"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
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
He’s loosely called Tephra home now for a few weeks. The chestnut stallion still isn’t sure it’s where he belongs. He doesn’t regret his choice to follow Ellyse here. He knows that he would follow her into the darkest abyss if he had to. However he is uncertain of his place, his purpose. To be fair it’s always been the unanswerable question in his life. For her he wants to belong. For her he wants to be a better man. For her heart he would do nearly anything. To rise above Dahmer in her eyes would mean everything. Yet every day he watches them, a family, one he has no place in. Even if she does not intend to, he’s outcasted. A boiling hate for the black stallion that had ruined everything that had been so pure….
His hooves splash in the surf as it crawls up the sands of the beach, listening to the waves crash and the ripple of water as it returns to it’s source. He’s grown to become quite fond of the ocean, spending most of his time here at it’s edge. He has yet to face the volcano, the bear and he in agreement that they can barely stand the thing. It’s heat is too much. Even though the humidity can be stifling, at least in the coolness of the crashing waves he can find relief.
Wandering down the coastline, his good eye picks out remnants of shells and fish bone. Merely trying to make the minutes pass, anything so he doesn’t have to be forced to see them together. To think about them. He comes to a halt, salty water spraying against his legs as he spots a dark figure before him. For a moment he thinks the black stallion is Dahmer and is muscles coil, jaw tight with dislike. It takes a moment to see the red eyes and realize his mistake. Slowly he relaxes and comes closer. ”My apologies, I thought you were someone else.”
You're looking at an absolute zero; I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
He, too, is powerless to resist the allure of the wild and open sea.
While the volcano held its own enticement (perhaps, because both burned from within - he is as much fire and brimstone as the mountain itself), he is drawn to the tempestuous ocean, and lulled by the ebb and flo of its high tide, drawing particles of impacted sand into its dark and endless depth. He is undeniably drawn to the abyss beneath the churning, spliced surface, and though there is often a flickering flame touching the surface of his skin, he is, at times, drawn out to sea by its soothing sound and calming caress. He has suppressed the flame, and quietly, the girth of his towering body is wading through the shallow water, submerging his thick and muscular legs into the salty brine.
Alas, he does not go any further.
He is tethered to the isle, and soon the bristling fire buried in his chest will become unwieldy and restless. He can savor its splendor and the pale sunlight peeking through the dense gathering of clouds drifting across an otherwise bright and vivid sky. Each ray touches the turbulent water, and it is dancing before him - quieting the discontent suddenly stirring within his belly.
He tried to forget her - but he never could, and she was never far from his mind.
She had been his life, his love - and yet, so much had come between them, and inevitably, he had pushed her away. He could offer no apology - it had been no mistake; it had been purposeful, the betrayal he had committed. He had done so willingly, knowingly.
Knowing she would go, and leave him, as she had long been tempted to do.
He is forced to draw away from the reckless sea then, as the fiery inferno can no longer be ignored. As each heavy limb is carried out of the water, his skin is alight with a flickering, festering flame - a physical representation of the way his heart (aching terribly) burned within.
It is then, and only then, that he realizes he is being watched - and as the darkness of his own scarlet eyes meets with the vehement, golden-flecked gaze of the other. His glowering stare does not go unnoticed, fleeting though it is, and a rumbling chuckle rises from the tightness of his throat, amusement laced within his tone.
”I should be grateful, then, that I am not the one you intended that glare for. You are Ledger?” he muses softly, giving a shake of his unkempt, tangled mane, shaking the remnants of the salty seawater from it. ”I’m Offspring,” he breathes, his gaze averting to the sea that he had left behind.
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
The stallion before him is thick and muscular, the dark red eyes penetrating into his cold icy heart. It makes the bear within him writhe, uncomfortable. It takes notice of something powerful and heated in the black stallion, something so opposite from the cold that it longs for. Despite freezing with uncertainty, his gaunt body slowly unclenches and relaxes as the other chuckles with apparent amusement. What he’s not prepared for is his name to fall from the strangers lips.
Wariness glints in the gold flecks of his eye as his anxiety crawls back over him like a wet blanket. Although it makes more sense once he realizes this is Tephra’s ruler, he is unable to shake off the feeling of fragility that he may be in a precarious situation.
