08-24-2015, 01:46 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-24-2015, 02:00 AM by Kushiel.)
 Days were long, and the hours needed to be filled. It was better when something other than his own thoughts rattled around in his head. A pretty girl, a funny child. Hell, he’d even pal around with the boys as long as they kept their testosterone to themselves. Kushiel was not picky. It was really only his own company he had a problem with.
When left to his own devices, Kushiel usually drowned himself in fire. Flame down his neck, flame down his back, flames in his eyes. It felt good, and while he often smelt the burning stink of charred mane, his skin accepted the fire like a long lost friend. He could go too far, and had for most of his life. These days he carried only a bit with him. The flame tangled in his mane, and Kushiel felt it tug at him.
Could he find nothing better to do, he would be happy enough to waste away what was left of this day. But it was really the night he liked to burn. Somehow his own flame was less enchanting under the burning of the sun. At night there were few to rival his show, and he liked it that way.
If you’re going to perform, you may as well know your audience.
Kushiel was a performer first, and had been a vagrant second. Somehow, the Chamber had gotten her hooks in him. If he didn’t have so much respect for his own mother he would say that kingdom living was the real cruel bitch mother. He was happy to get away, if only for a little while.
They were so demanding, kingdoms. Always expecting him to attend meetings. Not appreciating his sparkling wit.
Was he turning into a working stiff?
That thought was truly laughable, but still he contemplated it fully. Was he boring? It was not a possibility he had ever before entertained. Kushiel cast a glance around. Surely, there was someone here who could appreciate the conversation he had to bring to them.
As long as nobody said a thing that sounded remotely like honor, duty or self-sacrifice, he would be content.
Kushiel some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall
love is the red the rose on your coffin door, what's life like bleeding on the floor? Velveteen shadows are the comfort, the shield to the world outside. The trees, the sentinels that guard the soft heart of the vessel, this vessel of mine. For those moments, that the sun had touched me, I felt peppered with hysteria, it rove my body in mock gooseflesh and touched me in a way that was both glorious and heart wrenching. I stay in the inky perimeter, as the streaks of light pierce through the boughs and brighten the green ground, I step around them, figure hugging the trees, brushing against the course bark and sinking into the moist earth of fungi and peat.
Silver touched eyes glaze over, forgotten, moved on. I blended in well, a mixture of brush and leaves, of ink and bark. Ah, but my confines go unshielded for that fleeting moment and the crows spot me, all feathers and harking cries, in that split second of indecision I scuttle, flinty hooves a vibrato, an echo against the hardening ground. It is to late to run, to flee into the shadows, not now they has seen me, ever watchful in my quietness. I swallow the lump in my throat, a forgotten breath, and I slip outwards once more, a nervy step contradicting my bold action.
'Shh.' The words slip from my tongue, like the velvet of the shadows that drape my hide, and the coarseness of the bark, where their gnarled boughs sway above me in the breeze, hooked fingers reaching out, ready to pull me back into he confines of the darkness, where all is safe, all is safe indeed. My fluffed ears twirl, like uncoordinated peaks, they bow and bend and flicker, finding the song of the dark far less enticing than the serenade of the light beyond -- a lark song, is far more melodious than the eerie whistle through the trees.
My form fidgets, legs stretching, tentative in their strides. I am still getting used to the mechanics of movement, it is far easier to simply stand against a tree, rough bark rubbing against my soft skin, holding me up, keeping me in the prison. But no one can grow in prison, only set free like the larks from winter's cold reign, they, they are not stifled by the darkness. My silver coin eyes turn from the inky blackness behind, and back to the glistening world outside. There is a tangle of red and orange, a burning bright flame, flickering against the lulling breeze. I lurk forward then, swath of ink penetrating the darkness and breaching the throes of light. A stark shiver against the way the spires touch my frame, as if I were to burn and turn into ash myself.
Yet he has not, and he still stands, a burdensome weight upon his sloping shoulders, an eye not as bright as the flame that roars within and against him. My growing frame twists and turns, feathered limbs finding purchase in the ground, daringly striding forward, to break through the barrier of shadow, the gateway to and from the kingdom of the trees, and out into the light, into the wide, open unknown.
