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  • Beqanna

    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


    [private]  Holding you close feels like a cut throat
    #1
    And just like that, everything was different. 

    Different had been following me, curling against my heels like a persistent tide and promising me soon, soon. But I hadn't expected it, not like this. Not thrown into my face when I'd only been seeking distraction. I'd left her standing there, walking away as fast as I could without losing what remained of my dignity. The pretty lights bled together through the tears that had begun to gather in my eyes the moment I turned away. 

    I was alone again. 

    Stumbling through the crowd, breaking against it with too-quick breaths, hearing whispers of the recent news. By the time I'd stumbled into a less crowded zone, the words sank in. He was here. Of course he was. And he was... a success. The success I'd always known he'd held inside himself, even when I got too angry to say it. 

    Away from it all, I had to get away. Wings clutched to my sides in a desperate embrace, I moved without seeing. Crashed into a solid wall. Screamed in surprise, bit it back quickly. "Forgive me, I wasn't looking... where I was... going." Fuck

    Panting lightly, I blinked hard, trying to pretend that tears didn't track down my face. That my voice hadn't dwindled to a thread when I recognized the patterned skin I'd run full-tilt into, or the scent (brimstone and blood laced with her), or the shape of him. My eyes fell shut for a moment, a hundred excuses flickering through my mind only to be discarded. A thought from before reiterated itself; this was a mistake

    Teeth gritting against each other, I willed a mask of silk and steel across my features, head lifted higher but still not quite making eye contact. "Castile. I didn't know you'd be here." My voice came out, steadier than I'd thought it would be, holding his name on my tongue like something forbidden. Pulling my wings closer about myself, I gestured back the way I'd come from. 

    "There's a mare looking for you. Suki or Sochi, or some such." I paused, nearly choking on the name. Still, there was no accusation in my tone. Just level diplomacy interrupted by the occasional traitorous hiccup. "She seems..." I reached desperately for some moderately pleasant descriptor but came up empty, leaving the half-made sense hanging on uneven breath. 

    Biting my lip, I cast my gaze back in his direction, looking past his shoulder into the empty darkness. The abruptness of our last meeting weighed on me, driving guilt through my belly with hungry claws. Healed past what should have been natural, the jagged bite mark on my crest was now nothing more than a silvery scar, only a little raised from the surrounding flesh. Still, it tingled with acute awareness now, a token of my lack of wisdom. 

    Shrugging lightly, my vision spun upward, looking everywhere, anywhere, but at him. The stars began to blur again, the cowards. "I was hoping I'd get the chance. To say how sorry I was, for pushing you. I wasn't being fair. You deserved- deserve, better. And it looks like... I'm happy you've found it." I willed the lie from my tongue, forcing it past my lips on stubbornness alone. I wanted to mean it. I really did.

    @[Castile] my hand slipped
    Reply
    #2
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Of course, she was here, lingering in the trees then on the beach. Her scent mingled with Sochi, albeit briefly, but Castile still caught it and held it close knowing what is to come. Their reconnection is looming like stormy gray clouds to the west. Quietly, he observes them with stoicism furrowing his brow. Lightning cracks and illuminates the dark clouds on the horizon and distant thunder quietly rolls. It will be here in a couple hours, he assumes. Is this an omen? After having inhaled Sabra’s scent, he cannot help to imagine themselves – their turbulent relationship – as a similar destructive force of nature.

    Adrenaline continues to course through Castile’s veins, but it is slowly subsiding. In his chest, the drumming of his heart is nearly audible. The sweet taste of Tiphon’s blood remains on his lips, still so fresh from victory. He doesn’t address the island just yet as he isolates himself and allows himself an opportunity to compose himself. Drooping his head, Castile begins losing himself in the shadows of his thoughts until suddenly extracted with a rough bump. Predatory in every way, his head whips to the side and his jaws – lined with jagged teeth – snap threateningly at the air. His muscles coil in preparation to attack, but his eyes save him the effort by glimpsing a familiar, opalescent face.

    He notes how she quivers unexpectedly when she sees him, but it isn’t in excitement – not that he would expect that. Words fumble from her mouth, and he merely watches her in eerie silence. His mismatched eyes trace along the lines of her cheek and eyes, then to her neck and the scar he left her with. So much like Solace now. Two women he has cared for, both of them maimed on the gentle arches of their necks by his recklessness.

    Evidence of his curse, of his stupidity and his mistakes.

