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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    way down we go; any
    #1
    Stillwater
    He dropped it on the bank, pressed it carefully into the loam to secure it. A breath tugged the scent back to him again; the sea. His heart ached and he dropped himself to the damp earth beside it with a clink of his chain. It was only a seashell. Just a shell. A gift. He'd never been shown such kindness. It was new, and strange, and subdued him into thoughtful silence as he stared out at the water. Staring. Thinking. Brooding.

    No, screw this.

    He got up and walked into that eager lover's embrace, water licking at his skin with its own thirst. Thirst for him. He closed his eyes and his head tilted back, breathing deeply. Water was the only one that would ever accept him fully, love him entirely, want him endlessly. This was where he belonged. It would never hurt him, and he could never harm it either. He hung his head and sighed, his breath kissing the surface with little ripples. Solitary.

    That wet odor, as clean and clear as this little lake, wasn't as soothing as he'd expected. His shoulders still felt heavy, and the lack of something was growing more and more apparent. He was reluctant to wash the brine of sea from his coat, but he needed this, and his head dunked under the surface. Black whips of hair slapped him as he lifted and shook it out. But he didn't return to the water's edge.

    Instead he kept it at his back, and stared across the surface of the water. To the distance, where he knew it was so deep. Dark and deep and empty.

    Like him.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #2
    You shout it out, but I can’t hear a word you say…




    She stirred. The vagueness of her body was proof that she was still alive. Though there was something so very very different about her. She was changed. She moved through the wood silently, graceful as ever, but she could tell—the land was not as she remembered. These trees—they were not the same, and the coastline, her beloved Dale. It was all gone. With a sigh, her dark hair fell in her eyes as she stepped further into the wood, allowing the sunlight to dapple shadows onto her already mottled hide. Though she was perhaps lost, she was no stranger to these lands, and woe be it to any man who forgets her.

    Charlemagne moves with a grace that shows exactly who she is. She the golden child, and her black thigh-high black boots step over twig and root as if they were nothing more than serfs under her charge. Her lithe body shivers against the cold, and her eyes span across the horizon, what little she can see of it. Beqanna winters were atrociously cold, and Carli had picked the worst time of the year to return to the land of her birth. Why now, when she could have gone literally anywhere else and potentially been happy? Precisely that she has been everywhere, and found happiness nowhere. Upon her back---golden wings, transplanted there from her exchange with the fairies. She had seen them first—and her magic, the glorious stuff, was gone.

    The sound of a river was nearby, and her ears flick towards the sound—her body soon follows, swaying with all the promise of—well, something. She was beautiful and nobody’s fool. A former Queen, former magician—former everything.

    For the moment, a woman with nothing, looking to build something new.

    But the thirst of a new life was where she would start.

    She dips her head to drink, her black tail careened down her back like the train of a beautiful dress; her feathers, preened and perfect laying against taut skin. The water is cold and clear and perfect, and her thoughts turn towards finding the common lands. Of all places, they had been the most protected; surely they survived the Reckoning. Once she has had her fill, she turns north, towards where the water lets out into a small lake. The scent of another is overwhelming, and she is immediately put on guard. Her eyes search the banks; coming to rest upon a shadow—a man clothed in black, staring pensively at the water.

    Charlemagne tilts her head, flaring her nostrils and shifting her weight, her muscles flexing under her pristine form. She is not prepared to break his reverie. And so she starts to turn, presenting her profile to him—a golden bird against a drab white canvas.

    Thus begins the story of Charlemagne and Stillwater.



    Shoot me down, but I won’t fall… I am titanium…
    Reply
    #3
    Stillwater
    He stood out in the water, his hooves sinking comfortably into the mud-clay beneath his feet. The moon was barely a sliver in the sky, cutting the lake with a sly grin of white. Water settled sweetly against him, up to his hip and shoulders. It was good, content, and yet not enough. But it would do.

    He reflected on the surprisingly eventful turn his solitary existence had taken. For so long he had been unknown, most not even aware of his presence even when he lived in the same stretch of land. He'd liked it, all that peace. Quiet. Anonymity. Nobody had known him, and yet he'd known them by their faces, smells, actions. Now his name was known, even familiar to them. So strange. And the things he left behind... The darkness of his cave, the playful tug of the sea beckoning him deeper. Nayl. Yes, even her and her sexy, secret eyes.

