|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed May 30, 2018 8:38 am
Destiny City made a habit of putting on a serene face — of furrowing its troubles into the cover of night. The redolent night air spoke nothing of the city's quieter habits, nor did the historic district's ambience. Cedar trees grew and spread their canopies to catch the silvery moonlight. Under them, aged buildings with their painted porches and vibrant verandas peered out at silent streets. Few wandered at the devil's hour; the neighborhood remained still and peaceful. The shops that lined the area each sported their 'closed' signs save for the few that made their biggest business at night. Each building's tooth jutted high into the air to gnash at the sky.
Faustite crowned one of these teeth. His thin legs stiff with humming energy, the restless captain paced to no effect. Visions vibrant and vermeil coated the otherwise drab Rift and left their stain on his mind. He couldn't parse what was seen, even as it matched the scanty memories of his last visit. Faustite couldn't call them desperate fever-dreams anymore, not with the gold-splintered vial as evidence. Not with continuity brimming in the same gilded hands of his dreams. Not with the same jostling disconnect between what he saw and what existed.
So he continued to pace. The air was hot and still, but grounding. The concrete rooftop remained firm and flat under his metal-heeled boots. The clack of his pace was a clockwork constant; the world assured him of its normalcy, its benign indifference to the youma captain's reeling thoughts.
But the world took proof of its unsubtle constancy a step further — blaring out from quiet night was an auric brilliance intense enough to set him on edge. He remembered the Citadel then, great and yawning and terrible and deep and oppressive, as the shriek of Order sent his senses bristling. He kept those halls ever at the forefront of his mind; there they would stay until this stranger passed him in the night.istoleyurvamps sorry about the wait; had to set some stuff up. lmk if anything needs to be changed!
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu May 31, 2018 6:59 pm
Having to parse the usual rabble of destiny city from the unusual rabble was not often hard. You just figured out which had energy radiating off of it and what didn't. However, that in itself posed an issue- where do you direct your attention- the people who could kill each other sans powers, or the people who killed with powers? It was a moral dilemma castor often was left grappling with in the red light district and so, after a certain time spent there, he needed a break, seeking less volatile areas to meander and attempt to keep free of conflict. Easy jobs as some might say, but, easy did not mean without any merit. On occasion on nights where he roamed a portion of the city less known to hide the darker things of man, there would be a being or creature that would rise to do some sort of harm. They flickered on the fringes typically, picking off those foolish enough to stray just too far from the paths, the lights that kept them seen and known. Victims of their own ignorance, people became prey, and their attackers would take their fill. That was the way of things, the nature of beasts and of men. Castor had come expecting at worst this night, perhaps a bar fight or someone lost and lingering too long next to darken doorways. Yet the burn and bitter taste of chaos ran over his tongue as he breathed in the night air. It was not the ash like foulness of a youma, nor, was it entirely the metal tang of an officer. It was a strange mix, rust and iron that left his mouth dry. The warmth of the night was not in his favor, yet he pressed towards the energy, curious and cautious. "Well." He spoke first, eyes taking in the sight of the humanoid before him. They held features of a youma, but few youma held a human form. Another officer down the path of no return then. "You're a new one. Not often your ilk venture far from the herd." No, typically, those afflicted with a youma had some form of handler or second to leash them as required. Yet this one didn't, not that Castor could sense. "Any reason you ventured out alone?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jun 07, 2018 10:29 pm
The one who approached sported a uniform spartan in appearance; nothing within it spoke of his sphere. The colors — muted blues — provided ill hints. Zaffre orbs stared back at him, embedded in leather, looming out above polished metal. He looked more suited to battle than most. He looked older than most, too. The face he found was well-developed past Faustite's own adolescence, with a jaw hewn with identity and stern features to match. He disliked the casual loftiness implied in the man's uniform, and he ground his teeth at the stranger's tone.
My ilk. The phrase stuck like tar on a metal rim. Faustite tightened his jaw through the rest, the thin cords of his neck standing at full attention.
