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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    [private]  one of them is how bad i need you; Haunt
    #1
     

    i got issues, you got ‘em too
    so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
    i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you

    Misfit did not go into the forest to look for his father. He did not find him there. He did not hope to or suspect that he might. Ether is his father. The relationship is not as close as the one Ether shared with his blood children but he respects and cares for the stallion because he recognizes how fiercely his mother is loved.
    Briseis deserves nothing less, and another lesser mate might have found himself at the wrong end of the violence tangled into Misfit’s genes.

    He doesn’t know anything about his father, his mother has never told him anything and he has never been concerned. She is enough, perhaps that makes him odd. As if that is the only odd thing about him.

    Misfit did not go into the forest to get lost, but he did. The grullo boy, for then he was still a boy and just barely a man got very lost. The forest being what it is, a place that is not quite right and certainly a little malevolent, might have decided to hide him. It shouldn’t have been possible for Misfit to go missing from his gifted family, even if he was rather mundane more than one of them could have plucked him out of just about anywhere and returned him right back home.

    He wakes on a morning like any other, and in the late moments of sunrise light is cutting across a small dry clearing. Bindweed blooms with white and pink veined flowers across the hard ground and climbs the trees on the meadows edge. Nothing has changed from the day before, Misfit stands in the shade as he always does as the morning light comes in so that he can watch the way it catches on the dustmotes and dew. He has been here longer than he can even understand and every attempt to go home brings him right back. Sometimes wolves come, or other things, but he does not give up. Even though the reasons to hang on get confusing, and there are days he doesn’t remember the name that comes to his lips this morning.
    “Haunt..”




    MISFIT


    @[Haunt] come find him peas
    Reply
    #2

    we scream our very souls free

    Haunt is many things, but a creature of habit is not one of them. To an outsider, it would seem there is no rhyme nor reason to the way in which the shadow chooses to live their life. In truth, there is not much of one. They go precisely where whim dictates, in a manner that can often only be considered pleasing to a creature like Haunt.

    By that same token, Haunt’s thoughts are rarely eaten by worry or concern. They have emotion of course, as do most living things - in their own way. But Haunt is not nearly so bothered by it as others assume they should be. But at the end of the day, there are a few who stir a response from the shadow. A very precious few.

    On today, a clear, warm summer day in which the birds chirp a bit too brightly and flowers bloom a mite too sweetly, Haunt is startled from a silent reverie. They cannot be certain what had spoken to them, but they are certain they will investigate. Under normal circumstances, the bright hours of mid-morning into early afternoon are for clinging to the darkest and deepest shadows of the woods. For sleeping, if they ever actually slept. But shadows do not sleep and neither does Haunt.

    When the whisper comes, it floats on familiar tones of colliding memories. Children playing, a dark and sinful cave with the sweet sounds of babbling water. Misfit. One of the precious few. It is only then that Haunt realizes how very long it has been since his voice had graced their ears.

    So Haunt, ever given to whimsy, to the moment, sets out to find their wayward and missing step-brother. It should not have been hard, but something clings around the edges of where he should be, hiding him from the world. From Haunt. Which will most certainly not do.

    Haunt has never retreated from a challenge, nor would the shadow now. So they do the very opposite of what good sense demands and delve into the most dangerous parts of the wood. The deepest and blackest places where fell creatures roam. But Haunt is a fell creature, belonging to the deepest and darkest as they do. There is nothing here to frighten a toothy and lawless shadow.

    When the creature finally arrives in the meadow, clinging to the heaviest shadows cast in the late-morning light, only yellow eyes gleam from the darkness to betray their presence. Perhaps Misfit does not notice, or perhaps he does. But he must certainly notice when his name rings across the meadow in clear, melodic tones. “Misfiiiiittt.” A pause, a smile, sharp black teeth invisible against the shadow. “Did you get lost?”



    @[Misfit]
    Reply
    #3
     

    i got issues, you got ‘em too
    so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
    i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you

    The forest changed it’s mind or let down its guard. It’s not like Misfit to examine such things too deeply. When the too familiar forest sounds are interrupted but the eerie loveliness of Haunt’s voice Misfit’s blue eyes find the familiar yellow glow in the shadows instinctively. Its been months and moments since he last heard that genderless lilt, and his nerve endings are all alight at once. A pair of eyes gazing at him from beneath tree cover that he imagines to be more abyss than shade. Could it be? They are formless, melted into the shadow, but Misfit doesn't need more than the voice to trot across the dusty clearing toward the bank of shadow.