'You burn.' I say, finding my voice, silver eyes surveying every inch of his otherwise dappled frame. 'You burn... Why?' I ask, a feverish want, desire framing my otherwise soft, lilting voice. What does a bird do when offered freedom, most of the time they sit against the bars and watch out, watch what it is like out there in the wide, open world. 'Does it hurt?'
v a e r m i n a
chantale x nykeln
Kushiel, while not necessarily good with kids, was desperately fond of them. He liked the way they saw the world as something to be explored. He liked their souls, very big despite being tucked away in a little body. Kids asked questions that they shouldn’t, and demanded answers that they had no right to have.
In some strange way he could relate to them, and in more obvious ways, he envied them.
Kushiel saw the little girl, and a smile quirked on his lips. He tried his best not to let it grow any further. If he knew anything, he knew that kids did not like to be laughed at. This little girl did not seem like someone who should be teased, though Kushiel could hardly help himself. She approached, like the flitting of a bird, or the skittering of a squirrel. She boldly went where she had not gone before. The world was still very big for her, and he was glad their paths had crossed, for it seemed unlikely, and all the better for it.
“Hello, little woman.” He said, with no small amount of fondness. It was a good thing he had no children of his own, they would certainly rob him blind, he would be unable to deny them anything.
“Does your ma know you like to wander?” He considered for a moment.
“And talk to strangers?” He did not mean to scold. He had very little idea of how children should behave. He hadn’t known as a child, and still he was unsure.
He did, however, remember the pained look on his mother’s face when he did something very wrong. He could hardly make it up to her, so some twisted sense of duty caused him to ask after the welfare of another mother, surely as put upon as his own had been.
The little girl, now black, would one day be gray. Perhaps to match her silvery eyes? He smiled at that. Perhaps she would be a heartbreaker. For now, however, she was curious. Kushiel very much hoped she would stay that way.
“These flames a tame, very unlike the wildfire you see burning though the woods.” He stretched a nose out towards her, not close enough so she would touch and burn herself, but close enough so that she could see his party trick up close. A single drop of flame rolled from between his ears, down the center of his face, and dripped off his nose like a drop of water. The little spark of flame fell to the ground and singed the grass. A second later Kushiel called it back. It rushed to him, happy to be saved from winter’s damp earth, and returned to his mane.
“See?” He asked.
“No worse for wear.” This was not absolutely true, if we were being honest. Much of his mane had burned away, leaving streaks of char and soot behind. The places where the hair had burned he filled in with fire, and thought it lent him a lot more credibility than a full mane ever would.
“What’s your name?” He asked her fondly.
“I’m Kushiel.”
Kushiel some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall
love is the red the rose on your coffin door, what's life like bleeding on the floor? I picture them now, where they had been hours earlier; greedily feasting on unnatural things, sitting upon thrones of splintered bone and the corpses that littered the deepest, darkest parts of the meadow. I was some sort of guard, I was sure that is what they had for me. To be the eyes that watched, the ears that heard but the tongue that did not speak. For I had seen the horrors that my mothers inflicted on the innocent, the way the peachy flesh stunk when the sun had rotten it down to the very wick of their body. That is not such thing for a child to see, but yet, I am no simple child.
The months that had shifted, had given me, long, willowy legs, dashed with feathers. My mane and tail were thorn-ridden and knotted, constant hiding in the gorse, constant movement in the shadows, has left me a mess. There is a sheen beneath the dank black coat of mine, an ebony gloss that I'm sure Nykeln had once had, before she had been bleached by crimson blood.
'Hello.' I greet him, like I had seen others do from the outskirts of my home. Being the eyes and the ears, for some sinful cause, you become engrossed in the workings of the meadow, and I had seen trysts and fights, lovers and enemies, they were all the same when they had a secret audience. The flammable steed offers more than just a Hello. He did not carry on his walk through and past me, instead he has stopped and he speaks, to me no less. For a moment I am stunned into silence. Downey ears fluttering against the breeze atop my head.
'I dont wander. My mothers are here.' I say, there is no denying that I am born of some sinful creation, as unnatural as the magic that birthed me. 'They are everywhere.' Because they are, I can feel the cold skin of Chantale, the frenetic heart of Nykeln. They watch, and they wait. for me to lure someone in, with my innocent silver gaze, my young, unburdened form. This time, this time I do not, I simply stare up at the grey steed, curious grey eyes enchanted by the way the flame trickles like liquid fire.
