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Post by WHIPSTER. on Jul 11, 2015 21:07:09 GMT
❝HAVEN'T LOOKED TO HEAVEN IN A LONG TIME❞ The days were growing longer as spring tolled on, and soon summer would come. Richor loved the rains that came with these passing of seasons, and it had quickly become a favorite pass time. He had grown up in Tathra, had learned to chase storms better than anyone around. It was a good skill to learn, and his father had been avid to teach him. It made things a little less boring, constantly moving homes to chase the next biggest storm. The smoky black bastard had been back in the mainlands for almost two weeks since his last adventure — he already fiend for more. He just couldn't sit still in these parts. The grassland and it's cool breeze was a nice change from the suffocating heat of the islands and beyond, Richor quite enjoyed the change of pace. Even so, it would not be too long before he spotted the next angry cloud and be off. All of that months travels had done a lot to wear him down, though. The bastards bones ached just slight, he had to walk slow to avoid major pain.
Being by himself was not so bad, he thought. Richor traipsed the grassland, picking up the sweeter of the grasses and dancing in the rest. He was usually not so spirited, but his voice was still quiet. No hoops or hollers, mere silence as his near black eyes stared intently around. The bastards ears were always flickering, listening carefully, sometimes even being flat out nosy. He can't help this much. Richor slid his body to a stop, mud clinging to his black feathers and white underbelly to stain him once more. He was used to bathing more regularly than normal. You couldn't expect a man with white to want to be dirty. Then again, he was obviously no normal man. The splashed bastard grinned to himself then, blocky head raising into the air to take a strong huff of a breeze as it passed. The tension of the air had changed, he realized quickly, betting that someone had just stumbled their way off the edge of the forest and right into his earshot.
Richor did not speak. He shook out his thick neck and nickered gently, soft baritone and almost lyrical. Whoever was here had to be friendly somewhat — he was not yet harmed or bad mouthed. Actually, his company seemed rather quiet. And rude, actually. The bastard turned his eye, questioningly, wondering when this stranger would speak so he could properly acknowledge their existence. He did not like knowing things. Names, physical features, confidence level... It meant something to him. Richor ignores the horrible banging in his chest and just keeps a smile on his face, severely patient.
❝UNITED WE STAND, DIVIDED WE SHALL FALL❞ OPEN | 000 | COME LOVE HIM
RICHOR |
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2 characters
73 posts
ottilie
halloween
I only dream of your ankles brushed by dark violets, of honeybees above you murmuring into a crown.
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Post by RED on Jul 12, 2015 14:33:41 GMT
WOULD YOU LIE FOR ME? CROSS YOUR SORRY HEART AND HOPE TO DIE FOR ME WOULD YOU PIN ME TO THE WALL, WOULD YOU BEG OR WOULD YOU CRAWL STICK A NEEDLE IN YOUR HUNGRY EYES FOR ME Argent is not used to feeling his own heartbeat. Usually, the muscle resides somewhere in the back of his chest - perhaps dusty, its song muffled by muscle and ichor and skin. But now, it pounds stubbornly against his ribs, and somehow up into his throat. He is holding himself in the posture of a predator caught, hairs bristling, absolutely still under the shade of a low-hanging tree. (There is something strange and attractive about this picture, an warrior whose skin glows with gold, a severe and dangerous beauty that cannot be ignored.) Though his heart feels like its own storm, beating a sharp staccato that never pauses, his lungs barely move, breath held in the middle of an inhale. He has misstepped. Some calculation has gone wrong, and now everybody around knows that he is here, alerted by the sharp sound of a stick breaking under his weight. The brown-eyed boy does not move, but he observes; the forest is a quiet, rolling tide around him, flickering in shades of sunlit gold and green, and the constant, simmering white noise of the ecosystem around him. Nothing changes. Still the beating sun, still the leaves hissing like a thousand snakes. Argent forces himself to relax, gathers his legs beneath him with shoulders slumping back into place, each muscle unwinding mechanically.
Slowly he moves forward, watching the ground as he moves to keep silent. The flow of muscles that moves him toward the edge of the forest is like water under his golden skin, a mark of the proud and troubled blood that runs through him. He has the fine lines, the thick hair, the slight sociopathy that makes him, truly, his mother's son - and the grandson of Halloween.
But - no one here knows this. (He reminds himself of it, over and over.) No one knows him. He doubts they have heard of Nerissa or her father; he can lay no claim to a land here as he could to Bear's Den. The land around him is unfamiliar, and he moves through it with the air of someone who is obviously out of his element. Some of the weaker parts of him are aching for his home, and for his family. But that is far outweighed by the promise of glory, the adrenaline that surges through him at the thought of war or the sight of blood. Argent is not afraid to make a name for himself by himself; in fact, he has been salivating over the idea of it since birth. Some men are born to love, and others to crowns. He is not afraid.
Argent is not afraid of anything.
And he is no one's son anymore. This is home. His blood is his own.
