"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
Today the vampress is set on traveling to her birthplace. She had yet to come back to the forest of redwoods, not because she can't but because she doesn't care. Memories are hazed of that day, and why shouldn't they be, she had been a newborn foal looking over the corpse of her mother. Some children would have wept at their dead parents body but not her. Slated eyes looked upon the motionless carcess with no feeling of remorse. Maybe at the time she had not realized her part in the death, or perhaps she truly did and nothing would change the outcome, so why dwell...
Solace had brought her to live in Hyaline but something about the kingdom caused her skin to crawl. There was too much peace, deafening quiet that even supernatural hearing could not escape. She needed noise and so she set out to find it. Arriving first in Loess under the darkness of night. Her run in with their ruler had been otherwise entertaining but she wasn't in search of a quick guessing game. There were things to be done, deals to be dealt, and she had no time for childish antics. So when finally the cheshire and the blood sucker part ways, her journey continues...
Luckily she finds herself draped I shadows of first Sylva. A land she has not yet explored but her travels were meant for another place. One that was her beginning. Taiga is riddled with coverage from above, shielding her from the UV rays that threatened to destroy her each day. The dark shaded sienna of her coat blended easily with the shadows of the forest and even with accelerated speed, she chose a leisurely stroll this day. Sharp vision and keen hearing picked up each rattle of leaf and scatter of mice. Pearled fangs begin to drip with anticipation, on if she will find something to feed upon in these woodlands. A forest critter would suffice but she enjoyed much larger prey...
Twisting along an untraveled path, her lithe body slips between the close confines of tree. Ebony whips dance tauntingly at her hocks as she moves along. Senses ever alert to the presence that is lurking about her. It watches her every move and she can nearly anticipate its next. A devilish grin creeps upon her lips as she allows the onlooker to make themselves known. Remaining to pretend her oblivion of its existence...
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
He has no loyalty to this land—no ties.
There is no reason for him to be here except a deep, perverse boredom that has begun to tattoo itself onto his bones, pressing into him with little regard for his sanity. It has left him irritable, hunting down whatever fanciful thing could pass the time. For a while, he toyed with those who passed by in the forest, feeling the tendrils of Fear in their wake and tugging on it haphazardly. Some had resisted the lackluster efforts, frowning and perhaps moving faster, but nothing else. But, others, oh—they were delightful in their weakness. They had bent without further pressure, breaking into a sweat, tears and spit falling.
He hadn’t needed to do anything further; he simply lounged in the shadows, his dark eyes glittering with pleasure as he watched them undo themselves, taking their minds apart stitch by stitch.
But such pleasures were shallow and not nearly satiating enough for his voracious appetites, so they had not kept him for long. Eventually, such prey became nothing more than a distraction, and he eventually peeled himself from his spot amongst the shadows, his cloven hooves finding the trails through the brush and the rabble until it had spilled out onto this land. Once occupied and now quite dead—the bones of it still echoing with a history too fresh to be called legend. It was still nothing but a bruise on the land.
This, too, would have been a waste of time had he not felt her, the pressure of her rising in the back of his mind. Interested, he follows her, not bothering to hide himself or cover his tracks. Instead, he lets his own hooves beat steadily, his heavy-horned head swinging from side to side as he watches her move throughout the land, her motions too smooth, too quick to be natural. When he has had enough from the sidelines, he moves into her field of vision, handsome face smooth and blank.
“Hello, love,” one corner of his sooty mouth rises. “Why all alone?”
Returning to her birthplace is nothing but trapsing across any other piece of dirt in Beqanna. It held no memories. No moments in time, frozen by recall. It was trees and earth, nothing more. Still, she decided to make this place her next visit on a journey to gather info on all the lands. It was her unoffical duty. Soon, all of Loess would known her name. A faceless name, if nothing else.
His actions are predictable, and he does nothing to hide it. It is to only be assumed he wants to be seen, be discovered, and today, she is feeling entertained. Sienna eyes trace the lines of his form along the coniferous forests. An unusual curl of horn upon his crown, is intriguing enough for her to slow and allow him to catch up. Blackened limbs remain still even as he approaches with confidence. An attempt of flattery spoken from his emotionless lips. She offers a reflection of himself in her own features with an answer much the same, "I could ask you the same..." Her pause is brief, "But I don't much care." She is sure their definition of alone would be similar anyhow.
