bottom of the deep blue sea; sochi/castile/any

[Isobell]

The word that Castile has begun to rule Loess had passed quickly over Beqanna. Castile was her much adored older sibling that she attempted to visit regularly (when he was not busy with work). She had taken to the waters, her kelpie form far more elegant and sculpted than the natural born creatures, the water splits easily over her two toned form.

Ischia is warmer and more suited for her habitat but she is happy to clear the waters to see her brother. Word had passed that even her father had come to live with her dragon brother! An excitement twists her taunt as she nears closer to Loess. Her sweet father with his quiet reservation...her bother's embrace, gods how she could not wait to hold him close! Isobell moves the water to either side quite easily as she hurried.

'The sand is not as fine as it is in Ischia...'

She thinks silently as she pulls one finely made hoof to the shore as the other followed. The length of her long, billowing finds now shift into a pair of eternally lovely legs (too pretty and too powerful). Silver eyes of her father rotate in her skull with slit eyes. The land was scented with Castile's pheromones and it urged her to move on. The beach is rough with pebbles and uneven under hoof, trees sprout protectively to shield away prying eyes but Isobell cares not for silly barricades that keep her from her beloved brother.

A cool wind rustles against the obsidian and moonstone scales that coat her hide, drying them. Isobell does not pay it much mind and still walks on with lean legs as she follows the scent. It grow stronger, drawing her on, her predatory senses emerging as she seeks her kin.

Time passes, the path easing, and she knows he is close. There are other smells her...such as Lior's, but women;s as well. He brow furrows instinctively in response as she slows her hurried pace. Her brother kept a harem here...

The kelpie mare stops her forward motion as it was customary (though her family were here) to announce her presence. A high call of melodic soprano song is lifted from her dark lips as she attempts a more diplomatic approach rather then shoving past any who should question her. After all, she is Khaleesi to Ivar and Ischia and it is only right to offer a civil first impression to any who should come to meet her call.

bottom of the deep blue sea

[sochi]

Sochi

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

Sochi does not have the same beauty as the kelpie mare.

She is not delicate or refined; she does not have the silvery bell loveliness of Isobell. Not that she is without beauty entirely, but hers is more raw, less polished. She is the beauty of the hunt, of a primal hunger. She is a predator to her core and she wears the form easily, patrolling the borders of Castile’s kingdom in her tigress form. She has never been one to want for titles or power—she is more interested in the power of jaws crushing throats than the ones afforded by a crown—but Castile is now part of her pack and if Loess was what he wanted then she would gladly lend tooth and claw to see it protected.

It is during these patrols that she sees the two-toned mare on the beach—perhaps the smallest part of the Loess border but guarded nonetheless. Sochi pauses and angles her feline head toward the mare, her eyes narrowing in thought as she places a paw back down, pressing it into the soft earth below. She has no way of knowing that this is Castile’s sister but he has also not given her reason to believe that she is to treat everyone on the border as a threat. So she doesn’t simply attack but instead pads over.

When she is several feet away, she shifts, shedding the thick onyx and cream fur and elongating her limbs. When she stands still again she is a mare once more, her mercurial silver gaze steady and neutral, the sun washing over the crimson tattoos that scar her chest. “Hello,” she says simply, wondering is she is supposed to say more. Was she supposed to introduce herself? Ask if she could help?

Neither option feels right and so she says nothing, simply standing there and waiting for a response.

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf

[Castile]

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

Isobell’s arrival is unexpected, but mostly warmly welcomed.

Her scent reaches Castile on a strong, autumn gale. It permeates the delicate lining of his nostrils and rips him from a lackadaisical rest in the shade of a rocky outcropping. He blinks quickly as his head lifts abruptly in surprise. Memories race across the back of his eyelids. They ran across these hills as young adults, their bodies lathered in sweat before rejoining at the water’s edge, their laughter brimming with delight.

Although their childhood as long since passed, his love for Isobell has never wavered. It seems like yesterday when they embraced on the shore of Ischia and she offered him a home. His struggles were bettering him, but Castile triumphed. Somehow, the change of tides brought him back here, to Loess, but this time with a crown crookedly placed on his brow.

Sochi has already met Isobell at the border, tending to her in a manner that he expected – and nonetheless appreciated. He joins them, his wings tucked neatly against his side. His lips first trail hungrily across the slope of Sochi’s muscled shoulder. He wants so much more – to press himself against her, adore her – but he ruefully peels himself from her to touch Isobell. It is intimate, just as it has always been, but there isn’t the lust and want in his eyes as it was toward the tigress. The tenderness of his lips is punctuated by a soft nip against his sibling’s neck before he quickly retracts with a boyish grin. ”Sochi,” her name is honey on his tongue, sweet, delectable, ”this is my sister, Isobell.” His mismatched eyes dance between the two women, his voice elated. ”Isobell, this is Sochi,” he pauses as he takes a place at her side, leaning his shoulder just barely against hers. ”She is the mother of your niece, Reia.” He doesn’t mention the other women, the other children.

