"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
01-27-2019, 08:25 PM (This post was last modified: 01-28-2019, 04:10 PM by Whitter.)
WHITTER
hell is empty and all the devils are here
It had felt, to the stallion, that he had been travelling for centuries. And yet, his mind remained a fog; a blur to him. Not once could he produce the name of the people he had met, and not once could he drag up any feelings of warmth towards any of it. He was numb, to his core, and was exhausted of his fruitless travels. There was too much noise and energy swirling around him and he more than once wholeheartedly yearned for everything to shut the fuck up. The birds no longer sounded peaceful to him - no, they were quite annoying - and sunlight did not flush his cheeks with satisfaction as it once had. Whitter wanted to crawl into the cold, dark earth and rot as his ancestors did.
The quiet would be pleasing; and the worms might tickle.
----
Whitter stands still, his lips close to the melting earth as he scans the horizons before him. The sun has not quite risen, though its rays are beginning to beam from behind the terra. The dappled stallion had been there quite some time, nearly before nightfall, but there were no indications that he would move. The boulder beside him provided him somewhat with comfort; feeling the denseness and immovability of the rock grounding him. He wanted the night to last for many more hours. He would miss the enveloping silence.
Mindlessly Whitter lips at a few blades of spring grass, clamping them tightly between his yellowed teeth before ripping them from their roots. He thought about what the day would bring, and if it would involve him coming across anything worthy of note. He wondered, though vaguely, where he was. Not having a mental map of his surroundings did not bother him, but he found it easier to navigate knowing where he should be headed. A rogue at heart, the large stag invited the mystery with him on his travels, and surely this adventure would be no different than any other.
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me, do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
She was restless. She wasn’t used to being rooted to one spot, and yet, here she was, essentially having trapped herself in a kingdom. Completely of her own doing, of course, but that didn’t make it any less suffocating. Occasionally, she still left, but not the way she used to. It was a little sad, really, that just a few threads of power had been enough to pin her down, when not even all the weight of Ophanim’s love had ever managed such a thing. She has spent her entire young life running from him and everything that he made her feel, for no discernible reason. And yet here she was, somehow having managed to find it within herself to smother that wayward part of her soul, just in order to make sure Vulgaris and Loess were under her ever watchful eye.
On top of her usual knoll is where she stood, still shrouded in the darkness of early morning; early enough that the light had not yet touched them. There was a faint celestial glow that emanated from her, from the gathering of constellations that clung to her steel gray skin, and in a way, they were almost brighter than the stars suspended above. Stars that were close enough to touch, though they likely didn’t burn — much to her dismay.
As the sky began to lighten, that is when her eyes settle on an unfamiliar stallion. Suspicion festered inside of her like some disease, and when she makes her way over to him, the purpose in her stride could not be denied. The change in her since arriving here was almost eerie. Before, when she had approached anyone in one of the common lands, it had been with that almost feline sashay of her hip, a coquettish simper always curled on her lips, and the glimmering hope that the interaction would at least provide some sort of entertainment. But here, anyone that enters Loess is immediately met with her almost accusatory stare, and already she is peeling away at the inside of his mind as soon as she is close enough.
”Who are you?” The sound of her voice was still honey-sweet, but the edges of the words were sharp. She has come to a stop a few strides before him, her youthful head tipped upwards so that her dark blue eyes may hold his own cool gaze. ”And what is your business in Loess?”
01-31-2019, 01:48 PM (This post was last modified: 01-31-2019, 02:15 PM by Whitter.)
Whitter
hell is empty and all the devils are here
Whitter stands motionless, silent, with a facade void of emotion. His mind had silenced as well; in this moment of reality, there was nothing but his soul (dark, withered) and the surroundings (cold, bright, revealing). It was perfection and nightmarish wrapped into a singular instant.
It was a supreme moment for Whitter, but he blinked the realization away. Profoundness exhausted the winter-ragged brute and he was not prepared to disintegrate into oblivion in lands he was not the least bit familiar with. To his mild relief, the scent of another invades his soft nares. Whitter drinks it in deeply. It is a woman approaching; he notes her sweet scent and briefly closes his eyes as a rush of delectation pulses through his being. It had been many a moon since his last encounter with a female, and as her grey body appears a thread of smugness threatens to tug at his lips. His icy eyes glance over her, finding it pleasing.
Her posture tells him she is unimpressed at his presence - as if he were a fly relentlessly buzzing at her crown. She approaches with confidence and Whitter continue to eyes her; he himself would not be sure what expression his face told. He was as still as the rock he stood beside. “Who are you?” The imperious woman started, her words entering the dappled stag’s sooty ears as birdsong. “Whitter,” he responds, simply, though boldly. His expression remains unchanged, but he continues to gaze at the brightly marked mare in a strangely macabre manner. He wondered what her vulnerable self looked like. “And what is your business in Loess?” An answer. He was currently in a land dubbed Loess. “To meet you, it looks like,” Whitter does not query the woman’s name, as pleased as he was for her to be near him, his cares fall into few categories that include others; names of pretty girls are not one of those.