    Bars of light break across his blue-smudged back, he has filled out and muscle moves smoothly beneath his thin summer hide. His legs are still  and will always be almost overlong and they reduce the distance across the meadow to nothing in no more than a few heartbeats.
    “Yes I must have.” He is too weary of the solitude to try and deny or understand, but his indigo trimmed ears flick back and he stops, letting the sun sear a line in the earth between them. “Is it you? The forest shows me things but never anything as terrible or beautiful as you.” His voice turns husky at the end, recalling with a sudden wave of heat his best friend’s perfect darkness. He knows better than to search the darkness for their shape. The waking need to be free of his forest prison and return to his life and the important beings in it sends a quiver racing beneath his skin.

    There is no scent to pull from the air, he tries all the same just to be certain that there is nothing there but the leaf-litter and pine. It might be strange to search for a void but Misfit has done so much of his life, hoping that the nothingness contains a playmate, a lover.


    If this is a forest trick and he’s finally about to be eaten or turned into one of the abominations he’s seen drifting through the trees he is ready. He might even die convinced that the moment of false reunion was enough to make up for a life without his living shadow. It’s too bad his mother will never know what became of him, that would be a great regret. He’ll have to try hard to not frighten her when he is a ghost. Maybe Haunt will find him then.



    MISFIT


    @[Haunt]
    Reply
    #4

    we scream our very souls free

    The shadow watches their oldest friend and very first lover as he crosses the meadow that divides them. There is a hunger in gleaming yellow eyes, a matching delight at having Misfit back. Though Haunt is not given to noticing the passage of time, as they stare into the face they know so well, the shadow is suddenly aware of the one that had been missing.

    But the blue colt-no-longer stops short, a curl of sunlight still separating them. No no no, that simply would not do.

    Misfit questions him, and Haunt leans forward until the shape of their delicate head separates from the rest of the shadows they are lost in. Their yellow eyes are bright and predatory as Haunt replies, voice barely above a crooning whisper. “Who else would come, if not me?”

    But Haunt is tired of waiting. They are an impatient creature, nearly impossible to please. And the distance that separates them does not please Haunt. So the shadows pulls back, disappearing. The dapples of shadow criss-crossing the blue and gray stallions black lengthen and darken, until he is swallowed by darkness, sucked into the void Haunt had peeled open around him. Then they are deposited into a heavily shadowed glen. The forest is silent around them, the birds and critters absent from these most dark and dangerous depths.

    But Haunt is there, pressing against their companion, lips taunting and teeth teasing none too gently. Would they leave scratches in their wake? Hard to say until they eventually let Misfit into the light of day. For now there is only shadow. When finally Haunt speaks, it is to answer the question Misfit had asked. “The forest does not show you because there is nothing quite so terrible and beautiful as I am.”

    And they smile, pleased.



    @[Misfit]
    Reply
    #5
     

    i got issues, you got ‘em too
    so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
    i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you

    It is them, his shadow. Misfit is convinced and relieved, overjoyed to face the yawning blackness and be carried away by it as he has so many times before. He has no fear of the emptiness where there is no up or down, where there is nothing but glowing eyes and teeth that he longs to feel dragged through his mousey pelt. He gets his wish in a twilight glen, Haunt delivering the two of them to the place effortlessly.

    In the eerie quiet the young stallion shivers as Haunt drags its teeth over his skin, a pleased rumble in his throat. He hesitates no more but leans into the shadow creature his own teeth grazing along the point of their shoulder and then nipping his way back along their muscular neck. “No, my darling, there is nothing.” Misfit feels as though he is suddenly awakened from his stupor by the press of their two bodies and he isn’t shy of pressing a hard and sudden kiss to the mouth of his dark companion. He withdraws only far enough to huskily say, “Say you are still mine, terrible, beautiful Haunt.” He isn’t sure what he’ll do if the shadow says that they are not, only that he’s been too long from this embrace.

    Misfit is immediately impatient for answer. He knows well what he may have lost.  His cobalt lips trace up Haunts cheek, brush beneath their ear. He bears his throat for his beautiful nightmare, pawing the damp grass beneath their feet and lashing his tail against shifting hocks. If his step-sibling no longer wishes to be more than mischievous friends, what then? If another has superseded him in their affections, what then? These thoughts are turned over in his mind yes, but he is trusting, certain in the way only one who has never known heartbreak or the absence of love can be.




