"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
The sun has fallen, tucked away behind the horizon with a delicate glow casting the meadow in a splendor of color. No longer does the temperature fall with it, and the gentle caress of the summer breeze weaves through the entanglement of her tousled tresses, soothing the wildness of her wayward spirit. A smile is drawn to her dark lips as her slender legs carry her through the swaying brush, tickling the underside of her barrel and eliciting a sigh of contentment from her chest. Her left ear twitches, drawn to the quiet trickling of water across smooth, mismatched stone, as she is captivated by the plethora of flora and fauna awaiting her over the crest of the hill.
When her lips take in the cold liquid, she is reminded of the ice and the snow from whence she had been born, and for a moment - a fleeting moment, but a moment nonetheless - she is taken back to her youth. To the frigidity of the mountain wind, and to the unforgiving numbness that so often settled into her then-spindly and awkward limbs if she remained still for too long. To the breast of her mother Isle, held close and dear in the darkest and coldest days of winter. To the shoulder of her father Offspring, where she was so often nestled against for warmth.
(the ice had been stripped away from him by then, replaced with the fervent fire that had carved out a hollowness in the love he and her mother once shared)
Her smile is faltering then, as the darkness of her scarlet gaze is settled upon her own reflection. From the tip of her velvet nose to the round curve of her cheek, across her hip and along her barrel, she is cloaked in white (like her mother). From end to end, she is blanketed in the darkness of her father, with the heat and intensity of his crimson gaze. A living, breathing reminder of what had long since died. A memory, and nothing more.
Her sigh is more wistful now as she pries herself away from her own image, staring out into the broad expanse of the lake that lay before her - serene, and still, just as it is.
@[Amet] idk what this is but I want to hoard you so
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
There's a brief moment between when Amet wakes from his twilight nap and when he finally opens his amber eyes. In that moment, he inhales deeply to appreciate the scents of his lakeside home, he exhales slowly in quiet repose, and he listens to the sounds of their home as if for the very first time. He had loved caring for this land ─ he still loves caring for it, living in it, creating memories in it ─ but his mind has been opened to the sweet life of absolutely no responsibility. He is here always, a stable pillar for Solace as she grows swiftly into her role, but there is something different about this type of relaxation.
When finally he does open his bright amber eyes to gaze upon the orange fire that the setting sun has painted across the lake, Amet leans appreciatively against his wisteria tree and sighs with contentment. His sound is echoed and for a moment the gilded stallion is startled, but then he sees the black sabino mare standing at the shoreline, inspecting her rippling reflection. He remains quiet, watching her with a kind smile upon his lips until finally she raises her eyes from the lake and his connect with hers.
The crimson draws him in and suddenly Amet is being tugged by an invisible thread ─ closer, closer, closer to the mystery woman. For the first time that he can remember, he is pleased for the glisten of his scales and his regal desert frame; there aren't many with desert blood in Beqanna, nor are there many with dragon scales (and even then, it is only he who truly shines like a beacon). For the first time he remembers, he wants to be the assertive one. The flirtatious
one. But even as he approaches her with heat in his eyes and a curve to his muscled neck, Amet cannot quite grasp the confidence to greet the breathtaking mare with anything more than ─
"Hello there. I don't think I've seen you in Hyaline before ─" in fact, he is quite positive that he hasn't, "─ Are you a friend of Solace's?"
His amber gaze is gasoline to the fire of her own scarlet stare, boring into his own. Her heart does skip a beat within the tightness of her chest, and she cannot say whether it is simply because of the heavy revelation that she is not alone, or perhaps because of something more. He is striking, swathed in glittered scales of gilded delight, and her lips are drawn up into a smile – warm; embracing his presence as he comes ever closer. The longer her gaze is held with his own, the deeper she can see within his mind, to see the history – the heartache, the longing, the devastation – the strength that was born of conflict and of consequence; but she does not delve deeper.
Simply because she can see into the darkest, most deeply buried secrets locked away in his mind does not mean that she should, and thus, her stare is averted. She can sense the hesitance that comes before his spoken word – and her smile is broadened as the word flirtatious does cross her own mind, and not at all because it had come from her. Looking through heavy lashes and the obsidian forelock draped over her scarlet irises, she can see so much of him (she could know all of him, should she desire it, but there is darkness beneath the light within his soul and she cannot bring herself to know what he has yet to share with her himself).
He is remarkable, even in a world full of unusual oddities, and even in the waning sunlight, each scale dances across the sharp edge of his jaw and regal curve of his neck. The temptation to read into what he might be thinking, to see beyond the flicker of heat within his gold-flecked gaze is strong (is he carved of gold, through and through?) – yet she is resistant, with only a few key words finding their way from his mind to her own.