    And now here. A chain like some felon on house arrest. Djinni, so attractive and puzzling Djinni. His bitterness was slowly washing away with the months he stayed here, and her company was pleasing in its way. This Sylva wasn't his cave, it wasn't the sea. But it was darkness, dampness. The things he'd been raised to seek, to bury himself in for safety and comfort.

    And there was Karaugh. Dancing, teasing prey who lacked a Queen's crown to keep her safe from him and yet had lived. Odd, that. But she might prove useful. She might prove quite warm too. Even now his saliva pooled for her. God, that little squeal had been full of so much promise. To hear it slip into fear... Mmmm. He could only imagine how good that would be. How intoxicating. He wanted it.

    Then his attention jerked outward though he didn't move. He could sense her, feel her near. Someone new. Yet another face to see him, to know him. Another pair of lips to know his name. A pet or a feast? Finally, he turned his head toward her, keeping his sweet lover wrapped around him. A gold in all this black night, dainty wings pulled so close.

    Little canary, do you sing?

    Care to join me? he asked smoothly, sending little wakes of ripples from the vibration in his body. Even in this shroud of darkness, his attraction was obvious. His scent alone was a lure to them. His eyes were seduction without an off switch, his voice sultry smooth. All a part of this devil hidden so well behind an angel's face, the manner of the beast.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #4
    charlemagne
    You shout it out, but I can’t hear a word you say…

    She moves toward the thicket, the lake at her back. She can feel the pull of the water as it laps lazily toward the bank. And then a crooning voice, so silky—like warm fudge sliding down your throat. Decadence. Care to join me. She does not expect it.

    But she is no prepared to reject him, either.

    Slowly, she turns back towards her shadow-man, into the wind. Her black hair falls behind her, and he looks up at him, leveling him first time with her gaze—those great grey eyes that have toppled kingdoms—and kings. She stares into his soul, gauging his worthiness. Charlemagne, the man-eater. She places a small smirk on her face, looking him over, and the way the waves kiss his body, lapping over his fine form. Like a glove, it surrounds him in an intimate hug that cannot be overlooked, and Carli wonders just how warm the water must be, if in the dead of winter, that this golden bird would have that kind of effect on her shadow-man. She purrs softly to herself, her entire body buzzing as she walks, no slinks towards him, wishing she could be that warm body that was wrapped around him thusly. Without magic, she does not know his name, or his status—or the size of his cock—but what she can see floating intriguingly from the top of the water makes Carli girl thrum with a quiet excitement, her feathers on edge.

    They didn’t make them like this in her day.
    The moon hangs low, casting a sheen across the golden bird’s back, throwing her shadow upon the pale sand that lined the lake. The land is quiet, and the like is like glass. Except for the male in her presence, all is as it should be. For Carli, his very presence was enough to make her quake back to reality. She should not be in this place. The meadow is in the other direction. And yet…
    Charlemagne comes closer, stepping a delicately formed onyx hoof into the water, sending excited trembles of water in his direction. She moves with care, levelling him with her gaze. He was in a word--beautiful. But then, so was she.

    “You wish me to join you for a midnight swim, and yet you have no idea who I am; I have no idea who you are, and under the light of the moon, you cannot even really see what I look like.” She steps out, the curve of her rump cast in moonlight as it cascades down her body. She is perfect, and she has set her sights on her next playtoy. She would have him. He was perfect. The meadow would keep. “What if you don’t like what you see when you wake in the morning?”

    Shoot me down, but I won’t fall… I am titanium…
    Reply
    #5
    Stillwater
    His voice wrapped around her, a leash of warm silk for such a pretty pet. She turned slowly, rich hair framing her lovely face. It was only a brief pause before she smirked and sauntered right up without hesitation. Her hoof sank into the water and her ripples slowly expanded to kiss his. This was promising. So very easy.

    Everything about her was seductive, erotic. Everything about him was the same. Tall, dark and handsome, and all that. Intoxicating pheromones wafted from him like an aura of sexual desire, regardless of whether he wished it or not. And she was prey to it, sinking into it as surely as they all did. But she was both predator and prey, as her knowing eyes took him in with their experienced scrutiny.

    "You wish me to join you for a midnight swim, and yet you have no idea who I am; I have no idea who you are, and under the light of the moon, you cannot even really see what I look like."

    His shoulder rolled in a lazy shrug. It didn't really matter what she looked like, did it? Only what she tasted like, this stranger without a ward of protection against him. But she seemed to hesitate, or consider things, as she stepped back out of the water. "What if you don't like what you see when you wake in the morning?" He only smiled. Who said she'd even live til morning? Ah, but he was in position here, and so he must keep up appearances. No feasting on the ladies just yet, then. Shame.

