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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


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    [private]  Ding dong
    #1

    She came at him like a fury, a possessed thing, a river goddess with whom he had broken an accord. As much as it went against everything he knew about his own nature, he allowed himself to be punished. He had only defended himself, baring his teeth, kicking and striking in Bardot’s direction but not attacking her in return as he was pushed into the shallows and up onto the bank. The fight sounded much like their union had, squeals and snarls and screams filling the air. He’d tried to brand her in his clouded lust, she had branded him in her fury. 

    In the end, he had stared after her as she disappeared, a bead of crimson flowing down the contours of his throat. A dozen other wounds wept darkly across the stallion’s blue skin, many more bruises and contusions (far fewer than he deserved) scattered across his monstrous frame.

    She does not belong to him, but if there was ever a woman that should…



    Tunnel does not journey deep into the forest anymore. His orbit widens day by day until he paces the river for a week until he spends another digging into the snow of the meadow to find a dinner of grass and broken gravel. Each night the blue stallion moves among others and does no harm. He pins his ears and looks unpleasant, bleeding shadows, but feels fewer and fewer of the old irresistible impulses to take, plunder, or destroy. He notices the cadence of conversations, the play, and the flirtations between strangers in a way he never has before. The further he moves from the dark and the once magnetic pull of the deep wood the more that unfamiliar awareness steals over him. He stands on the border of Loess the evening he begins to guess that the madness that had gripped him when he went too far into the Forest might have altered his mind in some way. Something must have broken.

    She had told the giant black pegasus that she was wintering in the Pampas and in the dark of night Tunnel steals into the grassy plains unseen. He is virtually invisible in the full dark. Though it is not late, winter shortens the day and gives him many more hours to wield his rogueish ability. Finding Bardot once he arrives in the Pampas is not difficult, though there are many scents of flowers here, almost all are gone old and faded. Among these many scents, her’s stands out to him, he knows those flowers well now and as their perfume grows more distinct so does his craving to be near her. There she stands among the bent grasses and trampled snow, and when he drops his dark camouflage he is close enough for her to continue making additions to the scars upon his hide. “Do you know, I couldn’t see how beautiful you were that first day.” Rumbles Tunnel, reaching out to draw his muzzle over the leopard spots dappling her neck.

    Tunnel



    @Ciri
    the heart moving through a tunnel
    in it darkness, darkness, darkness
    #2
    Bardot
    I know what sin is

    In the weeks that follow she tries to forget him. She is kept busy enough trying to understand this court she had found her way into, the new role as Obscene’s sister and he as her estranged little brother. Politics in particular had never interested her before but she listens to the whispers and can’t help but be just a little intrigued. Had it been like this in the sisterhood? Something similar she feels if not the same.

    She wanders and gets to know the other residents. She visits her regular haunts except for a certain spot along the river, preferring to now head further upstream. She discovers other fascinating men and it’s interesting, how quickly most of them expect her to want something from them. Her only want is to know them, their stories, all those redeemable qualities that might make someone forgive through the most unforgiving situations. To understand who and what they are and what that meant for her.

    Why was she this way?

    The worst of the markings she had asked Obscene to remove. She had felt his questioning gaze on each blemished bite mark and jagged cut but had said nothing, silently knitting flesh back together and smoothing it out. Still, she couldn’t seem to part with all of them and so a few pink wounds, still mending, linger around her withers.

    She had never expected to see him here. She senses his shadows before she sees him from where she stands alone amongst the frozen flower fields. She is breathing in his scent before he has settled before her and for a moment she thinks of striking out at him again, still restless and upset by their last encounter. Instead, she pivots and dips her head as she pulls out of his reach, turning her back on him. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” She lies as she begins to stalk off through the frozen fields, not bothering to look behind her and see if he was following.

    She knows he will.

    They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
    html © dante.


    @Tunnel ew sir get my name right  Tongue
    [Image: BQjeje-Bardot2.png]
    #3

    He wears his scars, having no one to take them away and no interest in doing so. Tunnel does not possess her vanity, nor does he understand it. Other men might want perfection, expect to find it even but Tunnel is not other men.

