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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


    The sure extinction that we travel to - Any.
    #5
    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
    “Oh I know so.” He says, a saucy smile sweeping up his lips. A single wing still tilted aloft, casting shadow in some galant display. Though against his actions his words bite, snip back at the grump that greets his ears. Like this is some sort of tug of war game, and Kirin only brightens at the prospect of a tousle with the horned beast before him. The stench of sweat clings like a heavy coat on a summer day and usually Kirin is not one to appreciate an ounce of soil. Today isn’t a usual day though and neither is he.

    “Ruin it? Oh no.” He pauses with a seriousness. “I do not ruin things.” An air of certainty clings to the very fiber of his words, and it is thick and impossible his confidence. “I make them better” He says, reaching forward only just. Far enough for the sweet, saltiness, of his breath to whisper in puffs at the brute he faced. A silvered eye winks as he practically sashays to the side, ravaging the male with a heavy glare.

    “Help.” He drawls, smiling as he speaks. “You’re looking tense. Maybe we can help each other.” The words fall slick with sugar and salt at once. Odd it might be the way he dances about the horned and otherwise foreboding creature, but that is what caught his attention in the first place. He had taken plenty of squeamish and trembling mares, but he had not tasted this, not yet. The weary monster sparked a new interest in Kirin, for he too held a monster- his not so obvious to the eye. Kirin’s monster bubbled inside, raking at proverbial cage- bars that trapped it within.

    He never allowed it to feel too trapped though, why should he? No, best to let it out to play.

    Pollock. The goat-horned man spits at him, and the lavender hued stallion doesn’t avoid the flight of spittle. Instead he takes the golden’s parted lips as an invitation, bracing himself, pulling forward. His own mouth extends to meet his treat's. Lips tracing over the other’s velvet muzzle, as he speaks his name.

    “Kirin.”

    Kirin
    son of Khaos


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    RE: The sure extinction that we travel to - Any. - by Kirin - 01-26-2016, 02:43 PM



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