12-03-2017, 07:40 PM
god make me pay
like the devil i am
like the devil i am
In its first moments, he regrets ascending to the world above him; the sun is blinding here, and hot and unforgiving against his water-soaked skin. He can feel the blistering of sunlight against his flesh, the heat of summer mercilessly beating down upon his salt-strewn pelt.
But quickly (entirely more quick than he ever thought possible, here above sea-level) he is approached.
In another time and another place, the two-toned stallion would shy away from any kind of interaction with another - but now, in his maturity and the feeling of necessity pulling at his guts (the necessity of killing, of death, of power), he allows this newcomer to come near him. He does not dissipate into the waters beneath him, even though they coo encouragingly beneath him and his skilled mind. He remains a solid form, for all intents and purposes a normal, quiet presence along the gloomy shores of Nerine.
The tension is palpable, mostly coming from the salt-stained stallion that stares at her beneath a hooded brow, his lips curled into a snarl that he cannot help that plasters onto his pearlescent lips - but he tries, oh he tries to pretend that he would enjoy her company. Move closer, he doesn’t say, just a little further…. and he could wrap her up within the grey waters of Nerine and show her his airless tomb that rests at the bottom of the sea.
Instead he simply stares at her, his mane and tail soaked with saltwater and kelp, while the iridescence of his lavender skin shines brilliantly within the summer’s sun.
“Fancied yourself a swim?”
An enveloping silence grows between them and with a rattling growl, he manages: “Always.” Because of course he did, how did she not know that the waters are the most natural thing for him to submerge himself beneath? How can she not fathom its enticing pull, even now she calls to him, surging around knees wantonly, his lover pulling him back to sea. But the red girl on the shore keeps him steady, keeps him interested. She is beautiful and lovely, a pillar of excellence in comparison to the skeletons that he had brought to haunt the deep and he almost relishes her gentleness, a sweet taste on his otherwise salt-soaked tongue. Cracked and dried lips manage a smile - perhaps it was charming, perhaps he was handsome, he wouldn’t know - and he wonders what would make her shy away from him, and for a moment he wonders what would happen if he could get her out just a few feet deeper into the water, just where he could swallow her whole beneath the terrible riptide that he could create.
“Do you - swim?”
His voice is garbled and bubbling, like water is coursing through his lungs and throat (which it was); would he terrify her, or would he elicit a curiosity that would bring her closer to him? He licks his lips, craving the taste of her sweet red skin on his tongue, but not here - down beneath the depths from which he came.
But quickly (entirely more quick than he ever thought possible, here above sea-level) he is approached.
In another time and another place, the two-toned stallion would shy away from any kind of interaction with another - but now, in his maturity and the feeling of necessity pulling at his guts (the necessity of killing, of death, of power), he allows this newcomer to come near him. He does not dissipate into the waters beneath him, even though they coo encouragingly beneath him and his skilled mind. He remains a solid form, for all intents and purposes a normal, quiet presence along the gloomy shores of Nerine.
The tension is palpable, mostly coming from the salt-stained stallion that stares at her beneath a hooded brow, his lips curled into a snarl that he cannot help that plasters onto his pearlescent lips - but he tries, oh he tries to pretend that he would enjoy her company. Move closer, he doesn’t say, just a little further…. and he could wrap her up within the grey waters of Nerine and show her his airless tomb that rests at the bottom of the sea.
Instead he simply stares at her, his mane and tail soaked with saltwater and kelp, while the iridescence of his lavender skin shines brilliantly within the summer’s sun.
“Fancied yourself a swim?”
An enveloping silence grows between them and with a rattling growl, he manages: “Always.” Because of course he did, how did she not know that the waters are the most natural thing for him to submerge himself beneath? How can she not fathom its enticing pull, even now she calls to him, surging around knees wantonly, his lover pulling him back to sea. But the red girl on the shore keeps him steady, keeps him interested. She is beautiful and lovely, a pillar of excellence in comparison to the skeletons that he had brought to haunt the deep and he almost relishes her gentleness, a sweet taste on his otherwise salt-soaked tongue. Cracked and dried lips manage a smile - perhaps it was charming, perhaps he was handsome, he wouldn’t know - and he wonders what would make her shy away from him, and for a moment he wonders what would happen if he could get her out just a few feet deeper into the water, just where he could swallow her whole beneath the terrible riptide that he could create.
“Do you - swim?”
His voice is garbled and bubbling, like water is coursing through his lungs and throat (which it was); would he terrify her, or would he elicit a curiosity that would bring her closer to him? He licks his lips, craving the taste of her sweet red skin on his tongue, but not here - down beneath the depths from which he came.
m a u g r i m.
@[Vessel]