He admits only what’s important in this moment.

A fleeting pause successes the introductions before Castile continues on, not lingering on the facetious meeting as the women acknowledge each other for the very first time. ”How are you, Isobell? How is Ischia and Ivar?” Curiosity and concern rises in his throat and reaches his eyes as they look across her. Not enough time has passed to notice her pregnancy, but there is an air about her – and her pheromones – that trigger a silent wonder. There are nieces and nephews he hasn’t yet met, their existence unfortunately escaping him and pulling at his heartstrings. Family, as they were raised, is always paramount and the highest priority. Soon, he silently promises himself, he will find them all.

castile

[Isobell]

Isobell is pleased to be met after her short landfall to Loess. This means his land is guarded well, secure and safe. A tigress emerges from brush and bramble with a weighted gaze. Iso eyes the she-cat but she is more delighted to watch as the cream and coffee coated feline melds to that of a pretty black mare marked by crimson scar and blue blaze of a shield.

'Hello.' It is offered from between soft lips that previous held thick teeth. Isobell is slightly relieved that the claws are replaced by hooves. The kelpie mare nods her greeting with the dip of her dark head, a tumble of hair falling. "Iso-" The moonstone and obsidian mare begins before the familiar form of her brother emerges and her features light up like a morning sunrise. Silver eyes watch as he folds his wings, taking the dark mare's side with a possessive nibble and Isobell understands that this mare is important as he openly shows his adoration before the water mare (never had he done so before).

Ears are forward and her smile is beaming from ear to ear as she moves his way to her to embrace and place a sibling nip. "Sochi, it's lovely to meet you...I'm Isobell." The tones are fluid as she expresses her greeting. The kelpie offers another polite nod. "Oh Ivar, you know, happy and content on our little island..." The mare smiles beautiful as she chuckles gently. "But I have news...Ivar has gifted me Ischia." She grins wider now in even her own astonishment, pewter eyes filled with love for her husband and his surprises. "I believe he is look for a little quiet from the comings and goings but I'm sure you know he will still be at my side." Isobell shares a look with Castile, knowing he is aware of his childhood friend's protective nature.

"I believe mother would be proud." Isobell can feel the blossom of her new title swell in her breast since she had ruled Nerine. There is a pride, a responsibility, duty to her land that she had not realized she had missed. "Perhaps we should have a party? Maybe an official alliance of Loess and Ischia?" The suggestion is more playful than serious but perhaps it would be a fun way to invite all Beqanna residents to Ischia as an inauguration for Isobell but more so an even to create new allies whilst having fun.

bottom of the deep blue sea

[sochi]

Sochi

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

Sochi doesn’t blink or tear her gaze away from the mare before her, every muscle in her body tensed although she still gives off an air of ease. There’s always that beautiful suspension of waiting in the body of a predator—a grace in the moment between inaction and action—and Sochi has learned how to balance on it perfectly. One ear flicks forward and it is the only motion she makes at all, even her breathing falling away as she merely watches the woman of water before her, taking in all of her and studying for later.

It is only when the Dragon King emerges that she flicks her mercurial gaze away. There is something like recognition in Castile’s face that settles her senses, her instincts quieting. Instead she watches as he approaches, her neck arching subtly beneath the hungry trail of his lips. They have had little time to themselves lately—their interactions watched or interrupted—and the predatory, animalistic side of her has grown impatient. She hungers for a moment of quiet, of the flame and the teeth of their silence.

Still, she takes the moment for what it is, never thinking to ask him for more. She merely turns her gaze on him, a flash of intensity as she reaches out to nip slightly at his thick hide.

When she draws her gaze away, the heat has settled into a simmer and her face is a mask of neutrality. A corner of her lip rises into a smile at the greeting and she nods slightly. “Iosbell,” she repeats the name, her voice maintaining that slight rasp, the husk that almost rolls into a growl at the back of her throat. And then she listens quietly, wondering at how she has managed to walk into several diplomatic meetings with Castile now. It is not her strength, nor her area of interest, but she cannot find it in her to walk away.

Instead, she listens as politely as she can, her mind wandering ever so slightly to the prey that may wander the interior of Loess. When her mind does snap back to the presence, her eyes sharp slightly as she considers the news, a slight frown crossing her features as she thinks. “Perhaps we can celebrate with a hunting party,” she offers with more interest. It was not the usual way of acknowledging the changing of thrones or the tying of a new alliance, but she can think little else she would enjoy more.

And how else does a crowd of kelpies, dragons, and tigers celebrate if not with a communal hunt?

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf

@[Castile] @[Isobell]