”I do not know what or who a solace is,” she muses with a glimmer of mischief in her eye, with the soft cadence of laughter to follow. She can see Solace, a bright and everlasting light, in a memory somewhere in his mind. ”but I can see that she is very important to you, Amet. I have never been here before. My name is Eione.”
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
Time seems to pass slow, almost like molasses, as the gilded Akhal-Teke ventures closer and closer to the crimson-eyed mare. Not often do visitors find Hyaline just at the cusp of darkness and the last few that have done so have not arrived with the most positive of intentions, but this sabino mare before him gives Amet an entirely differently feeling. She pulls him in like the tide, a golden moth to red-eyed flame, and he instinctively tucks his maw to his narrow chest to make the scales that cascade down his neck gleam beneath the fiery sky.
Another moment passes, and then two, as her gaze averts. He would think that she may be avoiding his advances if it weren't for the smile that widened on her lips and he feels good, his confidence growing, albeit minimally, as he inquires innocently of her reason for being here. Her gaze returns, peering at him through a thick ebony forelock, and his breath catches. Beautiful, he nearly whispers, but she has found her voice and he a wider grin.
Her statement catches him off guard and the Akhal-Teke draws nearer to her, though part of him urges for more space ─ how? He clears his throat awkwardly, fingers grasping for straws as his confidence threatens to ebb away. But her laughter is warm and it coaxes him from the shell that threatens to ensconce him. "Eione," he finally whispers by way of intrigued greeting, his muzzle tempted to reach out and touch the sabino mare who has so suddenly and unexpectedly electrified him.
"Solace is the daughter of a very good friend," the gilded stallion offers to Eione, though he feels the need to elaborate more. As if he needs to explain that Solace is not a romantic partner. His thoughts flick to Ciri and his shell threatens to close around him again ─ Amet pushes it down, willing himself to concentrate on the crimson-eyed Eione, to not shy away from whatever effect she has on him. "She is the new Caretaker of Hyaline. My successor."
He pauses, leather-plated head tilting to the side slightly. "How did you know I am Amet?" He forgets that he only recently abdicated, that there are other lands in Beqanna that know him, or of him ─ he cannot remember much of anything, though, with his amber eyes locked onto Eione's with a new and unfamiliar primal feeling.
The air is suddenly still, and no longer does the wind comb through her tousled, unkempt tresses – there is undisturbed silence enveloping the vast and open valley, cradled by mountain peaks at each end. As if time had stopped. As if time had meant nothing at all.
She does not preen, nor cock her hip, nor give a toss to the haphazard ringlets framing the soft femininity of her features. She can feel the surge of energy coursing through him, and she can feel his gaze trace the curve of her cheekbone and the gentle grace in the columned ridge of her neck. She is as she is, and he is captivated by her, with no flourish or display – if only he could see that she can see beyond the glimmer of gold, and beneath the scaled overlay that sheathes his uneasy heart and uncertain mind. She can see beyond, beneath, and within, and she is as drawn to him as he is to her.
He is so close that she can feel his breath across her cheek, and her lips part, as if unspoken word lingers there, but she is tempted to reach out to him and to close the space that lay between – to reach into his mind and to draw out whatever sordid desire lay hidden within the intensity of his eye. He is handsome, built of muscle and bone but noble and magnificent and .. kind! The word kind is made boldest to her, among the many hundreds of thousands of memories tucked away inside of his mind that lead her believe that above all, he is kind.
On the surface, there is little else but banter and impish flirtation, but when his gaze is met with hers yet again, she is all too aware there is something more powerful, more magnetizing than she had ever known, and she does not have to wonder if he can feel it too.
”Your successor,” she breathes softly across the overlay of bronze scales along the ridge of his jawline, while the same warm and contented smile dances across her pale lips. Another name is fleeting across his mind, and the memory of starlight and ire and heartbreak is made known to her, but she does not falter. His burden is not hers to bear; not until he chose to make it so. ”a King,” she contemplates with a coyness all her own. ”then you must know my father, Offspring?”
Oh, but she is all too aware that he does.
She can sense it – the plethora of memory and truth within his mind; a flicker of her brother lay there as well (reckless and vengeful as always, Levi had been! – he is no different, not truly, not deeply where it counted). Is his heart beating faster? Is his adrenaline surging, torn between the mystery of the unknown standing before him, and the knowledge that she is of the loin of a companion?
