"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
It has been too long since she had wandered, explored. Becoming too complacent standing by the sea. Once she had been a nomad, calling the Meadow her home. Long before she had connected with the jungle, when she had known the boy of stone. The memories are not as clear as they use to be, time aging them and slowly trickling them away. It’s more confusing now that the lands have broken apart and reknit themselves into something new. Even the meadow, which should have always been familiar, was a little different now.
Today she needs an adventure, something different. From the cliff she steps out, ebony wings unfurling and catching the sea breeze as it whips beneath her. It’s not a far trip when her sooty hooves touch down some feet from the rushing river. Here was a new place, something to be discovered. The jaguar mare looks about with a judgmental cast of her golden eyes. Where to begin, where to start. The water is the most obvious choice. She prowls closer to it’s bank, curved lobes pricked forward to catch the soothing sound of it’s movement. It’s not like the ocean but calming all the same. Even though winter has frozen most of it, there is still some places where the water still flows.
Slowly she begins to follow it’s path downstream, simply enjoying the break in routine. Her muzzle lowers to nose about the muck of dirt and snow. Displacing a rock to touch the glossy moss hidden beneath. To lip at leftover roots still peeking from the frost. Feeling something she had not felt in so long, since she had been a foal.
She is right. The river is no ocean. But the inland river delta is where he resides all the same. The silt there is rich, and the water brackish. A bitter combination of fresh and salt, melded together in a tangled mess that ebbs and flows along Beqanna’s coastline. The trees break and fall away, giving in to an expanse that spans the horizon. His silver eyes turn away from the crested slopes of the swells as he turns inward, looking for the sustenance that he figured probably should keep him alive for another day.
His hair hung in a tangled mess about his head, handing in black and brown and silver streaks and fell in front of his face. He is a handsome sort of fellow. He is large, with a broad, muscular chest, and his flanks have filled out their lean muscle so that he resembles the father he has never known. His pelt is tarnished and messy… just like the rest of him.
Grimdark has grown up in veritable solitude. A twin he never sees, a mother who is bereft of glory, and other then the off-moment of company when he chooses to come out of hiding, he has grown up on his own. Bitter, misanthropic—his attitude toward life has left him jaded. And it seems, that every time he breaks his reverie, it is when he leaves the sanctity of the Delta to come to the river for food.
He is young, this is true, but his careful eyes have seen more in silence than his mouth has done talking. He would have been a fool not to have noticed the Wall that appeared out of nowhere, or the Mountain and the howling that has taken its place. Grim has no use for politics, and so it does not occur to him that his very own unknown father created the magic there that spawned the whole thing—nor does he care. He sees the monotony of every day life, and has shied away from it. Born on the Island, he was driven away from it after his mother was exiled. Someone else took control… but he resembled the invaders so startlingly—in both visage and attitude (in that they were both absolutely insane)—that He had left, taken the swim through the waves and onto the mainland.
He had no use for power. He has no use for insanity. He is a man older than his years, having seen the mistakes of many and chosen to steer clear of them all. There is just one flaw in his plan for solitude.
One must continue to eat.
He silently winds his nickel-and-dimed hide through the trees—feeling claustrophic, much preferring the coast—and when he reaches the river bank, he is unsurprised to find that once again, he is forced to make awkward pleasantries.
A woman with wings walks the paths next to the bank, her head lowered toward the earth, presumably to attempt to do the same thing that has brought him here. Wings he has seen before—residents on Ischia would sport them for pleasure making and to one up each other. Wings were a rare commodity, but commonplace enough. But the spots… that was something he had never seen before. A quirked brow and flick of his tail as he approaches. Her body has age, but it is still perfect. Those spots were a wild and beautiful thing that gave her an air of… someone who definitely did not live life as alone as Grimdark did.
He has always been a nomad. He has never owned nor been own. He has never loved or been loved, nor cared for the messiness that comes with such entanglements. He has never before experienced lust.
But if the warm sensation going to his loins was any indication, Grimdark was being forced to experience a portion of life that he never before had any desire to feel.
And he hated it.
And so he keeps his distance, turning his eyes away from her and he returns to his task, lowering his eyes to the ground before him, the frost coating his mouth as he flips the stones in search of roots and vegetation leftover from the frost. He is hungry… and he is thirsty…
But not for water.
