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Post by WHIPSTER. on Jul 25, 2016 6:24:32 GMT
"everything we had is faded, love
the memories ain't good enough
to take my mind off what we lost,
so I'm stuck here sipping these codeine cups"
It was always satisfying to relish in his work. The victim was nameless, Dracarys never ventured that far into anyone's life. The cold would have, could have, finished the job, but apart of him liked watching life leave another's body. This is what made him stand out: the void, lifeless expression he would wear after the fact. The high, crazy intense, life changing. Nobody else could ever imagine the pleasure where they would see tragedy and pain. The smoke black dragon sifted through the dusty white plain in haste, leaving behind the body, knowing that someone would find it soon enough. It was not a fast paced career, really ... Tathra was not populated enough now to worry about someone finding him. Back home, though, it was harder. Dracarys liked to lure them to the jungle. Here, he could be open. He could savor it, the sick bastard. There was nothing in his way now, coffee eyes beaming bright, the only time you'd see light where darkness crawled,
OPEN. [/font][/div][/div][/div] |
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3 characters
175 posts
Dracken
Fate
touch the parts of me that are scarred from knives, once disguised as open hands
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Post by Kezz on Jul 27, 2016 15:22:12 GMT
In truth, the smoke prince had lived a sheltered life; lingering in the shadows of his father's desert castle, persistent in the absence of sound. From behind closed doors he'd watched nameless faces and faceless names alike pass through the great halls, unsolicitedly guarding their secrets - their pleas, their politics, their whispers of war. He recalled many a cold evening listening to Rhaegar and his General, Reichenbach - observing their measured legislature. As heir to the throne, Dracken had been required to sit in on such councils to "further appreciate and embrace the responsibility that came with power" - but in truth, the prince had suspected it was simply a way for Rhaegar to keep a closer eye on him. When Dracken would catch his father's eye he saw not pride, but instead something closer to discontent. The dragon king had once laid a firm hand on his shoulder - Your head is full of smoke, boy. Don't choke on it. And Dracken had felt, in that very moment, the first real stirring of animosity in his bones.
He was not Lyanna's son. He would never be enough.
Nevertheless - sheltered his upbringing had still been, and so when Dracken came quietly across the body of a young girl he could not stifle the dregs of shock weighing heavily in his throat, nor the bitter taste of revulsion on his tongue. Admittedly it was not the first death he had ever witnessed; Rhoswen, his father's sister, had fallen from a great height one summer afternoon - and Dracken would never forget the way her avian frame had lain against the earth: broken and mangled. As garish in death as she had been in life. But this , now this was something unfamiliar to the dark-skinned man. Murder. A killing. For several moments he simply stared, his disgust married closely to the morbid fascination humming just beneath the surface. And his gunmetal gaze drank in every glint of bone, every globule of blood. But the span of his attention was cracked in two as a gust of wind brought the scent of a stranger up ahead, one that carried too the scent of this fresh corpse. His spine stiffened: the killer was still here.
Silently, he side-stepped the body. The open plain and gentle breeze made the scent surprisingly easy to follow, and he moved across the ground at a pace that was both languid and bold. Dracken wasn't afraid; he did not fear the knives of men, but then, perhaps he was naive. Regardless, on he swept.
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Post by WHIPSTER. on Jul 27, 2016 22:22:11 GMT
"everything we had is faded, love
the memories ain't good enough
to take my mind off what we lost,
so I'm stuck here sipping these codeine cups"
Dracarys did not wait for the other to approach. Instead he started in toward the stranger, intentions clear on finding out who dare follow the assassin. They had to have seen the body ... Why else would you blindly follow someone through barren, cold wastelands such as this? He kept a cool, even face on, stopping a few yards away. Part of him might have suspected the similarities: smoky black coats, dark and leering eyes and being terribly unafraid, no matter what was to come their way. The dragon was never one to assume things, but ... He could assume this one was not so stupid. He had been followed for a reason. What that reason was, was unclear to him at that moment. Carys sucked in and slowly exhaled, sizing Dracken up shamelessly, noting the minor size difference and appreciating the similar ways their bodies compacted but he could not pinpoint where he had seen that face before, if at all.
The dragon's patience waned, stepping forth with his teeth ready to rip apart flesh if need be. Dracarys liked clean-cut kills, but blood was favoured amongst most. "Who sent you?"
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