09-06-2021, 06:49 AM
Despite the intensity in which the two stallions are different (in physique, in the way they handle their emotions, how they treat the ones closest to them versus strangers), there are a few strong chords between them that ring harmoniously, such as the willingness to incite violence for a purpose. Obscene needn’t divulge into further details of what he wished for Skandar to do, though the star-strewn stallion had an inkling that the Pampas Prince would rather keep trespassers alive for questioning than destroying them where they stood. He would attempt to do this if it came down to it, but there is a large part of him that knows he may not be able to help himself if the necessity ever arose. He thinks of Avelina (sweet girl - where is she now, brandishing his violence on her skin no doubt?) and can feel his spine-shivering at the thought of implementing such a thrust of power over another, perhaps one who wouldn’t be so yielding. He also remembers the overwhelming amount of pity in her sad eyes; as if she could fathom his reason for hurting her as if she felt bad for him, and as if the power he wields is torture instead of a gift from the gods.
Skandar’s face remains emotionless at the churning thoughts, save for the clench of his jaw beneath his starlit skin.
His burning orange gaze does not waver from the blood-red of Obscene, even when the slitted pupils fall on him with a hunger that even Skandar was slightly surprised by. Ever elusive (and refusing to be direct with what it was - who it was - that kept the two stallions in some kind of silent dislike of each other), he says nothing as the two stares readily, bristling like two lone wolves beneath the shadow of a new moon.
Nothing ensues, however. Neither stands down, of course, but it seems like politics diverges their thoughts to something other than the gold-striped mare. Skandar relaxes ever so slightly, but the tension resurfaces almost immediately, drawing taut over his spine as his muscles twitch beneath his flickering, unsettled skin.
Tephra.
Again his childhood home seems to be at the forefront of everyone’s mind. His ears unabashedly fall into the tangles of his ombre mane, a scowl hardening all the angles of his face. He cannot see the appeal, despite knowing the benefits of the waterfall and the power that is within the volcano itself. It is a place of bitter memories, soaked in a young boy’s anger and loneliness. And again he is made to return to it for business that is not his own.
Rumors have already risen of the silence from Tephra - his jeweled uncle nowhere to be found, while he is sure his own father is hidden somewhere in the jungle, with his lovers and other children who were not an abomination. He wonders if something has happened there, maybe a change in monarchs or some other political issue that Obscene would find some way to benefit from. Skandar snorts softly as the heavy silence falls between them again, tearing his eyes away from the onyx stallion as he moves from the cold waters of the slowly moving stream.
Skandar hears him, though he is not his Champion in the hopes that he would like him. He turns his slender head over his shoulder slightly, glancing out of his periphery at the shadow of the other stallion just behind him. He says nothing as he turns to face forward again, rigidity in each bone of his body. Obscene’s words were somehow intimate and revealing, which set Skandar’s face further into the burning rage that simmers beneath an otherwise expressionless face. He could never be destroyed; he is unending.
“You know where to find me,” he growls into the empty air before him, loud enough so Obscene can hear him easily despite not facing him. The galaxies and vibrant color of his skin flutter against each other in a perhaps now familiar sound, grotesque in their clicking as he takes the shape of the water beneath his hooves. For a solid, singular moment he is merely the frigid water - glittering, transparent - and then with a loud splash, is gone.
Skandar’s face remains emotionless at the churning thoughts, save for the clench of his jaw beneath his starlit skin.
His burning orange gaze does not waver from the blood-red of Obscene, even when the slitted pupils fall on him with a hunger that even Skandar was slightly surprised by. Ever elusive (and refusing to be direct with what it was - who it was - that kept the two stallions in some kind of silent dislike of each other), he says nothing as the two stares readily, bristling like two lone wolves beneath the shadow of a new moon.
Nothing ensues, however. Neither stands down, of course, but it seems like politics diverges their thoughts to something other than the gold-striped mare. Skandar relaxes ever so slightly, but the tension resurfaces almost immediately, drawing taut over his spine as his muscles twitch beneath his flickering, unsettled skin.
Tephra.
Again his childhood home seems to be at the forefront of everyone’s mind. His ears unabashedly fall into the tangles of his ombre mane, a scowl hardening all the angles of his face. He cannot see the appeal, despite knowing the benefits of the waterfall and the power that is within the volcano itself. It is a place of bitter memories, soaked in a young boy’s anger and loneliness. And again he is made to return to it for business that is not his own.
Rumors have already risen of the silence from Tephra - his jeweled uncle nowhere to be found, while he is sure his own father is hidden somewhere in the jungle, with his lovers and other children who were not an abomination. He wonders if something has happened there, maybe a change in monarchs or some other political issue that Obscene would find some way to benefit from. Skandar snorts softly as the heavy silence falls between them again, tearing his eyes away from the onyx stallion as he moves from the cold waters of the slowly moving stream.
Skandar hears him, though he is not his Champion in the hopes that he would like him. He turns his slender head over his shoulder slightly, glancing out of his periphery at the shadow of the other stallion just behind him. He says nothing as he turns to face forward again, rigidity in each bone of his body. Obscene’s words were somehow intimate and revealing, which set Skandar’s face further into the burning rage that simmers beneath an otherwise expressionless face. He could never be destroyed; he is unending.
“You know where to find me,” he growls into the empty air before him, loud enough so Obscene can hear him easily despite not facing him. The galaxies and vibrant color of his skin flutter against each other in a perhaps now familiar sound, grotesque in their clicking as he takes the shape of the water beneath his hooves. For a solid, singular moment he is merely the frigid water - glittering, transparent - and then with a loud splash, is gone.
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Obscene