grin even more pronounced at that thought.
Who rules these lands? Maybe they would care for a diplomatic bargain... She could toy with her prey as well. Wasn't her preference but hey, she was a survivor and did what needed to be done.
He'd had a taste of her. Now he craved it. Needed to satisfy it. Needed her.
So, he waded through the river, tracking her scent like a hound. A hungry, hungry hound. He gave up his watery path when she stemmed too far to follow, black coat dripping comfortably. She'd lingered within the mountainous ridge-line, pacing, searching for something. He didn't care what, he just needed her. And damn, he hated mountains. He glared up at them for a minute, grounding his teeth and despising how tiring this was going to be, before finally moving forward.
The chain at his ankle clinked like chain mail on a knight. It was a king's crown, in its own way. But also a very effective leash. The burdens of a ruler taken a little too seriously by a wicked witch. There's a love story in that somewhere, he though darkly.
When he finally -oh god, finally- crested the ridge, he was bathed in a sheen of both water and sweat, each step placed more solidly than the last. The travel and hunger had soured his mood, and his belly fussed that he still had not reached her. Where the hell was that little minx?
Karaugh! His voice boomed, like a father calling his child when they didn't come home in time for dinner. His dinner. He looked down from his perch still within the border of Sylva, some sort of wet, black lion looking over his pride-lands, and caught sight of her chocolatey coat. Some fellow pretending to be her caramel topping curled around her.
He wasn't territorial. Not over women, even his spicy-sweet Karaugh, not over this land he was charged with protecting. It wasn't in his nature, not unless he -well he hadn't done that so it wasn't important. Typically, he'd just walk away and let her handle herself how she wished; she wasn't his. But damn the craving was eating away at him, and he needed to sate it.
Release her, please, he called down to them not far away. His words were polite, but it was a clear command, flat and firm. Just let me take my fill and then she can do whatever the hell she wants with whomever she wants.
come down to the black sea swimming with me go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
01-16-2017, 10:49 AM (This post was last modified: 01-16-2017, 01:28 PM by Pollock.)
I called you to announce sadness falling like burned skin
I called you to wish you well, to glory in self like a new monster
And now I call you to pray
He is Pollock’s boy, through and through.
He never thought he’d be a daddy, but sometimes they just change your life, don’t they?
The blessed son certainly had, though the gift giver would never let him know the fullest extent of his gratitude and debt. That would be most disadvantageous. Besides, if Bruise is smart, he knows he owes his father everything – if he is really smart, he won’t care, in the end.
Still, he is appreciative of the boy (man, really – grown, another broad-backed titan), and he’d see to it that he has all the pretty things he wants.
Not that he isn’t quite capable himself.
It really is like art, watching him maneuver and dance – feeling out fear like a prodigy. It could be said that, in his own way, the King of the waste is proud of the crowned Prince, a sentiment he would express in coded language, only. In fact, perhaps the most surprising thing he has found out about his frozen, black little heart, is that his brood are more safe than anyone else from the most animal of instincts he has.
Well, that, of course, is animal in itself.
He snaps his tail in ire, rattling his teeth at those incessant colts. They will learn, one day soon, to keep their distance unless he invites them in. Perhaps, one day, they will learn not to come, even when he invites. That would be a shame. Bruise had embraced everything full-throated. “Go,” he commands in a low, hard voice that makes them listen, without fail. They turn and run off, Feast ever a step ahead of Famine.
(One day, he knows, his sons will grow and then, without fail, they will devour him – like Cronus condemned – and then each other, until the world is empty but one.
He knows;
The lifecycle of a monster.)
He moves on from where he had been standing – tolerating their yammering and play fighting with a cold, instructive eye – to crest the cliff he has taken up as a makeshift throne.
Not the highest – just high enough for him to make out identities in the dirty valley below. From his watchtower, he observes the woman worming her way through his cliffside. Now he sees her, and then she ducks into a fissure and is gone for some time. He takes note, his lip curling – this one, he does not know.
For a while, he watches Bruise mouth and handle her, finding some pleasure in his persistence and her defiance, both. He lets it go, daddy content to let them play.
‘Release her please.’ He turns to the sound – the command – from a perch high up, like his own. No. It would do no good to let him lord over his boy. Playtime is over.
“You,” he grunts, loud enough for the sound to carry to the man – he knows this man; he does not belong – Bruise and his toy. “Does this look like the fucking Meadow to any of you?” there is clear annoyance in his voice, like a dog snapping at flies. “Bruise, are you done with your thing down there?” this he speaks in a more amiable tone, his lips tugging up slightly.
POLLOCK the gift giver
(Ugh, I had to rush the ending, fam, sorry! Have an appointment!)
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
For a moment, he wonders if she thinks that he is jealous. As if he was a lovesick puppy who mourns over someone else touching his bone. It brings a cold smile to his face, the darkness of the crushed gold empty and aching. She has no idea. “I’m not sure how well it suits you. You look like a well fed tick,” was all he responds at first, his dark eyes tracing her face. At her wink, he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I could not care less for the fun you’ve had. I imagine you’re well-worn around the edges by such ‘fun.’”
How crass for her to brag of it; how foolish to think she could push his buttons.
Then, he brings his focus back to the task at hand, lids half-closing in concentration as he continues to pluck at the strings of the fear. She is stubborn, but he knows he can break her down. He knows, with a little patience, he can warp her world, loosen the foundation beneath her. He doesn’t need to dissolve the reality around her completely—just make tweaks, small edits. Paint the landscape with the dip-dyed edges of his paintbrush, mold her reality with the pressure and skill of his own palms. Darker, more foreboding.
