"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
07-16-2015, 02:56 AM (This post was last modified: 07-16-2015, 02:57 AM by Khaos.)
The little bitch. She deserves this.
He smirks as she walks in front of him, paraded out for the entire meadow to see. She looks pathetic, weak … downtrodden. Her entire body is covered in barely healed scars, dried blood crusting her dark coat. If one were able to see the skin underneath, it would be black and blue with bruises. And ‘piece de resistance’ (in his mind anyway), a large, thick bloody K stands out in stark relief on her left side. It’s not nearly as tidy or large as Ghoest’s (with her he had taken his time, savouring the process), but it gets the point across. She is branded. Owned.
She’s learned her lesson now.
He almost hopes that they run across the the little bastard she was tarting around with here. He would love to carve in to the little ninny, teach him a lesson for messing with his property. But for now he’s happy to let the rest of the meadow see his handiwork and understand. No one will touch his mares after this. He’ll crush any little idiot that tries.
Once they’ve reached a little hill where they are nicely visible to the rest of the meadow, he reaches out and viciously sinks his iron teeth into her rump. “That’ll do, darling.” He smirks, and circles to face her. “Now they’ll all know who you belong to. No one will want to touch you with my mark on your side.” He takes a step forward, towering over the smaller mare. “But, do you understand?” His eyes narrow and his voice takes on a sinister cast. There’s more blows left in him yet if necessary. “Will you disobey me? Will you act like a little whore again?”
I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
She’s fallen into an even deeper pit than before.
Before had been loneliness and abandonment and a broken heart.
Now it was agonizing.
Her emerald green eyes were dull and blank; what was once so lively has become an empty shell. The only reason she remained somewhat aware is that she had a young son to care for. Noellen could never truly abandon one of her children. But that little awareness was costly to her. She couldn’t draw deeper into herself and hide away from the aches and pains of her broken down body.
She stumbles and shakenly makes her way across the meadow at his discretion. Mindlessly she allows him to crowd her and to push her around as if she was a mere puppet and he pulled tautly at her fraying strings. Noellen had never given him much resistance for there had always been a tiny flaming hope that remained in her heart. But now it stuttered and flickered maddeningly within the onslaught of a biting, icy wind.
She had felt lost when seeing Barret again within her brief escape into the meadow. Here was a former trusted friend whom had betrayed that very trust. But then again, everyone betrays her in the end. Lyric had died and left her friendless. Barret had assaulted her and left her with a son. And Drow. Well that had been the last straw. Why was she so unlovable?
They finally reach a spot that the iron giant deemed worthy of ending his impromptu parade of fools (though really it consisted of only one fool). Her sides heaved in exhaustion and her limbs shook violently. She felt like her rib cage was bent unto itself and many of her wounds had opened back up during their trek to the meadow. She barely flinches from the bite he administers and drunkenly she gazes into cold grey eyes as he speaks menacingly to her.
She shakes her head vigorously in answer to his questions. No. NO. Never again would she leave. She could be good. She had just been a little lost. But now she knew better. All she had needed was a guiding hand.
"I can be good. I promise!"
Noellen
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If this is to end in fire then we should all burn together
Twelve years. It had been twelve years since Drow had seen his starshine girl, on the night the world had ended. The night the Moon had died, and everything that had already been shit had burned the rest of the way to the ground. Not his starshine girl anymore, he supposed. He’d gone back to find her, to apologize for…for the night he couldn’t remember, for her face covered in blood and the knowledge that he’d hurt the girl. But Noellen wouldn’t see him, and wasn’t that confirmation enough that she didn’t want anything to do with him. He couldn’t blame her, not after what she’d been through. So she had been just one more thing weighing on his conscience, one more reason to hate himself and tear himself apart, one more reason to punish himself when he’d already had countless reasons and countless scars from the trying.
He’d wondered about her since then, of course. But he’d been…too broken, even after all this time. Too broken to try to make amends with one of the most important people in his life, for whatever he had done to hurt her. Too broken to do anything but respect her wishes and leave her alone, even if it killed him. Because what else could he do? She was better off without him. Without who he’d been back then, at least. But he’d grown up a lot since the world had ended. Somewhere along the line, the broken pieces of him had mended, had turned into something…solid. Steady. Stronger than the sad, scared, lonely little boy shattered by abandonment and loss and a broken heart. He’d grown the fuck up. And lately he had begun to wonder…if maybe it was time to try again.
He had checked the Dale already, searching out traces of his starshine girl where she had once called home. But there was no lingering trace of her scent in the rolling hills and valleys, not even on the clearest nights when the stars shone brighter than he’d ever seen before. Not a trace of the boy either, though that hadn’t come as such a surprise. Colts grew up and left their mothers’ sides, and this one had been nearly grown the last time he’d seen his starshine girl. Still, he had hoped for at least word of her whereabouts.
