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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


    [open]  let me down easy, any
    #1
    anaemone

    How strange a thing it was to be dead.
    Stranger still to emerge from the dead.

    It had been quite by accident. She did not need to sleep in the afterlife, but she often did anyway. She had been woken from her slumber by some great thunder and she’d lifted her fine, downy head and watched them careening past. Hundreds of them, mouths gaping, eyes rolling as they hurtled by her. She was slow to rise, the skin tearing as she pushed herself to her feet. But it did not bleed here and she often wondered why being dead did not automatically cure her of her defects.

    Though she had never been inquisitive in nature, she followed at an ambling pace. She was in no hurry, never had been. She tripped through the veil long after the last of them had staggered across the threshold.

    It had been centuries since she last drew breath and her first frigid breath made the lungs ache. She recoiled, recognized her mistake, and turned back to the veil. But it was gone and she was alone on that great stretch of beach, just her and a heartbeat she had not felt in so many years. The cold is blades on her skin and it begins to bleed where it had torn as she’d risen to her feet. It drips blood as she traverses the length of the beach and climbs up into the world. She always did prefer the feathers bloody.

    If she had ever given it a passing thought, perhaps she’d have thought that if she ever emerged from the dead she would do so back in Beqanna. But this is not Beqanna, not at all.

    She walks until she reaches the river and submerges herself in it. Instinctively, she knows that the icy waters will stop the bleeding. When she drags herself from the depths, the water beads along the surface of her feathers and streams down her legs until it is gone.

    She lingers there at the edge of the river until she lands eyes on a stranger. She moves slow up the bank and approaches without ceremony. “What is this place?” she asks, the voice all filled with rust.

    my daydreams love the violent color of your lips
    and the nightmares that accompany it
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    #2
    He surfaces enough so the locks of dark steely hair drapes down his brow to frame the eerie smoothness of his silver eyes as he watches her. She seems fragile and vulnerable as she stumbles dangerously close to the edge of the river. Her blood is nearly thrumming against her tight throat with wild eyes excruciatingly beautiful against the backdrop of a dead winter landscape.

    Lothbrok remains mostly submerged as his lungs filter the murky waters but she is unaware of the danger that lurks, her blood enters his mouth and he can feel his mind spinning in it's savagery. The copper tang ignites a lust to taste more that he can barely contain but he stills his beating heart to drift closer, sharp teeth clasping a wayward feather that lays crooked and broken where the others are flat. Gingerly, manically, he suddenly rips it free from the tender flesh that he had thought it clung to but he feather was dying and loosened from it's plot of her skin already.

    Poor thing had been unaware for the feather no longer intertwined with her nerves but no doubt he thrash would draw her attention. "The river..." A mixture of bubble and growling syllables rise from the water as he lifts his head from the water to stare at her hungrily. Lothbrok rises as his feet find purchase against the rocky bed of the river, gripping her delicate frame in his hungry eyes.

    He emerges dripping, perfumed by fresh water, his hair slick and shining agsisnt the grey and white of his painted him. The kelpie stallion is taller than the mare as he gazes at her curiously with a curl to his lips that don't quite expose the edges of his pointed teeth. He doesn't wish to spook her yet but instead will allow his charm to saturate her. It had been some time since he had indulged in conversation outside of his family and the need for a little interaction outweigh his hunger and lust for now.


    @[anaemone]
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    #3
    anaemone

    What a peculiar thing it is staring back at her.
    Perhaps she had forgotten, just for a moment, that she was no longer dead.
    Perhaps she had forgotten that horses are not meant to breathe underwater.

    The thrashing had not been lost on her but it did not interest her enough to investigate. She is not altogether unfamiliar with horses that feast on the flesh of other horses. If memory served her correctly – which it almost never did – her mother had been a cannibal. It does nothing to incite fear and, for a moment, she merely stares at him, her expression passive.

    I hadn’t noticed,” she says, dry, the head tilted just so. She does not retreat from the river’s edge as he emerges from the water, dripping in the same way she had, to allow him room there on the bank. She does not cower or grimace despite the way he towers over her. Instead, she tips back her head to peer curiously back at him.

    What are you?” she asks without pretense. There is no sense of wonder in her tone. She does not grin or bat her lashes, merely studies him for anything that might suggest why he is able to breathe underwater. Can she breathe underwater?

    Without regard for her companion, she plunges back into the river. She does not bother with pulling in a lung-filling breath before she dips her head under the water’s raging surface and drags in a breath. But it is not a breath at all and her lungs are not equipped for filtering the oxygen out of water and she immediately surfaces. Her lungs spasm as she drags herself out of the water and coughs violently.

    my daydreams love the violent color of your lips
    and the nightmares that accompany it
    Reply




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