06-21-2017, 08:34 PM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
”And yet, you are still here – why?” he asks softly, but there is something simmering beneath the surface of his carefully spoken words – a darkness slowly emerging, seeping through the crackling exterior of an otherwise stoic and steady presence. His skin, marred with pale, puckered scars, is yet again exuding warmth beyond any natural temperature, and where faint rivulets of perspiration lingered on his skin, steam rose in thick, wavering tendrils, rising towards the sky. She is still – too still; she had yet to heed his words and his impatience was growing like the swelling of high tide, higher and higher.
Though she has withered away into some smaller sense of self, some supposedly meek and broken thing, he is not convinced – mere moments ago, she had been scathing, defensive, and chastising him when it was her that had trespassed where she did not belong. She that had challenged him. The once flickering ember had grown into a crackling fire, surging inside of him, stirring agitation within the blood coursing through his veins – and then, his burning, smoldering gaze is no longer settled upon her, but instead upon a more familiar face. Fierce and rigid, Nymphetamine thrusts himself forward. With beads of perspiration lingering across his own brow line, while his lungs are heaving from the exertion, he is a sight to behold, but even with this slender, agile frame, he is nearly dwarfed by Offspring himself – though admittedly, most were.
”You are out of line, Nymphetamine,” his voice barely utters, low and careful – his tone a warning. ”I am not Killdare, and this is not your Chamber, and that is something I expect you to keep in mind.”He is quiet for a moment, holding his gaze steadily before glancing to her, studying the hollow of her cheek, and the golden sheen of her skin.
”I do not take lightly to trespassers – not after so much has happened, so much has fallen – and I do not expect many others would take lightly to it, either.” And slowly, softly, the fire dwindles into little more than a flicker once again. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, as heavy and as wearing as lead, and he is tired – weary – and beneath the heat of his burning eyes is a trace of uncertainty; where were these surges of rage – of uncontrollable ire coming from?
”If you are to stay here, I will not tolerate disrespect,” his deep voice mutters, though his gaze moves from the soft and subtle fluttering of her peacock feathers, settling yet again upon Nymphetamine – a warning spoken to her, but his watchful stare intends its meaning for more than just one.
And quietly, he is drawn once more towards the rumbling volcano and the rivulets of lava that trickle down with long, meaningful strides, longing to feel something - anything - more blistering than himself.
Though she has withered away into some smaller sense of self, some supposedly meek and broken thing, he is not convinced – mere moments ago, she had been scathing, defensive, and chastising him when it was her that had trespassed where she did not belong. She that had challenged him. The once flickering ember had grown into a crackling fire, surging inside of him, stirring agitation within the blood coursing through his veins – and then, his burning, smoldering gaze is no longer settled upon her, but instead upon a more familiar face. Fierce and rigid, Nymphetamine thrusts himself forward. With beads of perspiration lingering across his own brow line, while his lungs are heaving from the exertion, he is a sight to behold, but even with this slender, agile frame, he is nearly dwarfed by Offspring himself – though admittedly, most were.
”You are out of line, Nymphetamine,” his voice barely utters, low and careful – his tone a warning. ”I am not Killdare, and this is not your Chamber, and that is something I expect you to keep in mind.”He is quiet for a moment, holding his gaze steadily before glancing to her, studying the hollow of her cheek, and the golden sheen of her skin.
”I do not take lightly to trespassers – not after so much has happened, so much has fallen – and I do not expect many others would take lightly to it, either.” And slowly, softly, the fire dwindles into little more than a flicker once again. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, as heavy and as wearing as lead, and he is tired – weary – and beneath the heat of his burning eyes is a trace of uncertainty; where were these surges of rage – of uncontrollable ire coming from?
”If you are to stay here, I will not tolerate disrespect,” his deep voice mutters, though his gaze moves from the soft and subtle fluttering of her peacock feathers, settling yet again upon Nymphetamine – a warning spoken to her, but his watchful stare intends its meaning for more than just one.
And quietly, he is drawn once more towards the rumbling volcano and the rivulets of lava that trickle down with long, meaningful strides, longing to feel something - anything - more blistering than himself.
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING