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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


    the sword in the darkness; jassal pony
    #1

    He stands where the craggy rocks meet the river, frothing waves gently coaxing and pulling against the darkness of his long legs. The water was clear; so clear, in fact, that he can see the grey pebbles that line the bottom of the river. The stones are smooth with the steady flow of the tremulous waters, their different shades and shapes creating a pale mosaic of ashen gray, silver, and near white beneath the surface. A lazy mist hangs loosely over this particular calm twist in the large, winding river. It clings to the trees and rocks, as well as to the slender and sinewy shape of his youthful body, dipping into the sloping and curved lines of his shoulders and hips that are slowly filling out each day with new strength and new muscle. The moisture in the air causes his obsidian mane to grip tightly in its dampness of his neck, his black forelock plastering against the bridge of his starkly white nose.

    His large, perfectly white wings nearly drag the surface of the clear water, draping around him in a cloak-like fashion. It almost obscures him from view entirely because of their massive breadth, the cold water tickling the longest of the primary feathers. Ebony horns - nearly shining in the morning sun - sprout from either side of his forehead, already beginning to grow back towards his ears with a gentle spiral. The newness of their growth irritates him, tossing his head often and rubbing the sturdiness of them against the insides of his forelegs in an attempt to rid himself of the consistent throb.

    The bay and ivory colt stands stoically as the quiet world envelops him, the darkness of the wood now behind him and the slow-moving fog muffling all noise except the sound of the rushing river before him. The trees surrounding the river were bright green against the silvery mist and the early morning darkness that lingers with it. The tall trees were alive and fresh with spring’s plenty – rain and sun is bountiful, encouraging the trees to stretch high and grow, to spread their branches and leaves to cast shade below. The water is cold against his skin, icily moving past him with a purpose that was unknown to him. He remains quiet and unmoving, not wanting to disturb the beauty that was going on around him.

    Quietly nestled in the river’s bank, in a little alcove where the water was not too rough and swift, he searches the clear water with his nose near to its surface, his cobalt eyes watching as tiny slivers of minnows dart through the pebbles and rock, their scales shining silver when the early rays of the sun’s light catches them. He maneuvers herself carefully so that he will not trip on any pebbles that roll beneath his hooves, and so that the small fish become accustomed to his presence, nibbling not only at the algae he has kicked up but also at the black hairs above his hooves. 

    It appears as if he is looking for something, but if asked, he would not be able to say exactly what.

    -- warden



    @[Jassal] <3
    Reply
    #2
    i don't want anything from her
    except her red apple heart.
    something i can bite into quickly
    without making a mess.
    The day always finds him passed out beneath some tree, legs sprawled out like he hasn’t got any sense as to how he’s supposed to sleep. It’s late afternoon when his eyes open to the sounds of cicadas. He’s not immortal, he thinks, but death doesn’t come for him regardless. Bullshit, he thinks. Samael always finds himself wandering to the edge of some cliff and daring the wind the push him over or for the ground to crumble beneath him. He hasn’t got the nerve to just jump and do it himself. But why? He’s asked himself that same question a hundred times but the answer is like trying to remember an old dream.

    He staggers up and shakes the dried grass from his face before he wanders to the river. The water is so cold compared to the humid summer air and it almost hurts to drink so much. Samael dips his face and exhales through his nostrils to keep the water out before he lifts his dripping head. His dull brown eyes drift lazily to the boy standing at the curve up ahead and he considers some awful trick to terrify him. But he resists. They all have enough to fear as it is.

    The imp wanders along the water’s edge until he’s close enough to make out the finer details of the stranger. Their horns are similar, he thinks, though his twist unlike anything of this awful world and bend sharply back. The little tuft at the end of Samael’s tail flicks back and forth, back and forth like a cat spotting a bug. There is nothing violent or hungry to him – not for now, anyway.

    How long have you been watching your reflection?” he asks as a smile relaxes across his face. His voice is warm and yet it is not inviting. It delights in something unseen, something not apparent to anyone except the imp. He steps closer until his cloven hooves sink beneath the surface of the slow-moving river and the fish scatter from him frantically. Samael is careless with his movements and each step fights the current rather than easing through it.

    SAMAEL
    when i close my eyes, i'm a statue
    that she wants to run her tongue over.
    when i close my eyes, i cut it off
    and keep it.
    @[Warden] sam is cooperating so this is SUPER RARE
    Reply
    #3

    Long enough to begin to wish it would disappear.

    Warden doesn’t say this, but the thought is prudent and strong in his mind as his cobalt blue eyes flick upwards towards the one who has joined him in the slow-moving curve of the river. He raises his white face (there is almost a prowess that is about the almost two-year-old as he does so, growing into his body that was once too-lanky or too-small) with a curve of his auburn neck, shining black spirals pressing gently, coaxingly against his skin, reminding him of what has sprouted from his own body. 

    Darkness.

    The blue-mottled stranger takes it upon himself to enter the river, disturbing the calmer waters with his hooves, sending the fish and other freshwater creatures scattering away. Warden’s gaze remains steadfast and neutral, expressionless as he takes in the unnatural shape of the sinister horns and the calculated flick of a snake-like tail. Once again, the word presses into his mind.

    Darkness.

    Too-large ivory wings that were once draped casually at his legs now stretch outward for a moment, before folding them as neatly as possible against his barrel. Their size now hides the splash of white just beneath his shoulders, the feathers shuffle gently as they settle beside him. He tries to focus on the tickling feeling of the icy water pulling at his black fetlocks, but Warden cannot find himself thinking of anything save for the stranger’s smile and the chill in his voice despite the warmth in its tones. It whispers again.

    Darkness.

    Warden’s black tail flicks against his haunch. “Maybe I wasn’t watching my reflection,” the younger boy offers him, his steely blue gaze unwavering.

    -- warden



    @[Samael] Big Grin
    Reply
    #4
    i don't want anything from her
    except her red apple heart.
    something i can bite into quickly
    without making a mess.
    Always, his mind dreams of destruction and ruin, like some discordant lullaby that soothes only him. Warden’s wings remind him of the stories his mother used to tell him, of angels and demons and how the two would always fight for the fate of the world. Is Warden an angel then? Isn’t Samael the demon? There are thoughts of plucking the wings from him and laughing at the awful cosmic joke but he refrains. His mother is dead and her stories have ended, he reminds himself. Everyone he’s ever known is long gone.

    He is alone.

    Samael tilts his head at the boy’s response and his head turns just a little too far. (An illusion, a lie. An exaggeration of what he can truly do.) He’s dead behind the eyes, he’s been told. His gaze is empty and it inspires a sense of unease in others that he sometimes wishes he could stop. But he wasn’t made for comforting others or soothing tired minds. No, he damned kindness and love years ago and got these gifts in exchange.

    How strange, you are,” he says with something like a laugh but from someone who never learned joy. “What’s your name? Mine’s Samael.

    And then he’s holding his head normally again. His eyes wander back to those wings and he wonders what it’s like to fly. Samael can almost feel the winds on his face and imagine the world from so far above, where he’d like to be. To escape all the woes and troubles of this world for just a while before he came back down. Maybe the landing would snap his neck and end his servitude.

    So if not your reflection, then what do you watch?

    He steps closer, finally bringing his gaze to Warden’s face. There is a wing length between them now as he circles him, tail still swinging back and forth like a perfect pendulum.

    SAMAEL
    when i close my eyes, i'm a statue
    that she wants to run her tongue over.
    when i close my eyes, i cut it off
    and keep it.
    @[Warden]
    Reply




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