    Castile’s tongue slips out and glides across his lips thoughtfully before he finally addresses her, his voice level and throaty. ”This Island is mine now.” Let it be known. May she spread the word and it spread like dragon fire across Beqanna. Finally, this is his. Finally, a land of his own. Although the fight was anti-climactic, it at least had the desired results: he is the leader, and they have a healer in their midst.

    ”Sochi,” he affirms casually, rolling his shoulders as he considers both women and what draws him to them. They are so different, polar opposites, but still pique his interest nonetheless. ”Don’t say it,” he sees how Sabra struggles to find a descriptor, to admire the tigress in any way she can, but the words never rise. They remain a lump in her throat, blocked by her emotions as she tries to look everywhere but at him. An amused grin almost breaks the frown of his lips, but his stubbornness proves victorious. His expression doesn’t change. It remains unyielding, hooded. Even as difficult as it is to see Sabra seemingly so broken, so bent and folded down, Castile doesn’t flinch. He has since turned to face her since she bumped into him of course, but that is the only contact they share. ”Don’t apologize,” he retorts gruffly, his voice impassive and cold. His shoulder exhibits a ghostly burn where she had drawn his own blood, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. True, she poked and prodded, but he reacted just as he always has. Still dangerous, still volatile. It almost appears that he cannot be tamed. Time and time again, he has tried to love only to have another futile attempt tacked on his resume. ”Stop,” he growls, his neck arching and his ears falling back against his unruly locks, but only for a heartbeat. She is already assuming, already associating him and Sochi. There’s something there, unbridled and free, something he needs right now. ”I’m not tied down,” he assures in a tone laced with both relief and ice, ”and I don’t think I ever can be.”

    castile


    @[Sabra]
    Reply
    #3
    I've never seen him so cold. Impassively looking at me when I can't look at him. It washes over me like a wave of ice, chilling me and taking my shakiness with it. If he can be unfeeling, well, so can I. The breeze is kicking up, and I revel in the feeling of it combing through my mane. It's as comforting as an old friend when I feel so very alone, and helps me face my reality. 

    Hearing her name on his lips. It drops from his tongue effortlessly, and I nod at the correction. He's changed, I realize, from when we'd first met. Lost his kindness, perhaps. I find myself nodding again to myself, reconciling my idea of him with the beast before me. Watch as he absorbs my words and supplies his own monosyllabic comments. Little flames that eat my emotions down to the bone, sucking the marrow and spitting out whatever hard core remains. 

    My lips purse as he gets irritated, volatile as ever and no longer caring to hide it. Feathers stand on end along my wings unbidden, a subconscious reaction to the danger I have such a talent for putting myself in. Puff up, look bigger than you are, maybe the threat will go away. A pastel hawk with nothing to lose. Someway, somehow, he's put flint to my dying fire, and I want to lash out again. I want to be angry, to shout and fight, if only it would make him care. 

    "I will apologize when I'm in the wrong. I can admit it, even if you can't. There is always going to be a piece of me that loves you, but I can't, I won't, wait for you to love me. I'm not sorry for that." The delicate petals of my own ears tipped backward, finally looking at him full on. Cold, impassive. I tried to remind myself even as my voice rose. One hind hoof thudded into the ground sharply, tail flipping in the wind like a flame. 

    The defiant lift of my head is back, even as my heart shrinks in my chest. I feel, and I can't apologize for it. And I can't hold on any longer to a heart that won't be held. "Be free, then, you stubborn ass. Congratulations on your home, I hope for your people's sake that you don't run from it when things get difficult." Too much. It's too much today, and I am done with feeling everything. 

    @[Castile]
    Reply
    #4
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Finally, after all this time, Castile has a land to call his home. So many years were spent nomadic, drifting from one place to another with the coming and going of seasons. Now that this is his, he wants desperately to organize it and truly mark it as his own. His mind trails away, considering his options while Sabra coldly stares him down. Anger is raging through her – rightfully so – and he does nothing to tamper it. There isn’t a way he can fix this, not yet or now, because it’s his own recklessness and poor decisions that have led them into such a turbulent scenario. Their relationship was built on a fiery and combative foundation. They battled in the Alliance, and he had lost his composure then, too. His bloodlust overwhelmed him and he tasted her blood. That’s how they met.

    There has never been a true sense of tenderness between them. They are fire and gasoline – explosive together.

