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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    temptation: any
    #1


    I loved you exactly as you were, and you thanked me by trying to destroy me. 

    Soft lips, sweet smile.

    You tried so hard to change me, but I was already yours- so what next?

    Infinite brown eyes.

    You broke me down, rewrote my story. Rearranged every part of me in your image, the god of my meager existence.

    Though that distant sun remained the same, the landscape around her varied considerably. So too did her thoughts vary, but frequently returned to the same backdrop. That state of mind plagued her even now, replete with nightmares and visions of that same handsome young man. His tongue had been plated silver but cast in lead, and weighed heavily on her heart even now, galaxies away. Some nights she could still feel his hot breath in her ears, or feel his wicked touch on her skin, or hear the desperation in his voice while he plead for her not to go. He, the monster, plead for her not to go.

    The irony wasn’t lost on her. 
    Really, it hardly ever was.

    Perhaps that’s why she sighed softly as her footsteps took her closer to Nerine, or home as would be the more appropriate term. She, who had so forsworn even social interaction, meandering like a lamb to just another feedlot. The last had been such a narrow escape, and here she was, begging for it to begin again. There was something about that burnt woman that was very comforting to the spotted mare, though she couldn’t quite tell what it was. The notion of a sisterhood further intrigued her, enough so that this entire venture seemed worthwhile. She had taken her time coming here, and her mind still drifted from time to time over those particular distractions, try as she might to erase them in the name of casual, inconsequential encounters.

    As she entered the territory, her suspicions heightened significantly, reflected over every inch of her body. Darting eyes scanned around her carefully, tense muscles and dry tongue. She paused, finally, as the terrain turned to beach, almost struggling to maintain nervousness as the sea rolled rhythmically.  Intrigued, she scanned the cliffs to her left with a curious eye, breathing in deeply the smells of the water and the faint notion of residents.One might be inclined to question why she would make such a blatantly uncomfortable appearance, and for her part in the game, she isn’t readily able to provide an answer. With perhaps a little more wisdom, however, she would easily identify the phenomenon at hand.

    It’s intoxicating, being wanted.

    She’d seen it in Scorch’s eyes just like she’d seen it in his. Different flavor, perhaps, but on a fundamental level, it was the same addiction. It wasn’t love, for certain, and nor was it lust; the latter shone paltry in comparison. This desire was more complex, intertwined with the inherent value of something far more vital than a kindred soul or a warm body to fuck. No, the way that Traton wanted to be wanted, to be valued, was as a life, a bargaining chip, a pawn. On some level, she knew that each and every time she felt that exhilarating drag, it was only for this reason, but a louder internal voice spoke of kingdoms and conquests and all manner of fairy tale-esque pursuits.
     
    And whatever the conviction, here she stood.

    #2

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    If one could get drunk off of being wanted, well, Scorch had been black out for some weeks. The revival of your husband would do that to you, would rekindle a fire you imagined long extinguished. But like you said, there's a difference between being wanted for your body, for your sexuality, or for your merit as a valuable member of something striving to be more than carnate. But here in Nerine, Scorch found herself wanted in both ways - and that's perhaps why she strove so hard, both in the bedroom, and at the office, as it were.

    She hadn't wings upon which to scout the narrow entrance to Nerine, but from her vantage point atop an eastern cliff, she spotted the mare approaching - though Traton would not see her. Dragon eyes and all. A brow raised in curiosity at the mare's blase entrance, completely ignoring the scentlines - but then again, Scorch had invited her, and quite intimately, too. And besides, she had done her own amount of see-if-I-care trespassing back in her younger years, so she couldn't quite work up any anger for this mare's slight offense.

    Instead, she made her way down the grassy slope until cliff attached to beach, and from there, her hooves traveled through the cool grey sands. It wouldn't be long before Traton was able to spot Scorch approaching with her equine eyes, so the advisor let out a low whinny across the tide. The spray of salt water stung in the shallow cuts that occasionally reopened across her figure, but she didn't bother cloaking herself in tangible shadow for such a small annoyance.

