but recently, the flames are getting out of control; any

[weed]

I've never told a lie and that makes me a liar I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire I've never lit a match with intent to start a fire Weed was an enigma, often even to himself. On one hand, he was starved for power--greedy for it in the way a babe cries for its mother. He dreamed of the chaos of his father and the seductive control his mother had wielded over regular stallions and magicians alike. He thought of the sultry purr of the Valley that had tempted him to it, the way the charred land seemed to thrum with promise. It was a stirring in his belly and an ache in his bones. He had even worked for it--visiting kingdoms and the field, attending meetings, wearing a passive smile when he preferred to show his teeth.  But once he had a taste of it, serving as the highest ranked diplomat, he had found himself bored. It was dull work. So he had quit it as easily as he had started, slipping out of the kingdom in the middle of the night without so much as an explanation for where he was going. He owed nothing to them, least of all their infuriating Queen. He had given what he perceived as his best and had been disappointed.  So he had shrugged it off and left. And yet... He still woke up with his thoughts tangled like smoke around the sweet murmurs of the kingdom. He still felt himself lusting after the promises of power and the brushing of it against his lips. He had been close. He had felt it. What marvels it would have been if he could have just fully wielded it! What marvels it would have been to tear that damned smug-faced Queen from the Gates where the cursed tree couldn’t reach him. What a treat it would have been to actually act like he had wanted instead of constantly wearing masks and playing pretend. Not that the masks didn’t serve their purpose, not that he didn’t enjoy the trickery in coyote-smiles and deceptive eyes, but not constantly. Not always. Oh, how Weed lusted for just someone to share his appetite for the metallic tang of despire. Just someone to understand the animalistic desire stirring in his veins, that carnal need to burn the world to the ground. What he wouldn’t give to have a comrade in arms--or at least a sheep to bend to his will. Giving a wolfish smile as he walked into the meadow, he thought of the mares he had led by the nose. He shouldn’t have left them. That was a mistake. Shrugging his elegant black shoulders, he came to a resting spot close enough to the crowds that he could eavesdrop while far enough away that they didn’t mistakenly think he was joining their conversation. His coal black eyes flitted from group to group before he sighed. Pulling the plants from the ground almost absentmindedly, he yanked them up and over his back until the thorns pricked his skin and left their usual scars. Perhaps someone of interest would walk by. Or, perhaps, easy prey.  One corner of his lip twitched. Either would work. { W  E  E  D } carnage and glenna’s plant manipulating monster

[Straia]

Perhaps he has forgotten her. Forgotten how very much the same they are. She longs to watch the world burn, longs to be the one who burns it down. Well, to use Kingslay to set it on fire. To let Gryffen collect the weak and pathetic and tear them down even more. To send them home broken but for the name of those who broke them. She longs to make the world fear them again. Truly, fear them. Because they are something to be feared now.

But the process was slow, tedious, Boring (as Weed knows). Playing Queen means so many fake smiles and diplomatic meetings. It means bidding your time until your kingdom can stand alone, or has the power to stand alone. It means waiting for that opportune moment. That moment to snatch away the throne from a useless king and even more useless father. That moment to break the worthless treaty with the Gates. That moment to burn it all to the ground.

Perhaps, he has forgotten that they think so alike. Perhaps he has forgotten that he met his match. But she has not forgotten. No. How could she forget him?

The ravens tell her of his return, and she takes to the sky. For a while, she follows high up in the sky, just another black feathered bird. Nothing impressive, nothing of any note. But she keeps tabs on him until he settles into the outskirts of the meadow. Not the Valley, where he once belonged (though she would argue his talents would be of much better use to the Chamber now). Not the Chamber, not to her. Certainly, not to her.

Eventually, she dives, landing on the ground some distance in front of him. The raven turns to face him, but its eyes are her eyes. And then she shifts back, from raven to bay and white horse. But no longer princess or lady. Now, she wears raven feathers in a crown atop of her head. Now, she is so much more than the mare he had left behind. But then again, she never needed him.

Need and want are two very different things though.

Her lip curves into the hint of a smile, and she flicks her tail. This much, at least, has not changed about her. “Plant.”

straia

the raven queen of the chamber

image © Squirt


aaaaah!