And yet every so often, he can feel his eyes roving across her body wantonly, cursing at himself every time.
She’s dangerous, he says to himself. Don’t need experience to see that. Stay away from that one.
GRIMDARK
deimos x ea, dragon vision, twilight manipulation, twin to allure
It was strange how the various offspring and decedents of two horses were eternally drawn to each other, moths to a flame. Deimos and Ophelia were a story long closed and mostly forgotten. And yet while one of the two still took breath, their children (and children’s children) tried to replay the chapters over and over again. Star crossed lovers, bitter enemies, lasting friendships or frenemies… A tangled web, their fates woven forever within each other. A cruel twist of fate? A sign of true love’s unwillingness to let go?
The granddaughter of that fated mare had undergone her own trials that had dragged her through the mud, broken her into pieces. Even those her knew her best had only seen her stoicism, the cool anger that she had flooded onto her people and then her enemies. They hadn’t seen the nights she had crumpled into herself, the stained trails along her russet cheeks where tears had fallen freely. Wanting nothing more then to believe in someone and trust.
She had never been able to forget Lion’s face. The lies that refused to be erased, the far cry of love that had been their’s. It sickened her how much she had given her heart to him. More than she had with the boy of stone. Only to be set aside for something new, something prettier. And when she had refused to accept it, he had tried to break her spirit. Abusing her body, taking something he never had a right to take.
Her faith had been shaken and never repaired. And love? That had gone out the window despite that shard of her that fluttered with need. Waiting to be proven wrong. A reason good enough to believe again.
How her thoughts are dragged into these dark moments are beyond her. Suddenly her travels to this place sour the joy of exploring the unknown, a ragged wound reopened. One that had been straining at the seams for so long. The ache that floods her is as fresh as they day it happened. She feels that sting threatening to expose her at the corner of her golden eyes. Broken hearts were suppose to heal with time, hers had not. Dropping her head slightly, letting her dark forelock fall and cover her pain.
She doesn’t hear his steps through the snow, overwrought as she continues to push her muzzle through the wetness. Trying to find her hold within herself once more. Everything had been fine, so why now? What was the cause for this sudden explosion in her chest? This remembrance of things she had pushed down long ago. Raising her head slightly, she sees him watching her. His mane a tangled mess along his neck, unkempt and gritty. Rusty and soot stained. Handsome and young beneath his rugged exterior.
She was not so old that she was no longer beautiful. Time here played by different rules and one could be hundreds of years old and only look a day over seven. She had lost count of how many years had passed but still felt like the young Khaleesi she had once been. Her eyes, now somewhat glossy, narrow upon him. Spotting that glint in his eye all to well. ”See something you like?” She spats angrily, muscles coiling beneath her dark skin and making the dappled spots along her neck ripple. Curved ears slipping beneath thick black tendrils of hair as they lace back against her skull.
The only good thing about what happened that day with the Dale King was that she would never let herself be taken advantage of again. If this raggedy man tried something, she would kill him.
He is apparently not very subtle. She scoffs, flipping that gorgeous tail of hers and showing off those spots to their best advantage, but her voice is what really sets him off. See something you like? Yes. Yes he did. That voice was like a cold slap that banked against the side of the river… he could practically hear the ice cracking between them with the tension of it.
Grimdark raised his handsome head and turned to look at her. His stomach forgotten for the timebeing, he suddenly makes the decision to no longer hide his lust. His eyes rove over the slope of her shoulder and the curve of her flank. The way her skin was taut against her coiled muscles, like a cat poised to strike, and yet somehow graceful and fierce at the same time. He makes no pretense of her in that moment. He has never had a need to be false.
And he won’t be now.
But he does not move. From his place in the snow, his steely silver eyes look upon her coldly, but with appreciation nonetheless. He does not know his past—nor that their ancestors had had entanglements. He has no need for what is behind… all that he sees is what is before him, and right now, that is her. The wind begins to blow, carrying with it the snow and wafting it around their bodies, swirling it together, lifting and taking away his mane with it, away from his face and behind him.
His corded muscles wind tightly in his chest, and in his inexperience he is unaware of the picture he presents to her. He does not know that his large body is similarly representative of someone who had once loved and been loved so deeply that it had driven them both insane… and had driven one of them to their depths on the beach. Opehlia’s offspring had sprung forth and created this creature standing before him, just as history had created Grimdark for her.
