11-03-2016, 12:14 PM
“I have been busy.”
Everyone changes.
It had been years. Years, since they broke apart like disintegrating spacestuff, but not before colliding and leaving trace evidence on each other’s surfaces – panspermia, life had existed in that universe. Beyond all odds; against all warning. (He would say he is sick of shepherding all their little, lost lambs – but if that were really true, he’d stop rutting the ewes.)
She had not been the only one. No.
It had been a hot and busy summer.
He had found a plaything that had twisted herself deep into his mind, like a fly stuck in a web. She had prodded and pushed him, like Lirren does. Except Lirren had given him her name. That’s how best to control a demon – this thing (this defiant, abhorrent, striking, indigo thing) had kept those lips tight, as they grew bluer and then still.
He had no name for her, so when he chased the phantoms of her hue, he bellowed nonsense into the night.
“Everyone changes.” She seems steadfast, though. Still she fishes. Still she bends, but resists breaking. Still, she insists on gravitating into him. Still, she prods. Fine – except for the starlessness, she is the same. He feels the tight, inflexible knots of scar tissue on the underside of his head, from his chin down his mandible – three, because the fourth had not struck true enough.
(his lip curls when she calls him ‘darling’)
“What would I be without my pride?”
(he has been ignoble – it is really no way to be)
“Doubt you?” he lets her step close, in that he does not strike her for it – but the tensity in his body stretches up the ropes of his neck, across his flexing jaw, and belies any calm he might try to feign – “no. I just think I’ll beat you to it.”
That would be an advantage.
Everyone changes.
It had been years. Years, since they broke apart like disintegrating spacestuff, but not before colliding and leaving trace evidence on each other’s surfaces – panspermia, life had existed in that universe. Beyond all odds; against all warning. (He would say he is sick of shepherding all their little, lost lambs – but if that were really true, he’d stop rutting the ewes.)
She had not been the only one. No.
It had been a hot and busy summer.
He had found a plaything that had twisted herself deep into his mind, like a fly stuck in a web. She had prodded and pushed him, like Lirren does. Except Lirren had given him her name. That’s how best to control a demon – this thing (this defiant, abhorrent, striking, indigo thing) had kept those lips tight, as they grew bluer and then still.
He had no name for her, so when he chased the phantoms of her hue, he bellowed nonsense into the night.
“Everyone changes.” She seems steadfast, though. Still she fishes. Still she bends, but resists breaking. Still, she insists on gravitating into him. Still, she prods. Fine – except for the starlessness, she is the same. He feels the tight, inflexible knots of scar tissue on the underside of his head, from his chin down his mandible – three, because the fourth had not struck true enough.
(his lip curls when she calls him ‘darling’)
“What would I be without my pride?”
(he has been ignoble – it is really no way to be)
“Doubt you?” he lets her step close, in that he does not strike her for it – but the tensity in his body stretches up the ropes of his neck, across his flexing jaw, and belies any calm he might try to feign – “no. I just think I’ll beat you to it.”
That would be an advantage.
soooo late, if you are over it, let me know, I just felt determined to reply because they are fantastical <3
![[Image: kkN1kfc.png]](http://i.imgur.com/kkN1kfc.png)