"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
Had not forgotten the eruption of fire. The bone chilling screams of pain and the smell of burning flesh. He had not forgotten the loyal wolf that had left the pack to join his own. Crevan was becoming quite an interesting prospect. Some may call him “lackey” or “follower” but Crevan had that special something that others lacked. That little piece of potential that could be warped and molded. Crevan could do great and terrible things if pushed correctly. Things his dear mother could never dream of. What would she say if she knew she had given birth to a possible monster?
It doesn’t take him long to find the champagne hue of the young stallion, the dark navy tresses that wrap lightly along his neck in the growing humidity of thick bodies pressed together. He is pleased to find him enjoying the party. Good, that’s what he wanted. To lure them further into his power, to show them the possibilities. ”You have many tricks Crevan” A soft murmur, whispered against his neck as the wraith slips from the shadows and comes close to his side.
Crimson eyes penetrate into his own, always searching. Calculating. Plotting. ”I’ve been watching you.” He finally admits, his voice barely a whisper but holding his attention amongst the rowdiness around them. ”Thana shows interest in you…. As do I.” His muzzle runs lazily over the defined slope of his shoulder, lingering for a moment in thought. ”Your drive, your skills, your loyalty….Become my Shade. Lead my assassins as we find them.”
He plans on handing the little Loess slut that he had burned over to him, to let him have his way with her in whatever way he saw fit. An extra reward for such good service. For now he doesn't comment on it, instead watching him carefully to see how he reacts to this current offer.
It was all the young wolf ever wanted. The timing is unexpected, though, so when the pale stallion disturbs Crevan’s idle interest at the tangle of indiscernible horseflesh, the rising Sylvian starts as if he’s been caught doing something he most certainly should not be. “Gryffen,” He manages to say, casting one ear in the direction of his King as he remains motionless beneath his leader’s touch. “Thank you.”
They grow silent. Crevan’s head tilts gently aside to catch the stare thrown at him and he returns it with a smile, much too eager to feel the rush of pleasure as Sylva’s rightful master continues to groom him with praise. He can’t speak, even though he hears every word as sharp as light cutting through crystal. “Thana is interested, in me?” He thinks numbly, “And you … too …” But the places where Gryffen’s mouth touch are left in trails of fire, and he’s drunk on the need for more - more of it, more of him.
He always had, after all. Wanted him.
“No.” His mind supplies, harsh and unforgiving. It was taboo … too much so. His heart, racing through his veins in a mad dash of testosterone and adrenaline, lurches to a halt when Gryffen finalizes his thoughts. It takes everything within him to keep from shifting, from running through these woods with mad intentions and unrestrained, savage joy at the every thought of it - Shade of Sylva.
“As you desire.” The muddy stallion breaths, chest rising and falling with quick bursts of air. “I also have something for you,” He says, nervous electricity keeping his eyes away from the face of his peer. “a girl. Name’s Celest. I found her by the River and brought her here, she might be worth looking into.” He offers in way of direct order. If Gryffen was interested, the white wraith would go to see it himself. Crevan’s duty was to inform, and he’d done just that.
Whatever the curious illusionist wished to do with the information given was all his own agenda.
He was growing so bored of the same routine. There was only so many times one can cut the flesh from a screaming victim with the same dulled knife. Only so many times one can stick themselves within whore after common whore and gain the same complacent satisfaction. Thana was the exception to the rule (she always is) but she had earned her way as his most trusted follower. She held that same streak for diversity that ran along her cold-blooded instinct to kill. They were both searching.. Searching for the next adventure. The next grain of knowledge that had yet to be unearthed.
He is always seeking for the truth behind the power. What made magic what it was, how does one harness it to use for their own will? He’s always looking for the answer to the greatest question of them all. The truth of Death. How could he take that for himself? How could he be the Master of Death?
