"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
It is late afternoon in the meadow and the little unicorn is grazing out in the open hills. The skies are a dark gray and hold the promise of rain but she seems unbothered by the approaching storm as she rips at any green grass that remains. Most of the flora had already begun to wither and brown with the approaching winter but there were still a few tufts of sweetness to be found and she pulls at them greedily, chewing thoughtfully as she ambles with no real direction.
It had been an interesting few weeks and she was enjoying the moment of solitude. It is strange to have gone from a rather hermetic life to this rather full one she was living now. Despite the odd way she seems to instinctually pull out the darkest and creepiest men that Beqanna had to offer, her outlook on life is still as bright and beautiful as ever. She is snug and warm in her own skin and her confidence radiates through the golden eyes that sweep over amber hills. Her finely dished head tilts, the smoky quartz spiral thick and cloudy where it catches faint hints of light.
She suddenly sees something in the distance. Something dark and twisted and strange. She can’t resist the shadowy pull of curiosity that begins to thread through her as she turns and begins to head down the hill towards the dark mystery that beckons just over the shoulder of the hill. And when she rounds it, she’s not sure she’s seen something as open as he.
There is no hiding what he was. Not to her with the crimson twisted horns wrapped around his head, the brilliant constellations scattered across his burned skin. Many things wear many faces but she thinks this is a stallion who is unapologetically himself. “Hello.” She greets him quietly, her golden eyes wary despite the faint smile that trails across her dark lips. She is interested to know what exactly he is but is not foolish enough to think that this might be yet another dangerous game she’s stepped in. However she has faced many fears in these last few months so what’s one more?
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Draco is minding his business, truly, for once. Biding his time in the Meadow and putting off his reunion with Dove he is sure will be, at the very least, uncomfortable. Like Bardot, he is focused on the last remnants of Autumn’s healthy grass. He is nibbling only, not fully invested in filling his stomach with vegetation when he could now hunt animals.
Bardot’s thoughts precede her approach, allowing the demon to be aware of her presence before she notices him. He sighs into the ground, red eyes zeroing in on the bits and pieces of soil and yellowing, cracked grass. Too often he feels exasperation if he is not in the mood to terrify, and it takes all of his might to not radiate waves of fear as he seethes into the earth. He does lift his head, ever-polite as the once Prince of Pangea, mouth widening in a fanged smile that was clearly insincere.
What do you want?
Draco doesn’t bother speaking out loud, instead pressing the question lazily into the unicorn’s mind. It’s almost a coo, the tone he uses. A good mask for the irritation he feels and the typical way he treats women too bold or too stupid for their own good. He is a creature that could likely kill her in the blink of an eye, and she does not shy away.
Like Tirza, like Morgayne, like Desire, like Dove—she does not turn away.
But he doesn’t think it’s for the same reasons them, no. Bardot’s mind betrays too many of her thoughts, what strange things she is attracted to.
Some are rude and some are kind. Some are withdrawn and others remain curious. This stallion seems to be a little of everything. He presses a question into her mind and her curved ears flick back at the unexpectedness of it. She notices the tone of his voice and her smile quirks a little, recognizing a tactic she often used herself when she was dealing with someone unwanted. She was starting to realize that darkness and moodiness seemed to go hand in hand and wonders why that is.
What did she want from him?
“Just an answer to a question.” She responds quietly, looking at him through molten iris’s that hold the warmth he is lacking. And it’s true, she really doesn’t want anything from him. Just as she hadn’t expected anything from Tunnel, or from the handsome face of Molech, or even the grumpy armored stallion she had shared space with in the river. She’s merely curious and if she could lock down one desire in particular... It is to understand why she isn’t frightened of creatures like him when she absolutely should be.
He could kill her in the blink of an eye.
All of them could.
None of them had.
Why was that?
“What are you?” Not a name. Not who. Only “what” as if everything he was could be neatly condensed into a single word.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
The demon doesn’t answer her right away, instead quietly watching her thoughts as they pass and pass through her mind. His lip twitches with a snarl at what he reads, but it doesn’t find purchase on his lips as he remembers where he is and what strangers might watch.
You’re not scared because none of them could kill you without some sort of choice or mistake by you.
Still not an answer to her question. Perhaps he will not deign it important enough. Draco merely studies the unicorn, red eyes simmering with an anger he has not yet placed a source for. His nostrils flare as he continues to silently peer, considering all the contradictions that fight beneath her skin.
Finally, Draco breaks the intensity of his glare with a disarmingly handsome smile.
It’s when that choice . . . He pauses, studying for changes in her face as he continues to lazily circle her mind with his words. Is taken . . . Suddenly, Draco is in Bardot’s mind, staring blankly at his own grinning face. The grin on that face broadens as the gift he’s been occasionally practicing does its work. The tie between them is weak, held just long enough for him to remain in his body and build a wall of shadow that moves with Bardot.
When the demon is fully returned to himself, he studies the woman, brow furrowing as he weaves the shadows leisurely forming a half-circle behind her.
“I could kill you right now, banish this shadow and fill you with so many diseases your body would rot in minutes. Or I could trap you with this shadow and tear your throat out with my fangs. Take control of your body and walk you off a cliff.”
The demon takes a step closer, baring his canines in a quiet snarl.
