"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
12-11-2018, 08:45 PM (This post was last modified: 01-20-2019, 01:10 PM by Kensa.)
for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
She is a woman who would consume the world.
Not like fire, or famine, or plague but as lovers consume one another. There is no desire to take or destroy (though some lovers take and destroy). Just to give herself over to the pleasure of existence, to bathe in texture, sound, color. This is likely a flaw, a sensory issue, maybe the input is just turned up a little too high. No complaints here. Some will judge her, or assume she is reckless or stupid, but the envious do tend to be critical.
In summer Kensa is once again molten chocolate, despite her liver chestnut coat being thinned by the plague that has slimmed down her voluptuous curves. The dryer season has stolen away some of the greenery and she stands out against it, late afternoon light brightening the clearing near the river to a white gold expanse, long grass half trampled by visitors. The river itself is low, noisy, rattling about in its bed of stones with musical complaints about long summers.
Hyaline is much nicer than this right now, but she comes down and loiters anyway, hungry for experience. Had she even left home all last summer? She doesn’t remember, but likely not. Last summer she’d been far more girl than woman and not inclined to go looking for things beyond what the alpine sanctuary offered.
The heat of the day has left her lazy, and the humid suede night is still hours off. She stands in this clearing and tries to decide if she wants to wade belly deep in the river or find some mossy corner of the forest to lie down in. Nothing wins in the end, because someone is coming up along the river. She raises her head a little higher, narrows her eyes a fraction. She tends to encounter familiar faces when she traipses around outside Hyaline but the tread approaching her sounds unfamiliar. A curious smile tugs the corner of her mouth, bold thing that she is she isn’t made nervous by the approach of a stranger.
kensa
for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
He really doesn’t have much of a plan today. But seriously, when does he ever? He’s a fucking reprobate. Reprobates don’t go around making plans. They do whatever the hell suits their fancy, much like he’s doing today. Still, it’s a hot, lazy afternoon, and he’s seriously contemplating a nap. Hell, not much else to do in this kind of fucking weather. Unless one cared for a nice afternoon romp in the river. Which, of course, he would. But that requires two, and he’s not in the habit of keeping a second around for longer than it takes to… well, you get the gist.
He’s ambling rather idly along the river bank, eyeing the sluggishly flowing water with more than half a mind to step in, when he rounds a bend to find himself no longer alone. Not only is he no longer alone, but the stranger happens to be a rather lovely mare. No, not lovely, fucking delicious.
Well, hell. He’s pretty damned sure he’s not that fucking lucky.
He stills, eyes roaming over her slim form in a leisurely manner. Perhaps a bit too familiarly, but we already know he’s no fucking saint. Never pretends to be, never will. When finally his eyes make it to her face, he cocks one equine brow, the corner of his lips quirking slightly in a rather devilish grin. “Jonesing for a swim?” he drawls, his voice low, decidedly suggestive despite the banality of the words.
01-20-2019, 02:18 PM (This post was last modified: 01-20-2019, 06:30 PM by Kensa.)
for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
Her nostrils flare and pupils dilate as she takes in the stranger. Tall, lean, but rippling with corded muscle. She might have a type.
Kensa looks ordinary, genuine, and sweet. For the most part she is. Of course maybe should be more careful about her honest looks and open interest. In the summer heat she doesn’t have the mental energy to overthink this. Kensa is neither shy or easily threatened and she draws closer to the shore and to the dapple grey confidently, though out here in the heat it's like moving through thick geothermal mud. His eyes are on her, spotlighting her curves without any of the boring discretion she usually endures.
Topaz eyes flare to meet his, drag away again to follow the track of cold clear water colored brown by the muck and stones below. Kensa lets herself appear contemplative, dons the very apparent pretense of hesitation. Tilting her blazed face back toward him she replies primly, “After me.” And twists towards the water, muscular haunches bunching as she drops her hocks and slides down the muddy edge to splash into the river. Silts swirls around her white limbs but she doesn’t go further. She waits, almost in the way, leaving him room only all but collide with her unless he chooses another way down. Turning her chin back to her shoulder she watches the taller dappled beast from below, letting him look down on her chestnut curves from above.
kensa
for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.