They were oil and water. Kryptonite.
And yet both capable of setting the other on fire.
What the future would bring, only time would tell.
Grim looks to unknown winged mare, his expression revealing nothing, and he speaks, his voice deep and gravelly from lack of use. “A simple hello would have sufficed.”
His eyes continue to wander her body, like illict fingertips tracing her spine. He was certainly feeling her. But was she feeling him?
GRIMDARK
deimos x ea, dragon vision, twilight manipulation, twin to allure
What an impertinent jackass. Instead of muttering an apology or scuttling off from whatever shipwrecked barnacle he had come from, he just stares harder. Practically letting his jaw drop and drool hit the floor. Her disgust is beyond evident as his wandering eyes trail along the length of her body. Feeling as sick as she had that day. The tears quickly evaporating as a hard cold anger takes hold, adrenaline rushing through her veins. It had been a long time since she had been in this predicament but the fuck would she ever be a victim again.
To him he is being appreciative, to her she feels soiled. Dirty. Her shoulders square as she firmly plants herself in a defensive stance, neck curving and raising as her skull snakes out. Lips pulled back in a cat like snarl. Water and oil indeed.
His comment does little to put her at ease. It only ignites her wrath. ”What kind of pervert are you?” Her tail no longer snapping angrily about her like a wildcat, pinned directly against her haunches. She unfortunately knows this game but she wouldn’t run. She was better than that. The swirling snow clings to her dark fur, soft droplets that stay against her damp tresses even as they fall lightly against her taunt neck. A stand off as the silence grows between them.
”I swear to god if you don’t stop looking at me like that I’m going to rip your eyes from your head.” She spats as her raven like wings unfurl and lengthen. Almost forgetting that she had these appendages, a quick way to escape if needed. Too bad she hadn’t had them the first time. Was she feeling him? No, not one iota.
And when those wings unfurl, her angry voice going up like a siren, Grimdark continues his silent vigil. Those silver eyes that look into her, boring her intently from the inside out, looking at the woman scrambling to get back to a place of control. A place she probably knew well. But he is not to be cowed. Whether by his blood, or whether by his own tenacity, she stands before him as a spitting cobra, and he does not move. Instead, he stays silent, taking her fire and acid.
Taking all her pain.
And when she asks him to stop staring at her—more like barks at him—he does as she asks, simply looking at the river and the snow falling between the trees. He continues to say nothing, simply watching her from his peripheral view. She is a beautiful thing in her ravenous attempts to regain power… But in and amongst her wild spots….
He sees the cracks.
Her screams and loud rants speak of pain, and of anger. It was something that is not caused by him, of this he is certain—one cannot cause such a reaction within mere seconds of meeting someone. But he is not most men. His time in his solitude has made him very receptive, and very observant. His little Bengal cat would stop her hissing eventually. He is quiet when he speaks again, no less affluent in his tongue, instead taking on a deeper, more brusque click to his voice. His eyes are not on her, as she requested… but something about her sets him on edge. He should leave… he always did before. Return to the safety of his privacy, and of the Delta. But he is not one to retreat. Instead, he was rooted to his spot. As if something was keeping him there.
He could take what she was dishing out, and more.
“I followed the River, same as you. For food.”
A cough, and he settles once again into his silence. A stoic looking at the treeline.
“Winter makes beggars of us all. My name is Grimdark.”
GRIMDARK
deimos x ea, dragon vision, twilight manipulation, twin to allure
He is infuriating, the way he continues to let his silvery gaze linger on the soft curve of her hip. The insufferable silence that spreads between them, her anger rising and falling in waves. Her own dark stormy sea brewing within her breast, rolling in her gut. Her heart flinging itself wildly about, hating the way he makes her feel. Afraid.
She had never been so intimate with fear until Lion had forced her to see it, acknowledge it. It had always been a lesser emotion, beneath a Queen to be anything but strong. She had always been certain in her convictions, fearless in the face of her enemies. A leader her people would look up to, aspire. Until the day her world had turned upside down. When she had felt powerless despite how hard she had fought, despite the wounds she had marked on him. It hadn’t been enough.
She doesn’t realize that she is trembling, wanting him to believe that she was shaking with anger. But that rage was only fueled by the rising insecurity of her terror.
