"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
11-25-2019, 08:24 PM (This post was last modified: 11-25-2019, 08:25 PM by draco.)
draco
hitch a ride on my violence
Red clay and singing canyons are familiar and burdensome to the demon boy. His stark red eyes scan the glowing horizon as if something might appear out of thin air. It is in these rare moments of supreme boredom that he misses his father and how he could make something out of nothing with his shadows. Draco curses his parents’ genes for not passing on that powerful magic, though he certainly does not mind the devil’s gifts he possesses.
As dry as his home is, he cannot kiss it goodbye. He does not consciously admit this to himself, but he lingers in Pangea in the hopes that Litotes will return. He loves his family (they are the only thing he does love), and a piece of him feels missing. While he knows the shadowed man is more than likely holed up in some cave, Draco feels as if he will never see him again. There is an emptiness burning holes in his chest—black holes that suck everything within him into nothingness, then spit out the otherside as pure hellfire.
Time and time alone will heal all wounds, is what they say; but Draco only feels his gashes festering.
He hums to himself, a habit he picked up in the record time he has spent alone, as the sun sets picturesque before him. Below, a soft dip reveals a nearly rushing underground river. The demon dips his head to the edge and kicks a pebble over as the last glimmers of sunlight make his crimson horns sparkle.
Hiss, the dust and rock stumbles as Draco suddenly makes a descent into the small canyon. He dips into the shallower parts of the water, beneath a low-hanging cliff. In the shadows his eyes glow, and he peers numbly up at the waning day’s glow.
your breath frozen in the air, newborn droplets of iceyou were the one thing i got right
She’s been thinking a lot lately, about defecting to Pangea. She knows that Castile will be furious, and her adoptive siblings will probably miss her, but her heart longs for her to follow Ghaul home every time that they part. She wonders what he does when they are apart, who he is befriending; she doesn’t fear that he is with other girls, but she wants to meet the friends that he is making and the family that he is growing up with. Does he tell them about her, his other half? Does he chitter and chirp and push himself awkwardly up against them in his odd displays of affection? She wants to know.
The day is ending when she finally makes up her mind, her white-and-gold wings bursting forth from her back in a dazzling display. These partial shifts are her favorite part of her ability – she likes to take to the skies without having the expend the energy to shift all of the way. A full shift leaves her exhausted and ravenous, and sometimes she doesn’t have the energy to return to her horse form until she has decimated several rodent populations around Loess. She always feels guilty afterwards, and finds herself sleeping more after these incidents. If she focuses on one small shift at a time – her wings, or a taloned foot here and there – she finds that she can control her energy levels much better.
Without a further thought she takes to the skies with a running start and a leap, her feathered wings stretching wide to catch the winds and sweep her high into the sky. It doesn’t take long before she is winging her way over the mountains of what must be Hyaline; she can see the reflection of the sky far below her, reds and oranges and purples above and below the girl and shining off of the golden streaks in her feathers.
When the mountains give way to clay and canyons, she drops lower, hoping to spot Ghaul on the horizon. She finds herself not so lucky, but another horse catches her eye, and she wings her way towards him. Using talons instead of hooves, she lands smoothly, claws digging into the soft earth as she folds her wings and smiles as confidently as she can manage. She knows that technically she is trespassing, but this may just end up being her new home. “Sorry if I startled you,” she tells him, eyes twinkling with friendliness. “I’m Clarissa!”
They’re so boring, he thinks, as creature after creature brushes his mind. Boring, bland, predictable—what is a demon to do with all of this monotony? This unremarkable? He molds it to suit his quiet platitudes (so that there might no longer be platitudes), but day after day he only finds this clay kingdom lacking . . . whatever it is that he needs.
Draco senses Clarissa’s searching thoughts before she lands on the ledge above him. He shuffles against the pebbles that line the underground riverbed, anxious to see this winged creature. To his surprise, she spots him (the glow of his eyes must have given him away), and perches so that she may peer down at him. The demon dims the fear aura that glows in his gaze and smiles charmingling up at her chipper face.
“You didn’t startle me, darling,” he replies while wrapping his magic gently around her mind. Sometimes he wishes those whose thoughts he enters could fight back—if only for the passing of time—but for now he is pleased to sense her kindness and vague insecurity.
Easy prey for a demon, perhaps? If only he knew she is his opposite.
“Clarissa, why don’t you come down here and join me? You don’t smell like my home, maybe you need a sip of this fine Pangean water after a long flight?” This he says with an amused smirk, curious if she will be so easily beckoned closer.
As an afterthought he adds, “Oh. My name is Draco.”
@[clarissa] hi so i placed her on the ledge above draco since i thought it would be pretty hard to land in the canyon with the overhang. if you want me to change it i most definitely can <3
