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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


    Holding you close feels like a cut throat
    #1
    We were gone. Away from the cliff, from that harsh rock that had housed us for so long. All of us were thin, for one reason or another. My skin and bone child, too weak to stand for long. How she'd hung on this long, I didn't know. Maybe the same way I had clung to life, and defied the dark god in his summons. Long enough to stand here in the fading sunset and wonder what had happened, that this was my life now. 

    For a moment it was hard to fend off the urge to roll in grass, or to find the nearest free flowing stream and submerge myself in it. It was wonderful just to feel something other than hard stone beneath my feet. Out was remarkable, the way the world suddenly felt so much better just with this change of view. The cliffs still stood in sight, looming over the sea like waiting giants. Black outlines against the paling pinks and deepening blues of the horizon. Beautiful, he'd said. Back on Nerine's mainland I felt more inclined to agree with the assessment. 

    Turning to the man nearby, I tilted my head in consideration. Castile, dragon and stallion, black and white, fury and tenderness. He was a walking conflict, and perhaps that had something to do with how we saw each other. What could I say, to make things right between us? To make him stay? Glancing back at the dull form of my daughter, I turned back to him, stepping hesitantly closer. The marks of illness were stark on him, even in his reptilian form, and it scared me. "Talk to me, Cas?" I suggested softly, watching the sharp lines of his face for some sign that he needed me even a fraction as much as I had needed him. 

    "You wanted to keep me hidden forever, and I couldn't let you do that. But I'm not going to vanish into thin air either." Even as I said it, I wasn't sure if it was true. There was a part of me that wanted to escape still. I wanted to go home, and didn't know where home was. Maybe I needed to disappear, if it would help me figure out that piece of self. Please give me a reason to stay. I pleaded silently, hoping something in him would hear. 

    @[Castile] ~liquids time~
    #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
    Castile cradles them gently in his claws, Sabra clutched by his front and the lavender child by his rear. Upon taking flight, he considered them dangling underneath and turned away from the blistering wind. It howls at their backs, whipping their manes wildly around their faces. Fortunately, their flight is brief as they soar from the rocky outcropping to the mainland of Nerine. The buffeting of his wings is nearly deafening as he banks and gingerly places the child down before following with Sabra. His own landing is heavy, shuddering the rocky ground underneath them. A fleeting idea to leave is dismissed when he slowly blinks and looks at Sabra. There is a reason he didn’t abandon her when she died, or when she even took her very first breath after the incident. A tenderness begins to leak back into his eyes until his attention sweeps across to the child. As innocent as she is, the filly is painted with regret, murder and hate. Even the coloring of her coat is enough to bristle him. With a curl of his lip – disgust, disapproval – he refocuses on Sabra just as she croons to him, finding in herself, too, to be gentle.

    What they have – what they are – has been turbulent as of late. The fire churns in his gut as he reflects on recent events, on how they ended things before. He had deserted them with a cloud of dirt and debris in his wake. It had been tempting then to never turn back around because not only was there Sabra and her child, but also Ilma. The woman he confessed his embarrassment to, who knew what a monster he had been, has now witnessed him at an ultimate low point. Just as easily as he shifts, Castile could have left behind everything.

    Yet something drew him back to her and insisted that he help her escape the prison he put her in.

    Love and family are all he ever wanted as a child, and yet conflict has constantly loomed over him like a storm cloud. There is no avoiding it anymore. It doesn’t seem to be feasible. It’s a distant dream, always just out of reach. Yet he struggles to let go of anyone and anything that he holds dear. It will hurt them in the end, but Castile is stupid and selfish.

    ”You died,” he echoes from their previous conversations as his memory replays the sight of it, ”I lost you once…” but he cuts himself off from pledging to never lose her again, because his grip seems to be slipping. He has noticed the distant haze in her eyes, how she, too, is just as conflicted. ”What is it that you want, Sabra? What would make you happy?” The questions slip unbidden, and as much as he wants to reel them back, he simply cannot. Holding steady, with his body curled in a half-moon – still as a dragon – he waits for an answer, having only one request. ”Be honest.”


    castile



    @[Sabra]
    #3
    A hoarse sigh trickles from my nostrils, bitter breath and heart sickness mingling without words. Sick as he is, Castile still holds the beauty and power bestowed on him by blood. Fire had burned between us briefly enough, seared his name into my soul with the intensity of his. Too fast, too hot. Too soon gone. My jaw splits wide again, and this time I find the words. 

