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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


    [open]  Just like that, tomorrows one day that I'm never getting back
    #1
    Don't look back, nothing left to see
    I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
    There is nothing but endless amounts of time on his hands. With the South gone, their purpose gone, and only scraps of plans before them…

    Here in the meadow at least are familiar remnants. He looks in on the old thicket where he had curled up in as a child, now taken over by a doe and her fawn which he startles accidentally. The old hiding spots of nectar are dry but it doesn’t matter when he now has the power to manifest it himself. And manifest he does because the only thing that seems to beat the hollow emptiness inside of him is the mind-numbing nectar that makes it hard to think. When he is embraced in the warm blanket of the honeyed liquid then he isn’t thinking about Tantalize. Or his son’s eager innocent face. He’s not thinking of Fyr and his field of flaming flowers or the scared face of Sickle or the tears in Bardot’s haunting eyes.

    When he is drunk, the snake is quiet and his failures don’t line up one by one before him. An endless lecture of disappointment.

    He is still just as handsome and beautiful as he always is, despite being sprawled in a disarray amongst the lush spring grass. He will never age, he will never die, and he starts to wonder if immortality is no longer the blessing he had thought it was. Perhaps all magic was a curse after all. Light is busy weaving new flowers into his mane, a task that he takes to with creative flourish, now that they can no longer naturally catch in his mane. The Wisp does his work as the displaced Prince watches white clouds drift in the sky and for awhile… For awhile there is nothing but the hum of the Wisp at work and the warmth settling in those hollow places within his star-covered chest.

    obscene


    Any!
    [Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]
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    #2

    open hand or closed fist would be fine

    --rosemary

    the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

    Her parents' quiet lives never seemed to suit Rosemary. She remembers moments of pure, dark grandeur, beneath the gazes of dark beings terribly and excitedly unknown to her. Blame her father’s shadows or the chaos that runs down her mother’s bloodline, Rose has never been a creature drawn to the light.

    For years, the gemstone woman bided her time. Not necessarily content to remain pampered and comfortable within her family’s loving circle, she offered saccharine smiles and easy, brusque answers to all the leading questions she was faced with. She hardly left home for she was too bored and once she did, she knew she would hardly desire to return. Adventuring as a girl was enough to keep Rose sated, but it was always a matter of time before the shadows around her heart grew so restrictive that she could hardly breath.

    A kiss to her father’s cheek and warm hug with her mother was her goodbye. The pair seemed confused by their daughter’s sudden affection, but neither were terribly suspicious. Years of monotony had dulled their senses to devious intentions. Rosemary knew she would not be returning until she had been sated—or if she would be returning at all.

    Though it would seem that outside of her family’s lovely sphere, there was hardly a thing to stir within Beqanna. Rosemary kept her ears pricked toward all the subtlest of whisperings; and yet, nothing as sweet as her father’s Hyaline plums was able to draw her attention.

    It’s boredom she faces once again.

    And excitement that finds her once Rose feels as if it’s too unbearable and happy family life would be better than this.

    Obscene is as handsome as Molech, as darkly lovely as all the shadows she pursued in the past. The aquamarine of her eyes glitters curiously, then elatedly, then mischievously. Despite being splayed across the ground like a newborn, Rose is immediately interested in the once-prince.

    “Are you having fun or swallowing your misery?” Rosemary purrs, tilting her head curiously. “Smells like nectar, though I don’t know that I’ve never indulged . . . Perhaps I should imbibe to quell all the restlessness inside of me,” she adds, almost like an afterthought, long lashes fluttering in rapid blinks.


    @Obscene
    Reply
    #3
    Don't look back, nothing left to see
    I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
    He is one with the clouds. The weightless feeling inside of him seems to spread until it feels like he is the sky, floating effortlessly over Beqanna and looking down at where he lays in a strange out of body experience. A soft hum of pleasure vibrates against dark lips, the sensation of flowers gently being threaded into his mane soothing and lulling him deeper beneath the amber waves of nectar. As usual, when he gets to this state, his thoughts drift to imaginative places. Ones that tend to lead him towards a certain green and black mare. This time he is wary of the encounter in his mind, still holding reservations regarding their interaction in the Ruins. He had not forgotten the subtle way she had avoided his eye, the gut feeling that there was something he was missing.