Make her see a monster when she looks upon him. Let her see the truth.
He does not jolt when the voice calls from the neighboring land. Instead, he swivels his heavy horned head toward the border, his smile slow and cold, lips pulling back from his teeth. “I don’t think I shall,” he growls, low in his throat but loud enough for the other to hear him. He moves in front of Karaugh with that supernatural speed, that alien grace, mind still plucking deftly at the strings of the Fear.
When he hears his father’s voice call out, sharp as steel, he glances up. Love did not beat within Bruise’s heart, but it was the closest he had come to it—affection, perhaps. Respect, most assuredly. His father was the one creature he would bow his head to; Master and Commander of the Fear. He gives his father a mimicry of his own crocodile smile, turning back toward the mare behind him with a glint in his eye.
“Not hardly,” his voice is smooth, deepening as he loses himself in the tapestry of Fear he weaves. Let her see Stillwater, but let her see him far away. Let Pollock’s voice ring loud—let it drip with terror. Let the wasteland of Pangea stretch and morph and mutate in her mind’s eye. “She has much to learn, Father.”
Bruise catches onto Karaugh’s gaze and holds it steady with a predator’s precision.
“Meet the King who rules these lands.”
A sickening smile, the Fear causing blood to begin dripping from between his teeth and over his lip.
Karaugh... Her name rang from the shadows. Stern and commanding to come hither. Her master was calling to her and she must come. Devilish smirk pulled her lips as she heard more words from a familiar voice. How had he found her and why was she being needed? Her mouth watered with the thought. Her focus never shifted though. It followed his every move like a snake stalking it's prey. Waiting for that deadly mistake to be made...
Another voice called to her captor. His focus shifted. Mistake number one. His back to her. Mistake number two. She knew the borders weren't far and the cut through path she had followed wasn't far either. Caw! The Raven. Perched upon a branch at the mouth of the path. Her destination. She shifted slightly for her back to be to it. Glancing up briefly she saw the ruler of one land bellowing at them. The ebony ruler of the other requesting her return. She was surprised but appreciative to see him nonetheless...
The golden boys attention reverted back as he turn and neared. With a seemingly supernatural speed. Hmm Was Time playing tricks on her again? Her step back was one to his ten it seemed. Damn this curse. The realm around her phased some. Land had stretched to distort her calculation. She gazed back across her shoulder, the Raven did not. A bit farther off then she remembered as was Stillwater. Focus again shifted to the horned creature before her blood seeped from his maw. The gastly creature looking even more vile. Time did not distort features so surely this was magic, black magic...
"We do not care for diplomacy here." His words sparked a flame in her. Her smirk now a grin.
Good. I am hardly much of a diplomat myself. Maw parted and words leaked.His flesh begged to be tasted and torn. She was not going to be easy to take nor easy to keep. The paths opening was just behind her but fleeing was not an option, or was it. Her crown tucked tightly to her breast as another step backwards was taken. A sharp pinch to her rump as the branches of the tree forked her hide. A high pitched screech rang out, the flutter of wings sprang as the Raven leapt from the dead branch above her crown. It's new perch the golden boys rack.
In the flapping of ebony feathers she pivoted 180° and lunged forward into the mouth of the path. The dark of night proving to make this a tad difficult. The path was cut tight though. Just large enough for her to slip threw. Jagged rocks cut at her hide as did the sharp stones she stepped upon. She kept what pace she could knowing he would easily be at her heels. A clearing was just ahead. Had she reached Sylva that quickly...
"You," the king grunted, and Stillwater's attention slid to him. Ah yes, him. With the horns and the grump-face, he well remembered him. "Does this look like the fucking Meadow to any of you?" Stillwater chuckled and a broad grin spread across his dark face as though they had always greeted each other this way, just your friendly neighborhood predators.
I daresay you might have gotten fatter, he jested lightly, Spending too much time there on that throne, old boy?
He was genuinely light-hearted, which may surprise them. It was probably out of line to Pangea's king, but he really didn't care. There was an odd sort of kinship he felt deep within him for their species, and so playfulness toward them came easily and naturally. It didn't have to make sense to anyone else.
His gaze returned to the prince, then. Bruise, hm? You look like you'd give more than a few bruises. What's your game, then? Are you a Ripper? You like to tear them apart? He studied him, taking in his still-young build. Not a child, but not much of a stallion either, really. Almost though. Still, that tricky gleam in his eye told its truths. Not a ripper then, but certainly capable of it if he chose to. No, I think you have a much different way about you. But he left it at that. A boy needs his secrets.
Karaugh carefully began trying to slip away, and he directed the attention back to Pollock. Not necessarily as a distraction, but more because the grownups were talking now. If she made it home, she was more worthy and intriguing for him, but she could take care of herself. He'd already known that when he'd chosen her.
What's this about no diplomacy? You don't want to share cups of sugar? Your boy is already doing so, after all. I don't mind sharing, really, but couldn't you ask first? His smile grew and he winked. So odd that they transformed him this way. They were like catnip to him. It was pretty nice though, but he didn't think it would go both ways.
Perhaps when they learned of him.
If they did.
Nahh, they were such grumps, those Krampus creatures.
come down to the black sea swimming with me go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
![[Image: kkN1kfc.png]](http://i.imgur.com/kkN1kfc.png)