The forest breaks open in front of him suddenly, the trees peeling away on both sides until they flatten into golden grassland. He squints against the light, black lashes beating butterfly kisses across his cheeks, until a blurry dark shape appears across the field. Argent's head jerks up, thick sable curls slipping against his neck. The shape shifts slightly, calls out.
He steels himself - straightens up, flattens those deep brown eyes into something cold and impenetrable. Closes the distance with a few long, slinking steps. Hello?
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Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2015 23:17:32 GMT
Run boy Run. Running is a victory.
Run boy Run, the sun will be guiding you.
Always remain aware. Always remain downwind. The shadows are your friend. Hiding isn't always weakness. Know thy enemy. A soldier carries the words of their mentors deep within themselves, echoing about in the vast caverns that create the whole. It was no different for Leonidas, though he tended to hide more often than not these days.
Breathing slowly, calmly, he remained still and stiff in the shadows of the Eastern realms tree cover, the edge of the sea just yards before his shinning hooves. There were two present that he knew of. One in the open, comfortable, alert, at home, the other blundered through the woods up wind from where Leonidas stood watching. The pair seemed to notice each other, but he kept a distance and cover, at first, unsure if he was willing to enter this engagement. There was no need as no stallion, or righteous mare, had chosen to claim this land as there own. Leonidas was not yet ready for the feat, though he stuck close to the east for future purposes. At this time there was no use in declaring such things, however, and so he chose his meetings carefully.
Things today were looking interesting, though, and as the strangers met in the sea, Leonidas listened intently and calculated his entry. When the stallions were close to each other, and farther from him, he emerged, quietly, silently in most aspects of the word. He didn't say anything, but continued to watch from his new position.
Words: ###
Tag: @whisper @red
Notes: herro!
Thanks to ❥Megz of Adox and GS
Photo credit: @annie Damhof Photography, Netherlands |
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Post by WHIPSTER. on Jul 14, 2015 3:49:17 GMT
❝HAVEN'T LOOKED TO HEAVEN IN A LONG TIME❞ Richor smirks to himself as the stranger speaks, a cautious hello that peeks his interest. The voice matches the face perfectly as his dark eyes trailed every crease in the boy's face. He is already writhing with excitement for a chance to speak and let his loneliness wash away. And he's fancied quite a few women before but there is something about the strangers intense gaze that draws him in like the moon as it controls the tides. The splashed bastard keeps his ears circulating, he's a much better observer than a speaker. It's been some time since he last used his voice. But, he lets a few more moments of silence pass as something catches his nares. The scent of someone else comes quickly. Someone lurking just beyond, probably stumbling into their arms as we speak. Richor shifts his hips and rests on a back hoof, looking to Argent once more.
“Yes?” he asks calmly, word slow, head high and cocked ever so slightly. Everything about him is currently composed, but the smoky black stud feels exposed where the new stranger approaches. It's a common mistake to just openly march about two other stallions — but Richor is not vicious outwardly, he did not stand off to anyone and this boy (man?) before him seemed darker, but tamed in some way. The draft bastard shook his mane out again, slowly swinging his rear so he could face both fellow stallions, eyes first laying upon the second comer. The three of them, he noted, were somewhat similar in color. They were strong built. Richor was a bastard son with a drawl in his walk from his lengthy bodice, yes... Similar, but much different. None the less, it didn't matter. Both were handsome. All three were silent. Richor thinks for a moment. He's always far too lost in thought to keep up a conversation but, he doesn't want this one to end. He has had no fun quite yet.
The smoky black stud clears his throat and licks his lips. He's not a predator, but appealing as something close to would not hurt him. Maybe it would help him, even, in regards to keeping his guard up. Richor was not too cautious when it came to himself, but something about this mixture of testosterone. His body was vibrating. What good fun today would be... He refocuses on the situation at hand after seconds of more silence, patiently waiting for someone to say something. “My name is Richor.”
❝UNITED WE STAND, DIVIDED WE SHALL FALL❞ RED & @nala | 000 | COME LOVE HIM RICHOR |
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2 characters
73 posts
ottilie
halloween
I only dream of your ankles brushed by dark violets, of honeybees above you murmuring into a crown.
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Post by RED on Jul 14, 2015 21:05:19 GMT
WOULD YOU LIE FOR ME? CROSS YOUR SORRY HEART AND HOPE TO DIE FOR ME WOULD YOU PIN ME TO THE WALL, WOULD YOU BEG OR WOULD YOU CRAWL STICK A NEEDLE IN YOUR HUNGRY EYES FOR ME Argent is trying to be suspicious. He is trying to stay awake. Greasy white clouds are smeared across the sky above them, and his skin is warm with sunlight, and he should really be more on edge, but there is something about the man in front of him that softens his heartbeat from a drumming to a whisper. It is a strange mixture of suspicion and curiosity - his skin prickling uncomfortably, but eyes locked on the steady, strangely beautiful gaze of the stranger who stands a few feet away from him. Argent finds himself measuring his breaths, varying his velocities to test whatever he is feeling, but that sudden sharpness in his chest seems like it's here to stay. He exhales slowly. Inhales, waiting for something, anything, to break the weighted silence between them.
