"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
devils speak of the ways in which she'll manifest; angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress.
She almost couldn't show her face again.
The embarrassment of it all. No - that wasn't quite right, she wasn't embarrassed by what happened. She was upset, deeply upset, upset that someone might recognize her and know what she did. Who she was. What she could do. It didn't matter that it happened at the hand of her mother (cruel, spineless, evil...) and that she stopped it. Eventually.
In a sort of pathetic fallacy the snake scales along her legs have popped off and are scabbing over in a way that only happens when you're immortal. She's healing, a slow process, but internal damage? That's left to assessments. That's left to be discovered.
Yet she'll show her face then, wading in the river, feeling the loneliness of it crash down on her.
09-20-2018, 04:39 PM (This post was last modified: 09-20-2018, 04:43 PM by Sinner.)
With the coming of spring, the hunt called him.
It called him out into the outskirts of Sylva, far away from the dwelling of his home. Towards the riverland he fled to, racing towards the nestled land of Beqanna. The unfamiliar land was exciting, but the scents of new birth brought even more thrill to him.
Spring meant easy prey—whether it was the vulnerable mother or baby, he did not care. The hunt was all he needed to fill him. Catching the prey was just the most satisfying end, the reward that he enjoyed after his hunt and watch his prey struggle.
He circles the land within his dark hellhound form. It is the only form he lives and feels comfortable in (the body of an equine is too foreign, something he can never identify with). His red-yellow glowing eyes search the unmarked land, easily finding places across the riverland terrain where he can find prey. The hound knew all the right places that mothers and young would hide, it was only years of hunting and practice that he learned such tactics in finding his food.
Coming near the river, his attention is drawn to the smokey black mare. His rounded ears perk forward as eyes carefully calculate the current situation in front of him. He has dared to never hunt another horse, but something within him wonders what exactly it would be like to taste the flesh. Flesh and bones was just flesh and bone when you are a simple carnivore, but he doesn’t insist in this moment.
Something else interests him.
The black beast prowls forward towards the river’s edge. He stops dead in his tracks once his front paws touch the river, focusing his gaze onto the smokey black mare. “Bad day?” He asks the obvious by the way she carries herself through the river. Often he wouldn’t be greeting someone this way, it wasn’t really in Sinner’s character to be so forward and friendly, but something about the scaly black mare felt familiar (though in some sort of distant way).
OOC: Had to send Rodrik's son to meet @[Ajatar]. Hope you don't mind I play it as he might have recognized her since they were both in Pangea at one point. If not I'll just remove it
devils speak of the ways in which she'll manifest; angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress.
Ajatar regards the hellhound with bold faced curiosity, in a way that only an innocent child could. Though Ajatar is no longer a child - her sinewy limbs of adolescence have morphed into the stout, thick limbs of her ancestors. She is every bit Harmonia and Carnage's child, down to the smokey black exterior. She lacks their carnal rage (for now) and instead is filled with self loathing and sadness. That sadness, it seems, is easy to detect, for the hellhound smells her out in a way that only they could.
The hellhound is mildly familiar, though Ajatar cannot place why. There's something strikingly equuid about him, something that rings a bell far in the recesses of her mind. With all that's gone on these days there's no surprise she's almost completely forgotten her childhood, the quiet days of Pangea running the edges of the kingdom, hoping for something more. Hoping to escape her mother. The thought of her mother is unwelcomed, so she pushes it down and shudders.
Of course - he must be one of those shape shifters. He is a horse in a hellhound body, or perhaps the other way around. Ajatar knows what it's like to feel desperate in your own skin.
"The worst," she admits. Despite herself she is still youthful and innocent, and telling her woes to a stranger is not brought with embarrassment but relief. "I lost a friend recently, and it was all my fault," she laments.
It seemed being too friendly had brought on some unwanted attention, at least in regard to dealing with another one’s own personal issues. He cared little for others and how they felt. Everyone had their own issues, and they certainly were not his problem. However, she unfolds easily to him, revealing something that she obviously cannot bare to hold in any longer.
She gives him information. The small details that are so easily used for ammunition. Was she truly naïve to give herself away to strangers? He obviously would use such information for his own (even if he did not have an idea what it would be used for just yet). But in the end, it would only be for one reason: to his own benefit. And he was damn well good at manipulating others.
There is obvious pain within her words. The way she cries out in grief for losing someone close. Sinner knows nothing of having a close friend. He has always been focused on serving the darkness, but now he served himself only. Friends were fickle, and simply pawns to be used for whatever he pleased.
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says softly, managing to show some sort of empathy for the stranger but is barely any. He has never shown such feelings before. Mustering any was a failure truly. “It cannot be easy losing someone. They must have been a good friend?” He judges by the way she grieves for the individual—a concept he still cannot quite grasp still.