    MISFIT


    @[Haunt]
    Reply
    #6

    we scream our very souls free

    Haunt is an inconstant thing, fickle in the same way the distant breeze is. They are too much a part of the moment, the here and the now. But he is the one constant, the lodestone to which they still touch, even if it is infrequent and forgetful. It is easy for Haunt to forget that time seems to pass differently for those like their Misfit. Easy to forget that perhaps he is no longer content being the cliff against which they break from time to time.

    If Haunt were a different sort of creature, they might have reflected on this with the somberness it deserves. But Haunt is not a different creature, so it is all too easy for them to assume Misfit will be happy to always be the eye of the storm that is Haunt.

    As though waking from a dream, Misfit comes alive beneath the shadow creature’s less than tender ministrations. Haunt is thrilled, moving against him with a renewed eagerness. His teeth are blunt against impossibly dark shoulders, a perfect foil to the sharpness of their own. As Misfit shifts to speak in a throaty whisper, Haunt’s yellow eyes fall to his, ears twitching as the shiver-inducing timbre of his voice reaches them.

    And they laugh. They cannot seem to help it in the face of such a silly thing. “I always have been, haven’t I?” Haunt replies on a lilting voice, eyes gleaming in the darkness. They erase the distance Misfit had put between them. There is something dangerous in their voice now, a darkness that has always been there, buried deep. And when they speak, it is a growl against his gray skin. “Or is it you who have changed?”

    Haunt, for all their foibles, is a jealous creature. Not of his body (for what else is a body made for, if not to be shared?), but of his soul. That Haunt had claimed for themselves long ago.



    @[Misfit]
    Reply
    #7
     

    i got issues, you got ‘em too
    so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
    i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you

    The time that had passed had been enough for Misfit to fill out into lean strength, he was built to be fleet and tall, his bone structure giving him a delicate but powerful appearance.

    It had been long enough that anyone who might be bothered to, might have wondered if he were dead.

    It had been time enough to push him into madness, and he wonders if it has. He wonders as Haunt darkly suggests that it is he who has changed. Misfit turns his ears back resentfully. Resentful of his own weakness, of uncountable time wasted in the strange trap from which he has just been liberated. He doesn't withdraw, knowing that the shadow creature could twist themselves around him again in a heartbeat. Nor does he want to separate himself, even as a foreign anger tightens in his chest.

    “If I am different now what will you do? I’ve spent a thousand nights alone in this cursed wood and you ask if I’ve changed.” Misfit’s gentle timbre lowers to a growl. His pupils contract in spite of the twilight and the heady desire that effortlessly bloomed with their proximity. Has the sweet boy of their youth been consumed by this savage, lonely exile? His teeth are blunt, his flesh is mortal, but he is strong, foolhardy and furious. He presses into Haunt, baring his teeth. “Yes. I am changed.” Yet it is not in the way Haunt suggests, the heat rolling off of Misfit’s frame speaks of longing tangled into the fury. He could say something, express this truth, but his jaw is clenched against the words.



    MISFIT


    @Haunt
    Reply
    #8

    we scream our very souls free

    Time is such a strange thing. It eddies and flows, but never at a constant rate. Like Haunt, it pays little attention to the foibles of the mortals enslaved to it. Time is indifferent to the fate in which Misfit had stumbled. But that is where Haunt and Time differ. Time does not care for this mortal just as it does not care for the rest, but Haunt cares for this one.

    Even if they are forgetful in their affections.

    If there is madness in Misfit, Haunt does not notice. But then, many might say the shadow is mad as well. There is tension in their gray and blue lover, a fierceness in the rumble of his voice. It rattles through Haunt’s very chest in the most delightful way. The savage that consumes their childhood friend is beautiful and intriguing, a new thing to tempt and toy.

    If Misfit seeks to instill doubt, the fury he now wields like a blade does the very opposite. If anything could draw Haunt like a moth to flame, it is the feckless and tempestuous emotions coursing through their companion. The beast that now rises in Misfit is new and wondrous, intriguing in a way little else could be.

    Haunt laughs again, a trilling and lovely sound in the darkness, completely at odds with the monster wearing a skin of shadow. Their mouth and teeth move along dusky, supple skin, thrilling in the feel of the fury and tension coiling through him. Haunt does not accuse or blame, does not fret or worry. Does not even seem particularly bothered that the boy they had once known had changed into the man beside him now.

