"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
There are some things he does not try to hunt, some creatures that are safe from the ravenous hunger. They are infrequent things, but as he ages the list of them has grown longer. His family – mostly – and his kelpie children. The sharp-toothed whales who sing a song not so different from his mother’s. The inky blackness at the very bottom of the sea and the creatures that dwell in it.
For all her brightness, Lirren is reminiscent of those deep shadows, her pretty face as bright as the blue-ringed octopus that lies in wait in the coral beds. She is not of the sea, but there is something about her that keeps her just as safe as if she were. Perhaps it is just her unnatural star magic that keeps him at a distance, or perhaps it is something more.
The star magic is what he tells himself, because the way the water slides along her sides stirs an unmistakable need. If she’d just put the light away he’d have already taken her, drawn her beneath the moonlit sea for a swim that would ultimately satisfy them both. Mostly himself, of course, but he is not entirely selfish.
“You should come to mine, then.” He tells her, remaining still in the water with only his flicking tail to steady him against the current. “Ischia glows too.” In a better, more natural way than she does, but there is no need to say that aloud. Perhaps his island will inspire her to dim her glow, to allow him near enough that he might see how deep the hunger goes. He has seen a lantern fish just once, had told Lothbrok it was the offspring of the sun and the sea. There is a chance, he thinks, if she’d just put away the stars.
@[Lirren]
even if he doesn't know it he is so grateful she can't read minds lolol
And inside you're burning with some secret yearing
Perhaps she is similar, in a way, to the lantern fish. The glow of her stars an echoing, subtle lure to draw others in, to snare them in a web of her own design. She is kinder though, less likely to leave only bones as evidence of her passing. Her desire is far more ephemeral, though perhaps just as base. She makes little effort to hide such things however. All that she is and wishes to be is there for the world to see, if only they care to look closely enough.
She watches him, her silvery gaze softly intrigued as she admires the subtle shifts of the muted colors that swirl about his body. A story written in the very air around him, speaking of the cautious soul and hungry beast inside, eternally at war with one another.
It would tear him apart, if he were not careful. Perhaps he need not worry about the threats outside so much as the one within.
But that hardly concerns her. Unless, of course, she could tempt the beast to play. Someday, perhaps. Not today though, she thinks. She has always been a patient woman. With only the stars as her most loyal bedmate, she has no other choice.
His words bring a faint smile to her lips, interest glowing in her silver gaze. She tilts her head slightly, the stars glimmering subtly against her silken blue tresses with each small movement. His offer of a glowing island is profoundly alluring, and she has never been one to resist temptation. “Should I?” she responds easily, a faint note of provocation in her gentle tone. “I have never been to Ischia,” she muses, her gaze shifting to follow the curve of the river for a moment before returning to the beautiful stallion before her. She considers him briefly, before her smile deepens impishly. “Will you show it to me?”
The way she watches him is disconcerting, though he cannot know it is no different from the way he watches her. There’s less hunger in her gaze perhaps (or at least a less literal appetite) but there is a marked similarity in how the watch, as though puzzling apart the other into a thousand different bits. It is uncomfortable, and so he yawns, the gesture revealing far too many teeth. It’s not a threatening gesture – it is simply how he responds to minor stress – but it is far from his most alluring act.
That lack of interest in drawing her in is, rather conversely, what keeps him near.
It is not that he does not want her, because he does and does move ever slowly closer, but rather that the reluctance to be near her brightness simultaneously repels and attracts him. He wants to put out the glimmer of her starshine, but he’s not quite sure he wants to destroy it forever. For a creature that deals in absolutes in the sea, this indecisiveness is foreign. The kelpie settles for agreeing, the idea of drawing her back to Ischia at least being something that he is sure of.
“I will.” He says, now just out of reach in the dark water. This near, he must glance between Lirren and her stars. Taking his golden eyes from their glow for too long seems a dangerous choice, but he must also watch the mare herself, and the way the water glides against her mahogany sides. “You should stay, too.”
And inside you're burning with some secret yearing
Her gaze never wavers, silver eyes following each subtle movement he makes, dancing across the point of each tooth when he yawns. Rather than repelling her, it stirs her curiosity, inspires her to wonder at what beast parlays so subtly around a mouthful of such carnivorous teeth. It’s very clear he has more thought than simply feasting (she has seen those beasts before, and she has never had a great deal of interest in them).
Still he moves close, despite the hesitation that glimmers in the air around him. He couldn’t know she could see the way his emotions swirl like thoughts around his body, but still, instinctually, he seemed to know she is more than just a lovely face and a handful of glittering stars.
It’s an easy thing to mistake. So often they only see what they wish to. The beauty on the surface, the glamour of the her light. They mistake her, and she lets them. She has never doubted her own allure, has so often used it to her advantage. But it is always that much delightful when they recognize her as something beyond a vapid and vain creature (even if some small, surface part of that is still true).
He is almost near enough to touch now, though she doesn’t reach out. Instead she allows her gaze to linger, to ephemerally caress the curve of his cheek and the bridge of his nose. “I look forward to it,” she replies coquettishly, eyes lifting to find his, that coy smile still edging her lips. “Perhaps you’ll even convince me to stay, when you do.”
It’s a lie, of course. She doesn’t think she could ever be convinced to stay in one place for more than a few nights. But she does very much look forward to his attempt.