They love strangers. They love the way the heart beats, the way their blood...' I stop, silencing my lips by biting my tongue. I dare not say much more. The sins that go on beyond the trees, the carnal blood lust, the flesh-eating monstrosities, they were not for the faint of heart and certainly not for some stranger who actually gave me the time of day. I drop my head a little, lowering my muzzle to the most ground, my lips touch the earth, pick at the shoots of leaves and twigs. Autumn's dying reign making room for the cold, harsh winter that was Jack Frost's rule.
'The flames. They are beautiful.' The same way that the blood that stains my mother's coat, is a masterpiece, the same way that my undead grey mother, rots and shifts, heart unbeating, cold skin fragile like paper, is a glory all unnamed. I shift again, liquid shadow, melting against the spires of light, closer to the steed, ever curious. 'I'm Vaermina.' I pause, licking my dry lips, wetting them to entice his name to my tongue, swallowing it like the sweet scent of blood, the curious taste of flesh that I often smell upon both mothers and the home that I call. 'Kushiel. Kushiel.'
v a e r m i n a
chantale x nykeln
Kushiel watches the little girl and wonders if its him that is causing her discomfort, or if it is even discomfort. She seems surprised, but something else as well. Nervous? Worried? He can’t be sure. He doesn’t know if it is her silver eyes that make her seem haunted. His smile becomes more sincere, more gentle, though it had never been contrived. A little strangeness is not something he has ever shied away from.
He knows a thing or two about strange, and he knows a thing or two about demons. He has a few of his own, though they are all of his making.
His fire crackles down his neck, popping and snapping as if it senses a kindred spirit in the girl. Perhaps it has, though for her sake he hopes that is not the case. Better to be simple and carefree. Those with depths to plumb rarely surface for air.
“Mothers?” He asks her before he can check his surprise. He has heard stories of such things, children born from two mares or two stallions. But perhaps he is being fantastical, and her story is more simple, she could be adopted. Not wanting to offend her, thereby causing her to run back to those mothers, Kushiel recovers quickly.
“Poor little woman.” He says kindly.
“I only had one ma, and I still didn’t get away with a thing. You must be beset.” Granted, his mother was a mind reader, but he was still willing to bet two mothers could give her a run for her money.
She continued, and Kushiel felt the sense of otherness deepening. He doesn’t mind her, no, he gets a good feeling from the child, and Kushiel trusted his gut. He would, however, be very curious to meet these mothers of hers.
Or perhaps not. What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Still, Kushiel is not a cat, and he is curious.
“Are they here now?” She had said they were everywhere, but surely even two mothers couldn’t be everywhere, though she understands how she might feel that way.
“I’d like to meet them.” He grins at her.
“Especially if they’re as pretty as you.” He had known he was a shameless flirt, but he hadn’t realized it had become so ingrained. What that inappropriate? Asking a child to meet her pretty mothers? Kushiel winced, well he never said he was good with kids, just that he liked them.
She creeps a little closer to him and very slowly Kushiel drops his head down to her height. When she’s close enough he puffs air into her nose, hoping to entice a smile from the serious child.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vaermina. Truly, you saved me from having to spend a whole day with only myself to talk to.” Another joke, another grin, another attempt at a laugh.
Kushiel some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall
love is the red the rose on your coffin door, what's life like bleeding on the floor? I have said far too much. My tongue had been too quick, too needy. My lips remain pursed, tightly closed, lest more secrets spill from them. Cautiously I shift my head, craning my neck to look backwards and into the kingdom of shadow and trees, of blood and bone. it was hidden well, beyond the outskirts, deeper, darker. A throne fit for mother, splinters of victim's bones and the debris of forgotten flesh, blood and organs. It was only ever the hearts that saw fit for her, her deadened eyes that watched me with a vain curiosity. She was my mother and yet, I wondered if she thirsted for my flesh like all the others. Hungered for the ripe beating organ in my chest.
The thought ebbs away at my skull, causes a thrum of shivers to berate each and every nodule of my spine, until it flicks from my tail, lashing against my hocks. I turn back to Kushiel, haunting eyes scanning him, his flame, the way that it lights up all the shadows of his face so perfectly. 'I watch for them. Protect them.' I was certainly about to overstep the boundaries I had even set, not only Nykeln or Chantale. Do not talk to those that wander closer, lure them in, or shoo them off. they were either too old, or not pretty enough. Oh, my dearest queen of a mother, she lusted for the pretty ones, and only them. I wonder what she would think of this one? Kushiel, the flame. Kushiel, the burning.