Would he shy away?
Would he resist the chemistry roiling like the ravenous river, crackling like unwieldy fire?
”I can see your name,” she says simply, as if it were obvious. ”I can see it in my mind.”
12-05-2017, 01:34 PM (This post was last modified: 12-07-2017, 08:13 PM by Amet.)
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
In a way, he feels as if he knows her already. As if their history runs backwards into eternity (back before Beqanna, before the Dunes, before his own existence - as if she could have been the keeper of his deepest secrets in another life) instead of severing just a few moments before this one. Amet grapples with this overwhelming notion as his suddenly shaky exhales mingle with hers, fueled by the improbability of their meeting. At the improbability of this primal instinct that curls hot in his belly whenever their eyes meet. He thinks to tell her that perhaps they had been born of the same star but his mind berates him (Ciri) and he is tongue-tied again, lost in the depths of Eione's bottomless scarlet eyes as he searches for the catalyst behind his magnetic attraction to her.
Amet had been no more than a timid boy when he'd met Tangerine. His shoulders (then without scales, glistening only thanks to his own metallic coat) had been heavy with the new weight of Hyaline resting upon them, with memories of his sister's disdain and his brother's bleating cries when he'd fled from the Dunes. Amet had had much on his young mind -- so much that what could have been with Tangerine had never been given the opportunity to reach fruition. She had deserved the world and he had been unable to give it to her (even though she'd asked for nothing of the sort), what with the distractions that constantly clouded his mind. The former king is pleased now, though, with the way events had unraveled. Had they been any different, he would be less one friend in Warrick and less one successor in Solace.
And Ciri… he hadn't been ready for her, either, had he? She was all fiery gas, blinding and heated, and would have been the perfect match if only he had been born with the personality of his sister. He had not sought out perfection, though, only a companion to share his heart and dreams with - but in the end, he had been distracted with Hyaline and she with Castile, and so the gilded king had watched her go, an odd echo (angrier and full of acid) to the moment he'd watched Tangerine leave for the last time, too.
Your successor, she whispers and he is suddenly back in the present, breathing in her new scent and succumbing to the hidden powers within. He lets go of his bitterness, squashes the indifference that threatens to wash over him and simply exists in this moment with this beautiful girl, no longer questioning how he could so instantaneously feel such a strong pull and just accepts it as it is. A king, she purrs now, this time more coy than before and he responds with a throaty chuckle, his gold-flecked eyes pouring into hers. "Until very recently, yes," he tries to say offhandedly, though the young stallion cannot keep all of the pride from his gruff voice.
"Offspring!" he nearly blurts as he takes a step back from Eione, the name laced with warmth and surprise as it falls from Amet's lips. "I should have known," he says quietly as he continues to gaze into those crimson eyes (those eyes that he had seen for the first time here, in Hyaline, following the Lost Boys' attack), every muscle beneath his dragon hide taut with the electric tension between them. "Offspring was my first true ally. Your father…" he falters, looking for the words as her enchanting eyes work to distract him again, "… saw a lot in me when I could not see it myself."
Amet offers no more than that, instead falling into silence as his heart beats frantically. He aches to move closer to her again, to touch the softness of her painted coat, but he forces himself to stay put and instead allows his lips to turn into the smallest of grins at her comment. The explanation answers his question but also spawns more and after a few tentative inhales (ones accented with thoughts of explaining this situation to Offspring), Amet decidedly comes to the conclusion that if anyone would give him the chance to defend his decision, it would be the red-eyed former Overseer of Tephra.
And so he dives in. "What else can you see in your mind?" he asks with a gruff whisper, his heart nearly skipping a beat as he waits for Eione to answer, the rest of Hyaline nothing more than a hazy backdrop.
He is blinding emotion, raw and vulnerable – so much so that she is nearly made breathless by it, her heavy lashes fluttering shut over the scarlet depth of her irises as she surrenders as her mind is weighted with the burden of his sentiment. There is mirth, amusement, joy – but there is also roiling uncertainty, festering beneath, and there is regret and anger and sorrow. Each word is accompanied by a thought, piling one on top of the other until it is little more than a blur of his subconscious. She does not pry further – she does not reach deeper into his mind, to see the depth of his despair, nor to see the source of his anger, of the tension coiled in his belly.
When her lashes drift upward to reveal her gaze again, her pupils are dilated, quivering for a moment before lessening to a natural state. Her breath is caught in her throat, though she can feel his drift across her cheek once more, and she is aching to know more. Aching in a way she never knew that she could. She had long since learned to separate herself from the thoughts of others – her mother had never mastered the ability, and thus she remained in constant turmoil, uneasy and withdrawn from the splendor and wonder of the world.
