06-29-2016, 07:30 PM
keep you like an oath
may nothing but death do us part
may nothing but death do us part
Names. He had given in to letting them name the children in his careless, indifferent lull. One could only think of so many and even that had become a chore to him really. Sometimes he wished he had reconsidered when they lay them on him, their silly-prattle that were like nails on a chalk board. This one isn’t so bad though, his ears collecting the word as it melts smoothly in his thoughts. There were far worse names and even if she could not give him a gifted son she could give him this- and she had. Doubtful she knew that for this he was grateful, even if he was terrible at showing the fact. Kirin was not too often one to praise, least of all others.
Her response is otherwise as flat as his observation, dull even as the rays of the sun on the beige sands of the shoreline. The child on the other hand has no regard for him, pressing past him with no acknowledgement and Kirin only watches him glide past. Stringy legs finding their way much too carefully for one so young but this did not strike him as odd. This was a boy after his own genes, his strong lines had made him graceful no doubt. He remembers well the deep grape that soaked the child’s skin and he wondered if before long it would fade just as his had. Some of them did that, just as he and though he was sad to see the deep color of eggplant go, he knew something just as nice would take its place.
Again he looks to the night colored girl-turned-woman, her eyes falling and leaving his face as she too presses against and away from him. He doesn’t lash out at her indifference, instead he inhales it as deeply as he does her skin.
When they both leave him for the curiosity of the beach he merely watches, statuesque as his Sire, as the boy sates his interest. The rolling waves were entrancing to any, sometimes still even to him. A constant lapse of time, a pattern that never ended, much as the Cove seemed to have its own unyielding sequence. Kirin was much like that ocean, he had a way about him and very rarely did he stray. A coldness within that only grew colder as the layers of his flesh boxed it in, deeper down you went, the darker and harder it became.
Stumbling forward his new son falls, much quicker than either he or Misra can react to. Though if he thought about it again later he would swear it occurred in slow motion, purple end over purple end as the waters swallowed him up. He doesn’t cry for the boy, doesn’t fret nearly as hard as the black mare but he does take to the sky. An attempt to search the frothy ocean from on high, some sight, some evidence that the child was not lost after all to the greed of the salty sea. This was one of his things after all and he had not freely given it to the brine, nor did he take kindly to its feverish hunger for his bloodline. Nothing, though it was little chance he would have seen him in the murk anyways.
Then as if by some luck Arestor emerges at his own bidding, pushing forward from the might of the ocean, whole, breathing. It is enough to spark the fire to race fleetingly against the shine of his silver eyes, enough to send him back to the Earth with haste. Kirin lands against her, so near they are almost touching as he breathes heavily against the sight he has just witnessed. “Misra, you’ve done it,” and the words hold some small light of happiness if one was ever to be found in his dark...
Her response is otherwise as flat as his observation, dull even as the rays of the sun on the beige sands of the shoreline. The child on the other hand has no regard for him, pressing past him with no acknowledgement and Kirin only watches him glide past. Stringy legs finding their way much too carefully for one so young but this did not strike him as odd. This was a boy after his own genes, his strong lines had made him graceful no doubt. He remembers well the deep grape that soaked the child’s skin and he wondered if before long it would fade just as his had. Some of them did that, just as he and though he was sad to see the deep color of eggplant go, he knew something just as nice would take its place.
Again he looks to the night colored girl-turned-woman, her eyes falling and leaving his face as she too presses against and away from him. He doesn’t lash out at her indifference, instead he inhales it as deeply as he does her skin.
When they both leave him for the curiosity of the beach he merely watches, statuesque as his Sire, as the boy sates his interest. The rolling waves were entrancing to any, sometimes still even to him. A constant lapse of time, a pattern that never ended, much as the Cove seemed to have its own unyielding sequence. Kirin was much like that ocean, he had a way about him and very rarely did he stray. A coldness within that only grew colder as the layers of his flesh boxed it in, deeper down you went, the darker and harder it became.
Stumbling forward his new son falls, much quicker than either he or Misra can react to. Though if he thought about it again later he would swear it occurred in slow motion, purple end over purple end as the waters swallowed him up. He doesn’t cry for the boy, doesn’t fret nearly as hard as the black mare but he does take to the sky. An attempt to search the frothy ocean from on high, some sight, some evidence that the child was not lost after all to the greed of the salty sea. This was one of his things after all and he had not freely given it to the brine, nor did he take kindly to its feverish hunger for his bloodline. Nothing, though it was little chance he would have seen him in the murk anyways.
Then as if by some luck Arestor emerges at his own bidding, pushing forward from the might of the ocean, whole, breathing. It is enough to spark the fire to race fleetingly against the shine of his silver eyes, enough to send him back to the Earth with haste. Kirin lands against her, so near they are almost touching as he breathes heavily against the sight he has just witnessed. “Misra, you’ve done it,” and the words hold some small light of happiness if one was ever to be found in his dark...
Kirin
son of khaos