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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


    [mature]  I tried to sell my soul last night; Ryatah
    #1
    Sorry, he turned into a dick :|

    I tried to sell my soul last night
    Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

    If ever there were creatures that knew about change, it would be them. Fucking ancient, that’s what they. Not that he could remember half of his goddamned life. Well, more like he didn’t want to remember half his life. Fucking shitstorm that it’d been.

    He should’ve died a long ass time ago. Should be just bones and dust by now. Feeding the fucking worms. But who the hell knows how he’d managed to stumble into his particular curse? He sure as shit doesn’t. He just knows he ages. Grows old. Dies. And like a goddamned unwanted fucking miracle, here he is again, a child, perfect and unscarred and fucking helpless, all his memories intact. And there it goes. Again. And again. Repeat ad nauseum.

    Can’t even off himself. Seriously, what kinda shit is that? Stupid shit, that’s what.

    Let’s just say it changes a man, to be reborn again and again and again until you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve been a wee fucking newborn all over again. Shit, even the most stoic, dauntless of men would get jaded real quick. What a fucking prick he’d been way back when. Shit, how’d anyone ever put up with him? Not that he’s any better now. Probably a whole helluva lot more annoying. But at least he’d developed a sense of humor. Kinda had to, given the mindfuck of a situation he’s somehow found himself in.

    Speaking of mind fucks…

    He’s just doin’ his thing, wandering through the meadow after waking from a pretty shit nap (he likes napping, who doesn’t? Even if they are shit. And what else does one do with a million fucking lives to look forward to?), when he does a double take. He’d somehow wandered past a pale figure leaning against a tree, silent as a ghost. Honestly, he hadn’t been paying much attention. Why the fuck should he? He’s a bum these days.

    But this one catches his attention because it’s familiar. There’s nothing familiar in these god-forsaken lands anymore, so seeing something that brings back memories of a day long gone (a day he’d been a massive fucking dick no doubt), is an exceedingly rare occasion. Ryatah. Well, shit.

    It’s not often he remembers the faces of the women he’s known, but he’d always had a damned hard time forgetting hers.

    Meandering closer, her narrows his eyes as he nears, trying to discern why the fuck she seems different (not that decades wouldn’t be enough to make one different, but hell, except the wings and his massive attitude shift, he still looks like himself - handsome as shit, right?). But then he gets close enough, and he skids abruptly to a halt when he notices her eyes. Or rather, her lack of eyes.

    “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

    Oh. Fuck. That probably didn’t get them off to the greatest start. Such a charming ass these days.



    @[Ryatah]
    Reply
    #2
    “What have I become, my sweetest friend?
    Everyone I know goes away in the end."

    A sigh rattles from within the confines of her chest, exhaling into the cool spring air. She is alone in her thoughts, as she has been the last several years. The silver blood of immortality that courses through her veins had managed to preserve her for the most part, but unfortunately when you live the life that she had, not even magic can keep you pristine. She is lovely in the way that ghosts often are; silver and whimsical, with haunted smiles and empty laughs that sound like echoes. But she is scarred, with a knotted mane and bramble in her tail, and of course, most noticeable of all, her hollowed sockets lay vacant and dark.

    But she does not need to see him to recognize him. ”Ashhal,” and there is a hint of laughter in the way she says his name, her white lips curling into a familiar smile. After living here for over a hundred years there were many that she had crossed paths with, but she cannot recall the last time she came across someone that had been there the first time she crossed the border into the Forsaken Valley. It truly felt like a lifetime ago, and the memories were more like watching a movie of someone else’s life. She could not have possibly ever been that delicate and innocent; with skin like porcelain and eyes like a doe. She had clung so fiercely to Dhumin’s side, the only thing that was familiar to her in this new land. She had been the lamb living amongst wolves, but somehow she had survived.

    She shifts her weight so that the tree no longer held her, elevating her delicate head and curving her body to face him. The heat of his body radiates towards her, and in response she is drawn to him like a magnet. ”Long time no see,” And this time a true laugh escapes her, and somehow it is the one thing that has not changed; the sound remains lyrical and pure, and it is the first time she has laughed in years. She does not hesitate to come alongside him now, her svelte frame pressing against his. ”I can tell by your voice we haven’t ran into each other since Carnage and I had our...disagreement.” She has been blind for so long now that rarely does she think back to that day, the day that she had made the mistake of snapping at him, and the day that the Dale had finally rebelled against the Valley’s hold on them. She remembers a time when being without her eyes had made her self-conscious, and how she had wanted nothing more than to disappear. She didn’t have the heart to care anymore, but there was a part of her that wondered if Ashhal was going to be too disgusted to look at her.