    I am Stillwater. You are Beautiful. And I think that covers both your name and your appearances, doesn't it? So now we are met.

    He only stood there, looking over his shoulder at her, eyes dancing playfully with mischief.
    Any other reservations?
    His smile widened just the slightest, sweet and serene, waiting to see if she would sink into his water with him. Did she sense his true nature? Or maybe she was simply just cautious. He put a look of feigned hurt on his handsome face, dark blue eyes widening in innocence.

    Unless you are afraid of me?
    So sweet. Come sing for me, little canary.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #6
    charlemagne
    Baby, this is what you came for…lighting strikes every time she moves

    He calls her ‘Beautiful’. They all do. She has them wrapped around her like a around a human finger, and plays to her strengths. Even without her power, she is powerful, and she finds this moment is rife with pheromones. She does not know anything about Stillwater. But there is something intriguing about her. And there is so much in Beqanna that is changed. Could he be proven useful to her?

    He is so unlike Fenrir.

    Fenrir was honest. He was perfect. He loved her and gave her the quiet moments of his mind—and she had driven him away. But instead of taking advantage of her happiness, she had become what she had been born to be. Life and love had taken a back seat, and Charlemagne put to the fore an iron wall. Her children were forgotten, their fathers—who were they again? Fenrir, her wolf, was the only one that she regretted. Or even remembered.

    But those days were long gone, and his body was long dead. And she—well, she was still here to mourn them.

    Except that she mourned no one.

    Charlemagne keeps her grey eyes upon her black shadow man. Stillwater. He seemed as at home in the water as he was on land. He leveled his gaze with her, trying to drink her in as an alcoholic downs a glass of champagne—and she can see that he wants her. There is no pretending with them. They both know what they are—and what they want. She blushes, and looks down coyly. She laughs breathily, the sound tinkling like small silver bells, carried off into the chilly night air. His eyes rake over her body hungrily. She knows how to play this game. She is far too experienced in the ways of this dance to be caught so easily. She takes a step into the water again, pressing her hoof deep into the soft mud that lays there, playing quietly—tantalizingly—with the ripples, teasing him, tugging on his first love, prying her away from him. He seems to think she is new at this, and her secret smile plays into her advantage.

    She would have him.

    And then he asks that all important question. Is she scared of him? No. Not in the slightest. But perhaps it is best for them both if he thinks she will shudder at his touch. Of course, there is no feigning the shuddering…but it won’t be with fear…

    …But with smug self-satisfaction.

    I would…except… She gestures helplessly—coy little bitch—to her feathers, perfectly pristine from where they lay wrapped around her like a delicately placed cashmere sweater. These do not make good flotation devices. I can watch your muscles rippling just fine from here.

    She has no doubt he’s toying with her—just as she is toying with him. That is what makes this so much fun. And when she is once more a lady of power—she just needs to set her trap.

    Everyone’s watching her, but she’s looking at you…
    Reply
    #7
    Stillwater
    Something in her laugh grated on him, made his skin prickle. It was too perfect. She appeared shy, but it conflicted with her easy approach initially. A game then. He knew games. Would it be a roleplay then? Handsome stranger, shy innocent. Real innocence was so much better, tasted better, but he could play. He needed it, a time to escape his troubles. He smiled easily, his eyes reflecting his piqued interest.

    Her foot sank in with purpose, sending more ripples to him. They lapped at his skin as though prodding at a ward. He slowly turned around to watch her better, see her better. She gestured to those pretty wings, shyly laid the blame to them. He could rip them off, would that solve it? But then she wouldn't be so perfectly lovely, and he rather liked her this way. She was timid, but her words were bold. "..muscles rippling just fine from here." His lips parted in a silent chuckle, smile stretching.

    Then it was there in his eyes, called to obey her. The hunger. The need. His breathing slowed, as it always would. Senses heightened. With deadly purpose he stalked slowly to her, murky, intense eyes locked onto hers. Watching her watch him, the cascade of water slipping down his sculpted body as he reached higher ground. Watch him come for her. He said nothing, because they no longer needed words. They played a game, they danced. They each knew it. She was made. He was too.

    He reached her, took in all her beauty. Black velvet stroked her cheek gently, hesitantly, playing his part for this shy girl. His breath swept across her skin, quickening just the slightest. Nayl should allow him even this little bit of herself, but instead he had this perfection. A body he could touch.