    “Tell me to go and I will,” they whisper into his ear. Despite the benevolence of the words, there is something dark - something dangerous - in that soft voice. “Tell me to stay, and you are mine just as you were then.”



    @Misfit
    Reply
    #9
     

    i got issues, you got ‘em too
    so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
    i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you

    He has always been a peaceful kind of mischievous, spirited, bold, but indifferent to anyone but his family. Misfit has never felt anger like this, directionless fury that, like lightening, looks for the quickest route to the ground. The ground is Haunt, who does not back away from the anger sparking across his dust and blue body but leans into it. Calling his fury out with that voice, sweet and genderless and edged with razorwire that Misfit only knows is there because he has loved that voice for almost his entire life.

    Misfit presses into Haunt in turn, pulls his head away from their words, from the brush of lips and hovering menace of shadow creature teeth. He slides his leg along one of Haunts, drops it heavily again, the strike muffled by dry earth and moldering leaves. He presses the side of his face to Haunt's lean frame, drags his cheek against their shoulder. "Would you go so easily? Forget me and play in your shadows where I cannot go?" There is regret in his tone, and a new wash of anger, he raises his head to grip the skin of their withers, then a hank of dark hair pulled tight, possessive.

    "If I had the means, I would keep you, arrest you to myself and let you go only so far as my sight for one hundred years or more… but I am simple, only a man without any gifts. So I am left only to the options you suggest. " He draws his lips up along their colorless neck, slow deliberate words falling warm against the darkness until he sinks his teeth into the muscle just behind the shadow's jaw. Releasing Haunt he murmurs the single word required to chain himself to his lover for as long as they may want him. "Stay."

    He does not wonder what this will mean, what future there is in this, for he is mortal and will want the things that mortals find fulfillment in. He has not said the words that normally bind lovers to one another, and may in fact give those words to another in time… always there will be something greater than that, more visceral and more sacred, that is only for Haunt. Their souls he would bind, if he could find a way, that they two could be brother, sister, lover, entity… never again more than a thought apart.

    That too is beyond his reach. The closest thing left to them is the give and take between their bodies, and the promises made in the bed of shadows they will sprawl upon in the aftermath.

    "I am yours. What will you do with me?"



    MISFIT


    @Haunt
    Reply
    #10

    we scream our very souls free

    Though they make the offer, the illusion of choice whispered into velvet ears, Haunt knows precisely which answer they wish to hear. The only acceptable answer. Misfit has not yet even begun to plumb the true depths of the creature he even now finds himself entangled with, but perhaps soon he might begin to.

    They can almost taste the jealousy flavoring the air around them, in the rub of a gray cheek against impossible black, in the striking of an impatient hoof. If the shadows were less heavy, he would nearly be able to see the smile that plays across pitch black lips, revealing unnaturally sharp teeth. The words from Misfit’s mouth are a caress across their skin, stirring Haunt into a tempest of sensation. The blunt teeth on their withers send shivers racing down a spine invisible in the cloaking shadows, bringing Haunt’s own teeth to scrape sharply across their lover’s gray shoulder. They can taste the blood that rises in those shallow lines.

    “You do not want a caged shadow,” Haunt replies, their voice low and husky despite the edge that could easily carve the air if it were tangible. Shifting, the creature traces delicate patterns across Misfit’s midnight pewter skin. “Your choice and mine are what make this the sweetest surrender.” A smile stretches their lips again. “Isn’t it?”

    The single word is all it takes to keep Haunt tethered to his side. At least, for now. There is more between them than Haunt could possibly express, but Haunt is not a creature designed to be tied to one place and time. They would inevitably go, but always they would return.

    As the surrender shimmers between them, Haunt can feel the way it vibrates so deliciously through their very bones. With a soft hum of satisfaction, the shadow curls around their lover with wanton delight. Between one blink and the next, the shadows have swallowed them before setting them gently in the familiar confines of deep, isolated cave. The sound of water is a gentle melody around them, the scents familiar and timeless.

    Skin to skin, pressed nearly as close as one body can be to another, Haunt trails sharp teeth tauntingly along velvety gray skin. “Do you remember this place?” Something possessive rumbles in the creature’s chest. “It is ours and only ours.”



    @Misfit
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