"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Even with his mouth over her throat, Aela is steadfast. She does not struggle, does not try to writhe her way from beneath his grip. It’s nearly intoxicating, save for the fact that there is no tremble of fear within her. She knows that he wouldn’t deliver the killing blow, even if his teeth are only inches from her jugular - one more heavy squeeze…
Even in her eyes as they avert their vibrant blue irises away from him, Skandar sees only patience - she would stand here until the end of time, if he decided to hold onto her that long. With a sharp snort (and simultaneously releasing her) he wonders if he just might.
Their eyes meet with a terrible click, a standoff firing between them as the adrenaline attempts to settle over them like a fog. Would she retaliate, he wonders? Or worse, (his ears pin against his neck at the thought) would he lose her forever?
His fangs retract and disappear as Skandar timidly licks his lips, tasting her curiously as the two travel towards each other again. He wonders what will happen when they clash this time; will it be his blood that pours or will the heaviness of their adrenaline begin to fuel something far more intimate than wounds can provide? He hungers for more (and it shows in the glistening of his glowing gaze) but he cannot put a name to what more is, and so he allows that same rage and anger to fill in that hollow of his chest, blooming there like the vivid jungle flowers of his boyhood home.
The Pampas.
The response that comes from him is not subtle, lips curling into a scowl while his ears disappear into the tangle of deep indigo and violet of his mane. He snaps at the air in muted frustration, droplets of her blood staining the clay beneath his hooves. “What will you have me do?” Skandar asks (for what else is he to say?), though his eyes make it clear that his focus is gravitating towards her neck once again, watching her wounds and how the deep ruby of her blood traces each delicate curve of her neck with tenacity.
He licks his lips and with a slow blink, fastens his gaze to hers once more.
06-26-2021, 07:13 PM (This post was last modified: 06-26-2021, 07:15 PM by Aela.)
YOU'RE ONLY AS SICK AS YOUR SECRETS
She grits her teeth but Aela doesn't budge. He could kill her. Skandar could crush her trachea, tear her throat out; with his shapeshifting abilities, there was an infinite amount of ways that he could end her. And Aela realizes at that moment, she might even endure all those deaths for him. That if this was the only way to bring him this close to her, she would conceive a thousand ways to die if it meant he might touch her in a thousand different ways.
Aela who has never considered anybody but herself (though perhaps Kota or Heartfire) thinks of him and every inch of her golden body is on fire. The heat drives out any of her fear and for Skandar, she stands patient beneath his grip.
But he pulls away and the palomino is momentarily disoriented with her vibrant blue eyes looking down to the ground where her blood trails from him. Her gaze follows the path and then it lifts again, rising to meet Skandar's furious gaze and Aela has no trepidation in matching it. They have long talked about their aspirations. With Skandar, it had become an even more private thing because she had shown him the things she envisioned for Beqanna. Chaos across all four kingdoms. And as she comes closer, Aela takes the chance to share with him the small amount that she has started. She shows him the red spires and turrets of Loess, the pearlescent pegasus she had met that is known as their Queen. There are flashes of the conversation that she had between the diplomat's Ledger and Cheri and the discontent that had started there, fueled by the presence of the self-appointed Pampas Prince. Aela shows him the glimpses of iron-drab Nerine where her bone-armored brother ruled and how he shared a similar dream; that they might awake Beqanna from this lull of peace.
There are other moments: another brother - Gale - who consumes her heart in the dark and her expression smolders. There is another in Taiga and Aela shares the image of the dream that she has, (fueled by her hatred for it) that the Redwoods will burn again someday. Another of Tephra - his birthplace - and the ways that they might ignite the volcano. She fills his mind with so many thoughts and pictures that Aela thinks there is only one choice left.
Skandar is looking at her neck that is still dripping blood and she comes closer, well aware of the danger that she is courting. She angles herself alongside him, moving down his galaxy-marked barrel because the truth has never been clearer for Aela. "I would have you come with me," she tells her companion, and her blood stains his beautiful coat as the striped mare continues to move. It's a future in her mind, an image as apparent as if her fortune-teller brother had prophesized it. "There is no doing this without you."
06-30-2021, 02:00 PM (This post was last modified: 06-30-2021, 02:01 PM by Skandar.)
She steps closer and the stallion inhales, bringing his head upwards (as if she would retaliate right then and there), his burning gaze unwavering from the electricity of her own. There is a momentary pause, some kind of unspoken understanding that radiates from each one of them, before Skandar’s mind becomes hers. His orange eyes are hidden behind a veil of deep indigo as he closes them, fully focused on her movement through his mind. It had once been a practice he had despised (such an invasion, where he was no longer in control) but now he relinquishes it to her, embracing each flash of a memory with an open mind. He even relishes the intimacy in it, feeling each muscle tighten and burn as she so openly entrusts him with her own thoughts, something far beyond words and physicality could describe.
Chaos.
It is there in the heat of each scene, reminding him of their aspirations long before he lost himself in the darkness; reminding him of the power that is to be wielded and how, if they could grasp it, the entire world could be theirs. How opportunities lie before them, spread out like a banquet - ripe for the taking. He thinks of Avelina, and how she had crumbled beneath his gaze, and how he’d like to unleash that kind of ignition onto those undeserving, those who cannot attain the glory that they strive for.
When she releases him, he exhales in a shudder. Skandar’s eyes flash open, glowing red and burning, buzzing with life and fire and rage beneath the surface. Her place alongside him makes the red of his irises dim to a low hum, its glow pulsing with his racing heartbeat but contained. The press of her golden, striped body alongside his own brings tension to the hardened angles of his face, sharp and taut, as he mechanically turns his neck to watch her, to listen, to do whatever it is she asked of him.
The wetness of her blood is still warm as it seeps into the navy and violet of his skin, a bright ruby red against the starlight of his body. Skandar’s teeth grind together, the muscles in his jaw jumping with the pressure. A single foreleg trembles, aching to move closer to her (in ways he cannot describe or fathom) as she parades alongside him, lost in the way she makes him bend to her will so easily.
There is no doing this without you.
She knows he will not refuse her - not of this, not of anything.
He would burn the world for her if only she asked.
“Then I am yours,” comes the reply, heady and breathless as his teeth attempt to lock somewhere on her beautiful skin, but missing purposely. “Lead the way, Aela.” As she always does.