    Bardot is never what he expects her to be. He knows what makes her tremble, but he hasn’t come here for that and so he tries another tack and finds it has no desirable effect. She moves away from him without hesitation, stalking off into the plain with an unyielding posture he has glimpsed before. Darkness descends over his body again before he follows, drifting quietly after the buckskin. Tunnel has never crossed into any of the lands outside the common areas and has never even bothered to think of the politics that hold them together or divide them. Who decided that this place was set aside of whoever would claim it? Fairies? A god? Someone now dead and nameless whose only legacy is now some arbitrary boundary? Will he start to want to live in a place like this as well, instead of carving out a savage living in the forest?

    When did he begin to have so many questions.

    Annoyed, the stallion follows Bardot like a specter until he grows impatient. Moving up beside her but still faded into the darkness Tunnel falls into step with the Amazon. “Not even interested in finding out why I’m here, little unicorn?” That pet name reminds him of things that make his breathing hitch, but he snorts and continues to follow her.

    In the dark this is a rather boring place. Not the kind of place he would expect her to choose. Again, he is reminded not to have expectations of Bardot. “Or are you looking for someone to throw me out for being the monster who gave you what you wanted?” How full of questions he is. How eager to taunt her. The shrouded stallion drifts nearer, his muscular shoulder bumping Bardot’s. The darkness drops away again, leaving him cobalt and black and nothing more. “Throw me out then. You don’t need help. He pulls ahead and stops in front of her, too close once again. Tunnel’s lip twitches and his grey eyes search her golden ones. He doesn’t know what he looks for, only that he wants to see what lies there. 

    Tunnel



    @Beth & @Jerry
    #4
    Bardot
    I know what sin is

    What they must look like, the bright figure crossing over the frosted plains with rolling shadows coming up behind her. Her pace never slows for him as dark strands of flower-jeweled hair whip wildly across her face in the chill winter wind. She’s not running away from him, she just needs a moment to collect her thoughts, and so she continues to stalk through the frozen landscape with no destination entirely in mind.

    She hadn’t been prepared to be his today. Not when that nasty aftertaste lingered from their last rendezvous. The first time he had left her. The second time he had gone too far with the brutal wounds he had left on her. Of course she had removed (most) of them. It wasn’t his violence that had upset her, it was what those markings had stood for.

    Just as she hadn’t been ashamed by the hedonistic act in the river (before he had crossed the line), she isn’t ashamed of her pride in her looks. Everyone in her family had held some streak of vainity as well as that tendency to brood when emotions became overwhelming. It's what makes what had happened that much worse. Mar her beauty, mar her worth. When it came to Tunnel and those times when they might find each other, she had promised to be his and he would be hers. In those moments alone. It had never occurred to her that he might want her for longer, might want more than that. And what would she want if he did?

    Her lean legs carry her curved buttery figure well into the heart of the territory before the shadows finally fall into place beside her. Her golden eyes are sharp and guarded, not flicking to him or acknowledging his presence. He speaks and she cannot help the way the ravaged skin across her withers shudders with the caress of memories that nickname brings. She doesn’t doubt he has caught it and still she refuses to look at him. He tries again, she realizes he is baiting her, and finally halts with an exasperated sigh when he places the bulk of him directly in her path. “You’re right.” She states flatly. “I don’t need help.” She reminds him as the tip of her horn grazes his cheek just hard enough to prick his skin if he should lean into the touch. “I’m not searching for anyone. You can stay, you can go, I could really care less. But you can do so, alone.”

    His stormy gaze finally collides with her golden glare and she can’t help the breath that catches in her throat, looking down and seeing all those scars she had left in the wake of her anger. For a moment she hesitates, extending her soft muzzle to run her lips across one that runs jagged over the taunt bruised skin of his shoulder. At the last second, she pulls back and thinks better of it. This was the problem. This was exactly the problem.

    He hadn’t broken her in the river despite his best intentions to do so.
    But he could. 

    She can see it now, past the flint of his steely gaze. Past all that darkness, all those shadows. He still thinks himself a monster but she disagrees. He's not the creature he thinks he is, something she had wondered at the start and confirmed when she had flown at him in her passionate rage. If she allowed him more than a day, more than those random moments when they came across each other, he would find something she’s not sure she is ready to give yet. She doesn't think Tunnel is the type to place a kiss of affection to her forehead like missing Yan had once done with his mate. She's not sure she wants that kind of relationship (she's not sure she deserves it) but she can't help but wonder what it might feel like. She doubts she will ever find out with him. She's surprised by how badly she wants him to. For a moment she is quiet and then she asks him cautiously, “If you didn’t find me beautiful... then why did you approach me?”