    "Traton," She said finally, as the distance between them came to small enough a space that she could halt and gaze at the mare with an undeniable intent. "I'm glad to see that you made the right choice." Grinning lopsidedly, Scorch flicked her ears at the waves, and then focused them entirely on the appaloosa. "Welcome to Nerine."

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle



    @[traton]
    [Image: scorch2.png]
    #3


    As the whinny reached her ears, and the spotted mare turned to catch the approach of the burnt one, the tension eased from her body. This was a predictable thing, a controllable one. One not wrought with open-ended variables, as was the case with other situations. “Scorch,” she answered pleasantly, dipping her head in greeting.

    She suppressed a chuckle as the term choice came into play. Certainly, given that she was here, it might be assumed there was some level of possibility in which she might stand instead in the territory of some stallion. Little did they know that it was a possibility that was stillborn at best, stagnated and suffocated of its own volition. Traton would never serve under the court of a stallion, not so long as a world existed where mares determined their own paths in the world. As such, of that matter, the only choice that had existed in the first place was the one in which she decided whether or not to leave her idle wandering behind- and to that end, she found as she’d come to this place that she missed the stability of established hierarchy. “As am I,” she stated, returning her own smile. There was a hint of something else there in that crooked smile- mischief, perhaps?- that drew the spotted mare in. She sensed, as she had before, that this mare knew a great deal of the world, yet remained untouched by much of it. It wasn’t a tale wholly unlike a great stone that weathered over the years, but fundamentally remained the same. After all, one wouldn’t gain such extensive scars without a story to tell, and the spotted girl yearned to listen. She was, in the sense of storytelling, still a child in some ways, symptomatic of a girl who’d grown up much too soon. And whatever the reason, she was forever hungry for tales of hardship overcome.

    Scorch’s voice shook her from her musings, and she found herself again enraptured by those curious eyes. There was something distinctly un-equine about them, though she couldn’t quite place it. Her eyes traced them curiously as she spoke. “Thank you. I’d be happy to serve Nerine, as you see fit.” It isn’t without a sense of irony that the words pass from her lips. It was less than a season before, after all, that she’d stood at the meadow’s edge, convinced that she’d never have to see another equine. It was awfully… domestic of her, offering herself to the whims of a kingdom. Yet, it had become abundantly clear that this place was far different than whence she came- and Traton would be terribly remiss to let it go.  

    #4

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    If Scorch could have peeled back the skin and bone that artfully hid Traton's brain, she would have found the thoughts therein unendingly interesting. To serve under the court of men was akin to selling oneself to the devil Carnage to the Leviathans, the sisterhood, and long ago, the Amazons. On her breast, the queen sported a small rose and vine, in remembrance of that nigh-forgotten kingdom. Though their ideologies were now carried forth by the Leviathans, if Scorch could read Traton's mind, she would have felt a clench in her stomach; a wish that, somehow, the Amazons were still here, to welcome such a hard-and-fast woman of self strength and morals.

    But she could not read the paint's mind, and was left to wonder at the queer expression that momentarily coloured that person's face.

    She nodded her head appreciatively at her admission of willingness to work wherever she was needed. "Nerine will benefit greatly from your contributions, Traton. I'll place you in both the peace and the war caste - but your foremost duty, as a fledgling Sister, will be to bring others to our cause. Women primarily - but we will not exclude men, should they show a genuine interest in the Sisterhood." She wondered momentarily if this would be cause for some disruption in the certainty that her new recruit felt in regards to Nerine; but the fact of it was that they would not change their ways. They'd been exclusive once; and in this new world, it was no longer beneficial or feasible.

    Scorch pivoted around, inviting Traton to come walk alongside her as they delved deeper into the Nerinian forests. "So, tell me about yourself. You obviously aren't from here - but you seem to have a far better understanding of kingdoms that most new comers do." Call her intrusive, but if there was one thing Scorch upheld, it was having an intimate relationship with each of her subjects.

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle



    @[traton]
    [Image: scorch2.png]




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