    ”I have only ever been apologetic,” he suddenly snaps with flames crackling in his eyes, ”I went to apologize to you in Sylva after our battle. I told you I was dangerous! I’ve warned everyone but no one listens and then they get hurt. Surprise, surprise!” There had been Solace first, and now Sabra. Ciri, fortunately, fell into Amet’s arms before she could be faced with a similar outcome. Life has made it apparent that he is not meant for tender love and adoration. Every attempt, he ruined. Every hopeful moment, he destroyed.

    A breath catches in his throat, and he, admittedly, wants to lunge and replay their last meeting (more blood on his hands), but he refrains. Cord-like muscles coil underneath his taut skin as he inches back, dragging his hooves slowly through the sand to increase the space between them. ”I want my children here. All of them. Their mothers, too, if they so want. This will be a place for my family,” the amplitude of his voice gradually increases as spines appear down the length of his neck and back, ”and I will be damned if I run from my family again.” It happened once before, years ago when his twins were newborns, but he has long since promised to be present, to never abandon them again.

    castile


    @[Sabra]
    Reply
    #5
    The clouds are thickening over our heads like a downy blanket, pressing closer to the earth the longer we stand here. I can feel the storm gathering pressure, filling my chest with electric potential. As much as I can appreciate the flames illuminating his eyes, there is lightning in mine. 

    Destroyers, the both of us. 

    Maybe I didn't have claws and jagged teeth, armoured scales or a talent for blood. But I could take a mind, and fill it with every good thing, only to tear it away. Only to eat away at the soul it belonged to. The wind is building, playing with the ends of my hair enticingly. The sky always was my first love, and I've been earthbound far too long, missing its airy embrace because I'd felt unworthy of it. For a moment, it feels like the sky has missed me too, and forgives me for going astray. 

    At last, I've riled him, dragged him back to the core of us. I can see the violence promised in his face, in every coiled muscle of his body. The man is wound so tightly it's incredible that he hasn't erupted. He's pushing away, stepping back even as the hunger stirs in his eyes. A puff of air parts my lips, eyes rolling heavenward as he reiterates, tells me the same things he's told me before. "Yes! You warned me. You warned everyone. Fine. That's all you could do." I agree. He'd never seen it my way. That my consequence were my own. He'd rather be the martyr, victim of his own nature. 

    It still fascinates me, the way his emotions drive him. The way spines emerge from the tangles of his mane and follow the line of his spine. A beautiful monster. The monstrous piece of my own self wants to push. Wants to keep pushing until he breaks. Why not, when that seemed to be all we were good for. Breaking each other into little bits until we didn't recognize the pieces. 

    Instead, I surprised myself. Maybe it was weak. It probably was, all things considered. He's practically shouting, a mouth full of teeth that could tear in an instant. And I stepped forward, into his space, to press my mouth against his. There was no demand in the action. No accusation,  no apology. I kissed him because I wanted to, and because it had been far too long since the air between us hadn't been choked with regret. 

    When lightning struck, it struck the heart of me. It stood my hair on end and set my bones on fire from the inside out. Every scar flashed and burned, and when the thunder chased the lightning across the sky it echoed in my heart beat. When lightning struck, I was remade. 

    @[Castile]
    Reply
    #6
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Their core is heat, volatility. Castile has nearly forgotten tenderness when he searches her eyes, trying desperately to remember what they once were. But there was always a fiery buildup and a following explosion – there was always something to rock them on a turbulent sea.

    Their emotions are escalating, burning dangerously beneath their skins. Sabra wants to ignite him, to resurface the emotions that he suppressed upon seeing her. And he’s feeding into it like the eruptive dragon he is. Adrenaline courses through him and his body ripples colorfully, the vibrancy startling. Castile has questioned for years if he is even capable of loving, of forging a family like the one his parents had. Desperation has soured him, destroyed him. From afar, he has watched his own friends thrive with their own land, their own women and children. And him? The one who was raised as a prince? He let it all slip through his fingers. Every opportunity he had, he ruined. At a distance, he observed how his childhood friends possessed the live he imagined – he wanted – for himself.

    But jealousy is such an ugly monster, far more hideous than he could ever be.
    It has been eating away at him, breaking him down and building him into an unleashed, rampaging beast.

    Mother and father didn’t raise him to be like this. He is everything they weren’t.
    He succumbed to his mistakes. He mistakenly let this happen.

