10-19-2017, 07:58 PM
Gunsynd
(last night i got high
as your expectations)
Stranger.
The word disrupts the mischievous fun he was using her for. The smirk sinks from his lips and is replaced by a scowl. The creature is lost in the mire he had tried to avoid by coming to the meadow in the first place.
They were all strangers. The now familiar ache in his brain were memories should be came flooding back with a vengeance. Perhaps he would have been better off lurking in the shadows of the forest until he had a better grasp on what had happened to his past. But no... that would bore him. He needed to wreak havoc of some sort. Wasn't that what had drawn him to her to begin with?
He notices the change to her coloration as one notes the movement of a stray hair against a face. Very little surprises him anymore. He had coupled with creatures that could change the weather by desire alone - a changing pelt was nothing to bat an eye at. He does note, however, that she seems to have very little control over her power.
The familiar smell of the old den reaches his nostrils as she presses herself against him. Many of his spawn had been reared in that wretched place (though he does not know who they or their mothers were). He feels the burn of regret as he realizes her sudden attachment. What had he done?
He shifts his (currently) invisible wings to give himself some room and thinks about his options. Haphazardly he spits into the space between them "You're all strangers." The thought makes him angry...bitter. He suddenly has a vision of himself as an aging and impotent beast - dying a slow and uneventful death. While completely untrue, the thought is enough to shock him back towards action.
Still in his childish form he moves closer, nibbling the fluff of mane playfully and letting his lips brush against her soft neck. "But why shouldn't I? What good are my abilities if I can't use them as I see fit?" His words are like honey and poison and they are muffled into her skin. He could feel her like putty in his hands. He would mold her into something he could use. He smiles and finishes "I don't know what 'they' call me, but you can call me Gunsynd."
The word disrupts the mischievous fun he was using her for. The smirk sinks from his lips and is replaced by a scowl. The creature is lost in the mire he had tried to avoid by coming to the meadow in the first place.
They were all strangers. The now familiar ache in his brain were memories should be came flooding back with a vengeance. Perhaps he would have been better off lurking in the shadows of the forest until he had a better grasp on what had happened to his past. But no... that would bore him. He needed to wreak havoc of some sort. Wasn't that what had drawn him to her to begin with?
He notices the change to her coloration as one notes the movement of a stray hair against a face. Very little surprises him anymore. He had coupled with creatures that could change the weather by desire alone - a changing pelt was nothing to bat an eye at. He does note, however, that she seems to have very little control over her power.
The familiar smell of the old den reaches his nostrils as she presses herself against him. Many of his spawn had been reared in that wretched place (though he does not know who they or their mothers were). He feels the burn of regret as he realizes her sudden attachment. What had he done?
He shifts his (currently) invisible wings to give himself some room and thinks about his options. Haphazardly he spits into the space between them "You're all strangers." The thought makes him angry...bitter. He suddenly has a vision of himself as an aging and impotent beast - dying a slow and uneventful death. While completely untrue, the thought is enough to shock him back towards action.
Still in his childish form he moves closer, nibbling the fluff of mane playfully and letting his lips brush against her soft neck. "But why shouldn't I? What good are my abilities if I can't use them as I see fit?" His words are like honey and poison and they are muffled into her skin. He could feel her like putty in his hands. He would mold her into something he could use. He smiles and finishes "I don't know what 'they' call me, but you can call me Gunsynd."
@[Rey]