06-19-2018, 10:06 AM
we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight Auburn lids fall across the brooding cerulean of his eyes as her touch traverses the planes of his strong jawline, a welcoming yet shuddering sigh exhaling from the cobalt blue of his mouth. She continues the gentle reassurance, though her voice is much stronger than he ever remembers it being; perhaps that it is Carnage, a formidable foe that though brings her painful memories, also a rage that keeps her unwavering and steadfast, despite the way he feels wayward himself. He leans into her, like he so often does, and his eyes flicker open to look beyond them, where Sibyl’s shape bounds and plays in the distance. The Overseer turns to brush his navy lips against her smooth cheek, pressing a fervent kiss onto the pale ivory and honey-gold of her throat. Nostrils quiver and he inhales her deeply - reminding himself of everything that was before Carnage’s idle boredom and confession of being his father. Warrick clings tightly to it, holding it tightly to his heart and mind. Though darkness and shadow still loosely grasp into the crevices, the light is able to permeate now. There is something else, my love. He is pulled from his reverie with a soft, thoughtful snort expelling from his nostrils. There is a calm in her voice that he finds haunting and instantly he has forgotten about his worries and tribulations, his brow creasing with concern. It is the same voice that comes with her dreams, yet the sound of it is foreboding; it brings him closer to her, whuffling into her face with gentle breaths, his body tense. Tangerine’s sight of Klaudius does not truly surprise the Overseer. The lavender stallion feels too much and allows his emotions to control his actions where Warrick is able to separate his own pride and sadness from the good of Tephra. He pulls from Tangerine as she explains her vision, his ears falling into the tangled mass of his mane, his eyes leaving hers to focus on the navy and white of their youngest daughter. There is a large inhale from the bay stallion and a tiny shake of his head. Perhaps Tangerine’s vision would not come to fruition, but Warrick could feel the tension already brewing within his kingdom, an added uneasiness now placating the already thick unrest stemming from Sylva. The seer brings him back to her with a coy nip to his chin, and despite the news, he cannot help but allow the tiniest warmth of a smile to break his otherwise stoic expression. “I hope I am able to fulfill your prophecy,” he murmurs to her throatily, high on not only the adrenaline of the potential of battle, but the fact that an heir would soon join them. His lips brush heavily against her neck, leaving a plethora of passionate kisses against each soft curve. His affection is cut short by the sound of tiny, soft hooves thrumming on the sandy ground, his eyes turning towards Sibyl with a warm grin. He reaches forward as his daughter wriggles between them, nipping at her small neck and then huffing gently into her poll, before tugging at the tufts of ivory and cobalt gently. “It means you will no longer be the youngest, Sibyl.” warrick |
credit to vel of adoxography.
@[Sibyl]