“Do you know true fear, darling? Are you looking to find that fear you should be feeling? I will make your friends look benevolent.”
Another step. Draco begins to pinpoint that anger, where it was birthed: the utter stupidity in seeking out monsters. Should she get away with disturbing him just for an unsated curiosity? He begins to wonder if killing her quickly might be a mercy to her, to save her from some other, less-civilized creature’s wrath.
Draco sneers, flaring the webbed bat wings at his side as he asks, “Do you still want to know what I am?”
Hi I took some liberties so if you want anything changed please shoot me a DM<3
One thing she had learned in her training as a young Khaleesi to be was being observant of people and ones surroundings. The twitch of his lips is not missed but makes her curious to what emotion had spurred the action. Had he been holding back a smile? A frown? A smirk? A snarl? He is harder to read than most and her golden eyes travel across his many horns and demonic tail, the lack of mane running along his neck, before resting back on the red of his eyes that are so similar and yet so different than the ones that her half-brother holds.
He presses more words into her head and she tilts her horned head at him, considering this option. “Perhaps.” Is all she says back as she recognizes the simmering in the depths of red and wonders where it’s come from. There is probably a grain of truth somewhere in his assessment but she’s not sure it’s the entire reasoning for why she still stood, living and breathing, before him now.
And then he seems to find it, hits that nail on the head, as his words slither in her mind and he smiles as he pushes himself inside her in a way that’s far more intimate than anything she’s experienced with Tunnel. There is a soft gasp at his unexpected entry, her golden eyes widen as he settles for a moment inside of her. But she makes room for him, even here, despite the thrill of uncertain fear that makes her heart beat just a little faster. Still giving herself in multitudes so that nothing could ever be taken from her. Even if it means losing her life, even that she might give willingly if only out of spite. She can feel that darkness of him spreading within her and she brushes against it gently with the lightness of her, still curious even against her better judgement.
He doesn’t stay for long and when he returns to himself, she finds a wall of shadow forming behind her. He is studying her and a ghost of a smile momentarily flicks across her dark lips. “You could.” She says simply, acknowledging the strength of his power. “But I don’t think you will.” She whispers, leaning only on the instinct of his curiosity that she is certain she must have now. The fact that she hasn’t ran yet when most with common sense would. He steps closer, baring his fangs, and she tilts her horn again in a reminder that she is not completely defenseless. Not entirely. He steps towards her again but she is still as newly fallen snow despite his cruel questions of fear. There is some alarm building in her chest, as there should be when one is promising your end, but not in the way he might expect.
He is a dark thing that whispers endless versions of death and destruction but she can only look into those flaring crimson eyes and when he sneers down at her, asks her if she still wants to know what he is, she looks up at him with her sharp cat-like eyes and says softly. “No. Now I only wonder why you are so angry.”
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
It’s a burbling, heated thing, Draco’s anger. Intense and raucous, rearing an ugly head as hellish as the one that Draco bears. He is not often angry, though that might come to a surprise to any casual observers. The demon simply exists like this, nonchalant and uncaring. Very few things spark passion in him, and even fewer things sate the gnawing hunger burrowing a hole in his chest.
There are a couple of things that grate under Draco’s skin as he gets older: willful naivety and insolence. He thinks he sees both in Bardot. Her unwavering face as she questions the dark power that rolls uncomfortably in his gut paired with her draw to men that will always, always hurt her in the end. Draco doesn’t know the extent of that shadowy coil, how it runs from her head to her heart to the pit of her gut.
I don’t like to get dirty, he answers with a flick of his head, not bothering to speak aloud again. The shadows holding her from behind slip to the ground and race to curl into his skin. What is your name? he asks in lieu of answering her question. So I can call you a fool with conviction. He turns his head an inch, but there is the smallest flash of amusement when he speaks.
While the anger disappeared with the blink of an eye, the demon still wears a withering wariness on his face.
There is something suggestive that glints in the gold of her eyes, something that lingers as her lips press together in a thin smile. He had answered a question, pressed it into her mind again, but she’s certain it isn’t an entirely true one. Nor does it answer what she had really wanted to know. That source of his anger.
His shadows fade and curl back into him and she watches them with interest as they absorb into his dark skin, noticing that the way the constellations blaze across his midnight flesh remind her of bleached bones come to life. He asks her name, calls her a fool, and she can’t help but give a surprised laugh despite the insult. She thinks he might be amused as well but he is still so hard for her to read, she isn’t entirely sure.
“Bardot.” That simmering in his crimson eyes has changed to something else as she looks back up at him. He could have just taken her name if he had wanted it, just as he had taken over her body. She would have pushed it to the forefront of her mind though, given it as willingly as it was demanded, just as she had made room for him inside of herself. It makes her pause, trying to sort out her own conflicted feelings in regards to this discourteous stranger, because it must mean something if he had asked for it instead. She wants to ask him for his as well but has a feeling he won’t be as forthcoming as she is. And so she asks instead, “Do you make it a habit of insulting people you’ve just met?” Those golden eyes remain sharp on him but it doesn’t stop a faint smile from dancing briefly across her own dark mouth.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Bardot![[Image: BQjeje-Bardot2.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/T37nJTF6/BQjeje-Bardot2.png)