    RYATAH
    you could have it all, my empire of dirt


    @[Ashhal]
    Reply
    #3

    I tried to sell my soul last night
    Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

    Fan-fucking-tastic.

    He’d never been much a conversationalist, but once upon a time, he might’ve been better. Might’ve actually given a shit too. Now? Well, now he’s… this. Damn, she’d fucking slept with him too. Had she stooped well below her or what? Even without eyes, she is still a damn sight classier than him.

    Not that he actually gave two shits. I mean, he’s a guy, after all. A pretty dickish one at that. And hell, she’s still sexy as fuck. Of course, he’s also still a guy, so what the hell does he actually know?

    He barks out a laugh at her her joke, appreciating her self-deprecating humor. Not many knew how to take a fucking joke, and that she could joke at her own expense is quite refreshing. Shit, maybe they did still have more to talk about than he’d assumed. Other than their daughter, who is no doubt long dead. Not that she’d probably believe he actually gave a damn if he tried to ask. He’s always been a shit father. It’s sad, he supposes, but fuck, he’d outlived so many of his children. Would no doubt outlive many fucking more.

    “Hell,” he says, a wry grin tugging at his lips as he steps closer. “If we’re still talking, we sure as fuck haven’t run into each.”

    To be honest, if she’d even acknowledge him after this encounter, he’d call it good. There are plenty of ladies out there now who wouldn’t even give him the time of day if he came along. He should really get his shit together and do something about that.

    Maybe tomorrow.

    Grin turning a bit wicked (though fuck, what’d it matter anyway? She couldn’t see him), he roughly teases,“Probably a good thing those pretty peepers are gone.” He chuckles then, a low, surprisingly attractive timber. “I’ve only gotten sexier since you last saw me. Wouldn’t be able keep your mitts to yourself.”

    Reply
    #4
    “What have I become, my sweetest friend?
    Everyone I know goes away in the end."

    He is familiar, and even though he is harsh and brash there is something comforting in the very way that he smells, and it puts her at ease to be in the company of the banter she had grown accustomed to with him. There is no one else here that has known her as long as he has; not even Skellig. But they are an odd pairing, the bold and brazen silver stallion, and the mild and delicate porcelain white mare; somehow, neither of them seem to care or notice. They coexist as unlikely companions — the predator and the prey.

    With an easy smile her teeth reach to tug playfully at his pale mane, her jestful words echoed by laughter as she says, ”You actually think you could scare me away?” Impossible. She was too used to his kind; never pressing her luck, always mindful of if she was treading into dangerous territory, always turning into a meek kitten when tempers flared. Her snow-white coat had been blemished by scars since before she ever came here, and of course her darkened, vacant sockets served as the cruelest reminder of what happened when her tongue was too sharp. She was used to playing the submissive role to dominant stallions, and somehow that hasn’t changed in her one-hundred years of existence. 

    But in her experience, Ashaal’s weapon was most often his tongue. Her skin was thicker than one would think, and she could handle biting words easier than teeth. She emits a mock incredulous laugh, shaking her head at his words. ”Well, that just doesn’t seem possible.  Do you have some sort of impenetrable forcefield you’ve surrounded yourself with to keep the ladies away?”
    RYATAH
    you could have it all, my empire of dirt


    @[Ashhal]
    Reply
    #5

    I tried to sell my soul last night
    Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

    In a way, it’s nice almost. To be brought back to a time long gone. A time when he’d been young. Foolish. So goddamned stupid. Hell, now he’s getting all fucking nostalgic. That hasn’t happened in a helluva a long time. Figures she would be the one to bring it all back. But then, she’d been something different too. Not like all the other’s he’d wham, bam, thank you ma’am’d.

    Not that he’d ever have fucking admitted it back then. What a douche.

    And now look at them. The same as ever and entirely different. The hell if he was gonna turn into a sap though. Fuck that shit.

    Yep, still a douche.

    He chuckles at her laughing question. “Brave and foolish as ever,” he humors wryly, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his lips as she reaches out to tug playfully at his pale locks. He tilts his head, lifting his muzzle to allow his lips to drift along her cheek as she slips past. Damn, but he likes her just as much now as he had then.