As his gaze lingers, her body turns to face his straight on, before drawing a step nearer. Small talk was not her thing and neither was chivalry. Time was a precious gift to not be wasted, so a corner of her lips up turn, "What do you want?" Her eyes lock onto his with intent to draw his confessions from his core...
-What goes around,comes around-
@[bruise] so she's a very simple creature lol straight shooter. She is attempting to use her compulsion to find out what he wants. Up to you whether is affects him or not
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
He laughs at her response, but the sound is dry and without humor.
There is not much in this world that truly amuses him.
She is a firecracker, perhaps, and although there may be others out there who are intrigued by the fire that simmers in her veins—he is not one of them. He is not intrigued by such normal things. His pulse does not race at the thought of love or lust; his pulse does not spike from the attention of a pretty girl. No, instead, it is the Fear that causes such visceral reactions in him. It is the Fear that toys with him, that teases out the joy. It is a dark love, a fatal dance, but it is perhaps the one thing in this world he loves.
So his face remains carefully blank at her reaction, shrugging an elegant shoulder in reaction. “I do not care that you do not care,” a spark in his eye, only vaguely amused at the contest of who can care less. It quickly drains from him at her next question, an annoyance rising in him at the urge to tell the truth in response. It was an emotion that had no roots in him, a desire that was not born of his own making.
He had enough experience manipulating false emotions to know the difference.
Still, he reveals nothing, tucking away the displeasure behind a wide, empty smile. “I want a great many things,” he answers, truthful and yet vague. He takes a step forward, cloven hooves sure-footed against the ground, reaching for the Fear that is never far from his grasp. “I would start by saying that I want to hear you scream,” a quirk of his lip, the truthful reply falling without resistance into the air between them.
Slowly but steadily, he begins to play along the threads of Fear that rise above, masterfully beginning to weave a tapestry—slow, subtle, but rising. Perhaps it simply drags terror from her bones. Perhaps it warps her own vision of the world around them. Perhaps it even wraps her perception of him.
It was different every time—and if it was truth she wanted, he would gladly supply his own version of it.
fun!! :) bruise responded by using his fear induction. it can affect her a little or a lot or not at all. up to you!
They seem to be one in the same. Their goals in life, their emotions(or lack thereof). He laughs with unamused humor, but had she been trying to amuse him... Definitely not.
His answer, that of mimicry and mockery all rolled into, one causes the same dry scuff to pass through her fanged jaw. To think of ripping through his carmel hide and expose the succulent juices inside him, causes her own personal thrill internally but she holds off. Perhaps he was worth something, to her.
Upon compulsing a simple question, she recieves an unimpressive answer. His mind could be this simple, or she could have met her match in this game. The idea creeps a delicate smile upon blackened lips, and she is mildly intruiged. "Don't we all," she states simply in agreeance, leaning forward slightly. She did want many things, this is true, and she wonders what he may give her.
She is moments from compulsing a gift for herself but he is quicker with his words. Stepping forward slightly, his wants spewing from charming lips and she is seconds from a chuckle... Scream? Children scream, women who witness murder, scream... She does no such thing. A quirked brow reveals her perplexion, but the scent of burning flesh stops her dead in her tracks.
Fire?
She looks up -with widened eyes- to see the canopy still filtering little to no light upon her. Nostrils flared to confirm that yes, she could smell burning. How could she be burning? Her golden eyes meet his amused reflection, finding tendrils of flames dancing within his optical lenses. She reverses, as if seeing the flames within his eyes, meant they were at her hooves -their glowing fingers threatening to grip her blackish fetlocks. She can feel the nagging heat as if it were reality. Still moving backwards, she tucks herself into total darkness, far from where they had stood.
Again her nostrils flare, inhaling deeply and finding only pine and musk on the stagnant air now. Ebony ears flatten along her sienna nape, hidden within tendrils of dark mane, unamused by whatever this was. She does not reappear from the darkness that cloaks her, but observes in silence from the crevices of shadows. There is nothing but him -standing there in amusement, no flames to be seen...