His answer to his intrusion into Loess was slightly truthful, though completely impossible. He has never been here before, but it seemed as though something intended the instance to happen. At the thought, Whitter finally breaks his statue-posture to give his heavy skull a quick toss, as if to throw the vagueness of his thoughts away. His blue eyes land once more on the indifferent female - what did she want from him? “Why are you here?” An open ended question that the greyed mare could answer as she pleases.
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me, do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
It is her default state, to be unimpressed. It didn’t matter who stood before her, what their accolades may be, she wanted to draw her own conclusions. What she found notable was typically different than what others looked for; she had her own private agenda, and there was no telling what she may see in someone that caused her to deem them fit for whatever her mind was dreaming up.
She can see the way his eyes travel briefly across her face, her body, and despite her somewhat still critical stare, there is a flicker of satisfaction that spreads like heat across her skin. With the glowing constellations nestled against the storm-cloud gray of her skin, accentuating the curves that she was still growing into but most certainly already existed, she was always pleased when someone noticed, however briefly, her physical attributes.
But her aim was to be pretty and smart.
His answer to her question seems to chip away at the icy facade she had created, and a smile breaks across her face as a note of laughter sings from her lips. ”How fortunate for you, then, Whitter, that I found you so quickly,” The sharpness of her voice has melted back into that signature purr as she slips closer, pushing his boundaries but still not entirely breaching them. ”It would have been a shame to keep waiting.”
He doesn’t ask for her name, but she supplies it anyway, her cobalt eyes sweeping across his face and the sharp angle of his shoulders and the broadness of his back. ”I’m Starsin. And I live here. I like to see to it that no handsome gentlemen are left unattended for too long.” She has always been a shameless flirt, and it shows in the ease which the line is delivered, accompanied by a sultry smile. This was the role she was most comfortable in, and wouldn’t matter how he reacted. She didn’t need for him to take the bait in order to enjoy the game. ”You can stay, if you want.”
The blue eyes of the stallion watched the constellation-painted female through hollowed expression, somewhat interested in what her words would deliver. Whitter was met with a breath of flirtatious delight, and he found himself tempted to play along. “A shame, indeed,”he agrees with the speckled mare. He continues to eye her as her velvet words ring in his ears.
Starsin.
A word that felt like premonition to him, and he stores it in his memory - something that he hasn’t felt like doing for quite some time. “Your timing is impeccable, Starsin,” Whitter commends lightly, his own form of poison braiding itself into his rasped voice. He imagined what she would look like with tears of anger in her eyes, and he thought it was as beautiful as any wicked thunderstorm. He imagined what furies lied within her - whether they were destructive and blazing hot, or icy and rock shelled. A small part of Whitter longed to see the darkest parts of Starsin’s soul, his murky consciousness quickly spiralling.
“You can stay, if you want,” her venom voice dripped with allure, and Whitter’s darkness only rose. What would her broken existence look like? “A tempting invitation, Starsin,” Would she ever give him the satisfaction of what her soul on fire would look like? Whitter is spiralling, his depravity threatening to claw its way to the surface of his existence. “Maybe for a while,” he offers. The grey man thinks her blood was probably an incredible shade of red.
His blue eyes dart from Starsin’s and gaze around, not noticing much detail in their surroundings. Whitter’s thoughts were running away from him, and he needed to move should he not want to completely self destruct. “Perhaps, a walk?”
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me, do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
He is dangerous, but not obviously so. He is the monster that lurks beneath the surface of a calm sea, an inconspicuous veil hiding something far darker. It is a thrilling thing, to be this close to someone that wanted to undo her. She only catches some of his thoughts – most of them are too embedded into his subconscious, beyond what she can grasp onto – as she is too distracted by what he outwardly portrays, but she hears enough. She has met many that were irritated by her; several that she had thoughts of annoyance and mild violence flash across their minds as they withstood her relentless games. She was not experienced enough to truly incite fear into anyone; typically, she just entertained herself by seeing how far she could push someone. Vulgaris had been her first endeavor with seeing what she could really do. It was easy, when he had no memories to go off of.
She still wasn’t seasoned enough to try that with just anyone, but she had always loved a challenge, she found herself thinking as she watched him with a careful regard.
They could explode, the two of them. Spontaneously combust just from merely existing in each other’s presence, as they both clawed for control of their desires and urges. She can feel him spiraling, his thoughts racing almost faster than she can keep up, but there is enough to quicken her pulse in delight. “A walk would be lovely,” And the words are so soft they are almost sweet, tipping her pretty head to smile up at him. She glides past him, and for a moment her skin brushes so lightly against his body it could have almost been taken for an accident, if it had not been for the way she tilts her gaze backwards to him with a knowing lift of her lips, beckoning him to follow.