And then - ruined - not how he wanted it, but the exact opposite, some loser infringing on whatever is crackling in Argent's throat. His head jerks up, snapping to the left as the stranger approaches. Chin raises, sable waves whirling and twisting across his neck, he zeroes in on the intruder. The prince's eyes are narrow with suspicion, tracing the lines of this new body. Something in him is already saying no - that it should not be like this, the vast field feeling so tiny, an offbeat possessiveness toward Richor that he is struggling to push down. Argent has not questioned his heart in a long while, but he is doing it now. His thoughts feel slippery. He notes, without really noticing, that he and the new man look almost the same - that dark gold-tinged skin, eyes the color of upturned earth, only those few inches, those tiny curves, marking them apart.
He finds himself meeting Richor's eyes, asking a question. What exactly it is can be debated, but he knows it is born out of jealousy.
Finally, the first speaks his name, jerking Argent back to the present. It is perfect and strange, like nothing he has heard before. The prince clears his throat, meeting both pairs of eyes evenly. His voice is a rumble, silky and dark as it spills, slowly, from between his teeth - just the one word. Argent. At this point, neither of them deserves more.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2015 20:26:21 GMT
Run boy Run. Running is a victory.
Run boy Run, the sun will be guiding you.
He didn't hide the fact that he was intruding on the situation, and as he received a glare from the closer of the two stallions, he knew his place in the crowd. Leonidas walked evenly, with a slight half pass towards the pair in the sea, waves crashing on his legs and leaving little grass kisses just around knee length. "Leonidas." He nodded, coming into ear shot.
They were an interesting group it seemed, brought together by chance or fate. Whatever you called it they were acquaintances now, no matter how the beast Argent liked it. "I don't believe I've seen either of you before." His bass boomed through the air, hanging in the light humidity around them as he paused and relaxed a reasonable distance away. It wasn't as if Leonidas was born here, but he had been spending a lot of time in the east as of late. It wasn't everyday that you met someone knew in the vast open meadows of the territory. It wasn't often you met anyone at all these days.
His hip flexed as he propped a hind leg up comfortably. He was half tempted to taste the sea, but he resisted, an uneasy feeling bubbling in his veins as the stallion seemed to continue his un-approving look.
Words: ###
Tag: @whisper @red
Notes: he has little to say >.<
Thanks to ❥Megz of Adox and GS
Photo credit: @annie Damhof Photography, Netherlands |
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Post by WHIPSTER. on Jul 16, 2015 23:48:47 GMT
❝HAVEN'T LOOKED TO HEAVEN IN A LONG TIME❞ This situation is tense. He can tell by the way the sable prince stirs, he can't quite pick out why though. As it deepens, Richor's dark eyes turn toward the third stallion, who is toned and handsome and rogue. He looks like he follows no Gods, believes no myth. This is an assumption. He does this often when he observes. But it is preferred over speaking or over thinking. Argent is uncomfortable, and so parts of him strain against forward, fluid motion. But Richor is not rude. He cocks his head and pricks his ears forward as Leonidas speaks his name and stands strong as ever. The smoke black bastard pauses a moment to admire the view, there is a strike of lightning in his dark, almost blackened eyes. He's quickly becoming excited, likes the way electricity spikes throughout his veins. It helps that his blood is hotter than a Volcanoes innards. Troubled times are ahead. Let him enjoy this.
“The pleasure is mine.” The smoke black bastard speaks softly, nodding his head into slight bow, because he would like for this to work in his advantage. By the end of the day, he wants Argent wrapped up against him. Richor wants to dance at his side and watch the sunset. It's always been pretty women and booze and cocaine freckling his cheeks. This time it is about a boy who would fill a void inside of him. He chews the corner of his lips, attention back to the third company, Leonidas, who is looked at in a much different way. The bastard arches his neck and glides a few steps closer, cautiously, to not alarm anyone but to move to breathe, break tension. Richor flags his tail slight and crooks his head, speaking to them both as his voice stings the air. “You are wrong,” he replies absently, chocolate eyes falling to the field and admiring the view. “I was born here in these lands of Tathra.
Care to admire the view with me?” He asks because he wants this chance.
❝UNITED WE STAND, DIVIDED WE SHALL FALL❞ RED & @nala | 000 | COME LOVE HIM RICHOR |
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2 characters
73 posts
ottilie
halloween
I only dream of your ankles brushed by dark violets, of honeybees above you murmuring into a crown.
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Post by RED on Jul 24, 2015 12:02:42 GMT
since my muse has left me I'm just gonna withdraw from this and let you two continue!! sorry guys
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Post by WHIPSTER. on Jul 24, 2015 17:36:22 GMT
@nala continued or nah? c: we can say Argent ran off, and continue with these two - because I think they'd be weird friends that have no label. let me know!
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Post by Deleted on Jul 24, 2015 23:01:50 GMT
I'm game! Whatever you'd like to do! WHIPSTER. I'll get a reply up soon! |
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