"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
The ants go marching one by one, his little anthill was growing. The soldiers, the workers ants, they would all be collected. He need not remind them who the Queen would be.
It was ironic that he should part the waters like a shark now. It was almost poetic, spring being a time of renewal, a time of new beginnings. Even for him, King of beasts, founder of monsters- he was never satisfied to have less. He needed more, always more.
The Cove had fallen apart, he’d been too lenient, he could not afford to be generous anymore. There had been too many ungifted there, he could not allow that to happen again. Power is not taken, it is made, Kirin had done himself a disservice by breeding with the generic. He would do that no more.
As luck (or by right), there will still those with his blood that believed the same. Such power had been made tangible in this world by his lines and he would be pleased to put them to use. None other than his granddaughter had blessed the world and now he scoured the forest for, what was this one, great granddaughter? Bile ran up his throat, burning as he quickly swallowed it back down. It was not something pleasant to think on, time moved forward and technicalities would remain but he did not have to acknowledge them. Not if he didn’t want to
She wasn’t difficult to find, much like her estranged Mother she left traces of herself in her path. Shriveled flowers and blackened turf.
“Hello lovely girl,” he sang, his voice as sweet and thick as ever.
Grandmere was crazy. Her mother was insane. Deathwish wasn’t sure what she was, but she enjoyed it.
She certainly was not a girl that was crafted by the light, and she moved like sin. Something handed down by her mother’s line, no doubt. The young mare walked with sensuality as silky as sin, and the grey lavender of her pelt was reminiscent of a poor widow in half mourning. Except that Deathwish was not sad when something died.
She reveled in it.
Being able to control the life and death of something with the palm of her hand, the flick of an ear, or the shift of that beautiful, well muscled flank—she was powerful in her own right, and her family never let her forget it. And thus, when Grandmere had come to her, and bid her to wait in the forest, she walked along boredly, rolling her eyes all the while, making no mystery of her wearabouts. And when she heard that voice, sickly sweet… She rolled her eyes again, flipping her thick black tail and quite literally doing a hairflip as she rotated her body. Hello lovely girl.
Lovely Indeed. So this is why she’d been called like a dog. For the pompous bag of wind grandfather. Family duties call once again. Kirin must have something up his sleeve. “You only think me lovely because I look like you,” she clicks dismissively. Her tone is wrought with derision, much like her father’s. “Getting bland in your old age, great-grandfather? I haven’t seen you around much these last two years… and yet now, I smell your stench on every female in this forest… and some of the men…”
Sexuality runs rampant in her family. They can’t help it. They are beautiful, and powerful.
And they knew it.
If you have it, flaunt it baby.
“Why did Grandmere suggest so urgently that I see you?”
Call him crazy, sadistic, call him senile. Kirin was all that and more, he owned every word, he would never be bent by mere insults. Words are wind.
His silvery eyes find the girl, trace her to this very spot and they meet, for she had been sent to find him to. She smells of her Mother, of damp decayed soil, of rot and death and he sucks in a breath. This could not drive him away, it was like smelling home again, a pleasant and pungent stench. She is all brass, just as well, the apples never fall far from the tree.
Even when they are rotted and black.
A tassel of black tosses and he smugly smiles, snorting at her display. “Of course, why do you think I keep any of you around?” Kirin did not often joke, was he attempting humor now? “Bland,” he does laugh at that, “What would you know of excitement anyways child?” Fluidly he crept, circling the dark child, eyes livid with silver fire. Sometimes children were best seen and not heard.
“There is work, we’ll not be staying cooped up in the forest any longer.” His voice deepened, “There is always a calm before a storm,” he reminded her because he was already of the impression that she was one that would need reinforcement such as this.
“Your presence is needed, duty, call it what you will. I need bodies,” he could not be soft with this one. “Soldiers if you would call yourself such a thing, it makes no difference. Sometimes we are tools Deathwish, but we are still needed as a means to an end.”
All he needed was a simple agreement, her presence would suffice. She could be one of them if she wanted, it was her birthright but he could not make them choose correctly. They had to learn to do that on their own.
03-24-2017, 12:36 PM (This post was last modified: 03-24-2017, 12:38 PM by Deathwish.)
Deathwish
im a DIY pioneer, they tryna get involved
Duty
Always with the duty. But her eyes flared a little when Kirin said that they would no longer be confined to the forest. Great. She hated it there. Shaded, dark and cooler than the rest of the world, to be sure. But the color scheme was so damn drab. Deathwish tilted her head back as he continues speaking…and speaking. And speaking. If words are indeed wind, then he is the bag in which it is kept.
Her father had long taught her that speeches were for the mundane and the asinine. If you wanted others to fear you, show them action. That the daughter of deimos was also the granddaughter of Kirin, and both were insane mass murders corrupt with power—she knew she didn’t have to say much in order to relay her abilities. But for the pompous windbag before her… His strength was in his cock. The children he had sired. Those he surrounded himself with. DW would remember her family—because that is how she had been raised—but she knew that without her, this little endeavor would not be possible… and she was content to remind Kirin of it every step of the way.
So, with a straight face, she rolls her shoulders back and opens up her chest, facing him with a chilled look of absolute perfection. Around her, young leaves and blossoms that gave utterance to the absurd pollen and green haze of spring were just starting to bloom, and she flicked her ears—they all turned to black and fell down to the earth around their feet.