[weed]

I've never told a lie and that makes me a liar I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire I've never lit a match with intent to start a fire Weed has the ability to forget a lot, to dismiss even more, but not her. She had managed to stick with him--an itch he couldn’t scratch. There was something about her that was powerful and subtle and intriguing. He liked her sharp tongue and the vicious glint in her eye, and the way his pulse had bubbled in response to her presence. There was something elemental in his attraction, and although Weed did not lust for much, he had found himself lusting for her. Of course, he does not give this away when she drops to the ground a raven and rises as a horse. He just lifts the corners of his lips into a slow, predatory grin. “Still sticking with that nickname then?” his voice is low and smooth, as elegant and unhurried as ever. He raises his onyx head and angles it away from her, eyeing the feathers around the crown of her head and the stance with which she held herself. “I still believe you could do so much better than that.” A slight tsk tsk as his tongue clicks against his teeth. He rolls his shoulders and sighs, taking a step forward as the plants rip from the ground to follow him. Walking in a mild, painstaking slow circle around her, he takes in the new garb in silence, the thorns lifting from his flesh to trail lightly against her sides as he passes. If she was indeed Queen now, which seemed obvious given the clues, it would be interesting indeed. He could not deny that he would be much more inclined to serve someone cut from the same cloth as him.  It might even be fun to work alongside someone with the same brutish desires. Not that he planned on giving everything away all upfront. Instead, he came to a stop when he was on her right side with his left shoulder but a foot away--so close he could nearly feel the warmth radiating off of her. “I would ask if you had missed me,” his voice trails off as he looks up toward the rest of the field, “but it seems like an obvious answer.” Then silence, as the grass begins to slyly climb up her hooves and entangle themselves loosely around the base of her legs. { W  E  E  D } carnage and glenna’s plant manipulating monster

[Straia]

They were so alike. Too alike, really. One would never tell the other just exactly what they felt. But did they need words? Or because they were so similar, did they simply know? She knows, or at least believes she knows. And Straia is not one to make snap judgment, to fall head over heels, or to think that someone else has done so for her. She is not ruled by emotion or hormones, but by her love for the Chamber and her sharp, clever mind.

But of course, that is what attracted her to him. His mind, that worked so much like hers. A sharp tongue and that vicious glint to his eyes, the desire for power not for the sake of power but for what could be done with it. Power is a tool, worthless in so many hands, and useful in others.

How could she not be attracted to her equivalent? And how could he not be attracted to her. Like magnets, they are drawn together. No matter how far they each run.

He doesn’t show any surprise, any reaction, to her as she lands on the ground. She would have been disappointed if he had. His grin, the raise of his lips, the slow drawl of his voice. These things she remembers. These things have not changed. “I am.” Her voice is still hers as well. Smoky and confident, not necessarily sultry, but in the right ears perhaps it is. “And I could.” But of course, it would always be Plant. She couldn’t imagine calling him anything else now.

He circles her like a predator. She stands, because she has never outwardly been a predator. But neither is she prey. She doesn’t shrink from the thorns, but lets them brush across her skin. They scratch the surface, but are not enough to draw blood. She considers leaning into him momentarily, pressing the thorns into her side. But she chooses to remain still, to let him circle. A raven comes to land on his back though, deftly moving itself around the vines.

She didn’t know if she missed him. Did it count, that he crept into her thoughts? She could have survived a lifetime without him and never thought anything of it. Except for the moments where he crept into her mind unbidden, as she weaved through the pine forests, in her visits to the Valley. Every time she walked into that kingdom, she saw him there. Staring out the empty, dying kingdom.

Yet, her life would not be worse off without him. It was simply better with him.

Yes, she supposed that counts as missing him. Not that she would ever tell him as much, just as he would never tell her. Neither one of them would ever give away the whole game. “I could say the same thing. But everyone misses me.” She grins, flicking her tail toward him. The black and white strands catch on the thorns, and she leaves it there, half stuck, half content.

straia

the raven queen of the chamber

image © Squirt

[weed]

I've never told a lie and that makes me a liar I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire I've never lit a match with intent to start a fire The arrogance in her draws forth a vicious, cutting smile from him, and the thorns around him begin to twist in pleasure. “What would you say if I hadn’t missed you?” almost a lie, but not quite. He had missed her in the empty, quiet moments when his mind had stilled and the lust for power had become an after thought instead of the only one. He had missed her in the way you miss a beautiful sunrise you had seen once, although Weed had never been one to be particularly sentimental about anything. Perhaps he missed her because she was both the same and yet unattainable; powerful in the way few things are—wearing it like a second skin. There were few things in life he had found more attractive. But, much like her, he kept those cards close to his chest, instead laughing lightly under his breath and reaching over to lip at her jawline. “Because I didn’t.” The touch is casual and yet he feels the heat simmer beneath his skin, like a promise just waiting to be fulfilled. He breaks the contact easily before angling his sculpted head so that he can meet her gaze. “So what have you been up to, Raven?” Tic for tac. One annoying, simplistic nickname for another. There is something in him waiting for her to admit that she had taken the reins of a kingdom; something hungry and ready to follow her like a wolf might trail a dying deer. Not that he necessarily smelled the blood of the weak on her, but rather the promise of another meal. She could give him what the other kingdoms had lacked; she could give him a kingdom with a purpose. Monsters woke from their slumber and roared in his belly, but he said nothing—instead watching her with disinterested, flat eyes, belying the anticipation of her cutting his ties and flinging him forward to his next kill. { W  E  E  D } carnage and glenna’s plant manipulating monster