    Hazy dreams (they must be dreams) fade in and out and sometimes they seem almost real. Like he had actually lived them, as if they had actually happened. He’s not sure what to make of them or if whatever explanation she could give can excuse whatever she has done, what had happened in their absence.

    The soft swish of parting grass should have been enough to alert him, however his head is so far up in the clouds he barely registers that he is no longer alone. It is a purring voice that pulls him partially from his drunken haze, momentarily chasing away the dark turn he had begun to follow. He doesn’t get up from where he lays, instead his head leans further back until he is staring up into a strangers face. An interesting face, one that swirls with colors and constellations and he becomes lost in that for a moment, how they seem to move across her skull on their own. She had asked him something but it takes him a second to respond, still caught in the patterns that now seem to spiral along her horn.

    It is a mirror image of mischief in his own wild crimson eyes that finally finds hers, followed by a loose smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. “Why can’t it be both?” He drawls, trying to keep her in focus as he squints against the brightness of the sun flaring behind her kaleidoscope figure. Although his reaction time is a little delayed, when she mentions having never indulged in the finer things of life herself, he is quick to remedy that. With the use of his latest ability, all it takes is a whiff of a thought for amber liquid to appear in little hollowed out wooden bowls around her. “Help yourself.” He says nonchalantly, a hoof kicked towards the air above him with a flourish. "Let’s hear all about this restlessness that needs quelling” He says suggestively, glancing away from her with a sly expression sketched along the glittered patterns that accent his dark skull. Light seems to catch on a tangle, pulling harder than needed to free it, causing the dark Fae to snort in irritation and shoot a warning look at his advisor and companion. The Wisp is unusually quiet and he wonders if he's displeased with him. Obscene merely chuckles softly as he looks back to the clouds. Why shouldn’t he enjoy the company of a pretty face after all? It might be just the distraction he needs.

    obscene


    @rosemary

    Timeline Clarity: After the Ruins and before meeting Cheri by the river
    Light isn't actually there, he's just hella faded lol Tongue
    [Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]
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    #4

    open hand or closed fist would be fine

    --rosemary

    the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

    There’s hardly anything that Rosemary loves more than a warm reception to her advances. It swallows her whole, the pleasure of being welcomed by drunken, dark arms. She smiles down at Obscene, pale eyes glittering down at the fallen prince’s slack visage.

    Rose practically purrs to herself when Obscene’s aura reveals itself to her. Some creature’s secrets take intimate coaxing to reveal themselves; and that is just what she does, stroke the little intricacies of the stranger until they tell her what she wants. The shadows behind Obscene’s eyes are deterred by his persistent youthfulness. Something about the way he relaxes now tells Rosemary that despite the nectar, he handles others with ease. She wonders if the charitable way he offers his nectar now is how generous he always is.

    The colors that swirl around him are obscured by the aura’s main shroud of blackness. Sparks of red and gold flash—like falling glitter—effortlessly amongst shadows. Rose cannot contain the pleased smile that splits her lips. She gently settles onto her side, aquamarine gaze deciding amongst bowls.

    “I suppose it can be, yes?” she answers, then sips delicately at the bowl closest to her. The taste is nearly saccharine, but Rose finds herself taking to it easily—proof of her affinity shown in the two big draughts she takes after. Already feeling the slight buzz of early intoxication, she swings her head around to peer at her lazily splayed out companion.

    A small, sensual laugh slips lightly past Rose’s mouth. She cocks her head as she observes Obscene, noting all the small things his aura reveals to her.

    “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she purrs, blinking slowly. She turns her head to clear another bowl of its nectar and snorts at the sticky liquid catching at her throat. “Something tells me you’re even more restless,” Rose adds coyly, eyes twinkling with her best imitation of innocent mischief.

    “I can start. I hate happy families. They smother me. I want to live in danger. Your turn,” Rose says, chancing a gentle nudge at Obscene’s ribs.