'You mustn't. You cannot meet them.' I shake my head then, the idea petrifies me. I do not want him to see the horrors that I must see most days. And yet, I want to protect both mothers from exposure. He was fire, he could burn them down, right to their wicks. The idea terrifies me, pulls at my senses and drives me forward, closer to the steed. Perhaps I do it for him too, as I had never had a friend, and the idea of the two mares taking him, stripping him down to white bone and consuming his heart, it pulled the fine threads of jealousy within me. So, I was protecting all three of them.
'They are as pretty as roses but as deadly as nightshade.' I pause here, reciting the very words that dance in my foresight every time I look at them, and watch their unnatural display. Oh, Nykeln loved my mother, with such intensity, if she had Kushiel's ability, I would find there would be no meadow left. And Chantale, she loved my mother, for the way she brought her a collection, for the way that she idolised the undead queen. She did no see flaws, she only saw perfection.
'I've never left the Meadow.' I say then, skittering a look back into the throes of darkness. Daringly I step forward, closer to the steed, closer into the sunlight that roves my skin with exploring fingers. It feels strange, the warmth. When you are surrounded by cold, such cold, it is nice to feel the strum of life's chords, the feeling of the flame flicker against my skin as I stand in Kushiel's radiating glow. 'Where do you come from, Kushiel? I ask, trying in some vain attempt to move the conversation and perhaps move him from the close vicinity. Lest they hear his beating heart, taste his flame upon slathering lips. I shake my head then, ebony tendrils falling across my bright, silver coin eyes. 'You will never know just how much you have saved. Kushiel.' my tone is hauntingly soft, as if the ghosts of the fallen souls had captured me and sang their sorrowful tune through my lips. Oh, he would never know. He has saved himself and I have saved him. In some strange retrospection, it feels quite good.
'I would not think that a bad thing. Your company is most pleasant.' the smile that he offers is infectious and I find my own black lips tugging into a smile, a ghost of one, the slivers of a grin in the making. Yet it feels like the smile that adorns my mother's face, when she sees the life slip from the victim's eyes. Oh, no, it is not that smile that touches me, this one, this one I am quite certain is genuine.
v a e r m i n a
chantale x nykeln
08-25-2015, 01:37 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-25-2015, 01:38 PM by Kushiel.)
Kushiel tilts his head curiously, but doesn’t press Vaermina when she said he couldn’t meet her parents. For all that she was young, Kushiel felt like she had her reasons, and that they were valid ones. However, a twitch of unease clicked in his heart, not for himself, but for her. He, for all that he had not raised so much as a hoof in self defense, had a high enough opinion of his talents to trump most logic and reason.
Like anything could hurt him like anything would want too.
But along that train of thought, what what kind of asshole would hurt a kid? She didn’t seem hurt, at least not bodily, but he was starting to make sense of her strange, silver eyes, and was becoming more and more certain that something sinister lurked within them, ghosts of things she had seen, perhaps. With a touch of weariness, he sighed.
This, this right here was why he was jaded. The world and everyone in it could be a real bitch.
There was no doubting that she was a fierce little thing, however. She sidled up to him, and Kushiel got the distinct impression she was trying to protect him rather than seek protection. He grinned at that. A smooth sea did not a skillful sailor make. By the looks of it Vaermina would be a verified captain by the time she was a year old. She would probably be a commodore by the time she was two.
Hell, he should probably start calling her captain now, just to save time.
He looked down at her in mock surprise.
“Never left the meadow? Well, if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
It was a question he hadn’t thought much about until now. Up until recently, his answer probably would have been, “back to the Valley to take a nap.” Now, he would probably say, “home.” Already along that train of thought, he answered her question.
“I come from the Valley, I was born there, but now I live in the Chamber.” Like her, he hadn’t gone very far from his place of birth. The kingdoms were geographically distant in some ways, but the culture was similar, and both resided along the mountain range.
Her little ghost of a voice is enchanting, for all it makes him worry for the things she is not saying. Were she not so insistent on him not doing so, Kushiel would have half a mind to seek out these parents of hers. For all that he was a terrible meddler, he didn’t have much practice in family dynamics. Is it better just to leave it alone?
She speaks again and Kushiel smiled, warmed by the sweetness that contrasted sharply with her obvious ghosts.
“That is only because you have not been in it very long.” That much is true, for he did get rather tedious after a while. Still, he is flattered despite himself, that this precocious little child would like him.