    "What do I want? What I've always wanted, Cas. A home. That's all I've ever sought." Simple enough, yet I've been denied at every turn. Dull-eyed, I look into the distance, watching the last of the light fade from the ether. Tattered and torn a pair as we are, I'd like to think that this is the light in which we look our best. Less tired, more vibrant, beings of fire and air that shimmer in the light of death. Poetic, maybe, but impractical. 

    Shaking myself from reverie, a half smile twists my lips delicately. "When I was little more than a child, with dreams of grandeur and brilliance, I thought the man who spoke my name in tones of flattery would give me the world. Make it my home. By the time I wised up and left, I held Klaudius' son inside me, and found myself alone in Sylva's woods. I was given the chance to make that my home, and home to others, but I wasn't strong enough to- to hold it." My voice broke faintly over the phrase, fractured memories choking the air from my lungs. 

    Teeth gritting against each other until my jaw felt that it might shatter, I continued. This was my story, and he never heard it, though he had played his part. "I met you, and we introduced ourselves with passion and violence, and as dramatic as it was, it felt right. I thought I'd found home with you, with our boys." I let the words sit in the air, feeling no need to go on. He knew the rest as well as I did. As close as our bodies had been the last year, our spirits had grown more distant. I was a fool, perhaps, but not so much as to assume that he had put his life on hold while mine had been unknown. Scents he carried were unfamiliar and exotic, and told me all I needed to know. He was trying to move on, and perhaps I should follow his lead. 

    Blue as the winter's sky, my eyes seek his, try to divine the truth of his heart when I'm uncertain of the truth in mine. "What do you want?" I'm almost afraid to know. A flicker of my old flame kindles, a hint of warning in my voice with my own request. "In the form of the stallion, if you'd be so kind. I can't read you in this shape." I could tell well enough that he saw his draconic shape armor in more than one way, and hated that he felt the need to guard himself from me. When had everything changed?

    @[Castile]
    #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
    ”I cannot offer you that,” he loathes himself as the words gravelly fall from his tongue in disappointment. The confession is stagnant and tense, idle, until his body contorts and shifts into a horse standing in front of Sabra. Defeat is painted across his face as their eyes meet. I don’t have my own land or home. I was leaning toward Nerine to live, but I hold no power or rank. Since the unrest and the plague, I feel even more lost and powerless.” Once, he had been a prince but mother never ensured a future for him. She didn’t offer him to another kingdom to solidify relations or secure his place in their ranks. Nayl believed in hard work. She expected her son to follow in her footsteps.

    But he didn’t.

    Too nomadic to gain a title, Castile is suffering from the poor choices of his life. In the process, he is dragging down those around him, including Sabra.

    But as she elaborates her perspective of a home. It isn’t a physicality like a land, but a heart and family.

    Idiot.

    Castile casts his mismatched gaze aside as his heart crumbles. ”I’ve failed you in every way. I don’t even know how you could still want me.” Solace left him, too. Ciri chose Amet. It’s so clear now that he isn’t fit to be anything more than a fuckup, but he doesn’t want to succumb to his emotions – not again, when they are so raw and overbearing. He had been weak when he last lost grip on himself before. It won’t happen again.

    But Sabra has a pull on him that no one else has.

    ”I want you to myself, but I want so much more as well. I want power. I want a land. I want my family in one place, together.” He breathes, but it’s a raspy and frustrated growl. Black smoke coils from his nostrils as his head slowly shakes. It shrouds his face for a long, tense moment until it dissipates and leaves his sharp, mismatched stare lingering still on Sabra. ”I’ve only been a fuckup my entire life.” Castile doesn’t retract into himself or crumble in the face of his woes. He just stands, placidly, and shrugs in acceptance – like this is his past, present, and future, like there is no way to change his path.

    castile



    @[Sabra]
    #5
    He's given up on me. That's what I hear when he tells me he can't give me home, can't give me what I need to survive. But isn't he why I survive at all? Isn't he why the air still passes through my lungs, and pain still dogs my days, and why I bear it? He was my hope and my salvation, and now I can see he didn't believe any of it. I watch in mute fascination as his skin writhes over twisting bones, snapping back into a shape I remember but have not seen in so long. He doesn't understand. Why doesn't he understand? 

    When he cannot meet my gaze I feel another chip of my heart break away, forsaken. The anger that had settled in my belly flared once more. Was he so much a coward that he could not face what stood before him? I know what self pity is, and he is drowning himself in it, and for a moment I want to let him. 

    Words that I would regret later simmer on my tongue, 
    burning to escape and scald him like he's done me. Fine. Suit yourself. Have it your way. Be alone and miserable for the rest of your days, if that's all you think you're good for. 
    Instead, I breath, inhaling smoke and exhaling simple honesty.