    @Obscene
    Reply
    #5
    Don't look back, nothing left to see
    I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
    Aquamarine, somewhere between blue and green. Not quite the ocean of mischief in Aela’s gaze, not even close to the lush viridescent of Cheri’s when she grew angry. He snorts suddenly in drunken laughter as his own sparkling ruby eyes lock into the pale of hers. The way she looks at him gives him the idea that she’s seeing something that pleases her and there is only a foggy second of wonderment at what exactly that might be. Is it the youthful handsome face that she likes, the trails of glittering gold that adhere to the chiseled lines of his face in perfect patterns until it meets the constellation etched across his chest? Is it his drunken humor, his willingness to share in something indecently fun? Or is it something else entirely that he’s oblivious of?

    He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. He reminds himself that he isn’t suppose to care.

    She wonders about his generosity and he would have snorted with mirth at that too. Nectar was one thing he could share willingly, beyond that he was a selfish man. Surely that pretty smile of hers would be wiped clean off if she had seen the things he had done, what he was capable of. His is a world of self-loathing and beneath all his glittering confidence and smoothness lay a desperate boy bound tightly in smooth cold scales.

    Still laying on his back, he watches her settle beside him beneath dark lashes out of the corner of a dusky crimson eye. Amusement sparks there although the rest of him remains rather indifferent, watching as she doesn’t hold back. The sensual laugh that reaches him when she looks his way coaxes a grin of response. He can’t deny that her company, though unexpected, is rather a breath of fresh air. Here was a stranger that wasn’t demanding or expecting anything of him, reminding him of his many failures, looking at him with deserved anger or confusing him with complex emotions that he had sworn all those years ago that he would never feel.

    Her voice, a soft melodic purr, entices his attention and in the haze of golden warmth, he considers what she says. The Fae in him is delighted at the thought of turning this into a bit of a game, it had been sooooo long since he had done something out of pure mischief and revelry. "Something tells me your even more restless.” He doesn’t deny it, the lie unable to fall from his tongue.

    An ear swivels in her direction as she speaks of her hate of happy families. Ah yes, he understands that too. Except, does he really anymore? His own family had been a broken one and there is no denying that much of his disdain for life in general had stemmed from that. But then… He had taken the Pampas. They had become such a strange little territory but what family isn’t a little dysfunctional? Once, he had hated the idea of a happy family because it was a dream that was unavailable to him. That was before he had met the likes of Cheri, those strange dreams still pressing against his mind like neglected memories. That was before he had become a father himself.

    Obsidio’s face hazily appears before him as well as that of crystals set upon a pretty face of black and green and that cold slithering of dread, which had been so quiet and absent since his return, begins to squeeze within him. With her gentle nudge, he rolls back onto his side towards her and wastes no time in dipping his muzzle to amber liquid and greedily inhaling it until the sensation calms. She wants danger and he wants to forget. All the right ingredients that once combined could create something utterly destructive.

    Leaning towards her, his muzzle seeking to find her slender shoulder and lightly trace the path where her colors start to blend together, as if she wasn’t a stranger and someone he knew with familiarity. “I wonder if that's truly what you want.” The words murmured close against her peacock toned flesh as his nose moves up her neck and lingers near the sensitive skin of her throat. “I killed my mother.” He whispers, warm breath against her alluring neck. He hadn’t been the one to spill her blood but it didn’t make him any less guilty of the crime. She would still be alive if it hadn’t been for him. If he hadn’t made Gale aware of her, if he hadn’t struck that bargain, if he had never brought her out of the jungle to the field of wildflowers.

    And because he believes it so fiercely, that guilt and shame wrapped in those sleek black scales, he is able to say it as truth.

    He has not pulled back, still hovering near her throat, as he asks quietly. “Do you still want it... Danger?”


    obscene

    @rosemary
    [Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]
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    #6

    open hand or closed fist would be fine

    --rosemary

    the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

    Rosemary has always felt as if she belonged amongst dark revelry and bad spirits, face pasted with a wicked grin and wild eyes. Such scenes are what she sees in her dreams: chaos, surprise, possession. A secret world she keeps safely cushioned and shielded in her mind, just waiting for the right companion to reveal it to. She doesn't know that Obscene is that companion, but she thinks he might be a curious experience to have along her quest.