[Straia]

She notices the way the vines twist in response to her comment. It’s not true, of course. There are plenty in the world that will never, ever miss her. Kindling for one. Kindling for probably at least ten, actually. But Straia didn’t care about that. She didn’t necessarily care about anyone who didn’t miss her. Why? Partially for as vain a reason as you would suspect. But mostly because she didn’t waste her time with those that weren’t worth it. Because likely, if they missed her, she would also miss them. And those were the only ones worth her time at all.

Weed. Oh, Weed was worth it though. He was worth every second she could give him.


“I would say you are a liar,” she says with a chuckle, still so close to him that the vines brush against her skin. The thorns claw against her brown and white hide the same way the branches of the pine forests do. She welcomes the thorns as she welcomes the trees, feeling more at home with the reminder of pain against her skin than she does anywhere else. Life should not be lived safely, or delicately. It should be lived with head high and all guns blazing. “You and I have a different definition of the word miss than the rest of the world. Or am I wrong about that?”

But the question is rhetorical. She knows she’s not wrong. She knows that in all the ways that matter, they think alike. She knows that the Chamber could use someone like him. She knows that the heat of him crackles against her skin as he lips at her jaw. She knows that it spreads through her like wildfire in a forest. But she does not flinch, does not move, does not give it away. Though she revels in the warmth that spreads through.

He changes topics, calling her Raven, and she laughs slightly. He may think it an annoying nickname, but oh, how apt it really was. She grins - a curve of one side of her mouth and a glimmer in her eyes. There are certain things about her that are still a child, that have never and will never change. “You aren’t the first to call me that. Though the rest of them remember to add Queen to the title. I’ve been rather busy while you are gone. Overthrowing my father, rebuilding a kingdom. You know.”

She remains casual meeting his eyes as well. But of course, in the way that he is ready to catapult to his next adventure, she is ready for him to join her. She is ready for another mind like hers. She is ready to have him with her, and together, they can tear the world down. That is what they dreamed of so long ago. It is what they can accomplish now.  

straia

the raven queen of the chamber

image © Squirt

[weed]

I've never told a lie and that makes me a liar I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire I've never lit a match with intent to start a fire “Ah, how horribly rude of me,” he says with exaggerated embarrassment, his eyes going wide as he takes a step away from her to bow his elegant, slender head toward the ground. “Queen Raven, is it?” In his pleasure, he cannot stop his lips from curling in the corner, his eyes flashing in delight at having guessed correctly at her new past time. “I will remember to show you the respect you deserve.” He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. But it was fun to pretend. Stepping closer to her, his lets his mouth graze over her neck, lingering for perhaps was longer than respectful, but delighting in the show. “I probably should not touch the Queen like this,” his often silky smooth voice has a rare husk to it, the sound welling from his throat and manifesting into a low growl. “This is not respectful at all.” Not respectful, but it was something—something dangerous. If she had overthrown her father and ran the kingdom solo, then there certainly was fun times ahead for them both. He may just throw his hat back into the kingdom politics ring on the chance that it was not always the terrible bore that it had been last time. With her at the helm, he doubted it would be. “You know, my schedule has opened up,” he murmurs into her neck, not lifting his head from where it rested, his breath rolling hot over her flesh. “If you are in need of a diplomat.” There is a throaty laugh as he pauses, feeling the sparks fly between them, “Although I must warn you that I am not the best diplomat in the traditional sense of the word.” He was many things. Diplomat was not one of them. { W  E  E  D } carnage and glenna’s plant manipulating monster

[Straia]

She gives him a very fake, but very well practiced, royal nod of her head. “Better,” she says, catching sight of the grin on his face. She finds it rather infectious, and that mischievous smile of hers creeps onto her face. Queen Raven. It’s not quite her usual title, but she doesn’t mind the ring of it. Unlike so many ever-so-polite monarchs, she has absolutely no qualms about calling herself Queen. She attaches the title to her name, or enjoys making her title longer by using Straia, Queen of the Chamber, as an introduction as well.