”Of course, Offspring, I should have known. My apologies again.” A thin smile forced to his velvet lips, hesitating before cautiously asking. ”How did you know who I was?” The bear rattles at the bones of his ribcage with obsidian claws, knocking to come out. Shifting with discomfort, wincing slightly at the threat within him. Now was not a time for fire and ice to meet.
You're looking at an absolute zero; I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
”There is not much that I don’t know,” he says softly, a tendril of amusement weaving its way in between each quietly spoken syllable. He can sense his discomfort, though he does not press the matter – he has a presence about himself that can be .. intimidating to some, though what lay beneath the surface of fire and brimstone is hardly as hardened or as fierce as what he might appear to be. He does not press such truth onto anyone else – let them think what they may; only those with patience and a sliver of bravery dare linger to see what might be beyond his iron gaze and scarred skin. ”though to answer your question and in the interest of transparency, Ellyse told me.”
He is quiet then, his gaze no longer lingering on his own – instead, he is drawn toward the volcano as the ground beneath the hefty weight of his build rumbles and stirs, as another dark, thick plume of sulfuric smoke rises above the mountain crest. The volcano had been unusually restless, seeping its magma into thin rivulets and illuminating the isle even beneath a blanket of darkness caused by a moonless night – he is not concerned, but he does keep a wary eye upon it. He would not be caught unaware again, should the Earth decide once more to reshape the landscape, or to swallow the island into the sea altogether.
”I do not expect you to know who I am, Ledger, so no apology is needed.” He muses, his gaze slowly shifting onto him, studying the heavy scarring that lay where an eye once had. He does not flinch, nor does he shy away from the intensity of his own gaze – he knew how it felt to be stared at, to be regarded with wariness and uncertainty. His own scarring had caught the attention of many, over time. It grew tiring, but more exhausting was the stifling discomfort that permeated the air when unasked questions were left dying on hesitant lips. ”You are uneasy. Tell me what is on your mind.”
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
The ocean zephyr fills his nares as it whips against his bloodwash’d frame. His flaxen banner falling over the one remaining chasm mysteriously. Velvet kissers part slightly, considering the behemoth shadow before him. Burnt doublets twist towards the ebon maw of the diablo. Ah, it makes sense. His beloved femme fatale had spilled the beans.
The sandy terra firma beneath him closes around his tinted daggers as they sink slowly into the lithosphere. Ivories exposed slightly as silk chops part to respond. They both look to the assertive plumes of the bubbling magma, the mammoth beast of a mountain overshadowing both caliphs.
The murky hessian with his fire licked orbs seek the fuscous cranium of the vermillion burjo. To speak what’s on the masculine’s mind. A loaded question. There is so much that weighs on his carman shoulders. It unleashes like a flood, word vomit falling from his spattered gullet. As the moonlight takes hold in the sapphire night welkin, he weaves the tale of his tormented life. From beginning to end, not pausing once to wet his dry larynx. A dismal haunting story.
You're looking at an absolute zero; I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
Th’ humidity is stagnant, lingering heavily o'er th’ moist and fertile terra firma, as th’ elderly hellion looketh upon th’ brute stained mahogany with flaxen banner fluttering delicately across th’ chiseled chassis. His single eye, a blinking amber, glowers, and touches with his own, a gleaming scarlet. Th’ heavily muscled columns shift to and fro, as weary oculi idly peer out onto th’ supple loam that lay before him. Th’ lithosphere is vast, as is th’ plethora of memories that plague his tired and worn mind, his velveteen kissers parting slightly with a withheld sigh – long, drawn out, and riddled with th’ exhaustion that so often tired his bones.
Tangled whipcord punches into his rounded flank – a long and smokewash’d cat o’ nine tails swaying in th’ wayward zephyr, sweeping beneath th’ faint curve of his corpse. It inevitably entangles itself around th’ girth of his appendai stemming from his mascluline torso, dripping in testosterone. Halcyon wisdom bores into th’ fuscous behemoth, as onyx-hued mogul listens carefully with flickering, twitching auditory factories. His empath’tic, as his thrusting heartbeat throbs alongside his in time, both wounded, left decimated by th’ experiences that had changed th’m for better, for worse.
Th’ mammoth quadruped gazes t’ward th’ sky, his silken tapestry thrown about in th’ unruly squall, with his visual globes looking longingly to th’ blue yonder, as his own wistful tale is woven by his willful larynx.
An evening shared by two prudent demons – a better understanding forged under a forgiving heaven, bathing th’ noble steeds in its celestial light. A night to remember.
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.