    Another long draught and fluttering of her lashes later, Rose flicks her ears carelessly in Obscene's direction. She's finding it harder and harder to control her movements. Her mind slows and she grins lazily. Rose thinks the once-prince must find her as amusing as she finds him, though she wonders if he has the power to perceive as much about her as she has about him. Slowly, the shimmery black, gold, and red of Obscene's aura fades into a blurred mess before entirely disappearing. A miffed frown briefly turns Rose's lips down, but the nectar allows her to easily blink the upset away. Her leisurely grin returns. At least she can still sense his surface-level contentment.

    Curling her head around to stare at Obscene through low lashes, Rosemary watches as he traces the lines of her shoulder. She starts to offer a quick answer to his thinking out loud when he speaks again. Rose stares at him through her drooping eyelids, feeling both exhilaration and something akin to pity. Turning away for a moment, Rose pauses to think, then empties yet another bowl of nectar.

    "To be clear," Rosemary begins to murmur, turning back around to lightly graze Obscene's neck with her mouth, "I have never and will never lie to myself about what I truly want." A low, almost-sultry laugh builds in the back of her throat as she leans into his touch. "I will always want danger," she adds softly, facing forward once again.

    "Are you offering it to me?" The question is just above a whisper, low and strained.

    @Obscene
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    #7
    Don't look back, nothing left to see
    I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
    He can always tell, that moment when they truly begin to slip into the nectars inviting embrace. It’s always interesting to watch and the experience seems different for everyone. What never changes is how those shoulders will unwind and smiles seem to come unbidden as tongues loosen. He matches her lazy grin with his own and she's right, he does find her quite amusing. For a moment she looks at him and her smile falters. What has she seen? Was she simply lost in the glittering gold along his cheeks, swept away by the patterns as he seems to be with the galaxies that drip and drift down her face? Or maybe she had simply seen to the rotten core of him.

    For some reason, that makes him laugh even more. Then she is smiling again and he can’t remember why he had started laughing to begin with.

    The curve of her shoulder, the dark lashes and loose grin. He doesn’t want to think of Cheri but the memory slips in anyways, as it always does. That first time she had indulged in what he had to offer when she had found him after his claiming of the wildflowers. Laughing at him, taunting him. Memories of that first kiss flood into the strange dreams he had been having since his return. Ones of her and him, her wicked laugh, that look in her eyes.

    He doesn’t want to think of Cheri.

    Instead, he lingers close to the pretty stranger. His mouth finding her throat, the dark rumble of pleasure when she returns his touch. Laughter still vibrating against the blend of cobalt-blue across her skin as she speaks of never lying to herself. It’s funny to him because as someone beholden to tell the truth, he often lies to himself. In fact, he’s doing it now. A master of the trade. “I’ll always want danger.” He doesn’t doubt that she thinks she does. However, if she had a penchant for the likes of him (and apparently his friend Crowns)… Then maybe every word she spoke was truth.

    He doubts her though. It's nothing against her of course, he doubts most that have the ability to lie.

    His smile is a wicked thing as he shifts closer to her, rolling once more on his backside until his face is peering up at hers. The red of his eye constricts and there is a faint click of black scales scattering across his sable hide. Drunk and oblivious, he doesn’t even notice. “Maybe I am.” He purrs, a challenge in those depths of red. “Do you believe me?” He asks her curiously, those pointed ears swiveled towards her as he gazes up at her with that dastardly grin. Was she familiar with the Fae? Did she know he couldn’t lie? His question seems innocent enough except there is a hunger in his gaze. A hunger that's not entirely his own. 


    obscene


    @rosemary
    [Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]
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    #8

    open hand or closed fist would be fine

    --rosemary

    the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

    Rosemary has never been drunk in her life.

    It shows in the way her eyelids droop dramatically, the way her mouth curls loosely, the way her head leans haphazardly to the side. The relaxation is not an altogether unpleasant sensation, but Rose certainly doesn’t like being in control of her faculties. Without control of herself, she cannot control the situation around her—and when her surroundings grow out of control, she wonders if she’ll know if that is what she truly wanted.