Faustite traced his nails along his thigh in wanting restlessness. "Many reasons," he said, capitulating to a simmer. Smoke puffed from pipes with every draw of breath. "More —"
Faustite froze; his words hung in his throat.
Around him stood greco-roman columns, scalloped, cut from heavy crystal. The gathered crowd was a solemn one; he tasted their grievances like hoarfrost on the air. They gathered, shoulders straight and arms knit with muscle, legs locked in a soldier's stance. They waited at the great marble slab of the forum where more columns flanked a commanding presence. There, equidistant from those pillars and at the fore of the stage, stood the prince.
He drew breath to speak. The crowd waited. He waited; he warmed his hand on the quickened throb of his heart. Then the words came,
thin and filmy and ethereal. They melted into nothings before ever reaching his ears. Breathless, he licked lips for a taste of what to say. A witty retort, a scathing diatribe, a demure acquiescence. None came for a while as he blinked away a thousand years from this life. Still, the stranger stood before him, different now than he was in that farcical image.
"I met you before. Somehow." The memory pulled its fog over his mind. "In a forum. Who are you?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 29, 2018 9:09 pm
Castor studied the man-youma before him like one studied any animal that was a threat, a fellow predator. Smoke bellowed from the pipe like orifices with each word, and he wondered if perhaps he was a new type of youma fusion- it was no often he encountered youma of a more mechanical form- and if he did, they were more of the possession type. A hybrid of machine and flesh that was purely beast. To be a part of a man was new. A new spoke of innovation- a test perhaps for a weapon in development. So Castor studied and considered how best to speak to the new being before him. At first, he thought this would simply be another encounter ending in violence. A cry of rage against his mantle and cause, followed by a need to use his magic and attempt to end a life mired in the opposing force. Yet the man paused- frozen with a look Castor was not to familiar with. It was a strange reaction- one that piqued his interest and his hope perhaps this one might be reasoned with. "A forum." The words spoken with a level of incredulity. He'd not held forum in a long time. Much less one on earth. It was unlikely this agent was one of his- supposedly if he was, Castor would feel a resonance. Yet- he was never close per say to knights on a whole, not even his own. "Can't say I recall you- if it's because you are as you are or because of other reasons I am uncertain." He bowed his head in greeting, eyes never taken from the figure. "Prince Castor of Hail. I'm admittedly surprised you don't know of me. Most agents want me dead these days."
|
|
|
|
|
|
iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jul 14, 2018 5:42 pm
"How poor of me to be unacquainted." The database said nothing of a Castor, Prince of Hail. Years of failure to report, perhaps — or Castor ended all who met him. Whispers should've reached them, however, if not from Castor himself. Word of a prince with white hair, of Greco-Roman dress. Unless he lied on par with his grace. The captain searched the declared prince warily, poached for some sign of conflict. The bow bristled the agent terribly. No sign of sphere came down on him, however — no spoken word in opposition.
It would be so easy for a prince to end a captain, he supposed. No harder than a general coming down on a barely awakened page. Even teleportation would come too late. I so wonder what your reasons are, Prince.
Distance preferred, even at his own expense, Faustite measured a pair of steps backward. His hands clasped before him, interlaced, assured in their lack of doing. He spared a low nod in taught etiquette. "Faustite." A prince would already know rank on feel — to add his title implied ignorance more than etiquette. Still, he fought through the white-blind brought on by auric prevalence. How did they stifle so?
Breath drawn, smoke reached tortuous toward the night sky. "But I wasn't Faustite when I saw you. Someone else." Someone bedecked in clockwork olds, one hand vermeil and the other raised in a poorly known salute. Someone distant and unremembered. "Someone attending a forum under a wrong sky. Someone who saw romance in columns carved out of ice and marble." Were senshi not privy to these fever-dreams? Was it only the tragic who drank what they found that suffered these flashes? Did they mean nothing, despite their world brimming with austere magic?
