Is it tomorrow, or just the end of time? [Dem, PRIVATE]

[Kirin]

HE'S SO TALL, HANDSOME AS HELL
HE'S SO BAD, BUT HE DOES IT SO WELL

Night settles on the Cove as he gathers Potion from their Den, shushing the girl though she protests very little. He brushes slowly and gently along Nicia’s side, savoring the sweet salt of not only the ocean but her flesh. Medic and Asvin rouse too but he assures them they should stay with their Mother, dream sweet dreams and soon he will return. Potion gives her sisters a soft smile, they nod in knowing and without a word find their resting places once again.

Kirin stands at the archway of the cave, looking in at his cherished ones, most would not know just how much of a loving Father he truly was. All they knew was his way, all they thought was how twisted and wrong he was but the results spoke for themselves. Say what they will of his methods, his desires.

Along their borders his family waits, those he has appointed watch in his absence, Kult and Kohl. No longer needed at their traitorous Mother’s side, they had nothing better to do than heed Kirin’s needs. And though they did not grieve their loss, for what monsters could spare a tear for a liar, they knew very well the outcome of betrayal. The Cove’s skies he left to Kirke, the girl always eager to please and growing ever the skilled flier- who else would he trust? She had proved her worth the day she had slaughtered her own Mother, such a worthy and delightful child she was growing to be.

Crickets trill only to be hushed by their nearing footfall, the Valley borders open without question knowing full well any intentions from the lavender stallion would be for the Kingdom, not against. A spot of trouble, a quick answer, isn’t that what we all seek?

For some the answers came with a trade and sly smile, they came from a lavender beast with the face of an angel and foul soul. When he was ready he would come and collect as was his way, for now the flash of his eyes signaled his presence and with his eldest child he waits.

Soaring sadist of Silver Cove

This is [SECRET/PRIVATE POST] I can take out mention of Nica, Medic and Asvin at Sin’s request. Kirke can be removed at request of Tinsel.

[tannor]

NOTICE: this post is graphic.
This post is creepy.
This post may be disturbing to readers.
I may offend you by content in this post.
There is definite cussing.
This is just a clear warning. :|

With a past so dark, that Satan'd jump out of his seat.
But still you out in these streets, thinking you hot as can be.
Without the knowledge to lead, so you just follow the sheep.
Making sure your lame swag is all polished and clean

I'm here at your doorstep. Can you hear me? My breath is slow and deep, yet raspy and my fingernails, cracked and yellow are clawing at your door. The Devil has sent me here. It's time for me to collect what's mine.

I can hear you breathing. You're on the other side of this door, your face pressed against the frame. Your heart is racing, skipping beats. BaduhBaduhduhBahduh. If it were any louder I'd be able to record it and take it with me. I'd crawl into my cave, sit in the yellow brown recliner stained by sweat and lean back. After a few moments of peace and quiet, I'd hit the play button that recorder and listen to the beat of your heart as it echoed throughout the surrounding silence.

BaduhBaduhduhBahduh. But alas, not all my wishes could come true and with a quick motion my mouth slides open, a simple oval of black and gray as an otherworldly screech escapes my throat, piercing the even's silence with an eerie dread. My nails begin to scratch harder. Slowly digging into the rough oak as the begin to peel the wood away in strips. I can smell it. The oak. It wafts towards my face and then reaches my nostrils with a sort of delicacy.

Let me in. Oh pretty please. Let me in.

I am laughing now. It is a sort of high pitched cackle as I continue to shred the front of the large door. It is then you begin to pray for absolution of your sins. That is when I can see them just perfectly. Four naked bodies of red haired women laying in a shallow grave, uncovered and posed in different forms of dance. Their skin is a ghostly white against the dampened brown earth and their throats a ruby red revealing the clean cuts that exposed their esophagus'. Though this was all appetizing to the eye it is their faces that catch my attention most. Their faces fuel me more, push me to dig into the wood even harder.

Their eyes. Their eyes are open wide, a milky white has replaced their elegant blues. While their mouths are twisted permanently in the shape of a horrified scream. Maggots are crawling through their lips, pouring out of the openings of their throats and I can hear their crawling and sense their feasting.

And oh my, what is this? I can see it now. Your trademark. Your taunting is truly amusing. You have painted their lips with your own blood as some grotesque form of lipstick. It is a truly cocky move. The move of someone who believes they are invincible. And oh, how I like it so very much.

Oh my, my, my!

You have been quite the naughty boy!

