05-28-2021, 10:06 PM
I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
If he’s surprised that a stallion has suddenly risen out of the water before him, it doesn’t show. His single ear still flicks in his direction, a red eye glancing over at him with his usual disdain. Just as the stranger is tucking away memories of Cheri, he’s pulling his own out. He’s not really sure why she floods into his head now. Admittedly she usually comes unbidden into his mind at the most random of times or in the worst moments. Ever since his visit to Loess he had furiously made it a point to push all memories of her into a gilded locked box. He can still remember her cool expression, the heavy scent of a male mixed into the scent of storms that perfumed her skin.
It had always just been pretend. That night amongst the wildflowers, drunk on nectar and drunk on her. Every once and awhile the lid would pop open and a memory would escape and goad him until he could wrestle it back into the box. It was easier to keep them locked up when he thought of her entwined with another stallion. He didn’t think of her at all when he was placing fervent kisses to an exposed golden neck, when he was drowning in the oceans of Aela’s eyes.
It was easier this way.
It was easier to pretend.
Something in the air smells familiar but he can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s coming from the water drenched stallion but other tendrils of scent weave into Targaryen’s own, confusing his nostrils and distorting what he had remembered coming off Cheri. All traces of the onyx and green mare seemed to have been swept from the tobiano when he had shed his scales in the depths of the River. So he doesn’t question the male, simply banishing the unwanted image of her lustful gaze from his mind as he readjusts his vision back to the lights skimming over the surface of the water.
He can see the slight tremble of the other’s skin as he speaks from the corner of his eye, a sign of being in the water too long. He wonders if his new healing powers can take away things like cold and heat but his curiosity isn’t strong enough to bother asking if he needs the help. Besides, he was the fool who had been laying in the cold currents to begin with. He doubts his powers extend so far to fixing the stupid.
Stifling a yawn, his red eyes remain forward as he responds drily “Spirits of a sort.” Light breaks from the others to come close to him, hovering just above his muscular shoulder. He considers the Wisp thoughtfully. Most legends regarding the glowing lights tied into death. They were known to lure unsuspecting innocents deep into bogs to drown, to tease them off the edge of cliffs, to wreck ships in the sea. They were also considered guardians of treasure. He thinks it would be interesting to see Light lure someone to the cold depths of the River. Now that he was immortal, death was no longer so frightening or intimidating. Plus he could heal now. If he wanted to.
Blazing eyes of scarlet finally come to rest on Targaryen, seemingly unimpressed by what he finds there. “Do you often crawl out of rivers in the dark or is this a special occasion?”
It had always just been pretend. That night amongst the wildflowers, drunk on nectar and drunk on her. Every once and awhile the lid would pop open and a memory would escape and goad him until he could wrestle it back into the box. It was easier to keep them locked up when he thought of her entwined with another stallion. He didn’t think of her at all when he was placing fervent kisses to an exposed golden neck, when he was drowning in the oceans of Aela’s eyes.
It was easier this way.
It was easier to pretend.
Something in the air smells familiar but he can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s coming from the water drenched stallion but other tendrils of scent weave into Targaryen’s own, confusing his nostrils and distorting what he had remembered coming off Cheri. All traces of the onyx and green mare seemed to have been swept from the tobiano when he had shed his scales in the depths of the River. So he doesn’t question the male, simply banishing the unwanted image of her lustful gaze from his mind as he readjusts his vision back to the lights skimming over the surface of the water.
He can see the slight tremble of the other’s skin as he speaks from the corner of his eye, a sign of being in the water too long. He wonders if his new healing powers can take away things like cold and heat but his curiosity isn’t strong enough to bother asking if he needs the help. Besides, he was the fool who had been laying in the cold currents to begin with. He doubts his powers extend so far to fixing the stupid.
Stifling a yawn, his red eyes remain forward as he responds drily “Spirits of a sort.” Light breaks from the others to come close to him, hovering just above his muscular shoulder. He considers the Wisp thoughtfully. Most legends regarding the glowing lights tied into death. They were known to lure unsuspecting innocents deep into bogs to drown, to tease them off the edge of cliffs, to wreck ships in the sea. They were also considered guardians of treasure. He thinks it would be interesting to see Light lure someone to the cold depths of the River. Now that he was immortal, death was no longer so frightening or intimidating. Plus he could heal now. If he wanted to.
Blazing eyes of scarlet finally come to rest on Targaryen, seemingly unimpressed by what he finds there. “Do you often crawl out of rivers in the dark or is this a special occasion?”
obscene
@[Targaryen]