And yet, with him – she is powerless, lost to the temptation of being able to know why he looked at her just so; why she felt such deep and undeniable attraction to him.
The burden of knowing had dangerous potential. The affliction of knowing the heartache of another, or worse yet, feeling the hot heat of rejection herself, without the words ever being spoken. She had never permitted herself to feel close enough to anyone to subject herself to such anguish. She had felt it enough with her mother and her father, when a love once thought invincible fell to pieces before her, wrought with anger and hurt and betrayal.
A soft huff of laughter moves past her lips when her own father’s name is abruptly spoken from his own. Where her fathers’ eyes were often hardened as a blockade between the tired and distressed soul that lay beneath, her own are like gemstones – watchful, curious, open and seeking. When burning amber meet with crimson, she is lost once again, as captivated as he, marveling at the way her heartbeat seems to jolt and seize within her chest when each lopsided, but charming smile touches the corner of his mouth.
”That does not surprise me,” she muses with a wistful sigh, though she does not say it is because she already knew. ”he has always looked beyond to see what no one else could. If only he could see himself the same way.” Closer and closer, he comes, and she does not turn away. Still and unwavering, her gaze settled and searching his own, she is immobilized by the magnetic pull – unseen, but felt so strongly, and she cannot resist the enticement in knowing he can feel it too. Her smile does falter when she ascertains that he can – had she ever known such an allure as she felt, lost his eyes?
(his thoughts are heavy, torn between closing the diminutive distance still keeping them apart, and wondering what her father might think, should he know the growing tension between he and his daughter?)
”He wouldn’t care,” she murmurs to him as a way of answering what else can you see, demure but with the same glint of mischief hidden within.
”I can see much. I can see you are young, but wise,” her gaze traverses the sharpened edge of his jaw then, to the bronze tresses complimenting the sheer gleam of gold tucked within each individual scale covering his body. ”I can see that you are .. kind,” (that word, it envelopes him like a gilded aura she cannot help but to read). ”and you are saddened by starlight, and fond of citrus.”
A play on word, perhaps –
But she would not, she would not delve deeper.
Not if he did not want her to.
”I can read thoughts,” she says finally, as the air is suddenly no longer still, while an unruly gust of air entangles itself in the unkempt tresses draped over her eyes once again. ”I can read minds, and sometimes, memories – and I can see that you feel the same strong attraction that I do.”
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
Amet decides then and there, his gold-flecked eyes failing to pull themselves away from her crimson ones as she turns them up to him again, that red is his new favorite color. He's unsure how much time passes, or if it is still even moving, before she surprises him with talk of Offspring. Eione's laughter at his exclamation coaxes his own from his narrow chest but the sound is suppressed slightly by the thought of having such a personal conversation with the former Overseer of Tephra. It's no secret that Offspring had offered Amet guidance before, but it's different when the topic of conversation is not so much political as it is personal.
"If only we could see ourselves the way the world sees us," he muses quietly, the words barely audible as his soft muzzle hovers in the gusty summertime air mere inches from Eione's. Her scent is new, intoxicating, and it continues to draw him back ─ and still, he cannot close the gap. The electricity between them could be enough to overwhelm him, had he not already decided to embrace it, and when he asks her gruffly what else she can see inside her mind, the response he receives is not the one Amet had been expecting.
He expels his breath quickly, embarrassment threatening to grasp his chest with its sticky fingers. The young stallion gets a handle on himself and lets his handsome face relax, mirroring the heated amusement that has him feeling confident and alive. Eione's demure gaze from behind the tousled tresses of her forelock brings a small groan forth from the gilded stallion and finally he finds his voice ─ "I'd rather ask for forgiveness than permission." He is done asking. He has done so. much. asking. The distance between them remains as Eione confesses further, granting him the knowledge of himself that he already knows (you are saddened by starlight, and fond of citrus) and he is stuck for a moment as he tries to figure out how to feel.
There are parts of his past, memories from the Dunes, that he has never shared; not with Tangerine, nor with Ciri. The thought of sharing these memories grips him suddenly, making him cold, but then ─
... I can see that you feel the same strong attraction that I do.
"I was expecting... well, it doesn't matter," he chuckles again, letting his negativity float away and allowing his fluttering nostrils to drink in the scent of her as the breeze gifts him with more of it. "First one to close the distance loses," the leather-plated stallion whispers into the sabino's ear, reveling in the intense electricity of her close proximity and finally (finally) giving in to his emotions enough to voice them, if only because he knows Eione can see them for herself if she really wants to.
