01-23-2016, 09:07 AM
And she'll always get the best of me, the worst is yet to come
All the misery was necessary when we're deep in love
All the misery was necessary when we're deep in love
Rest.
There will be none for the wicked, none as long as Kirin is around. For the kettle knows when the pot is black, and he knows when they belong together.
The Meadow is a place of conquest for the lavender hued stallion. It’s a place he frequents in search of new treasures, the shining gems he can tuck away in the Cove. There have been many lately, yet Kirin is an insatiable beast in his own right. Yet in appearance the Cove lead is far from bestial, he is graced with a pastel hide that reaps those he has not sown.
He’s used his fine looks since he can remember, young as he’s always been. He’s used them for a myriad of things, whether they brought destruction or creation it matters not. Today he uses it for the later, in a sense. For his own whims, to enjoy the finer things in life, lest he deprive himself of its delicacies. Swooping from the autumn skies, he lands not far from the dozing male, pulling up a magnificence that has been practiced time and time again.
At first he studies the creature before him, coated in a layer of sweat, spattered around his face in what can only be droplets of blood. Horns protrude from the other’s head, with a twist that is akin to the mountain goats that linger in small flocks on the Cove crags. Again his hooves favor the rock climbing animal, cloven and absurd to the lavender boy. It’s back is disfigured, one wing broken in a manner that has likely rendered it useless. Kirin only smiles against this disfigurement, broken things could be made further broken, or unbroken depending how you tended to them.
He raises his thistle colored feathers, shielding the sun from beaming its rays on the males closed lids. “You’ve been enjoying yourself today.” Kirin says matter of factly, his voice husked at the scent of sex and blood that lingers on the goat man's hide.
There will be none for the wicked, none as long as Kirin is around. For the kettle knows when the pot is black, and he knows when they belong together.
The Meadow is a place of conquest for the lavender hued stallion. It’s a place he frequents in search of new treasures, the shining gems he can tuck away in the Cove. There have been many lately, yet Kirin is an insatiable beast in his own right. Yet in appearance the Cove lead is far from bestial, he is graced with a pastel hide that reaps those he has not sown.
He’s used his fine looks since he can remember, young as he’s always been. He’s used them for a myriad of things, whether they brought destruction or creation it matters not. Today he uses it for the later, in a sense. For his own whims, to enjoy the finer things in life, lest he deprive himself of its delicacies. Swooping from the autumn skies, he lands not far from the dozing male, pulling up a magnificence that has been practiced time and time again.
At first he studies the creature before him, coated in a layer of sweat, spattered around his face in what can only be droplets of blood. Horns protrude from the other’s head, with a twist that is akin to the mountain goats that linger in small flocks on the Cove crags. Again his hooves favor the rock climbing animal, cloven and absurd to the lavender boy. It’s back is disfigured, one wing broken in a manner that has likely rendered it useless. Kirin only smiles against this disfigurement, broken things could be made further broken, or unbroken depending how you tended to them.
He raises his thistle colored feathers, shielding the sun from beaming its rays on the males closed lids. “You’ve been enjoying yourself today.” Kirin says matter of factly, his voice husked at the scent of sex and blood that lingers on the goat man's hide.
Kirin
son of Khaos