    Shit, he hadn’t expected such dry fucking humor from her though. He barks out a laugh at her last quip, reacting to his cocky assertion that she’d be all over him. Well, it’s true. In his twisted fantasy’s at least. Hell, maybe they could be her twisted fantasy’s too. He’s all about sharing. “Mmmm,” he rumbles, a decidedly wicked smirk settling on his pale lips. Not that she can fucking see it. Hell. His tone however, conveys more than enough for her to get the picture. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

    Reply
    #6
    “What have I become, my sweetest friend?
    Everyone I know goes away in the end."

    She has always been somewhat of a foolish woman, and her age didn’t seem to have helped her in that regard. Somehow she was always toying with the wrong type — flirting with disaster. Rarely had it been intentional, however. She didn’t seek them out. Like a moth to the flame they were always attracted to her porcelain-smooth skin, her soulful brown eyes, and her innocent smile. They wanted to control her, and she had done little to stop them. Ever the obedient puppet, she did not resist the tugging strings. But she had lost most of that charm now. She was still lovely, even if she was marred by scars, even if some of her curves didn’t have as much flesh as they used to. But she was smarter, and not so easily swayed. That, and not many sought out the ghostly, eyeless mare that haunted the meadows and the forests.

    He is sparking something inside of her, a flame that she had thought to be long-dead. He talks to her like she is still something, still someone, and it stokes the ember that had lay dormant in her soul. Beneath the layers of scars and heartache she still longs to be the same; she wants to be his pretty porcelain doll, she wants to be kept close and admired.

    His lips brush her cheek, and her skin tingles beneath the warmth of his touch.  She can hear the come-hither croon of his voice, and she hesitates. Her minds eye only sees an emerald green stallion, and in her heart of hearts she knows she would never betray him again. Not like that. But even still, she closes the distance between her and the silver stallion, her lithe figure delicate and small against his own as she melts against him. Her soft lips find the nape of his neck, a simper lifting her lips as a short but lyrical laugh is lost in the tendrils of his mane. ”Either your shield has failed you, or this was a trick.” But she doesn’t pull away, not quite yet, and instead she lets herself be enveloped by the warmth of his skin, and the  familiarity of being close to someone she’s known for so long. There is a quietness that settles over her, the sounds of the meadow floating around them, and for a moment — just a moment — she is a pretty young thing being swept away in the moment of a charming stallion. The illusion soon fades, as her lips follow the slope of his shoulder, her voice but a murmur as she says, “At least, despite all that has changed, you’ve stayed the same.” Brash, rude, and irresistible. Just like she always remembered him.
    RYATAH
    you could have it all, my empire of dirt


    @[Ashhal]
    Reply
    #7

    I tried to sell my soul last night
    Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

    Honestly, he’s surprised his crude ruse actually worked. But then, she’d always been a bit too naive. Pliable. It’s what he’d loved about her once. Still is, as it turns out. He’s still a sick fuck too, isn’t he? Just a bit more honest about now maybe. But hell, he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

    He remembers her then, all softness and innocence and way too goddamned perfect. Especially for a piece of shit like him. He kinda likes her a bit more now, still so fucking beautiful but a little less perfect. She has scars and sharper edges now. Way more his style these days, and he ain’t too damn proud to admit it.

    And god, she smells good. Familiar and warm and enticing. Hell, she might’ve just signed her own doom accepting his invitation. He’s a persistent bastard when he decides he wants something. And hell if he doesn’t find himself wanting her as much now as he had then. Maybe more. And he already knows all her sweet spots too. What he wouldn’t give to find them all again.

    He presses his muzzle against her skin as she shifts closer, letting his lips slide along the satin of her flesh as she settles in alongside him. And oh fuuuck, her lips find the curve of his crest. So fucking soft and enticing and she doesn’t even seem to realize it. Almost absently, he traces his lips along her slim chest before moving to the underside of her neck to nibble tenderly at the hollow there. Her words register finally, and he chuckles, breath warm against her skin.

    Yeah, he’s a fucking devil. Who the hell else would trick a blind woman into such lewd caresses? Whatever works to get those glorious lips of hers on him. Shitty thing to do maybe, but she doesn’t seem to mind too much. “Yeah, I’m a fucking bastard.” Grinning, he lifts his head, tilting his gaze so he can peer at her with amusement. “Might’ve been then too,” he admits. “But pretty sure I was too stuck up back then to use such a dirty trick on you.”

    “Just think how much longer this would’ve taken,” he ends wickedly, dark eyes glimmering with humor and lust.

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