She can see the subtle twitch beneath his eye – and she does not need to see into his mind to know that his stomach must be coiled in a knot at the sheer thought that another can see into his every memory; that another can sense every wayward notion, every carefully kept opinion and belief and theory. She can see all of him and more, and he is exposed, vulnerable to her and the realization is a heavy burden to him, just as it weighed heavily upon her, but she cannot keep the smile from touching her pale lips. She does delight in his apprehension, and the wavering of his confidence.
Beneath the charisma and magnetism lay a soul with more to give than it could ever take, and to see him falter before her only brings her closer to him, her mouth hovering over the curve of his jawline where the scent of wisteria and dogwood remain, clutching to the golden overlay of his scales.
”Do not worry, dear Amet,” she muses thoughtfully, her voice little else but a husky murmur across the curve of his neck, where his pounding pulse is sure to be. As fervent and enthusiastic as her own. ”I will not pry to see anything more than what you are willing to share,” and she is gazing up at him again, the scarlet of her irises darkened as the desire to close the distance and to taste the pollen of goldenrod tucked away within the ridge of each scale along the column of his neck is almost too much for her to resist. ”and of what I do see – your secrets are safe with me.”
The smile has returned, and her cheek is turned, though her gaze is still steady on his. The deep amber of each iris is only further temptation. She is left longing to see what he must be thinking, of her boldness if nothing else, but she shies away – if only to fully experience the soft fluttering in her stomach when his gaze roves the feminine plane of her face, seeking the crimson beneath ringlets of black.
His whisper sends a shiver traversing the length of her spine, and a gentle huff of laughter presses past her parted lips, and she contemplates staring up into the darkness of his eyes – but to do so would be to press her lips against his own, despite knowing him – could it be only minutes? It felt like hours, days, an eternity!
”Challenge accepted.”
Casting him a coquettish glance, she withdraws, moving along the length of his lithe body – never touching, gentle puffs of breath caress where she might boldly lay a kiss. Along the slope of his spine, across the curve of his hip, and when she comes around, she does not miss the hitch of his thigh nor the broad line of his shoulder. All the while, the blood is rushing through her veins, leaving her dizzy and wanting for him in a way she could not understand – even with a world of knowledge standing before her, waiting to be discovered. Waiting to be known to her.
”You are remarkable,” she says softly, honestly. ”I don’t want to see what you are thinking. I want you to tell me.”
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
In Amet's succinct moment of panic that all of his thoughts, memories, judgments, and dreams could be revealed in a matter of seconds, the black and white lady easily quells that cold anxiety. It's easy to believe Einoe's calm assertion that she would not delve into the depths of his memories without his permission and the gilded stallion's mirth returns with the twinge of his lips. Her breath is warm against the leather-plating of his neck and Amet nods, dry-mouthed, when those scarlet eyes upturn to connect with his amber ones again. "I believe you," the dragon stallion whispers gruffly in return.
His gold-flecked eyes break contact with Eione's to slip over the curve of her cheek, the waves in her mane, the sheen of her ebony back, and all the while his crescent-shaped nostrils revel in the scent of her. His companion's quick laughter feeds into the warmth in his chest, and Amet curls his head back so that his nose presses gently to the scales of his chest, boasting them with new confidence in such a way that he probably most resembles a peakcock with splayed, vibrant wings.
Challenge accepted.
His grin widens, nearly hurting the corners of his mouth with the intensity of his amusement, pleased that this bold mare has walked across the threshold of his home to throw him back on his heels once more ─ better this than to live a boring, uneventful life. Eione takes the offensive, her breath slipping over the scaled ridge of his shoulder to the curve of his gilded flank. Amet's own breath hitches in his throat, chest stilled for a brief moment until a quiet groan falls from ajar lips.
He is sprinted beyond the point of no return in regards to hiding his attraction, to denying the magnetic chemistry between them, and Amet's laughter rumbles in his chest as he tries to stay humble after Eione's compliment. "You're mistaken," he offers back to her quietly as his dragon hide tingles with the desire to reach out for her, "on which of us is the remarkable one."
He turns his head slowly, painstakingly, to be sure that his muzzle will not touch hers but will still dare to come near it. His ear flicks towards her in his tousled bed and the gilded stallion's heartbeat accelerates.
"I'm thinking that I should not have made a bet that I thought I couldn't win..." Amet murmurs to her in confession. "I'm thinking that there must be some way for me to convince you to stay here, with me."
