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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


    bottom of the deep blue sea; ivar
    #1
    bottom of the deep blue sea
    Their years together are spent in arrangements. Their love has struck hot and quick like an armorer’s hammer against raw metal, squealing and red. Blood draws and pools in old scars upon her withers, the scaleless and naked patch at his throat where her teeth had once sunk as she dragged him below the waves.

    They know pain and glittering glass words, sharp and small, but hurtful. They laugh, sneer, and bicker when the other leaves to only return to the bed they share on silky sand beaches as crisp as fresh snow. Between them, the bringer of kelpies, a legacy that haunts the waters of Beqanna. Isobell is proud of her man and his accomplishments, meeting his violence that is barely quelled beneath his eyes. 

    Their world is calm now, Ivar brings her kelp and thin-boned fish that snap delicately between her teeth. Her silver eyes glint and reflect love for him as she watches the way he eyes her curves but she does not turn away or chastise his open lust. Isobell lays upon the secluded beach just through thorn and thicket. Ivar found this place that can only reach by expert navigation though channel and tide. Here she lays luxuriously in her aquatic form, her body warmed by sunlight as the ends of her tail billows are tugged to and fro in the calm caress of a tide pool.

    Their love has been calm as of late, an eye of a hurricane, blissful. He is not far off and even wonders if he still lay near her or has taken to the water as she daydreamed of their eternal life, satiated in his scent, her primal need to have him always. ”Ivar?”, wondering if he would reply. She does not pick her head up but merely stretched her legs straight and the curve of her hip upward to feel if he still remained on the sands or not.
    Reply
    #2

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge
    of how much to give and how much to take
    Unsure what wakes him, he yawns deeply and starts to roll.

    Except he doesn’t roll at all, because he is on land and not in the water, and all his efforts had achieved were a few slow flicks of his finned tail. At least there’s a cool spray of water from that, refreshing against his wind-dried and sun-warmed scales. His mane and tail are still damp. Dried salt comes off in a shower as he shakes his head and props himself up with his forelegs curling in front of him, and his finned tail floating in the shallows. Isobell is within reach, and he stretches toward her without thought, bushing his muzzle against what he can reach of her scaled hip with surprising gentleness.

    “I was having a dream,” he tells her sleepily, “You told me you were leaving Ischia, and that you were going to turn Nerine into a sea lions only land.” The kelpie chuckles at the absurdity of both of those things. Continuing to run his protruding teeth along Isobell’s pearlescent hip, he continues. “We weren’t on land when we fell asleep, were we?” Ivar does not like to sleep on land, but this cove is not one he knows well, and it seems that they’d drifted off in the shallows and the tide had gone out around them.



    and i'll use you as a warning sign
    that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind


    @[Isobell]
    Reply
    #3
    bottom of the deep blue sea
    The soft scape of his tooth along her scaled skin, sewn and stacked as though made of seashells, he plucks them gentle as Ivar trails and it gives her a sensation. Eyelids lift and fall over the sleepy silver eyes as she smiles in her waking dream state of the sweetest purgatory, Ivar and she, tossed to the furthest corner of the world and damned happy about it.

    ”A sea lion only Nerine?”, she jest as she rolls toward him with sand pressed to her cheek and her eyes shining, ” perhaps it would be an improvement since I had last ruled it.” The mare muses lowly with a grin. Isobell has gave it all up for moments like this, for him. Despite the stories of their tempers and their fiery altercations, there was a binding force that threw them together and would keep them as so.

    ”No because I remember admire the way the gold edges on your skin were reflecting the fractured sunlight.” Iso pays the compliment with a purr and curling smile. She was feeling well rested and comfortable and it clearly reflected upon her mood and her tongue but the mare still twists her head to look over the secluded beach. ”I don’t recognize this place...” Her observation falls away softly as she notices the thickness of vegetation. Perhaps they had accidentally found a new island? Something even more remote and feral? Isobell looks to her man and rolls her shoulders in a shrug. ”Maybe we should go exploring...like when we were younger.”
    Reply
    #4

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge
    of how much to give and how much to take
    Ivar enjoys being reminded of Isobell’s time as queen, and perhaps that is why she mentions it. He likes those memories best of all, those early experiences helping to shape his particular taste in women. For a moment he pictures her as she’d been that day she’d discovered what his bite had done to her. She’d been wide eyed and panicked, driven to seek him out by instinct.

    He misses the panic, sometimes. But he enjoys these fissures in her scales far more, the way they’ll swell to hold the foal inside. He cannot have them both, not with Isobell. Though he has killed her before, she remains the only creature he’d not do it a second time.

    That does not mean he is not tempted, of course, especially not when she bathes him in compliments. Ivar’s touch has been gentle, but as Isobell turns down to look at the beach, he nips at her hip gently. Perhaps they can repeat the night before…but no. Exploring, she suggests, and Ivar bridles the lust (for a time).

    “As you wish,” he says, standing up in the warm sand. Taking advantage of the four legs he now stands on, Ivar steps closer to his mate, brushing his white muzzle in the soft place just below her ear, where the scales are smaller and more sensitive. 

    “Where shall we go?” Ivar breathes gently against her cheek, his voice barely audible over the crash of waves. “Land, or sea?” That he offers a choice at all is indicative of his pleasant mood. Ivar rarely wears this four-legged form, far preferring the water. But sometimes Isobel does like the land, and though Ivar suspects it is a remnant of her previous life, the life before he’d made her kelpie, he allows her this small thing.

    @[Isobell]


    and i'll use you as a warning sign
    that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind
    Reply




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