Drow had even gone back to the Field, his heart aching for all the years that had passed since that first day he’d seen her, sweet and shy and shining like all the stars in the sky were hidden inside her emerald green eyes. He’d been a bashful, naïve little boy, far too young to leave his mother’s side (and if he’d only known how short a time he’d have her, he would have never left her side…), still pale as moonlight with his soft baby coat that had slowly, so slowly turned to almost-black, just a hint left of the earthy shades he’d faded through on his way to adulthood. So innocent, he’d been so innocent. Still, no sign of her there.
In the end, he’d gone back to the Meadow. The Jungle had never been home, only the place he’d lived. And now that none of his family lived there, it had no claim on him. So he had made his way to the place every other homeless man, woman, and child eventually found, and he’d kept himself occupied learning its rhythms and trying to reach out, to find an anchor in a world where it felt like none existed. Who was he without his family to protect, to defend, to love? Just another body. Maybe someday he’d find them again, his brothers and sisters, any children they might have had. And in the meantime--
Sunlight glinted off a metallic coat, drawing his reluctant attention to a bit of melodrama playing out nearby. Some cold iron douche pushing around a beat up girl who looked so damn defeated he could…barely…stand it. No. His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on her dull dirt-brown coat, the way her paler mane hung limp and lifeless on her neck. There was no fight left in her empty green eyes, just resignation as she shook with pain and exhaustion. There was no starlight in those eyes, but they were hers.
Noellen.
Red bled into his vision, something that had only happened on the full moon before, back in the days when he’d been jagged and haunted and tearing himself to pieces just to keep functioning. The rage that washed away reason was familiar, caressing his veins like a long-lost lover even as it powered him forward, charging toward the man who thought he got to hurt Drow’s starshine girl. He would learn. The fucker would learn. Drow would be happy to teach him that nobody. Hurt. The girl.
Watch the flames climb high into the night
Drow
(Okay, Drow’s plan is basically to barrel into Khaos and try to tear him apart. We’ll talk logistics and whatnot via AIM?)
The hope that had entered her eyes when he had brought her home to Silver Cove is gone entirely, replaced by, well, nothing. Her eyes are empty - flat, dead. Defeated.
She promises to be good, and he can’t help but chuckle. “Oh I know you can darling. And you will be.” Her fight is all gone. He almost regrets having beaten it out of her so soon. Almost. But he has Ghoest for that - the roan still has that little bit of personality that he can torture out of her. Noellen will just serve to give him more children. And perhaps he can use her as a training toy for his sons.
He’s contemplating parading her around a bit more, when a sudden … stillness … catches his attention. His ears flick up, eyes wide and searching.
Violent movement catches his eye. There!
A silvered stallion is charging towards him, eyes crazed - enraged beyond reason. Khaos grins. This must be the ass that had rubbed his scent all over his property. He’ll teach the little bitch to mess with his mares.
Instead of dodging, or even rushing the stallion to meet his attack, Khaos stands firm. He feels down into the earth, pulling the iron in the soil towards his feet, fastening himself to the ground. He is immense, immovable - several thousand pounds of pure iron, standing at a towering 17 hands.
When the smaller stallion crashes into him, he sways. But his feet don’t move an inch, and he barely feels the impact (iron is after all, a rather solid substance). The other stallion though … the other stallion probably feels it.
When the silvered stranger is no longer pressed against his side, Khaos turns to him, pulling himself up to his full height. “You, must be the little bastard who thinks he can poach my mares.” He reaches out with his power, latching on to the iron in the stallion’s blood. “But you’re going to find out quickly that I’m the wrong stallion to mess with.” He holds the stallion in place, using his own blood against him and begins the beating.
He rains blows down on the little fool, careful though at first to only bruise - he wants to savour the experience. But when the stallion is finally black and blue underneath his dark coat, he finally gives in to his desire for blood.
He rips the iron he had gathered before out of the earth, raising it into the air before him. He rips off chunks, then shapes them, fashioning dozens of tiny knives. And then he goes to work. He’s gentle almost, keeping away from the major arteries and organs, only cutting where it will hurt and not mortally injure. He works slowly, brutally, keeping one eye on Noellen as he carves away. He does not think there’s enough left of the mare for her to fight him, but it pays to be cautious. Not to mention, if there’s any spark of her left, it will be fun to watch it die.
After some time has passed and the silvered stallion is dripping in his own blood, he finally steps back and lets the knives drop. “I think I’ll let you live. As a lesson to both of you.” A reminder to never touch what is his. “But I can’t have you getting any ideas or foolish notions of hope. One last present for you.” With a wicked grin, he clamps down with his power and collapses all of the blood vessels in the stallion’s right foreleg. Within seconds, the limb will begin to die, permanently crippling him. “Now there’s no way for you to follow.” He’s about to turn, when he has a thought. “I’ve changed my mind. One last thing …” He picks up one of the knives and, as he had with Ghoest and Noellen, carves a ‘K’ into the stallion’s side. A final warning to other would be poachers.