    Sabra doesn’t respond to him. She didn’t need to. Enough has been said, their voices increasingly venomous as their eyes intensely stab into each other. An offer has been made for her – and their children – to remain here, but even as the words slip past his lips, Castile knows the explosiveness of their lives and how it would burn down the island. Have they fallen so far? He snarls, his mind still trying to grasp what is happening – to him, to them, to the Resort – that he is too caught off guard by Sabra’s actions to immediately react. Every muscle freezes, iced over by the unexpected. In union, their bodies go rigid as the lightning flashes and courses through their veins. It holds them in place until the electricity passes into the sand away from them.

    When the grip releases, Castile stumbles back. His wings flare to the sides, draconic, and fire ejects from his mouth into the foreboding, gray sky. It both energizes and weakens him, the lightning. A shaking breath trembles from his lungs and his body droops. A silent glance finds Sabra, but he says and does nothing, suddenly tamed by Mother Nature.

    castile


    @[Sabra]
    Reply
    #7
    It's like throwing gasoline on a dying fire. My bones are straining, popping, alive again. As we fall apart, I gasp, static leaping from our pelts and flowing in sparkling rivers along the scars that crisscross my body. The way my heart is beating, it's a wonder I'm still standing. 

    I watch the geyser of flame fill the sky above us, another wave of heat washing over me accompanied by a crack of thunder that rings through my chest. Slow, fat drops of rain begin to fall, making tiny craters where they hit the sand and driving cold darts through my coat. We'd be soaked through, soon enough. Even so, I wait, watching him through the dim light. 

    With shaking steps I approach him again, this time with more caution. I don't know what to say at first, instead laying my cheek against his. A memory bled into my minds eye, of a day very different from this one. A day when early autumn sunlight had shown on both of us, and I'd led him on a chase through the sky, only to be caught and brought back to earth, laughing. I'd been so happy to be with him. I'd been so excited when I'd learned that our happiness had turned into our children. It had been such a brief afternoon, but it had stayed with me despite all. Some hope to cling to. Now we stood in the beginnings of a thunderstorm, unsure how to handle each other. Unsure where the hope had gone. 

    It's a small contact, my cheek to his, but it's quiet and nonviolent, and for now I'm content with it. I want his love but have settled for his wrath for too long now. I can't forgive him just yet. The silence has dragged between us too long, and it's my turn to break it. Still standing close, savoring the touch, I speak at last.

    "If you had asked me to stay, I would have, Cas. But if my only value to you is because I bore children for you... it's not enough. The boys are mostly grown, I couldn't hold them here even if I wanted to." I stepped away, feeling a headache starting to burn behind my eyes. "I have to get some things figured out with myself. I can't do that if I'm staying here and waiting for you to look at me like you used to, competing with however many others for your affections. I'm going east. If you decide you want me, come find me. Until then... I know you'll be great, Cas. I always have. " 

    It was a hard statement to make, but I had meant every word. I couldn't be his toy, his fragile treasure to be hidden away. There had been so much more to me once. I wanted to be more again. It was my turn to run away, for now. Thunder rolled as I cast my wings out preparatorily, sparks flashing reactively in the dark. Even with the rain beginning to pour in earnest, I was eager to be airborne again. It was time. 

    @[Castile]
    Reply
    #8
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    He doesn’t hate her, nor can he fathom ever hating her, not when their history traces back to so many years ago when he did not have control over the creature inside him. Sabra witnessed his constant warring, and she reassured him that he – Castile – would prove superior to the underlying volatile dragon.

    But he isn’t. He didn’t win. Instead, he compromised and allowed himself to succumb to a predatory way of life. It’s restrained to a degree, yes, but he remains fairly unpredictable with a heated temper and insatiable hunger. For her safety (and here, he glances at the scar he left her) it’s best to loosen his grip on her, even as much as he hates losing power.

    Everything around him is disintegrating, but it’s because of his own doing. In solitude, Castile weighs his life’s decisions and how they’ve impacted him and stunted his ambitions. No one sees his disdain and regret. No one sees what other wars he endures internally. He won’t allow them to.

    And so he doesn’t move as Sabra inches closer, hesitant in nature, and leans her cheek against his. Their eyes close to relive the memories they forged while their skins touch without anger for the first time in months. A weighted sigh escapes Castile in this moment before opening his eyes to watch Sabra peel away with defeat in her eyes. ”I know,” it’s the only thing he can muster to say, aware that their boys have grown and that she needs to take a step away from this as much as he does. Mirroring her, Castile backs away but his wings remain comfortably tucked against his sides. ”Safe travels,” he mutters, his voice low and his stare intense as he watches her turn and take flight. With a deep breath, he turns away and vanishes in the palm forest.

    castile


    @[Sabra]
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