Where he had traveled through the forest so far, deep charred markings dig deep into the wet bark of the pines, the smell of smoke and sometimes, if the forest was silent enough, the zapping sound that accompanied the heat would vibrate through the air. It comes to him thoughtlessly (fueled by a rage that in his youthfulness he had not yet defined), the soft glow of red beginning in the deep violet of his eyes before it seems to break through his irises, racing forward at the speed of light and burning through anything he decided to glance at.
At one point, he had been extremely close to annihilating a squirrel on accident, but the rodent had been too quick for him. The galaxy-strewn colt pauses in the snow thoughtfully, watching it escape up the tree in fright, before furrowing his brow and attempting again, only this time on purpose. The beam of red doesn’t quite make it, for a wave of something crashes over him, and it causes his focus to stutter and so the bright red in his eyes flickers and then dies, leaving the tree with a smoking black zig zag all the way up its trunk.
In his mind (and in a memory that was not his own) a strangely armored horse appears to him - black and shining, feral beings that chitter and clack their sharp teeth, clicking and whistling to each other in such a way that Skandar could feel the shiver of fear trickle up his spine. Skandar grimaces, disliking the intrusion and immediately swinging his head left to right to find the culprit.
Not before, however, he fashions himself like one of these beings - perhaps it was partly out of protection he glamors himself in such a way, but he strictly reminds himself it is to strike fear into whoever thought they could play a trick on him.
Fashioning himself into such a creature is far more difficult when he doesn’t have it right before him to mimic - his skin ripples and peels back, fluttering like feathers across his body until he’s completely black, with the appearance of bone-like protrusions at his joints. The teeth were hard to get just right, as he hadn’t had a clear look at them, but once he felt as though his outfit was more than sufficient, he is quick to trot through the wintry forest - for his shape would not last long only based on a very real memory.
He finds her easily (though he wonders if she had been baiting him purposely in the first place) as he casually strolls out of the copse of some bare trees. Skandar (the alien version, of course) blinks at her unexpectedly, tilting his now black head in a way that he feels is convincing - predator-like and calculating. He champs his teeth, feeling the sharpness of them snap together with satisfaction, and decided he rather liked this creature he had created. For that is what he is - a creator. A god.
Do their eyes burn as red as his, though?
Perhaps that would be the one factor that would make her realize that he is a fraud; his deep violet eyes begin to glow and burn, a fire pulsing in his irises. His facade begins to wear away, shuffling and cracking across his body, before the soft sound of his skin fluttering against each other in broken pieces overcomes the soft hum of the threatening glow in his eyes. His skin finally settles and pieces back together in the radiant orange and violet swirls that adorn the dark indigo of his coat. He snorts sharply, his dark eyes hidden beneath the two-toned ombre of his mane.
“Stay out of my head,” he warns, the red glow of his eyes intensifying and pulsing. “Unless you’d like to see what else I can do.” Skandar’s voice is a growl, but the tiniest twitch of his lip gives away his true intentions - as if begging her let him show her.
skandar
@[aela]