It is then I pull my hands back, giving you just a fleeting second of hope before slamming the palms of my hands against the door with ungodly force. The door frame splinters and cracks, shards of wood flying past my face as a large boom echoes through the darkness. With it the door flies forward, dragging you with it and much to my absolute pleasure, your shrill scream full of pain with the sounds of cracking bone soon follows.

It is now that I stand here in your doorway eye sockets empty, yet black as night as I stare down at the thick oak door that has you pinned against the foyer wall. My mouth is twisted into some sort of sickening grin, gray lips cracked and bleeding as I slowly reach up with a tin, bony hand to brush the splinters off my shoulder with two quick swipes and then carefully move to to straighten my jacket.

"Tsk, Tsk," the sound escapes my lips as I step over the door frame with heavy military boots, a soft thud following my steps and echoing throughout the small delipatated house. For some reason you seem to think this is worth your style. How wrong you are. "Oh silly me, Tannor! What a mess I've made!" I giggle a sort of high pitched giggle. I am oh so funny. To myself, anyway.

I can hear your breath. Raspy, uneven, faltering. Quickly I straighten my gloves with a easy pull at the ends, before making my way to the door, and of course you. "Why don't we clean things up a bit?" Moving faster than you or any human can see, I am on my knees, hands reaching for and then grasping the edge of the door. With one quick pull I remove it from you, allowing it to fall on the open floor.

It is then I catch sight of you and in response I am laughing, my tone full of maniacal joy as I reach down and grip at my knees. "My god if you could only see yourself!" It is almost perfect. The way you lay there as though you are some sort of rag doll. Your legs are splayed open. Your arms are bent and cracked at odd angles as your broken fingers of rough tattooed hands clutch at your flannel. Your eyes are open wide in fright perfectly showing the whites as your lower jaw hangs slack while you struggle to get a breath.

It is almost too wonderful a sight. The way the human form is so fragile. I can't resist the urge to smell you and soon I am crawling over you, arms and legs placed on either side of you as I leand down and drag my the side of my face against your chest and up along your neck, sniffing long and quiet, ending at your face with a silent sigh.

I can smell you.

You smell like death.

I want to taste you. My head tilts so fast it looks as though I'm glitching and for a moment the smallest peaks at the ring of a thick smooth scar around the center of my neck reveals itself before going back into hiding as I tilt my head the other way. It's as though I'm inspecting you. Looking for imperfections and while I do so I can hear your breath quicken. "Are you ready, Tannor?" With a swift movement, I drag my nails into your chest, shredding the fabric of your shirt and your skin into fine ribbons. The ways in which your pained screams suddenly pierce through the night make my own heart race with adrenaline.

You're screaming then. You're pleading then. "Did they hurt like this, you think?" My voice is calm enough to be mistaken for someone talking to a five year old whose frightened by the all too real monster under the bed.

"Did the scream too, Tannor? Like you do now?" As the words slip from my blackened mouth I suddenly dig my cracked nails into your chest. My fingers quickly follow, cracking your sternum and with one smooth motion I'm ripping open your chest revealing all that's inside. Your screams are magnificent, almost artistic then. Enough to deafen a normal human being and as you begin to pass out, I will you to stay awake with my mind.

I want you to see this.

I want you to see me.

I want you to know who I am.

Slowly I move my hands, slipping them under your heart. I cup the organ gently, my thumbs caressing the slimy yet rough sides before suddenly yanking and holding it above you as it beats. Looking down at you I grin, blood spilling from the cracks of my lips and down my chin, dripping into your open chest before whispering as you fade.

"Time to come home son."

I don't like this. It's dark, it's wet. And it's most certainly uncomfortable. I'm no longer safe and warm in the snug fit of my mother's womb. I am on soft dirt and patchy grass under a damn pine tree and I'm pretty sure there's a fucking pine needle or two poking into my ass. It takes only minutes but the spotted stallion cleans me himself and is soon nudging me to stand.

I simply oblige in order to get him to stop nudging me. I want nothing to do with this world. Nothing to do with this life. Wait. Hold on. Why is a stallion trying to get me to stand? Slowly I look down and with an arch of the brow I realize what I have become. Where a life once ruined had led me. I was now a freaking horse.

Well shit. Slowly I look up at him. I can hear his breathing, and for some reason this calms me before the length of his neck slowly draws my eye and I can't help but stare. I want you to see this. I want you to see me. I want you to know me.

I want to dig my teeth into his flesh, tear away his pharynx through the the thick layers of muscle and skin. Yet I am too small, too weak. I am not ready. Slowly I stretch out my legs, hooves digging into the soft dirt as I lift myself into a standing position and with great effort I will myself to stay upright. This must be hell. I did what I did, and now God is punishing me. Slowly I take a step forward, legs wobbling as I look up at the Jaguar spotted stallion. He turns and begins to walk and I follow. We say nothing. We don't need to. We somehow both know that now is not a time to talk.

