10-01-2018, 12:04 PM
Vulgaris
Normally he’s able to rein in his emotions, keep them bottled tight and packed away until it’s time for another cleansing. His hunger only gnashes its teeth when he drops the muzzle. But lately it surges just beneath the surface and tests the boundaries until it finds a little more give in him. Vulgaris hates the way his skin is always burning hot now as though the adrenaline will never stop dumping into his veins like toxic waste. He’s on edge where before he was always so self-assured and relaxed in his own domain. He knew that even if he wasn’t near, then Wolfbane and Kaurma were keeping an equally watchful eye on the kingdom.
But now he’s got a fever that only blood will break.
Now he can never be full again.
He gives Leliana her space but even that picks at him. He wants to tear her shell apart and demand answers as he would with anyone else. Yet he remains silent, brooding in the heat of his rage as he watches from afar. Vulgaris manages to choke down the embers of his hatred whenever Adna is near and he vaguely remembers how to be gentle with her. He kisses her forehead each night and professes his love for his tiny daughter at any opportunity, but the second she leaves him it’s all misery again.
He turns his gray head when she speaks his name but he says nothing in response. There is no control over his tongue when he opens his mouth so he thinks it best to just keep it shut. A slow sigh eases from him but it feels like the smog of some great fire in the crisp spring night, dirty and coating anything it touches. Still, he draws closer to Leliana and presses his lips to her cheek. Loving her is a language that comes as easily to him as breathing.
His head has been so full of all the questions he could gather the past few days but he finds nothing of use now. Instead he has an exhaustion that only the warmth of her skin can soothe. So he leans his face against her neck and he frowns at how small she feels against him. Vulgaris kisses down to her shoulder and explores the edge of her shoulder blade for a while before moving on to her spine. She’s always beautiful to him but he worries, always troubles himself with his woes for her.
“I’ll always love you, Leliana,” he mumbles against her back lazily. He’s still tense with his finger on the trigger but his grip is a little loosened with her around. “But I’ll kill anyone who looks at you wrong.”
It goes without saying what he wants to do to anyone who would hurt her. The scars of his face and the point of his teeth say more than words ever could. No one worships pain the way he does, whether he’s giving or taking. No one could ever lay at the altar of agony and relish in it like Vulgaris.
But now he’s got a fever that only blood will break.
Now he can never be full again.
He gives Leliana her space but even that picks at him. He wants to tear her shell apart and demand answers as he would with anyone else. Yet he remains silent, brooding in the heat of his rage as he watches from afar. Vulgaris manages to choke down the embers of his hatred whenever Adna is near and he vaguely remembers how to be gentle with her. He kisses her forehead each night and professes his love for his tiny daughter at any opportunity, but the second she leaves him it’s all misery again.
He turns his gray head when she speaks his name but he says nothing in response. There is no control over his tongue when he opens his mouth so he thinks it best to just keep it shut. A slow sigh eases from him but it feels like the smog of some great fire in the crisp spring night, dirty and coating anything it touches. Still, he draws closer to Leliana and presses his lips to her cheek. Loving her is a language that comes as easily to him as breathing.
His head has been so full of all the questions he could gather the past few days but he finds nothing of use now. Instead he has an exhaustion that only the warmth of her skin can soothe. So he leans his face against her neck and he frowns at how small she feels against him. Vulgaris kisses down to her shoulder and explores the edge of her shoulder blade for a while before moving on to her spine. She’s always beautiful to him but he worries, always troubles himself with his woes for her.
“I’ll always love you, Leliana,” he mumbles against her back lazily. He’s still tense with his finger on the trigger but his grip is a little loosened with her around. “But I’ll kill anyone who looks at you wrong.”
It goes without saying what he wants to do to anyone who would hurt her. The scars of his face and the point of his teeth say more than words ever could. No one worships pain the way he does, whether he’s giving or taking. No one could ever lay at the altar of agony and relish in it like Vulgaris.
" ancient language, speak through fingers. the awful edges where you end and i begin. "