    He pushed it further, just a little. His lips trailed her jawline, breathed into her soft flesh. When he reached the start of the muscle in her neck, he slowly -so slowly- wrapped his mouth around it, gripped it. Claimed her. A pleased, hungry moan slid out of him. He liked it. She would like it to. She'd love this. He didn't bite down, didn't truly taste her. Didn't want to crave her when she was gone.

    Stay with me.. he whispered his plea.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #8
    charlemagne
    If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?

    A small squeal emits from her as the thrill of his touch upon her skin marks her. The mark would fade, as it always does. This is not the first time she has been claimed, and it certainly would not be the last. Carli’s breath catches when he whispers to her—those deep, soulful eyes burning into her retinas. Stay with me he says, and she sighs, and pulls herself into him, allowing herself the embrace of another.
     
    He is slick, wet and cold with the perfect curvature of a sea creature; almost as if he rose out of the depths of nothingness. Does he know? Does he know who she is? Surely not. This part of the world barley looked familiar, let alone smelled like the power she had once wielded over its inhabitants. Daughter of no one, power over nothing. Who was she?
     
    She was nobody.
     
    And so, the canary allows herself to be caught by a captor, Dancing with him under the light of the moon, each playing their part, filling their roll. Her voice, warm and inviting, approaches at barely above a whisper, wondering if she could get him to drop his charade.
    Perhaps, if he lowered his shield, she would to.
     
    But she is nobody’s fool, and her heart is not for the taking if it is to be smashed.
     
    “My name is Charlemagne.”
     
    If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?
    Reply
    #9
    Stillwater
    That damn squeal of hers shot a wave of tingles down his spine and briefly made his hair stand on end. He was easily amused by his own reaction, and huffed a breath of laughter as she sighed quietly and settled against his chest, a source of intoxicating warmth chasing out the chill of his skin like the spreading heat of a good bourbon.

    My name is Charlemagne, her voice of sweet honey dripped between them, smooth and golden and light. Charlemagne, he mused in quiet echo, slowly pulling back enough to study every soft curve of her face as if he could twist her hair over fingers while he drank her in completely. Charlemagne, he said again, drawing it out in low silk, a lazy caress through warm water. He just barely passed parted lips over her smooth velvet, lightly teasing the sensitive nerves there as he stared into her eyes.

    A soft smile curved the corner of his mouth, a play of light in his dark blue-black gaze. Do you like getting wet, dear Charlemagne? He rested his lips on her nose, placing a tender kiss.

    Do you like to swim?
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #10
    charlemagne
    If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?

    The breath caught in her chest as she took an instinctive step backwards. Nobody touched her. At least not done so and lived to tell the tail. The sound of the river rocks crackled underneath her as she moved, breaking her reverie, and she blinks, drawing her golden eyes away from his, and looks around. The moment; its over.

    But then, why is her heart thudding in her chest? This was supposed to be a game. Except, that for a certain canary, this game was over. And, having given up her real name, this black stranger would have little to no trouble in discovering what manner of prize he has caught under his slippery grip. A husky whisper breaks into her mind like black silk sheets wrapping around her body. She takes another breath; exhaling slowly. Do you like getting wet, dear Charlemagne?

    Did she like to swim? It was well known within her family that peace that comes from living an underwater existence. Ashley had often taken to the depths in search of a peaceful respite from his every day mundane life. Charlemagne, as much as she resented her very famous father, was just the same. Her heart bled for the water. It was within her soul to watch the beating of the waves upon the shore. She found she was able to clear her mind in those moments—few and far between as they were.

    But dare she reveal that to him now? Magic that had been hers, kept hidden behind lock and key. Her heart; her protection. His leverage. She didn’t even know his name.

    This was too much. Too fast. Put the mask back on. Steady on, Carli girl. He is not the first, he will certainly not be the last. But had there ever been a first? If she was being honest with herself, she might not have liked the answer. So she puts her thoughts away, and lifts her head towards him once more, kicking up her black and silver tail and wrapping it around her seductively. Thoughts and feelings later.

    Tonight she wants to live.

    “I have been known to take a swim in my day,” she says, not a lie. Her day had been more than 100 years ago. “But I much prefer talk about you trying to make me wet.” Coy smile and hooded golden eyes shielded behind a fragile heart of a girl who had fallen much faster for a man—unbidden,

    It’s a game, Carli girl. You know they never want you when they find out what you are.

    Play the game better than they do.

    Checkmate.
    If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?
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