    Through a hazy mind, Rose watches as sleek scales stretch across Obscene’s hide. She peers down at him—mouth a hair’s breadth from his skin—and matches his grin. Even through the nectar, Rose buzzes with the excitement of having her energy matched.

    In the blink of an eye, the little siren dips her head down, mouth hungry to trace the curve of the fae’s cheek. She leans even further down, first pressing her nose into his splayed out mane then moving ever-so-lightly next to his elongated ears. Rose remembers childhood stories of fairies, but has never encountered one—and does not even recognize Obscene as one, not yet.

    “Is that what you want to hear in exchange for danger? That I believe you?” Rosemary answers, slowly drawing away from the once-prince before lingering at his jaw.

    “I don’t believe in a great many things, but I believe you can give me what I want.”


    @Obscene
    Reply
    #9
    Don't look back, nothing left to see
    I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
    He’s not sure when Light had left. He hadn’t been paying attention (still oblivious to the fact that his companion had never been there to begin with.) He hadn’t been paying attention to much of anything since she had shown up. His Wisp is long forgotten because he’s looking up into her grinning face, finding himself further entranced by her star-marked features and captivated by the way she looks at him.

    A rumble of pleasure follows the trail she takes along his golden cheek. He purrs like a well-fed cat, hiding the depths of red beneath dark lashes as they close in bliss to her wandering touch. More scales follow her movements and that slithering has moved from his belly to his chest but he is lost in the nectar. Lost in her touch.

    This was what he had wanted after all. To forget. To pretend.

    This game they are playing is dangerous in itself but she is unaware of that. Hunger is knocking but he mistakes it as something else, even as the scales continue to mark their claim and the red of his eyes narrows into something serpentine beneath his closed lids. Her voice seems both near and far and he laughs softly as she hovers close to his jaw. Waiting for the moment to pounce on her. “Perhaps I just want to hear the truth from a beautiful stranger.” He murmurs, finally opening his eyes.

    “I can’t lie, you know.” He adds, slurring slightly as he searches her face. Wondering why the colorful markings were now tinged in gray shadows. I believe you can give me what I want. He is certain, in this moment, that she is absolutely right. He thinks he wants what she wants too. That Hunger in his belly stirs and he mistakes it as desire. That constricting feeling in his chest he mistakes for lust. It all seems to blend together now, it all seems the same.

    Reaching up, his muzzle trails along her exposed neck and he chuckles against her skin. When he kisses her there, he is oblivious to the fact that his fangs have shifted out and venom lingers in the bite he unintentionally leaves there.


    obscene


    @rosemary
    [Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]
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    #10

    open hand or closed fist would be fine

    --rosemary

    the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

    There's something so horribly, wonderfully intoxicating about embodying exactly what another desires, even if it is just for a few fleeting moments. Rosemary doesn't know of the serpent that twines slowly and dangerously around his ribs, hidden just beneath his gleaming skin. What she sees is his captivation. What she senses is his hunger. That hunger appears powerfully attractive beneath the guise of drunken magic.

    Everything feels so good. All the tingling in her legs, the muffled feeling in her ears, the warmth in her veins. For the moment, Rose finds it more pleasant than her magic.

    A quiet, lingering laugh leaves Rosemary at the thought of any type of truth coming from her. The only honesty she offers is to herself and even that is a fickle, almost jaded candor. Everybody around her is only collateral to the truth she wants to see in the world. Obscene is no different: just another beautiful stranger wearing all the darkest, prettiest qualities Rosemary likes best.

    "Good," Rose answers. "I don't like being lied to." Her words start to slur toward the end of her sentence, hiding the laughter that wants to color her tone.

    If she hadn't been acutely aware of where Obscene's lips were heading, the little siren would have never felt the sharp prick of the snake's fangs. "Oh," she exclaims, genuinely surprised for the first time in a long while. She blinks slowly, the liveliness in her gaze slowly dulling. "Oh," she says again, voice both surprised and pleased. Slowly, Rose's head drifts to the grass. She lays still for a moment, feeling all the muscles in her body loosen dangerously. A calm, lazy smile lifts her lips, but she does not open her eyes. Her heartbeat slows.

    "You could at least tell me your name before you kill me," Rose whispers.

    @Obscene
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