    They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
    html © dante.


    @Tunnel that dry-cleaning bill getting longer  Angel
    [Image: BQjeje-Bardot2.png]
    #5

    No, she needs no aid against him, maybe if he wanted to harm her in earnest she would require saving but like this Bardot is in no danger from the blue mustang. He tilts his chin up, keeping his grey eye beyond the reach of that smoky weapon. That needled point drags against the flesh of his cheek as he raises his head drawing a bead of blood that he watches roll sluggishly down the spire. From there, his grey eyes that have so often appeared flat, distant, and cold, meet her golden ones full storminess that now rages there all the time.

    There is nothing to read in those golden eyes, beyond anger. He has no practice in weighing the emotions of women, at least not any more evolved than anger and fear. There is a moment when he feels that they are about to fall into the motions of what could almost be a familiar dance. Though they haven’t had time for familiarity, for habits to form, to know the ways to disagree with, or comfort one another. If he might ever be taught such things. Bardot pulls back and doesn’t trace the damage she has left on his body. So they do not touch unless his blood settling very discreetly against her brow can be counted.

    Why did he approach her? He has tried more than once to remember. What he does recall is a feeling like letting the darkness fall away from his skin, only so much slower. Tunnel well knows how she looks in the bright sunlight (a sight now more difficult for him to enjoy), her floral scent that he’d found cloying and unappealing on that first day. A muscle jumps in his jaw, his focus dropping to the snow at their feet and flicking back to her dark face. “I’ve thought about that. It was like I couldn’t see you. I could, of course.” Tunnel exhales, it is a loud sound in the quiet stillness of the night, but his voice when he continues is still low and quiet. “Bardot.” He says her name with a tinge of frustration because he does remember that day, remembers how she is given to mocking him when he gives her the warnings he has rarely given anyone. “I’ve tried to tell you before that I am a monster.”

    The stallion turns his face away from her, his other cheek is home to the long scar she had left upon it. “I have been one. Before.” Though he says this he does not want to confess to her those distant deeds committed by a man who feels like him, but was not this him. A man with only one eye open, with only one ear listening, with a mind closed to anything that did not inspire primitive needs, violence, dominion. Nor does he mean to swear he is changed by her hand, though she must be a part of things somehow, it isn’t mystical. Passion has not broken a spell. He wants her to know about this all the same.

    Tunnel



    @Bardot oh look a story instead of a porno :O
    the heart moving through a tunnel
    in it darkness, darkness, darkness
    #6
    Bardot
    I know what sin is

    She watches the droplet of blood ooze from where she presses into his flesh with her horn, watches the way it slowly drips down his cheek and the storm in his eyes and glances away with a small snarl of frustration. A droplet circles around her horn, bright crimson, before settling just along her brow. It disturbs her bright beauty, giving a hint to something ruthless and wild beneath that buttery figure. Her nostrils flare in further irritation as he speaks and she rolls her golden eyes as he speaks in riddles. Her brother might enjoy such things but she did not. As for being a monster…. She looks at the long scar she had left on his face and finally exhales sharply.

    “I know what you are Tunnel.” The words do not come out as fiercely as she would like and she finds herself starting to relent. Just a little. “I don’t doubt the things you have done. Nor do I need to hear about them.” She doesn’t need the details, had tasted that darkness in the way he had taken her. Had a feeling she knew exactly in what ways made him a monster. He was just more open about it, unlike her father. She bites her lower lip, unsure for a moment, before suddenly moving towards him and curling herself against his chest. “I see you for what you really are.” She breathes against his dark inky skin, allowing herself to trace the damage she had done with her lips now as she kisses the wounds softly. “It does not frighten me.”

    She glances up at him to catch that stormy eye. “Whatever you want from me, I shall always give it to you.” She whispers softly. I will give to you so that you cannot take it, not realizing he may have taken something against her will anyways. “But mark my coat again and you're a dead man.” She says with quiet ferocity and nips him sharply across the throat.

    They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
    html © dante.


    @Tunnel
    [Image: BQjeje-Bardot2.png]




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