    "If I could hate you, I would." 

    I can't. I've tried, and I've tried and it all comes back to one truth. "Outside of battle, you've never marked me, and still I call myself yours. You idiot of a stallion, I have wanted you since we first met, and time has done nothing but reassure me of my choice! You want power, and land, and family? Very well. I will fight by your side to gain these. There is none other I would trust." 

    Self loathing and apathy are stark on his features, but at least he's looking at me again. Emboldened by this, I bring myself within his reach. He's a fool and a coward at times, but he is mine. Mine. The thick cords of his bronzed mane twist before me in unknowable patterns, a haven where I had found myself so long ago. 

    "Fine, you're a fuckup." I agree dispassionately, matching his growling tone. In the same detached manner I press my maw toward him, placing an icy kiss on his shoulder before my lips part against his fever-warm skin. Blunt teeth scrape there a moment before they catch on muscle, applying inexorable pressure as I feel violence and anger and stubborn love reach a climax within me. They need release and I find it in the closing of my jaw on him. Bruising, breaking skin. Iron liquid rimming my petal pink lips crimson. Burning with dragons blood, almost as satisfying as sex. 

    Pain and passion had long been hallmarks of our intertwined lives, and I didn't see why this should be any different. "Now you're my fuckup. You should have known I wouldn't be so easy to get rid of." I murmur against the wound I've left. I recognize it for the act of vengeance it is, marking him for the world to see. I wanted him to hurt, because he had hurt me. 

    I'd always known he would one day.

    @[Castile]
    #6
    @[Sabra] has been infected by the plague (rolled a 5).
    She will show symptoms (rolled a 3).
    She will express a trait (rolled a 3).
    #7
    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
    ”You should hate me,” he snaps, his blood boiling after having listened to her confession. This is what they’ve become – anger, regret, pity, and disappointment – and it’s seeping aggressively into his veins. His eyes flash to life and his lip curls. ”I am a fucking idiot! I’ve been telling you that as I’ve been dragging you down with me." Ultimately, it has been her choice to cling at his side when he returned, to take him back despite how he had abandoned her to raise their children alone. Castile has made countless mistakes, but Sabra has shakenly accepted him back every time. Slowly, it’s chiseling away at her. What’s left of her heart and forgiveness is disintegrating, but he cannot blame her.

    To save her would be to run away, even if only temporarily.

    In the blazing fire of their quarrel, Castile is surprised to watch Sabra lean forward and press her lips to his shoulder. Instinctively, his ears fall back and his head inclines just enough to see her loom nearer. A loving touch, it seems, and the rigidity of his body begins to melt away until the deceit comes to fruition and she is drawing his blood.

    The heat of their conversation mingles with the burn of his wound, churning his gut. It brings to life the monster inside of him that has been comfortably coiled, waiting.

    (Only a matter of time, it has hissed into his consciousness)

    It all happens so fast – his teeth elongating and sharpening, his eyes flashing with slit pupils, and his scales rippling across his body – and it’s all beyond his control with the adrenaline pouring through his veins. Lightning-fast, almost like a rattlesnake already poised, Castile’s jaws clamp down on the crest of Sabra’s neck. He, too, draws blood. The coppery tang of it spreads across his tongue, awakening the primal need to hunt. It could all end right here.

    (Just do it)
    (It has been far too long since we’ve fed)

    For a heartbeat, Castile’s eyes clench shut to savor the taste, but then he suddenly reels away. ”Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he’s battling again with the predator inside him, fighting to stay above and to not take this further. But the anger. The frustration. It builds like a wall and the primal beast within him barrels through to take over, desperately trying to take advantage. When his eyes open, he doesn’t see Sabra as she is, but instead her body heat – her thermal energy – and the pulse of her heart. Food. She looks like his prey. A snarl crawls from the pit of his throat as his left shoulder burns still from the pain of her bite. Blood trickles down his skin – the scales have since receded – and winds down the length of his leg.

    (Like Solace)
    (You hurt her first, now Sabra)

    Shutting his eyes again – desperate to not see her as prey – Castile ambles backward and shakes his head. ”I need to regroup,” his words barely escape past his clenched teeth, ”I need Isobell.” And without elaborating, without saying who Isobell is, Castile flees. His wings unfurl – thin, membranous skin – and he takes flight, refusing to open his eyes until he is in the air veering to the southwest to return to the comfort and reassurance of his sister.

    Again, running away like the fool he is.


    castile



    @[Sabra]
    Up to you if you want to reply or end it here! Castile is just going to have his own little hiatus, regroup with his family, and figure out what he's doing with his life xD He's about to have a daddy-son chat.




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