07-01-2017, 04:57 PM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
The heat of the island had become stifling (even for him, made of fire, end to end), and he has grown restless. Beneath the quiet of morning, before the bright and unyielding sun has emerged from beyond the distant horizon, he immerses himself into the sea. It is frigid and unkind, but its icy caress is soothing to the scalding heat of his skin, as each wave gently laps at the puckered, pink scarring littered across the darkness of his flank. His strong and powerful legs carry him to the shore, as the salty brine of the ocean trickles off him in thick rivulets – steam rising from the surface as the warmth inside of him stirs the water to a simmering boil.
He is slow and deliberate; the thick and heavy muscle beneath rippling with each sweeping, purposeful stride forward. The humidity wanes, and a soothing breeze touches his shoulder, tangling itself within the thick, tangled mane that lay haphazardly across his broad neck. The pale sunlight bathes him in its resplendent light, dipping into the crevices and creases where old scarring and curved muscle and bone lie. Along the slope of his spine, a trail of fire is lit, flickering low and tracing the length of his vertebrae – not phased by the gale of wind pressing urgently against him, as late autumn falters beneath the cruel, unforgiving hand of winter.
Winter. His heart pines for the frigidity of the tundra he had come to know as his own; for the brotherhood (and eventually, sisterhood) that had been his empire. He has become one with the volcanic isle, in every sense of the word (fire and brimstone burned within him, just as it poured from the caldera to the north of the shore), but there is and always would be a part of him that would long for days long gone, for the ice and the snow – for what had become only a memory.
His reverie does not last long, however, as the burning ember of his gaze becomes settled on a familiar shadow of indigo and obsidian. Curious, his eyes change – narrowing; his vision instantaneously improving to an impossible degree, flickering from the changing, shifting expression of each (Kimber, with as wry smile – Heartfire, unknown to him, but dark and calculating, and Tantalize, with a shadow of a smile hidden within the corner of her dark mouth). Humming softly to himself in thought, he does not turn away, as he might have – instead, he is drawn closer, the shadow of his behemoth form reflecting onto the dying, fading foliage that lay across the ground, long before the warmth of his presence can be felt.
A brief glance is given to Kimber, and a nod of acknowledgement (she is a humorous one, but a force to be reckoned with – he had seen her fight; he had watched her triumph), before his searing eyes are tracing the darkness lingering within the piercing blue of Heartfire’s own gaze – he is quiet, contemplative. The scent of the sea lingers on her skin – Nerine? Certainly not Ischia; she is a far cry from the incestuous bloodline that had taken the helm of the northern island. At last, his dark gaze is searching the speckled spotting along round, yet heavily muscled curves – a rich, deep bay, with dark and dangerous eyes.
The jungle.
”An Amazonian, then?” he muses softly, as the corner of his mouth is drawn up in the faintest simper.
”Unfortunately, the jungle fell alongside the tundra – we are both out of our element, it would seem. I am Offspring – the King of Tephra,” a pause. ”and we have much to offer, should you be seeking purpose.”
He is slow and deliberate; the thick and heavy muscle beneath rippling with each sweeping, purposeful stride forward. The humidity wanes, and a soothing breeze touches his shoulder, tangling itself within the thick, tangled mane that lay haphazardly across his broad neck. The pale sunlight bathes him in its resplendent light, dipping into the crevices and creases where old scarring and curved muscle and bone lie. Along the slope of his spine, a trail of fire is lit, flickering low and tracing the length of his vertebrae – not phased by the gale of wind pressing urgently against him, as late autumn falters beneath the cruel, unforgiving hand of winter.
Winter. His heart pines for the frigidity of the tundra he had come to know as his own; for the brotherhood (and eventually, sisterhood) that had been his empire. He has become one with the volcanic isle, in every sense of the word (fire and brimstone burned within him, just as it poured from the caldera to the north of the shore), but there is and always would be a part of him that would long for days long gone, for the ice and the snow – for what had become only a memory.
His reverie does not last long, however, as the burning ember of his gaze becomes settled on a familiar shadow of indigo and obsidian. Curious, his eyes change – narrowing; his vision instantaneously improving to an impossible degree, flickering from the changing, shifting expression of each (Kimber, with as wry smile – Heartfire, unknown to him, but dark and calculating, and Tantalize, with a shadow of a smile hidden within the corner of her dark mouth). Humming softly to himself in thought, he does not turn away, as he might have – instead, he is drawn closer, the shadow of his behemoth form reflecting onto the dying, fading foliage that lay across the ground, long before the warmth of his presence can be felt.
A brief glance is given to Kimber, and a nod of acknowledgement (she is a humorous one, but a force to be reckoned with – he had seen her fight; he had watched her triumph), before his searing eyes are tracing the darkness lingering within the piercing blue of Heartfire’s own gaze – he is quiet, contemplative. The scent of the sea lingers on her skin – Nerine? Certainly not Ischia; she is a far cry from the incestuous bloodline that had taken the helm of the northern island. At last, his dark gaze is searching the speckled spotting along round, yet heavily muscled curves – a rich, deep bay, with dark and dangerous eyes.
The jungle.
”An Amazonian, then?” he muses softly, as the corner of his mouth is drawn up in the faintest simper.
”Unfortunately, the jungle fell alongside the tundra – we are both out of our element, it would seem. I am Offspring – the King of Tephra,” a pause. ”and we have much to offer, should you be seeking purpose.”
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING