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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


    [open]  Anyone;
    #11
    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
    Sabra’s laughter is a balm across his gaping wounds. It convinces a boyish smile from Castile, not unlike their younger days. A half-chuckle rumbles from his chest, trembling the ground underneath. ”At least I did something right, I suppose,” because he didn’t bore her. A vessel of chaos and unrest, he has never allowed himself to succumb to a monotonous or dull life. Occasional bouts of self-reflection have reminded him of his ever-growing nature, the dynamic development of his life and experiences. ”I tend to keep everyone on their toes,” a huff of feeble laughter, only because he isn’t sure now whether that is good anymore. Once again, he has thrown his life into disarray.

    But Sabra reels him from the edge, yanking him away from a precarious fall into the shadows. He blinks, casting his eyes down. Steady breaths, a lazy flick of his tail. ”You’re right,” and a glimmer of arrogance reaches the corners of his mouth, ”It was an ugly day when I hit such a low. Poor Ilma witnessed that.” There were thoughts of self-destruction, of self-loathing. It was a hatred for his failures as a lover and father. Similarly, today’s triggers parallel those from years ago. Always with women, always with the children he disappointed.

    Slowly, Castile’s tongue slips across the edges of his scaled lips. The iron tang of blood fades with the minutes, and in response, his hunger increases. As a mild distraction, he kneads the soil with his talons, ripping into the grass, gouging the earth until it looks exactly as his heart feels.

    It’s probably how Sabra’s looks with the javelin piercing it.

    A catch of air holds as he lowers his head, unable to suppress his curiosity when she grants him the permission. With soft precision, Castile brushes his muzzle across it, inhaling the nectar-sweet smell of blood. It churns something within him, but before a greater part of him can react, he withdraws. ”What if I broke off some of it so it didn’t get so much in the way of… walking,” living, he would say, but reconsiders after her gruff statement. He is almost too afraid to ask what she has experienced since they parted ways, or what could possibly be worse than a spear physically shot through the body. Probably what he did to her – abandoning her once, twice, three times? – makes the list. If this was her… prize… from a mountainous quest, then what would he have received if he made the venture? A disapproving curl of his lips comes and quickly goes at the thought.

    ”Yes,” he states flatly at first, but then backpedals slightly as he considers recent events. ”Technically, yes. Gave the throne to Oceane, but Lepis decided to take over. I’m still there, although I imagine they’re not keen on it given the…” he pauses to glance over himself, ”circumstances. I also destroyed Icicle Isle, so there’s that.” Admitting it places a pit in his stomach, one that isn’t easily dislodged. ”I had no sense of remorse, no sense of myself, until it was over. I enjoy this power, what I am, but there are consequences. Thanks to the faeries, I lose more of myself every day to my draconic self until I report back with lessons I’ve learned,” he doesn’t confess this to her out of pity, but for her own awareness. If there’s one thing Sabra has always excelled at, it was spurring his fiery side. Perhaps, it’s also a mild warning to her, but she has never listened to those.

    With a deep sigh, he admits something else to Sabra, his nonchalance indicating which path he has obviously taken. ”I met Straia, one of the women that escaped from the afterlife. She told me that if greatness is what I want, then I must be willing to sacrifice everything. I guess my actions are one way to do that.” A scaled brow lifts, finding humor in the shadows of his consequences.

    castile



    @[Sabra]
    Reply
    #12



    Sabra


    The laughter he produces sounds like it had to come a long way to be heard, and the words that follow it are no less drawn. My smile fades into something almost like pity. He has not changed, not one bit. Not in any way that counts. I think perhaps he will always be this way, always reaching and only noticing the wreckage when he's left it behind.

    My eyes darken when he mentions the past, our past, and the consequences of it. I'm quick to look away, refusing him the victory of seeing the sudden gloss my eyes have taken on at the memories he stirs. We can make light of it, make dry jokes and pretend that when our paths crossed, it meant nothing more than any other encounter. And maybe that's truth to him. We were not great loves by any means. Perhaps love had never even entered the equation. But you don't have to love someone to not betray them. You don't have to love them to be kind.

    (He hated you for your weakness)

    It's no wonder I flinch at the bitterness memory leaves behind.

    When I can look at him again, it's with distant eyes. They are dry, though. I can do that much for myself. There's a moment when he bends the massive arch of his neck that my resolve flickers. One foot lifts, certain it will continue to move me away, only to be set carefully down again in the same place. My breath hitches in my chest at the uncomfortable pressure when the spear is nudged, though I know he's using as light a touch as he can. It is less that he has touched it, than the fact that the slightest motion in that slender piece of wood reminds me of the exact position of my heart where it lays trembling inside me.

    I can only blink at first, when his offer is presented. "Break some of it..." I repeat, uncertain. An uneasy glance at the ruptured skin of my breast from which it perches turns my stomach. I haven't gotten used to the sight yet, to the feeling, to any of it. Whatever he does will hurt, badly. There's no doubt in my mind of that. Still, it's more thoughtful than I'd expected him to be, and I feel nearly ashamed of my biting tones. One rainbowed wing shrugs hesitantly.

    (I hope he drives it deeper)

    "You can try. I suppose. But-" I can't help a wry grin at this point, "I don't know if it will cooperate. I know it looks like I botched a landing in the forest, but that's unfortunately not the case. There's a magical component and it might make meddling with it... difficult." Truthfully, I have no idea what to expect. It might break as easily as dry twigs, or it might resist and make life even more of a hell than it already is. I don't know. But it seems foolish to deny this chance at easing the struggle of my burden.

    I'm distracted for the moment by his answering of my question, and it leaves more questions than answers. I have the feeling though that we will be here till high summer still talking if we try to discuss every aspect of our lives (and lack thereof) since our last parting. Still, my expression does not hide my surprise or my consternation at the things he's described. This is more than I'd imagined he'd take on, and the idea that he would risk losing himself to the dragon seemed perverse when compared to the memory of the stallion who had fought so dearly to control it. My lips thin warily, head nodding in slow understanding.

    "From what I've seen, the deepest pits and the tallest mountains are both very lonely places. If this throne you're building yourself sits as high as I think it does..." The words dwindle, a sad smile dancing across my face. Reaching, he was always reaching. "I just hope the view is worth it, if you've got no one to share it with." The words fell soft before me. My head shook suddenly, the brilliant colors of my mane turning into a brief, fiery halo before I settle again. That would be my only say on the matter. Heavens know he'd never listened to me before, I have no reason to waste my breath another time round.

    I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky


    I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die




    Photo by Kareva Margarita


    @[Castile]
    Reply
    #13
    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
    It doesn’t escape his notice as she diverts her eyes when he makes light of the relationship they once had. Still a barb in her life, he resolves, and his throat tightens regrettably, but he says nothing more of it. Anything else will simply focus on what once was, what no longer is. It would crack her more and chisel away at the wall she has fortified around herself.

    Castile isn’t immune to it, of course. He has often reflected on their lives together, but over the years, he has determined to suppress it for his own sanity. A mild joke is his coping and his attempt to elude more pain down the road.

    But it hurts others in the process.

    And here, while he sinks a knife into her emotional memories, Castile offers to hurt her physically by meddling with the javelin. Sabra offers him permission, and he obediently snakes his head forward with his mouth slightly agape in preparation. His breath reeks of fire and sulfur as he hovers just in front of her. It’s there, tempting him, but so is the scent of her blood as it dribbles from her wound. ”I—“ he hesitates, inhaling deeply before reluctantly withdrawing, ”I shouldn’t. You and I both would probably experience some repercussion if we messed with it.” Admittedly, he also fears losing himself in the act. One taste of her blood, and he may want more – more than he should.

    In the slow retraction of his head and neck, Sabra’s statement catches him off guard. Something wrenches inside him, and now he is the one to look away forlornly. It’s true, what she says, and it has frequently crossed his mind, but he is contradictory. He has always wanted love and a family, but then he pushes everyone away in attempt to protect them from himself. Then, finally, when he finds an equal and finds someone that fulfilled his heart, he broke it because of his sinful lust and temptation. Self-sabotage, it seems, is his downfall. An idle flick of his tail is the silent indication of his reeling thoughts before bringing himself to level his eyes again on Sabra. A curling wisp of smoke escapes his flaring nostrils in the midst of his slow, deliberate nod. ”Time will tell, I suppose,” at a loss for words, and in fear of failing another ideation of his, Castile neutralizes his situation, unsure what lies in his future: a lonely throne and destruction or happiness and love in a life less ambitious.


    castile



    @[Sabra]
    Reply
    #14



    Sabra


    It stings, the way he can still hurt me. It's been years, lifetimes, and I had hoped by now I'd become immune to the past. What else have I got though? Yesterday and today is all I have, absolutely nothing else guaranteed. 

    So why not let him tug at the heart of me. That organ has taken more damage than most over the years, twice impaled, and broken many times over that. What's a bit more roughing up, at this point? That doesn't stop my eyes from squeezing shut when he nears, though. I feel the hot weight of his breath on my breast,and then... nothing. I blink up at him as he retreats, relief and disappointment dueling within me. 

    I smiled half-heartedly at him. "Yeah. You're probably right. Oh well." One winged shoulder lifted in a shrug. The blood continued to seep, a thin, trickling flow that drips audibly in the silence. I gaze at him curiously, the glimmer of light that brightens his eyes, the scaly toughness of his hide that holds what I know to be a deeply emotive soul inside. That was the issue, wasn't it? Two bullheaded souls who too often found themselves feeling strongly, but differently, about things. 

    I see myself differently these days. Less queen, more competent. Less trusting, more wary. Still wounded, but time... I can only hope time will heal me. The curls of smoke that drift from his muzzle remind me of the old days, when his temper was precluded by the stoking of his fires. Have I touched on a sensitive thought? I am not so changed that the idea of returning the barb of memory doesn't make me feel just a touch better.

    I nod at him, guessing at his thoughts but knowing I'm likely nowhere close. My wings resettle at my sides, dancing little shivers that set downy scraps of feather spinning to the ground. "I'm only recently back, actually." I comment, as if I'd returned from a holiday journey, and not the land of the dead. "I think I'll be taking you up on your offer after all. I've borne two children for you. Does that still entitle me to a place in your home?" I ask, meeting his gaze steadily. I'm worn, and need a place to recover. I smile up at him lightly, the exhaustion fading from my face as I do.

    I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky


    I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die




    Photo by Kareva Margarita


    @[Castile]
    Reply
    #15
    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’m sorry.

    The words tickle the edges of his lips and, for a fleeting moment, chokes him of air.

    I’m sorry for what I’ve done.
    I’m sorry I cannot remove the javelin.
    I’m sorry for failing you.

    He almost says it to her because it seems only right, but he hesitates upon seeing her sigh a breath of air when he withdraws from his initial offer. Unfortunately, his pride is still far too great to grovel at her feet. At least, he muses, he realizes all the mistakes he has committed, right? There’s remorse threading through his body when their eyes finally lock again, but he masks it behind steely resolve. It wouldn’t surprise him to know there is a tendril of satisfaction pushing at the edges of her thoughts when she watches the smoke coil from his nostrils. They have enough history to read each other, to know each other. Even as a brief silence creeps over them, Castile’s mind reels with his observations of her even as his eyes trace the length of the javelin and the rivulets of blood webbing down its length.

    (Just a taste)

    Castile’s tongue slips out, crossing across his flatlined lips to idly taste the air, to taste her. It’s so familiar, the iron-like tang of her blood. Didn’t he bite her once? Solace was clawed. Sochi remained unscathed. As peculiar as it is, there is mild comfort in knowing how her blood settles across his tongue and how it now creeps along the lining of his nostrils. He tampers any urges, focusing instead on her question as it hangs in the space between them. ”I miss seeing the boys,” he admits first, not yet answering her. A flash of his memory reminds him of both Raul and Santana, and how poorly of a father he was to them. It’s no surprise. As much as he wants to be a perfect father, he falls short every time.

    The least he can do then, at least, is not fail Sabra again and abandon her at the riverbank. She reminds him of their sons together, of the life they had, and he finally nods his head when it seems as though he will ignore the question.

    ”Of course,” he states with a thoughtful nod of his head, ”Loess will welcome you with open arms.” But even as he agrees, he cannot help to wonder if the kingdom even accepts him anymore.

    castile



    @[Sabra]
    Reply
    #16
    Information 



    Sabra


    There's an awkwardness between us. Years of tension and strife and things both said and unsaid that weigh heavy on us now. I can see it in his eyes, the mismatched pair of them, even as I feel it in myself. Things I wish I could say, things I wish I could take back. And none of it is enough to repair the rift we've driven between ourselves. 

    Even though the rift still stands, still there is something to be said for time. It's dulled the ache, made it easier to bear. The very fact that we've managed to hold a civil conversation without devolving into snips and growls speaks volumes on its own. My smile is a little easier at this introspection. Looking past the draconic figure, I recognize the stallion within. He's a wounded creature not unlike myself, inside and out. I wonder if one day he too will tire of constant battle. 

    I dim at his mention of our sons, though I know it was I who brought them up first. My mouth tightens into a bleak line at the reminder of shared failings. "I miss them too," I admit, wilting a bit. From the beginning, those two deserved so much better than they got from the pair of us. Parents really only because we made them. I tried, especially in the beginning. My mind, however, found itself unequal to the trials my life had pelted me with and had rejected all semblance of kindness in its self destructive state. Had driven them away in fits of madness and spite to such a degree that I'm left doubting if they will ever speak to me again. 

    It is part of why I'm seeking shelter now. To regain myself. For all the bad blood between us, I am familiar with the dragon. I know him, and right now the danger I can predict seems a better option than the world I do not know. I don't believe he'll turn me away. I know he's considering it, but it seems I've gotten lucky with the timing of this meeting, and he is feeling nostalgic. That doesn't stop my heart from leaping against the lance when he says I am welcome. 

    Relief loosens the taut lines of my stance, releases the tightness of my brow. I nod in return, gratitude nudging cautiously at my mind. And for once I give in to it, putting my pride away to let my fragility show. One pace, another, and I am near enough to lift my face to his darkly scaled cheek and press a chaste kiss there. 

    "Thank you, Cas," the words are as quiet as breathing. I withdraw then, suddenly uncomfortable with the nearness, with the pressure of my heart thudding into the lance where it grazes him. My wings fidget again, settling and resettling. I am ready for this to be over, to be alone again until I reach my newfound destination. The mask of flat tranquility falls over my features again.

    I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky


    I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die




    Photo by Kareva Margarita


    @[Castile]
    Reply
    #17
    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
    There’s a silent agreement between them; they both failed as parents, but at least Sabra was present for longer. Despite her sanity slipping like sand through open fingers, she was still there. Both sets of twins lacked a father until they were yearlings. Velk and Valdis, Santana and Raul. That wasn’t what Castile planned, or ever wanted, and he has tried to make amends. Nothing has truly ever gone to his plan.

    Sabra looks upon him as he looms toward a point of resignation.

    Surely, he is broken inside; he is wounded, just as she thinks. It’s betrayed by the calmness in his demeanor and the haze of defeat coating his words and glossing his eyes. They once fought tooth and nail, bitterly defying each other on almost every matter. Their years together were turbulent, and yet, here they are, holding a civilized conversation with soft undertones. No anger, no show of dominance. If that doesn’t exhibit their personal changes, he’s not sure what else could.

    A deep breath expels from his lungs as she agrees with him about the boys, but Castile says nothing more of the matter. His wings idly shuffle at his sides in his moments of reflection, wondering if this is the turning point in his life, if this is what he needed to fully tamper the beast. For nearly twenty years, he has fought himself. Is it now, with a faerie madness clouding him and a look into his past, that he realizes what his next steps should be? Is this the aha moment that he has needed?

    The dragon lowers his head slowly as Sabra edges closer. A kiss presses to his rough cheek. Gratitude succeeds the sentiment, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised by it all. Discomfort nips at each of them, unfamiliar with the tenderness after such a long hiatus. ”Yeah,” is all he can awkwardly say as he rises slowly to his feet, gouging the soil underneath his talons. ”I guess I’ll see you there then?” He slowly blinks and inclines his head, determining whether she needs an escort or time alone.


    castile



    @[Sabra]
    Reply
    #18



    Sabra


    How strange it is to not be at each other's throat. To stand and talk without bitterness. It reminds me of our early days, when we were soft and tender, and fought beside and not against each other. Our fire had been the hearth of home before it tried to destroy us, and the memory of warmth lies beneath the years of burning. I miss feeling warm. 

    The memory though, I have the memory. The good, sunshine days before darkness dogged my mind. I'd been hopeful then that my dreams of home and family might defy the odds. I've learned better since then. He, among others, taught me. 

    I think perhaps I've finally learned to separate the memories from the man. I think also that he has learned something of his own since we parted last. I'd like to think so. Oh, but hasn't that always been my problem? Trying to see the best in him, the good of a beast that never asked for or wanted my forgiveness. Until I was made to realize that there are some things beyond forgiving. 

    I don't forgive and I don't forget, but I might be able to move on. I let my lips soften again, my eyes guarded still. "Yeah- yes. You will." I hesitate, but I figure he might as well have some idea as to when I'll arrive. "I'm going to go the long way though, I can't... I'm not strong enough to fly that far. I'll be walking." The admition is a hard one. I know how much he despises the weakness I carry. 

    It is what it is, though, and the reality is that after more than a year of inaction, my muscles are thin. It's not such a bad thing though. I can reacquaint myself with the world, and prepare myself to live among society once more. To learn how to navigate with a shaft of wood in my breast without embarrassing myself. My head shakes ruefully at the thought. Definitely a thing I'd want to perfect before I arrived. 

    My hooves shuffle against the sandy riverbank awkwardly. What is there left to say? He looks as though he's waiting for something, and I don't know if I'm forgetting some bit of etiquette or courtesy before we part. "So... I'll be off then." I say, tail flicking against the long grass. "I'll see you soon. Be... safe, I guess." I half-grin, nodding to the raking wounds on his tail. Better not to ask how he got them. I know I'd regret the answer.

    I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky


    I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die




    Photo by Kareva Margarita


    @[Castile]
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