it's not the waking, it's the rising; jackel

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever   He is sick, dizzied still with his wanting, with the desire inside him keening obey, obey. (He’s sick in the head, too, surely – for wanting this. For being thing. Craven and wanton. Disgusting.) The monster’s - Bruise’s - words throb inside him like an infected wound. Find me a plaything. Something to break. He would have been the plaything a thousand times over but no, Rapt was going to be kept (the words send a thrill down his spine, they send bile into his mouth – such duality, the wanting and knowing that the wanting is oh-so-wrong).   He obeys, of course. The man he’s known so briefly could order him to do a hundred awful things and he thinks he would. He doesn’t know yet where the line is drawn. If, indeed, there is any kind of line at all. But he struggles when he heads off, when he looks at the sea of horses. Rapt is not particularly strong or brutal, so he doubts he could bring someone by force. Nor is he particularly beguiling – he’s handsome enough, but there’s a hundred handsome horses in the meadow alone. He smiles thin, watery smiles to a few horses, none engage him, and he is not suave enough to ignore their disinterest and sally on.   Panic starts to flit in his chest, buzzing like horseflies. What if he can’t fulfill the monster’s request? The very first thing asked of him? (The second, really – the first thing Bruise asked was to kneel. This, he did easily.) He sees a mare, sandy gold, and he smiles at her – and this time, she smiles back. The sliver of an opening. He takes it. “Hello,” he says, “I’m sorry to bother you, but you caught my eye.” The words stumble out, sound false on his tongue. He is no Casanova, nor does he have any desire to be. But he tries, as best he can. “My name is Rapt.”   rapt caius x else

@[Jackel]

[Jackel]

jackel

Sylva was becoming nothing more than a pretty fire toned cage.  The towering giants the bars and the dappled man the guardsman.  I don't need another cage; my mind is prison enough.  Daily thrashings are felt as Haide writhes and strikes, clawing incessantly at the steely confines.  Each passing day it gives more and more, weakening beneath her weight.  I won't be able to hold her much longer.  Do I even want to?  I'm not entirely sure which one of us is the real monster anymore.

She senses weakness--in me or others, I don't know--herding me through the autumnal grates of the keep and into the unfurling meadow.  She whispers to me sweet promises as I tread between lazy bodies and I listen to my shepherd attentively, allowing her to guide me today like a trusting sheep might.

A stallion finds my voided gaze; he smiles, I smile back.

One more upheaval against my restraints is all that it would take, and that's what she does.  And just like that the wild roll of my eyes is snuffed to nothing more than a doe like softness, the steep incline of my namesake smile dragged down to a more acceptable grandeur.  A test, she says, to see what he wants, who he wants.  Wait and be patient, silly thing, see what happens.

"Hello Rapt," I hear myself say, "I'm Jackel.  What can I do for you?"   A question, another demure smile, and then I fall to silence.

all this joy, I've got some to share

devin's∇designs

@[rapt] Lemme know if this is not along the lines you were hoping for and I'll gladly edit it!

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever Because he is blind, because he is stupid, she is all he could ask for. He has no sense of what churns and roils within her, no sense of the rot behind her sweet smile. He sees only a mare, pretty and blithely innocent. He sees something easy, and he wonders if this is a silver of how Bruise felt, looking upon Rapt and his own quaking knees. He feels disgust, mostly at himself, mixed with a sense of relief – that maybe he can accomplish something. Maybe he can do what’s asked of him. Fulfill his promise. (Satisfy the master. The monster.) “Jackel,” he repeats. The symbolism of the name escapes him. She would as gladly feast on his carcass as she would smile at him, yet he misses this. He misses so much. Stupid boy. “I have a…friend,” he says, “who loves beautiful women.” He forces himself to look at her. The sheen of her coat, a shade of gold different than his own, an echo. He wonders if Bruise would like this more, or less. “You’re stunning,” he says, unable to compliment anything other than her beauty (not that he knows anything else – this is vapid, stupid, and he’s awful at it. He steps closer, as if he is bold. He smiles. He tries to be a thing worth trusting. “My friend would love to meet you,” he says, then, “and he is worthy of you.” rapt caius x else

@[Jackel] no it's great!! lmao poor rapt

[Jackel]

jackel

False.  It's all false.

My deception is my own, and he has his own craft,  Neither of us are the wiser to each other's guises for now.  We both have our own desires, motivations, cravings.  How fortunate for the both of us that they should fall in a line so beautifully fated.

And we are bored.  Wastefully so.

My head wants to tilt, my lips want to break apart to grin, my mouth wants to fall open and allow the venom that is my laughter to run freely.  And it nearly does.  The clench of my jaw slackens, but it is not the usual joyful fit that slides past my lips, its a shy girlish giggle that I hear.  Haide, you bitch, you cannot allow me one innocent reaction?  

She hushes me instantly, patience, I hear, don't startle the stag.

"Thank you," she says through my lips.  Magnetized, his step in my direction causes me to mirror his action, and my gilded body shifts nearer, hovering just before the fringe of polite personal space.  But she cannot stop my leaning towards him--this is not true, she allows me to believe I have some semblance of control in the moment when I most definitely do not--and my muzzle extends somewhat, fashioning another smile deemed acceptable for a stunning lady like myself.  He did say I was stunning, right?  Gotta live up to his curious expectations.

"I'd love to meet him too, if he's a friend of yours."

"We believe you" we say to ourselves.

all this joy, I've got some to share

devin's∇designs

@[rapt] so, so sorry for the wait. please feel free to power play her to get her wherever you need her. she's a willing victim lol