Kaurma
What goes around, comes around
@[bruise] hes so mean lol. Scaring poor little vampires! Fo shame XD
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
She gives in easily to the Fear, handing over the keys to the kingdom, and he thrills at the ease of it—thrills at the ways that he unlocks Pandora’s box, letting it spill over with treasure. She sees flames, and he lets them light up from within him, licking away at his throat as he tips his head back gleefully. He hooks his claws into her psyche, digging deep and latching onto the proverbial jugular she has exposed.
So when she retreats, her motions too fast, too graceful to be natural, he follows—the Krampus crawling out from beneath his skin and taking control. He too moves too fast, too quick, his cloven hooves not stumbling over intertwined root and rock. He still feels the Fear beneath his grasp, and he holds onto it, still pulling the strings, drawing out the terror from her bones and the horror from her throat.
He wills the world away, bleeding it and replacing it with the masterpiece of his own making.
His pulse races, burning with a feverish delight at the widening of her eyes and flaring of her nostrils. His actual form remains the same, but his gift laces up his limbs, warping them in her eyes—turning him inside out. His sooty gold hide cracks, lava flooding outward. His jaw splits open, revealing a wide, crocodile smile—teeth blackened and sharp. His eye circles in its socket, flames racing to replace the mane down his neck, his spine visibly breaking and then reforming along his back, burning on his flesh.
He can barely see her in the shadows, but he can sense her, and he clings to the Fear, warping the world with each breath, trembling with his joy. “Come now, lovely,” smoke rolls out of his mouth, his voice the sound of branches cracking in a forest fire. “Don’t leave me all alone here.” The ground next to him erupts with flames, rising up his monstrous body. “I miss you so already. Won’t you come back out?”
He is twisted, there is no denying that fact, but so is she. There is a cavern, filled with trophies of all shapes and types, trinkets she has collected from victims to prove her insanity. Oh how she loved her collection of twisted pleasures. Some days she just marvel at each, how she had acquired them and from whom. Now though, a grander idea tickles her fancy. The potential, dancing along her neurons of what could be. His powerful manipulation of her world causes him great pleasure, but she wanted something in return...
He creeps nearer, pulling at the strings of his puppet, showing her all that isn't real. Briefly she had believed in this faux world. The licking flames and rising heat, but soon her mind returns to her, showing her all that is. A dry laugh chokes up her throat, golden eyes lit within the shadows. Won't you come out, he calls to her is a sultry voice. She answers, "Only if you give me something..." Eyes lock onto his with intent, "I want something of yours..." , her mind feeds him her desires. That of which come from mixing of their kinds, male and female. A gift for her collection is needed and he would give it to her willingly.
Like it or not.
Kaurma
What goes around, comes around
@[bruise] being he isn't into lust I hope this works
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
Bruise is used to bending and manipulating reality.
He is used to imposing his will on others—forcing reality to bleed from their eyes so that he can paint his own version instead. However, what he is not used to is feeling someone else impose their will on him. He can feel it, the way she barges into his mind, and his face turns ugly with hate, lips peeling back from his blunt teeth, most wrinkling as a growl begins to build slow and low in his chest.
The Krampus crawls out and through him, roaring with displeasure.
He was not a creature to control or manipulate. He was not a creature to bend to another.
Still, he cannot deny the poison that slips through his veins. He cannot deny the way his spine curves.
He takes an unwilling step forward, snarling but moving. “Fine,” he finally spits, dark eyes nightmarish in their hate, “but you will not like it.” With a vengeance, he gives into what she requires of him, doing his best to turn the knife of control they grapple over so that he can get a better grip on it.
He no longer fights the movement but gives into it, moving toward her with an alien speed. His fingers no longer play on the threads of the Fear but pull viciously on them, heavy-handed and enraged. If this is what she wants, this is what he will give her—but not without letting the Fear rise through them.
The coupling is not sweet. It is not tender. It is violent and brutal and fast.
When it is done, there is sweat on his neck and fury in his eyes. Having an heir was no small thing to him and he did not like getting to control when and where and how. “You will bring the child to me,” he demands, handsome face hardened with hate. “Or I will come and find them myself.”
it works! let me know if there's anything you'd like me to edit.