"You were — and weren't — you."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jul 15, 2018 5:55 pm
His mouth quirked upward in a near smile at the man's admittance he didn't know of Castor. A blessing in some ways then- being known as the b*****d royal who killed agents without care hardly helped fuel civil conversations. A step back and the grin fully formed as Castor raised a hand slowly to the ice laurels on his brow. "Would it help if I removed the tiara. Or well, the laurels? I don't intend to kill you. Not outright at any rate. You're no Tanzanite." He removed them, slowly bending, eyes fixed on the agent's form as he set it on the cold ground. "There, my one hit kill shot for youma is out of my hands. You can relax, marginally, now." Wings shuffled behind his back as he shrugged. There would be little else he could do to stop the man's retreat and nervousness and show his goodwill. Trust was not affordable, especially between one fused with a youma and one who housed a crystal. "I will clarify though, I'm... confused as to how you claim you know me. Knights can see into their past. I was under the impression you agents lacked the connection to your wonders and thus... such visions were outside of your grasp." He hesitated before moving, arms crossed behind his back, chest thrust forward, legs apart. The stance he once took when speaking to his people, orating orders or issuing proclamations. "Apollon. Galenos... Perhaps Agapito or Kyros is whom you might remember. I have had many other names while also being Castor, but I am always Castor. It is only my physical host that changes." There was a curiosity in him. If this agent had memories, was it a sign that his corruption had spread to his wonder, or perhaps, that is wonder was reaching out to him, attempting to heal that which was slowly devouring his starseed alive? "What else can you recall? I may not be able to... grant you more or clear visions, but I am bound to not turn away those seeking to know of their pasts."
|
|
|
|
|
|
iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 16, 2018 9:31 pm
Tanzanite. Who is Tanzanite. The thought harried him as he watched the prince's gesture. Slow, methodical, purposeful as a sloth reaching for food. A strange portent it was, but a needful one — 'safe' was a meaningful, costly word. 'Truce' needed its harbingers.
Brought to purview was the prince's ability to destroy youma. That any had such an ability was notable — and doubly dangerous for the youth held together with youma and metal piping. He eyed the laurels, unassuming as they sat on warm concrete. They reminded Faustite of the evening's unending heat, but it would not do to undress in front of a social call. Much less an enemy, even if they spoke with a measure of courtesy to one another.
Faustite stilled his need to move for only so long; fingers flexed and worked against one another. He saw no reason to overstate his worth as a curiosity to this blazing figure, who condensed his being effortlessly into a migraine. "I'm no knight. I never had a Wonder. I don't know who owns these dreams." Mine or someone else's. This isn't the first time.
He drew breath in a thin stream of smoke, then reluctantly closed eyes to the senshi pinnacle before him. Bracing only came naturally. "The memory was a breath — like sensations grinding together." He recalled, clearly enough, the chill of crystal colonnades flanking him. His own hands, untouched by black, pressed to the shoulder of someone before him. A warrior by look, with skin tough as the leather on his person. The seconds amalgamated into one singular experience, with it only fits and snatches of the speech cast over the crowd. So much was lost to that cacophonous moment, like so many words on a letter burned. "Apollon was the name." Faustite opened his eyes.
