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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


    There's no need to understand; any
    #1
    Abaddon had thought it an amusing trick to play on the two lovebirds and their little family. He had watched them for days, weeks, perhaps even months. What was time to him? This was just another spot in time that he would pass as he felt. He had almost felt like them once, but the demon in him had wanted to own and devour too much. She had been his and in a brief moment he had wanted to love her to be what she needed. It would have only ended in tears and blood for her.

    Abaddon had chosen his moment carefully, when the darker one had slipped from their house to gather his herbs and his plant food, Abaddon had snatched him. The silly man's abilities had done nothing to help him, nothing to protect him. The determination and fire in his eyes had eventually faded in the time Abaddon had owned him. Faded to the blank look that only slaves had. There was no hope, no pain, no love, just that emptiness.

    Boredom. The broken look in Arzhur's face had begun to bore him. Abaddon only tortured him now because he wanted too. His slave never disobeyed him, never showed a hint of defiance and was all around a bit of disappointment to him. It hadn't taken as long as he had hoped to break him. Surely his lover and his daughter would have made him fight harder, or perhaps Abaddon was just that damn good.

    He laughs to himself, staring at his slave as he stood hunched across the room, awaiting any order that he might have.

    And then Arzhur remembers only blackness.

    Arzhur awoke to a place that was familiar but not, a place that almost brought back memories. For a long while he laid there with the cool ground under his cheek, not reacting, because he didn't know if this was another one of Abaddon's torture sessions. Hours passed and then eventually a day until the growling in his stomach made him shift, lifting his head up even as his lips automatically went to the grass around his legs. This form was familiar. This was the form he had first met him in. He no longer dared to even think his name, the long scars that decorated his body now had kept the memories locked up tight until all he knew was his name.

    "My name is Arzhur. I will live. I will survive." His voice was gravelly from lack of use as he said the mantra that had kept the most vital parts of him sane in the long time that he had been captured. There had times when he had forgotten that he knew how to speak, knew how to do anything other than obey. He didn't dare think about anything else, his eyes carefully looking around him even as he slowly chewed the grass near him and he waited for whatever hell his master would put him through.
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    #2

    You can look boy but don't you touch,
    If you want my love make me give a fuck

    Lately she had been lucking out on finding a man, perhaps women were the only ones surviving the winter's chilling bite. It only seems fitting, after all most female's in other species kill off their mates once they are satisfied. Everdeen's problem is that she was never satisfied, just another insatiable woman with the wit and looks to draw those into her web. It seems that just when her search for a warm body had proven to be all for not, one appeared on the first signs of dawn. She shakes some of the stiffened snow from her back, her gray and white paint farm slinking slowly towards him. Her amber eyes peeled forward and her hips swaying like a woman with three men behind her. Something is off she thinks, he's talking to himself but even weirdos need affection.

    There's a sucker born every day and another who likes 'em.

    She nickers ever so sweetly towards the man, quickly assessing his scars and reaching her dark gray muzzle towards him, her nostrils filling with a smell of iron; dried blood and a certain mystic. Was it fear or was it newly found liberation? Aren't they the same, really? "I hope you don't mind me but it's rather cold and I though just maybe," she gracefully moves in closer, not touching yet, "We could keep one another warm." She is unsure of this male but she gets a sense that she shouldn't overstep just yet. "If only with conversation - I'm Everdeen." What she forgot to say that she was a tease, a player of sorts and always looking for new members to add to her fan base...in case anything ever were to happen.

    e v e r d e e n
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    #3
    You do care
    It was funny how the cold around him hadn't really made itself known in the time he had been laying there with his legs tucked beneath him like a newborn foal. It was only after she approached and spoke to him about it did he really notice it. He watched her with wary eyes, even as he almost laughed aloud. This was a game Abaddon had played on him often. The sexes and species had always varied between the two forms he had known, but the game had always been the same.

    Arzhur felt conflicted wanting to allow her to cuddle close, just so he could feel her warmth, something he had not had since the morning he had woken up next to his mate. (Still he dared not think his name even though his mismatched eyes haunted Zurry.) He wanted to feel to become something other than this numb, broken doll he had become. If he did allow her close he didn't know if this pretty mirage would then whisper things in his ears, making him believe the awful things she would say about him. If he didn't allow her close, Abaddon would hurt him again. Physical or mental no longer mattered, the stallion felt a wave of despair wash through him.

    All was lost anyways.

    Somehow he managed only to blink his eyes quickly as her nose moved close to him, not flinching completely as he might have another time. This worries him. Abaddon might see it as a sign of defiance and another beating would occur. Accidents like this still happened now and again. Her words were easy on his ears and he only tilted his head so he could look at her. Keep her warm. Right. His own body had started to shake, the damp eating through his thin coat where there wasn't a single thick hair at all. His bones showed, not quite to the point of severe starvation, but plenty enough to make him physically weak. He sighs when she is done speaking and he repeats himself. "I am Arzhur."

    Another long moment of consideration before he accepts defeat. "You may lay with me if you wish." For a brief moment in that small amount of time he had almost felt like himself, he thinks. But then it is all gone and all he can feel again his nothing. His mind curiously blank as he waits for her to respond.
    You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.
    Arzhur
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