It has been so long since he had manipulated another into doing what he wanted… In exploiting their powers for him to study and observe. But he is also curious about more simple things… The seductions of the flesh. Any flesh. As his crimson gaze traces the hollowed curve of the young stallions cheek, he remembers Pazuzu’s teeth raking deliciously along his back. The silvery strands of scars still marking the encounter along his spine. It had been a small taste but enough to tantalize his curiosity.
Perhaps there was more to pleasure then soft women.
He can sense the willingness in Crevan to please. Perhaps his wolf-mother had failed to satisfy this need within him. Perhaps that’s the way to his heart, to his unyielding loyalty. His thoughts confirmed when the young wolf mentions a gift. The white wraith smiles slowly…. The last gift he had been given had brought him much pleasure. He doesn’t doubt, with what he has seen so far, that this gift will be any less exciting. ”I’ll make sure to find her.” He murmurs softly as his crimson stare follows his averted gaze. Taking a step even closer to him to bring those eyes back to his.
He could unleash the magic within him, he could force it into the heart of the man before him. However…. He is curious to hear the words first. Blunt teeth reach brazenly to tug at a tangled burr wrapped in a strand of his navy tresses. As if they have known each other forever, as if he has touched him in such a way before. ”Your mother once showed me her heart’s desire. It was… Not what I had expected.” The words quiet among the sighs and moans around them. Not doubting that he was latched on to every single word. ”I wonder what you desire Crevan. If it’s something I can help with…” There’s an invitation there, subtle but lingering in the dusky autumn light. The unwavering red gaze never leaving his face, watching carefully to see if he’s picked it up. If he’s accepted.
The feast never serves to quiet the famine. Not in Gryffen’s case, anyways.
An absent tug is more than that; meant to distract Crevan from his nonattending stare, it makes him shift. There has always been something lacking in his life, some part of himself that longed for direction and guidance but found emptiness and abandonment instead. He’d searched for it - oh, the countless hours spent looking for friendship come to mind now - but the hunt had only led him farther from the source of it and deeper into the arms of waiting danger.
His family, he feels, has cut him free. Circinae hasn’t thought to return and he’s sure there’s nothing left to say between himself and his twin. Canaan? Fah. He’d lived his whole life without him, anyways.
Here is someone ready and willing, hot to the touch with more experience beneath his belt than Crevan could ever hope to fathom. It’s hardly a struggle to tilt his head aside when the mention of his dam slips past Gryffen’s pale lips. “Not what he had expected?” Crevan thinks, brow furrowing with equal measures of curiosity, “If only the rest of them knew.” Circinae was not so much the saint everyone painted her as, especially when the spotlight drifted away.
“I wonder what you desire Crevan.” His leader murmurs, a question the muddy stallion has asked himself time and time again. His eyes curve slowly to meet the red glare; he knows what waits behind it, welcomes it even. Around them, the blazed colors of their home begin to fade away.
He blinks; Canaan stands before him while the dark lake of the Underneath rests beneath him. Fear seizes his heart and Crevan looks around to see the darkness stretch out on every side. “No, please no …” He starts, making as if to back away. The golden horse before him hisses, stretches its body to transform into the creature he’d slain but this time the image is different - Circinae’s wolf head sits atop its shoulders and snarls between bloodied teeth.
She twists, curls into herself and re-shapes until the world is tilting and Crevan feels the sensation of falling. When the spinning slows he can see Sylva around him again, but the throng of horses who’d come for Bacchanalia are pushed aside for him, making a path carved from flesh to lead him ahead. Gryffen stands at the ready, Thana as an eager wolf at his side. Together they beckon to the new Shade, both whispering invitations for pleasure and acceptance.
He takes a step forward -
The grip of Gryffen’s ivory teeth yanking harshly on his mane brings him back to reality and with the rapid blink of his dry eyes, Crevan glances around himself to make sense of their world. “I …” He starts, still feeling the foggy residue of Gryffen’s power leaking from his mind, “Is it over?” He breathes, confused and still a bit bewildered.