“Of the two of us, I’m sure most would find your company vastly preferable. Do you like to play with other kids, or just entertain boring old men?” He was, of course, referring to himself. It was perhaps the only situation in which he would refer to himself as old. Having an eternally young mother had a way of giving you a complex about aging.
Kushiel some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall
love is the red the rose on your coffin door, what's life like bleeding on the floor? Where my mother's were merciless, cold in places that should radiate warmth and love and a passion all to it's own, I am merciful. I dig the graves for those lost, forgotten bones and place stems of wildflowers atop each, silently wishing them well. Perhaps part of me was fantastical, to believe that where they would go would be far better than here. It is sweet, bitterly so, how life can be taken with a seductive kiss and a deathly blow. All their memories, flooding the ground with their crimson life. The thought alone sends shivers throughout me and I am momentarily brought back to the present, when Kushiel answers me. I find his voice quite comforting, like the whistling wind through the boughs of the trees. Like the light falling rain upon the summer's eve. Though I am quite sure that he is not always this soft, this gentle or mysterious, I take him as he is for now; when you do not have much, you take what you are given. And I seem to hold on quite dearly to this moment.
'It's cold here.' I say, biting my tongue gently. It was cold here in more ways than the icy winds that whip through the meadow, or the way the frost cracks beneath hooves. 'I would like to see wha it's like to be... warm.' Perhaps that was another reason I seem to cling to his flickering flame, for there is configured warmth from him. Even if his heart is cold, or soul is black, he cannot deny that the fire is warm and hot and welcoming so.
'I do not know of those places. I've only ever known the meadow.' There are talks between my mothers of places, of fallen kings and wretched queens. Of hate and spite and delicate throes of whatever love takes and steals. But I, Vaermina, know nothing but this. 'Your companionship is far greater than those of the weeds and wildflowers. I can only talk to the trees for so long.' A haunting smile etches my lips for a fleeting moment, a soft joke, a gentle jest. I shake my head, knots of ebony cascading over the silvery eyes that saw so much, but did not shut to the horrors that remain unspoken.
'They do not like children. Not much.' They are perhaps too sweet, too sickly for their tastes. But I do not know, all I care for is the tidying of the crimsons gained grass, picking up the bones and arranging them just so. to build a fort almost castle-like. 'You are one of few I have met, Kushiel. But one I'd like to meet again...'
v a e r m i n a
chantale x nykeln
Kushiel did not often use his ability for anything other than parlor tricks to amuse himself or impress women. Sure, at one time a much younger version of himself had imagined his future to be that of a fearsome battle lord who burned everything in his path. He had quickly learned he didn’t have the desire or discipline to do anything even similar to that.
No, the army life was not for him.
The problem, however, with giving up at a young age, was that he had never done much in the way of developing his powers. So, when Vaermina said she was cold, Kushiel knew that he was really in for it. He had to do something, he was hedonistic and selfish, but he wasn’t a total ass. He wasn’t in the habit of letting kids freeze to death.
Wordlessly, he increased his flames, building them up to blaze in his mane, run down his back, and encircle his legs. He wasn’t really sure how long he could keep it up, but for now the world around them was a little warmer, the snow beneath their feet turning to slush.
She made a joke, and Kushiel grinned. He did love jokes. He chuckled and playfully nudged at her shoulder, trying to rile her.
“I should say so! I may be dreadfully dull but I hope my conversation is greater than that of a tree.” There were probably those who would not think so, but Kushiel was convinced that he was wildly entertaining. Particularly smart, no. Noble, hardly. Hard working, definitely not. He was however, vastly amusing.
“Maybe when you’re older you’ll come visit me in the Chamber. That would be fun, I could show you our flaming tree, and you could meet the other kids.” He considered for a moment, wondering if she would like the Chamber. He couldn’t be sure. He liked it, but that wasn’t saying much. Kushiel was easily entertained.
“Or you could go to one of the other kingdoms. It’s very warm in the Deserts, perhaps you’d like that.” Kushiel tried to hide his scowl. He didn’t have much as far as loyalty went, but his kingdoms had never been on the best of terms with the Deserts. Still, this wasn’t about him, and he tried to remember that.
“I would come visit you, even if you did go to the Deserts.” It was quite a concession, and Kushiel felt pleased with himself. He smiled at his little friend, and wondered what she had done wrong, to have someone like him give her life advice. He was probably the last one worth listening to. If she was smart she’d stick to her own council, but still, perhaps his advice would be useful one day. Everyone had to start somewhere.
Kushiel some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall
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