Then he finally turns his full attention back to Noellen. “Come pet, it’s time for us to head home.” He takes the knife he’d just used on the stallion, and flicks it at her carelessly. “Let’s leave this little nothing to his misery.”
I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
He chuckles and she smiles hesitantly up at him. Noellen had taken it as meaning she had pleased him in some way and that meant she did well. That was all that mattered now – his pleasure. Because she was worthless and unlovable. Only Khaos had given her the time of day. But then she ruined it all by being weak and succumbing to her memories in the meadow. She had to be punished. She was only grateful that Kaspian had been spared the sight of her pain and humiliation. He would only be forced to see the aftermath of it all.
She barely registers a loud clanging noise. It seems someone has collided with the iron giant and she wished to avoid his retaliation to such a foolish venture. But Noellen still lives in a vague and fuzzy world and her efforts to move out of the way of the violence are stiff and stilted at best. Her breathing is ragged and she doesn’t make it too far from the duo. She knew she was expected to remain relatively close to the iron giant, whether or not he was currently engaged in something that could become potentially harmful to any stray bystanders.
It appears to be a complete bloodbath.
She can’t bear to watch the outcome and steadfastly keeps her eyes straight in front of her.
It wasn’t long before she realizes that the iron giant has finally came to an end to his wrathful retaliation. She knew the other remained alive by the movements of his rib cage and his desperate, raging eyes. Eyes spun of gold and silver. Why were they so familiar? The faint silver of his coat peeks through various streaks of blood and ragged, torn flesh. She feels as if she was thrown into a vacuum – devoid of all sound. All she could focus on were the pained depths of those eyes. Noellen cringes as a brand is carved into the others’ flesh and her skin flickers erratically in remembered pain.
And it is all over just as soon as it had begun.
She whimpers and can’t help but violently jerk when an iron knife is thrown into her hindquarter. It doesn’t pierce her deeply, but it is enough to affect her ability to walk even more. Khaos remains glued to her side and impatiently begins to maneuver his body in ways to make her move through the meadow once more. It’s even worse this time around as her limbs have stiffened in pain and her wounds tear and stretch in protest. But she can’t help but keep her eyes on the fallen stallion behind them.
A charming little boy who boldly approached her.
A young man whom she loved dearly and made her laugh constantly.
A grief-stricken man who had lost his way.
She begins to remember these things, but it remains faint. Only one thing seems to clearly stick out in her mind and she doesn’t even realize that she had murmured it out loud.
“Drow?”
Noellen
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If this is to end in fire then we should all burn together
The impact was familiar, driving Drow further back to the days when the moon’s face sang sick siren songs in his head, coaxing him toward self-destruction. He had beaten himself against trees, against rocks, against ruins. He had cracked bones, bruised himself so badly he could barely move, torn himself apart at the beckoning of the imaginary moon. So when he hit the other stallion so hard he felt ribs cracking from the collision of flesh and something much, much harder, when his ears rang with a far too familiar song, it felt like coming home to his darker self, his younger, moon-mad, tortured self. Hello, precious. Did you miss me?
Mmmm, and part of him had. He tried to throw himself at the iron mountain again, to charge into the sharp agony of cracked ribs and the ferocious ache of bruises yet to form, but his body wouldn’t move. Oh, but the iron mountain obliged, pounding him mercilessly, raining blows down on his body with relentless savagery. And the pain built, swelled, filled him until he couldn’t contain it anymore—until it broke and twisted into something delicious. He would have moaned, if he could move his vocal cords.
The mountain drew metal out of the earth, metal that matched his body, and shaped it into sharp edges that caressed along his skin, slicing through and letting his blood flow free. Heat filled him as tiny rivulets flowed down his sides, as knives slashed across old scars, crosshatching and forming exquisite new patterns on the canvas of his volcanic-glass skin. So much cleaner than beating himself against rocks, than sanding his skin down against rough tree bark, than gouging himself on thorns. So elegant, the sharp little edges glinting in the sunlight as they lowered themselves toward his body, dragged themselves along his curves and edges. If his lips could have moved, they would have twisted into a sick grin stuck somewhere between heat and mania.
Carve me up, baby. Won’t stop me.
Even as the blood loss started to make his vision swim, even as red started to fade to black and spark along the edges, even as the only thing keeping him from collapsing into the slowly growing pool of his own blood was the iron mountain’s hold on his body, Drow kept his eyes on the one wielding the knives. He held that cold grey stare until something twisted in his leg, and the agony of a dying limb swallowed his consciousness.
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