09-02-2021, 04:43 PM
As the water reaches across each part of her, knitting together what once was torn apart, Skandar’s eyes reflect the soft golden glow like molten sunlight. He should have asked her a different question, he realizes too late. Had he known she would be opening to answering (a thing that he never would expect and now, as she allows him to see inside her mind), he might have asked something quite a bit different, a bit more specific. He craves direction and purpose, found solely in her guidance since he was only a colt, and he craves it now - a mission, a task, anything. What is her plan for Obscene and how did he, her skinwalker, fit into it? Is he meant to be as loyal to Obscene as he is to her? Is it all a trick? Is he meant to be a secret assassin or simply a spy?
What does she want from him? Certainly, she knows he’d give her anything - anything at all - without hesitation. Leading her to the waterfall hadn’t been something needed - she could have made the venture herself, yet brought him with her anyway. Was it to test him? To see if he still will become anything she wishes, anything she conceives? He refuses to let himself linger on the thrilling hope that his necessity in her life is built more on his likeness to a certain dark god or in the way that destruction came easy to him. There is nothing more to him than that, nothing more precious to her than his unique usefulness and willingness to oblige to each treacherous thing she may suggest.
Aela whisks him into her memories, torrential in its clarity as it fervently presses against his mind. The memory itself is quick and uneventful; Obscene makes it clear his wishes while an indifferent Aela regards him, unphased as if he had simply asked her the time of day. Skandar blinks, slow and methodically, finding something foreign wrapping like a viper around his chest. The mask of his father fades away like a shadow, flickering into the indigo, violet, and orange markings of Skandar himself. When his skin stops shivering in pieces against each other, his flaming eyes settle hotly into the cool blue of her own, a befitting scowl on his face.
“Are we to use his affection for you against him?” The words are ice, clipped, and emotionless despite the way his eyes burn like a raging fire. He could not - would not - address the specifics of what Obscene had said - how it alludes to the fact that she would never give herself to anyone, or how knowing the answer would only solidify that she could only look at him in the same regard.
A means to an end.
The thought is tortuous, setting his blood on fire.
“Or shall I kill him?” Because he certainly couldn’t kill her.
What does she want from him? Certainly, she knows he’d give her anything - anything at all - without hesitation. Leading her to the waterfall hadn’t been something needed - she could have made the venture herself, yet brought him with her anyway. Was it to test him? To see if he still will become anything she wishes, anything she conceives? He refuses to let himself linger on the thrilling hope that his necessity in her life is built more on his likeness to a certain dark god or in the way that destruction came easy to him. There is nothing more to him than that, nothing more precious to her than his unique usefulness and willingness to oblige to each treacherous thing she may suggest.
Aela whisks him into her memories, torrential in its clarity as it fervently presses against his mind. The memory itself is quick and uneventful; Obscene makes it clear his wishes while an indifferent Aela regards him, unphased as if he had simply asked her the time of day. Skandar blinks, slow and methodically, finding something foreign wrapping like a viper around his chest. The mask of his father fades away like a shadow, flickering into the indigo, violet, and orange markings of Skandar himself. When his skin stops shivering in pieces against each other, his flaming eyes settle hotly into the cool blue of her own, a befitting scowl on his face.
“Are we to use his affection for you against him?” The words are ice, clipped, and emotionless despite the way his eyes burn like a raging fire. He could not - would not - address the specifics of what Obscene had said - how it alludes to the fact that she would never give herself to anyone, or how knowing the answer would only solidify that she could only look at him in the same regard.
A means to an end.
The thought is tortuous, setting his blood on fire.
“Or shall I kill him?” Because he certainly couldn’t kill her.
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Aela