It is soon we find ourselves sneaking through the underbrush of the forest after catching sight of a purple stallion and a young filly. "Kirin," the jaguar spotted stallion's voice is deep, enough to make me take a step back. Horses can talk now? "I need you to change him now. It's urgent." Change him? Change who? Change me? Change me how? Oh I better not be changed into some frog or something, I mean this has already been one hell of day. I mean look at me. I'm a freaking pony. With wings. I'm literally a my little pony. Slowly the stallion looks back towards me and he gestures for me to approach and I do, slowly, legs wobbling slightly until finally I am standing in front of the pair with an unsure gaze, occasionally glancing back towards Demian. My father.

And now I wait. Wait for whatever change is coming. Just please. God. Don't make me into a freaking frog.

tannor.

NO he is not possessed.
NO he is not a human, nor am I playing him as one on bq.
I'm simply acting like he's first in another universe and then this creature comes to him and hunts him due to his sins, finding him worthy and then pops him into this universe through birth as a huge metaphor ( if owners/officers would like me to explain, please PM me and I will :]! ). In beqanna reality he is simply a pony and only a pony.

[Potion]

forever young, i want to be forever young

The moon brings life to the night, lighting a million shards of silver that the Cove calls its beach. Summer is truly spectacular here and the moon’s stolen luminescence only lends the seaside a majesty, that some may say, it did not deserve. At night, the gulls roost high on the cliffside, nests tucked into the nooks and footholds against the ragged walls. Seals wallow on the beach where they may, though too few dot the sands now and her Father has, for the time being, put a stop to their slaughter.

Potion dozes peacefully within the Family’s den, a cave nothing more, set deep within the rock-side. In the summer it was cool and welcome, a reprieve from the sun's rays, a shield from the winds. During the winter it was warm and dry, staving off the harsh and biting air that flew over the waters. It was home.

Her Father nudges her awake, hushing her before she can ask questions and she promptly seals her lips- sometimes it is best to be quiet. To her sisters she gives a nod, a quick goodbye, but not really. If Potion has it her way they will never truly say goodbye and Khaos help those that might think otherwise.

Sea spray tickles her nostrils as she and Kirin emerge out onto the beach, a steady trek to the Valley to follow. One with few words. There are few things to say about Potions talents and the tasks that were forever set before her. Someone needed aging, though who that would be she did not yet know. Not that it mattered. She didn’t really care who or why, but as time passed perhaps she would. For now she was giddy to do Daddy’s bidding, she was elated to travel and see something other than the Cove. The same rough cliff walls, the same salty ocean, the same silver beach.

The same, the same, the same.

The silence is irritating as they stand sentinel against the shadows, waiting for Demian she guesses but who else? Surely the Valley King did not want aging, but who was she but a young girl? Who was she to assume or question the motives of a King?

She was young but three, and today she reflected that age, standing next to Kirin as a blossoming young mare. Soon that fact would really sink in but back to our visit…

It seems like forever they wait, at least to her, when Demian creeps forth from the foliage. Against him leans the tiny form of a foal, still slick from afterbirth and cleaning, barely adjusting to his weight against his thin legs. Her nose lifts at the scent, ears flickering forward as the Jaguar King speaks in hushed but urgent tones, and it is then that she knows whom she has come to change.

It is not painful, she does not wish it so, it is spectacular really- the process. The light that blinds is momentary but it washes the clearing like a beacon. The way his body molds, stretches and forms is mesmerizing, even to her. It’s always a wonder to watch them grow and shrink whichever it may be and always at her will, she smiles as she watches, another job well done.

“Demian,” Kirin nods when the task is complete, “there is your prize, I’ll return for mine within the week.” He turns to go and when she turns as well his neck swivels, twisting back at her.

“Potion, stay here.” He says in a calculated voice, eyes flashing even against the tree cover. “I’ve given you a King, and perhaps he will give you one too. I’ll be back for you in a few days.”

Her ears flatten against her skull, she knows too well what the prize is and before she can bite back with words of her own she steadies, calms. “Yes Father.” She manages the words even and proud, unyielding to the tears that threaten to fall. Tears he would not see, not from her, and with her head held high she turns to follow Demian and the boy.

Inside she prepares herself for the days to come and what that might entail, he had given her a King a traited King, she should be thanking him. Instead she was swallowing bile at his words, and nursing her feelings that he had wounded.
 

Potion

Kirin x Nicia