Granted, as easily as she uses the title, she finds that it’s just as easy not to use it. Very few in her kingdom have ever been introduced to her as Queen, but they know anyway. She holds herself like a Queen, moves through the pines like she owns them. And of course, in a way, she does own them. She grew up in them, would likely die inside the forest one day, her body becoming food for the trees she loved. If, that is, she chooses to die. But she would, for the Chamber. If that is what the kingdom needed of her, then she would lay down her life.

His mouth goes back to her neck, snapping her from her thoughts, drawing her back into the present. Into the heat of his body and the tingling of her skin beneath him. Into a place that is entirely new for her, where she finds that want is the only guiding factor. Not need, not service to the Chamber. Just her own lust, her own desire. “I don’t seek respect,” she says, the shadow of a raven landing on the top of his neck, wings wrapping forward around his eyes. Power is far better than respect. She’s earned respect as a Queen through hard work, through earning her titles and power.

She slips out from beneath his touch, her turn to prowl around him. Where the thorns don’t cover his skin, she nips at his mane, lips at his skin. “Queens probably shouldn’t associate with Weeds, either,” she says, her voice smoky as always, but darker than normal. Full of the same animal instincts that drove the growl from his throat.

She finishes her circle and slips back beneath his neck, the raven disappearing from eyes (assuming he hasn’t shaken the shadow away by now, perhaps he has). “I have no need for traditional diplomats. So perhaps we can work something out.” She needed ideas. She needed chaos. The world had slumbered too long.

straia

the raven queen of the chamber

image © Squirt

[weed]

I've never told a lie and that makes me a liar I've never made a bet, but we gamble with desire I've never lit a match with intent to start a fire The raven slips over his eyes, and he makes no motions to free himself of the bird. Although being powerless is not his preferred state, he knew the game that they were playing, and he would play it well. He was not going to be the first to flinch. So instead, he relaxes against the darkness, and lets his thorns tell him the story of her motion—trailing behind her as she circled him like he was prey. Weed could not stop the smile from curling the ends of his lips as her teeth found purchase on his flesh, and he shivered with pleasure. “Then you shall get no respect from me, Queen Raven.” She would get a lot from him—but perhaps respect would not be one of those things. “Undoubtedly,” his voice is wicked and full of mischief as her teeth continue to scrape his sides. It was exhilarating to be near someone like her. “Although they most likely say that out of fear; weeds are not for the faint of heart.” His voice is husky against and he tilts his blindfolded head to the side, one slender ear swiveling toward her, “Are you afraid of a little wild plant life, Queenie?” He is surprised by how pleasant it feels to have her curved back against him again, and he finds that he does not altogether mind the sensation of her pressed to his chest—something he did not expect. “Well then, perhaps we could make a deal.” He bites at her neck, perhaps a touch too hard, and then murmurs slightly, “I have heard that the Chamber is nice this time of year.” He waits a beat.  “And it has been altogether too quiet for my taste.” { W  E  E  D } carnage and glenna’s plant manipulating monster

[Straia]

It was a game that would never end. Not with them. Neither would ever be the first to flinch, neither would ever be the first to give an inch. Not really, anyway. She’d never admit that she enjoys being tucked beneath his neck just as much as she enjoys prowling around him, nipping as he remains blinded by the raven’s wings.

Then you shall get no respect from me, Queen Raven.

She wants no respect. She wants him, wants every inch. She wants to press into the warmth of flesh, wants to feel the way her skin tingles where they touch, wants to live inside the radiating desire that crawls through her. Wants to press the thorns into her side, to feel them prick against her skin, because they are as much a part of him as the ravens and the feathers on her head are apart of her.

But because she is who she is, and because he is who he is, she will tell him none of this.

She laughs at his question instead, placing a nip on his neck. “I grew up inside a dark, misty pine forest. I do not fear a little wild plant life.” No, she revels in it, in the same way she revels in him. The forest is her home, Weed her equal. There was no other place like the pine forest, and there was no one quite like him. Sure, she had filled the Chamber with those that sought power and greatness for their home. But Weed had that little extra spark that made him better than the rest.

She doesn’t flinch at the bite on her own neck, though she feels it more than a nibble. She lets him though, the pain making her feel alive. No one else tested her quite as he did, and it was high time someone did. “The Chamber is nice all year. But it seems we have something in common, because it has been altogether too quiet for my taste as well.”

straia

the raven queen of the chamber

image © Squirt