Then finally, he looks away. Gazing past her to the river and the trees. Her breath comes in short hot gasps, realizing just how exposed she really is. The careful threads that she had knitted back together completely unraveled. She wants to tear at his flesh for what he has made her feel. Wants to pummel this rude stranger beneath her hooves. Most of all she wants to cry and never stop, unleashing the pain that had been trapped for so long.
She does none of these things, instead turning and stepping closer towards the ice and cold water. Needing a shock to awaken her mind, to give her another reason to tremble. She should leave, her wings rustling anxiously at her sides. unsure of what she wants to do. She could take flight right now and never look back.
She wasn’t a coward, she would never run. Never.
His voice breaks the muffled silence of the falling snow, as she paws at the crack in the ice with a single hoof. Ears still pinned to her skull but lifting only slightly to catch his words. Glancing at him from the corner of a narrowed eye, seeing he was still looking elsewhere. Coughing awkwardly. Offering his name.
She doesn't want his name. There was nothing more she wished then to have never laid eyes on him. It’s too late for that now. ”Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?” Comes her gruff response, concealing her name from him. Unwilling to give him anymore of herself then she already had.
09-08-2017, 12:14 AM (This post was last modified: 09-08-2017, 12:16 AM by Grimdark.)
THEY SAY IT'S OVER AND I'M FINE AGAIN
There was a quiet that settled upon her. Almost stifling. They stand there, in companionable awkwardness, and he feels her settling under the weight of her own embarrassment. Her wings get put away, and she pushes a crack into the snow. It breaks the silence. And then, a gruff, almost pouty voice follows it. Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners? Normally such a comment would have been ignored—much like he ignored all that happened around him—but in the way she suddenly almost… gave up in favor of continuing her bad attitude garnered a look of incredulousness from him. Grimdark spun his head to look at her once more, and seeing her ruffled feathers, he rolls his head back and began to laugh.
It was a sound that was foreign to his own ears, and it was quickly muffled. His was a dark laugh. Broody and maniacal. Like he had a secret to share that he was holding. But, after his momentary outburst is smothered like the last flames of a dying fire, he turns his eyes back to her. “’Fraid not. I grew up alone, Princess.” Another guffaw escapes his dark, twisted mouth as he takes his first real step—a pivot, not towards her, but rather to face her, and engage her as one would face an opponent in battle—since having reached this part of the clearing. “This is the first real conversation I’ve ever had.”
The ragged man looks away from her then, and looks backward to where he came from. Well, fuck. The snow has begun falling now in earnest, covering up any last traces of food, and nourishment with it. There goes dinner. And with dinner gone, any real point of staying here in the common areas—the open areas where more conversations like this could likely take place—became pointless.
And so he turns, making a circle with his body in the snow to conserve the energy it would take to clear a new path through the forest. He levels her with a silver gaze, gives a grunt. He blinks, and then speaks once more. “The snow is getting thick, and there is no sense of staying here where there is no food. The forest is far too closed in for me. You can come with me to the coast and we can continue to have this little sparring match, or I can leave you here to freeze to death. Your pick, Princess.”
GRIMDARK
deimos x ea, dragon vision, twilight manipulation, twin to allure
The jaguar mare visibly bristles as he laughs and speaks. Princess? Bitch, please. It is her turn to cast him an incredulous stare that is quickly followed by a laugh that lacks all humor. Oh little boy, if you only knew. ”I can tell.” Comes her quick fire retort as he mentions it’s the first real conversation he’s ever had. Suddenly he begins to walk in a circle and she watches his movements warily, backing away a few steps. Obviously this guy was sick in the head, possibly mad.
Grunting at her like a neanderthal, he speaks again. Ears flatten tighter to her skull, golden eyes dilating with her anger. ”I’m perfectly fine where I am.” Comes her flat response. She hadn’t come for food and she was certainly not anywhere near freezing to death. All it would take is one swift beat of her wings to launch to the sky and return to Nerine. Or Tephra. Anywhere but here.
The day now being truly spoilt for her, she turns and begins to wander back upstream from where she had come. Perhaps she could still salvage something from this trip but Grimdark had left a bitter taste on her tongue. After a few paces away from him, she turns slightly to see if he has left like he claimed he would or if he’s stalking her like she assumes he will.
