"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
09-30-2015, 07:34 PM (This post was last modified: 09-30-2015, 07:35 PM by Infection.)
I'm rotting inside
My flesh turns to dust
"A proud sentinel, you are," it growls repulsively while trying to drink back the drool that's pooling in its mouth. Anyone is a potential meal; anything with a pulse, a heartbeat, screams for it to maul and kill, but Infection holds back. A battle is raging in its empty core as it tries to sort through its thoughts, memories, and sensations. It's fighting instincts right now and although it's proving difficult, the deathcrawler is concealing it well behind a stoic expression. The creature - an abomination, it is - holds its ground, and its sickly stare, steadily. "That is a rare find here, a treasure to hold tightly to," it drawls to the stallion with a, now, thoughtful tilt of its head.
Perhaps a useful one.
Yes, those already stationed here can be useful.
"Infection," the offer hangs in the frigid air between them; an offer of placidity, an unspoken promise to not attack just yet. Their hot breath coils and mingles briefly before dissipating before their eyes.
The snowfall is heavy, a curtain of white that blankets across the two of them. The difference, a subtle thing, is how easily and quickly snow can melt from Hurricane's body heat. The melting along Infection's back is unmatched and sluggish. How can it melt snow when it barely has body heat? A jagged smile stretches across cracked lips. "How long have you lived in the Tundra?"
infection
infection by aeris | html by insane | picture c darkcloud013.deviantart.com
His expression is as flat as the Tundra extending for thousands of acres behind him, as cold as the snow settling onto his like-colored coat. His dark gaze remains steely and remote as it bores into the fell creature before him. He is aware of the danger singing in the air, of the drool slicking its predatory jaws as it fights back its instincts. But he remains steadfast, unwaveringly loyal to his frigid home. Besides, if the beastly stallion did attack, he would quickly learn that he is not an easy opponent. This creature might have weapons attached to his gums and ankles, but Hurricane has some tricks up his own sleeve. He had not lived as long as he had without learning how to survive even the most monstrous of foes.
Its words rumble into the air, surprisingly complementary. And quite conveniently avoiding the question. One pale ear flicks, the only sign of his irritation at the blatant misdirection. The stallion offers his name, and Hurricane lets the offer hang in the air for several long moments as he studies the creature blatantly, missing no detail.
Hurricane.
The word slips out on a low sound, reluctantly given. But he would not intentionally piss this creature off if he has no ill intentions towards his home. No guarantee that he wouldn’t do it unintentionally, however. As the next question comes, his dark gaze turns colder, even more remote.
Years.
The truth is much more complicated, but this is not information the intruder needs.
Your question is rather irrelevant. But I find it… odd that you have yet to answer mine.
It half-heartedly answers behind an intense, green stare. "Hurrican," it repeats in a throaty growl before glancing away to the miles of tundra that expands from their point. Memories rush back in a storm and play over and over again.
(Blood. Gore. Crowns. Anger.)
Texas was dead and Infection was pronounced king. Such a simple feat it was, but it reaped the benefits for as long as it could. It held two thrones, two towers of responsibility, and it thrived. Beqanna understood then what monster had been borne into this world. They began to see that it couldn't be swept under the rug any longer. They all wanted to destroy it, to send it into ruins after having ruined so many lives, but it survived.
It always survives.
When its head turns back to Hurricane it considers him more carefully as though his years of service make him so much more valuable. "Loyal," how cute, it almost adds but instead purses its lips shut. Once, Infection was loyal, too. The years spent in solitude has made its perspective of loyalty rust and wither. It has forgotten what it's like to sign its life into servitude. Then again, it doesn't feel that it needs to be refreshed. Years of having been a steadfast kingdom member, and king, have their memories and lessons that are quickly trickling back into its reborn mind. Every mistake, every murder, every feat. The sense of accomplishment stems through its body for a fleeting moment as it placidly replies to Hurricane. "I was king," it pauses to recollect its brief reign, "a very long time ago." The deathcrawler doesn't look its age. It looks young but deep in its demented gaze there are stories to be told and hauntings to be relived.
A jagged smile pulls apart its lips. "With ease, we could bring the Tundra from this slump." It wants his loyalty, his servitude, his graces. It needs him to thrive and to guide it from the shadows that have masked it for so long. It needs Hurricane.
infection
infection by aeris | html by insane | picture c darkcloud013.deviantart.com
Hurricane has been around a very long time. No doubt he had been alive somewhere during Infection’s reign. Not that he could remember it. He had lost his memories many, many years back now, leaving much of his youth a blank slate inside his mind. He had spent the intervening years filling his head with new memories. So many new memories. It had been decades since the initial loss. Perhaps it was simply a function of having lived so long. One needs to refresh every once in a while.
But now he does wish that he remembered, that he might remember this creatures reign over the Tundra. He had been loyal to the kingdom for as long as he could remember. Kings had come and gone. And this man had been one of them.
Hurricane eyes him with cool detachment, listening to the raspy words as they spill from his lips. He does not answer him for several minutes, allowing the statement to hang in the air. Letting him stew in his own anticipation.
There were many kings, long ago. That does not mean we desire a repeat of their reign.
His dark gaze not leave the stallion as he considers him for another moment.
What do you mean by ‘bring the Tundra out of its slump’?
There are many possible interpretations to that statement. Hurricane suspects he will not like the one this creature has. And if he has to play daft to get his answer, he has no qualms about doing so.