She waits for him to draw alongside of her, not really paying attention to where they walk. She is too focused on him, on the tension that bounces like electricity between them, on the scattered thoughts and words that she picks from his mind. “Do I unsettle you, Whitter?” Her voice is a murmur, hushed, as though she was worried someone was listening. “You unsettle me,” Her cobalt-blue eyes glance sideways at him, glinting impishly from behind a frame of almost-black forelock. “Just a little bit, though.”
The dappled brute steps in harmonious rhythm with Starsin, their grey bodies nearly melding together as Starsin’s velveteen skin brushes lightly against his. Electricity sparks through Whitter’s skeleton, and an uncontrollable shiver pulsates down his long spine. He was doubtful that Starsin was unaware of her flirtatious actions, which made the moments all the more honey-sweet; enjoyable for a taste, but suffocating in an unknown way. The strength it took Whitter to reign in the bubbling darkness residing within him was exhausting, and should the floodgates failed the steely man knew the consequences. And most of the time, those consequences were overwhelmingly satisfying.
There was little running through Whitter’s fogged mind, with Starsin being the focal point. Her perfume had become mesmerizing to him; so sweet with a hint of spice. At this point, he might follow her anywhere if only to get a glimpse of what the inside of her soul looked like. Peering into such chaos and purity could be something he dreamt of.
“Do I unsettle you, Whitter?” Starsin’s voice interrupts Whitter’s perverted thoughts. The way she feigns concern over someone hearing their conversation is luscious to him. The harshness of reality scrapes against his mind like claw against flesh, but he keeps himself composed. “Unsettle… No,” he admits. “Though you unwravel things that you shouldn’t be,” Is it a warning? Or a beckoning for Starsin to continue the unravelling? Whitter wasn’t confident in either answer. “You unsettle me,” Like a damsel in distress - only he is the monster, and he is her beast. “Just a little bit, though,” Starsin teases, whether out of complete disregard for what he commands, or out of truth.
“My apologies, Starsin. Some might call me an acquired flavor.” Whitter murmurs as he finds his nostrils dangerously close to her angelic flesh, drinking in its exquisite scent. He could feel tendrils of desire crawl throughout his musculature, his male hormones nearly red-lining his actions. It made him slightly curious to know if Starsin would enjoy the destruction of her body, if she would revel in the release of her soul as he tore into her warm carcass.
More blood ran through his mind, and he can feel its warmth as it consumes his thoughts. The metallic taste floods his mouth, and as it does Whitter reaches towards Starsin’s flank to give her a quick yet firm nip to perhaps remember him by when they collapse from each other. “I hope you’re not scared, Starsin,” Whitter’s raspy voice is layered with cunningness and taunt. He hoped she knew not to let a beast catch scent of fear.
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me, do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
He is coming undone, and she doesn’t have to reach into his mind to know it. She can feel it in the hum of his body as it steps alongside hers, can almost taste the way it pulsates through his veins. Even with her gift, she had had no idea what she was walking into, but she isn’t entirely sure if it would have mattered. Would she have turned away if she had known what sinister thoughts the currents of his mind would bring her? It was doubtful. Foolishness was bred into her. She was designed to break things, and to be broken — a terrible combination of something destructive and something fragile.
She was made for this and she didn’t even realize it.
She cannot explain the flicker of heat that flashes across her skin at the way he says unravel; something akin to a white-hot desire, and a keen satisfaction in knowing she was getting somewhere. Under his skin. Into his mind. Nestled there like a barb that would only dig deeper should he struggle. “I’m always doing things I shouldn’t be doing. It’s kind of my thing.” If he only knew the half of it.
She is mindful of the space she keeps between as they walk; hardly a few inches, and nearly every other step her glowing side brushes against his. But her attention is carefully diverted elsewhere, refusing to give him the satisfaction that she notices every time their skin meets. An acquired flavor, he says, and it incites another laugh from between her sterling lips. “I guess we will see about that.”
She can feel his breath as it plays across her skin when he reaches closer, and she moves to sidestep away, but not before his teeth make contact with her delicate skin. There is alarm, though it is brief and fleeting across her face. So far, none had been so bold as to reach out and touch her in such a way, even though she often invited it. It causes her forward motion to suddenly cease, as she spins abruptly to face him. Whatever imaginary boundary she had set between them dissolves, her chest nearly touching his as she reaches to her let her lips hover just above his skin. “Let me ask you this, Whitter,” Her voice is low, the words nearly lost in the threads of his tangled mane, as she angles her head upwards to let her mouth rest near his ear, “Do you want to unravel?” She would love nothing more than to see how far he spiraled.