"Why do you say it's my past? How would you know?" It could've been anyone's. I never took a sword through my chest.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2018 2:00 am
The man hadn't a clue. Castor might not know much about how knights worked, but, he did know how starseeds worked, how lives recalled to one another and were bound as a being and a purpose and mantle that no mater it's master, would remain unchanged at it's core. The tiny smile broke out at Faustite's denial at being a knight because if he wasn't? There was no other explanation as to how he had a memory of the past. Theft of a live was not new, but to take another's memories, their past and their rank was not possible- not without direct purposeful desire to divest one's mantle and rank, and to have the blessing and magic of the cauldron. Even then- such a thing would have not manifested itself as benign as a memory. Power was what the mantles carried, as to be of chaos and carry the relic of a knight past was without in Castor's mind, an indication that perhaps, their wonder called to them stronger than another. "I am Apollon. Was and am now. Though, that name isn't my name anymore as that body is also, no more." Castor paused. "If.. that doesn't make sense allow me to explain." It was a simple trick to show the crystal, a flickering jagged thing in the shape of a flower before he dismissed it, the cold that it called leaving behind a small mist around the hand that held it aloft. "Just as the Castor who was called Apollon before he woke to his power, I share the same starseed he once had. Rebirth occurs with the death of our physical forms, and we are each reborn anew so once again to claim our mantles and fulfill our purposes. Each life grants us new memories, new bonds and experiences, yet, the ones of our past, the ones of our lives before still remain inside us. A life before the life we have now. And a life before that one, and a life before that. For a senshi like myself, these memories come upon my world, where I am closest to my power's source, where I am most connected. For a knight, that would be their wonder. If you knew this, then you are more versed than some of your peers; but to know my name, to know me without being a knight- This makes you a most curious case." Castor grinned, white teeth betraying his delight. If agents saw perhaps the past, then granted, it posed a risk, it also posed perhaps, a promise. "The memories of a past knight would be something carried only by the knight once more. No other could take such from them lest they had passed their mantle to another- and even that is something rare and nigh impossible without deep cause and direct interference from the cauldron itself. No, I would take you a knight reborn, perhaps, being given glimpses of your past as a means to call you back to your wonder. To call you home." Castor's smile faltered for a moment. "In when I was trapped in the depths of chaos, I could still hear my world's song, the subtle magic that marks it a part of me, and I, it's living vessel. Even the rift cannot stop our souls from knowing what they are; who we are." He motioned to the laurels. "I know I am Apollon. Was Apollon. Death and rebirth isn't kind when it comes to memories resurfacing, even if they can be..clarifying. For me, that just happens to be letting me know what a spear feels like sticking out of my back. Very unpleasant, I assure you."
|
|
|
|
|
|
iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2018 4:53 pm
So ends Christianity. The captain followed Castor's words and motions, a fist curled boyishly against his own hip, his face placid for all the ways he accepted the magic in the world, and the advent of past lives, and the intimation that ten, a hundred, a thousand more lives lay ahead. Thick lashes leveled over the glare in his eyes from a nearby street light, peering like a beacon out of the dark. Castor's words formed the melody to its own hymn — that they were ever beholden to their station.
To recount life and life again — to remember even one of the many lives before — sounded like its own burden. And surely, as Castor explained in the case of Apollon, it was. To recall harrow and hardship with no physical claim to it, no claim within one's current life, no connection but through a scientific impossibility, it gave Faustite pause. Senshi and knights were their own Wayback machine. Their own internet archive loaded with scanned-in memories, taken without permission from the dead, copyrighted, indexed, filed away for later use, and always open to more fodder. The next Castor would have memories of this Castor, by whatever name suited him now. The next prince would peer into this prince's life with the knowledge that everything done was his and not-his.
What a tangle. Faustite searched the ground in thought, where a thousand tiny pebbles and flecks of dust swept the roof. Where old rainwater condensed down into black smudges at every corner, creeping like the darkness in a poorly-lit room. But I have more unanswered questions.
"To call me home," Faustite echoed. "That's a tall order." To say anywhere was home but where he'd already been posed a challenge, an intricate weave of multi-lifetimes where one place was shared across each. He knew no name for that place. He knew no appearance for it. He knew only the name of its charge — a name no different from Apollon. A name of body, not station.
Faustite swallowed. "I'll sate your curiosity." His hand rose in the air, fingers cutting away the nothing until a puff of smoke sounded out an object. A vial, thin and stoppered, with a thousand-thousand fine, golden cracks in the glass. Rolled under light, it looked as spider's webbing. He held it out, fingers splayed; an offer if Castor was the kinesthetic type. "I found this, drank it, and saw…" He shook his head. "There were other memories the first time. Like aftershocks, they happen when I look at someone. Like you."
Momentarily his hand drew away and spelled through the air once more. A second vial appeared near the first, identical but for their crack patterns. "It seems consistent.
"These memories belonged to someone named Velvet. All of them. It's the same pair of hands every time — and you're telling me that Velvet is another me, a different me, from some other time. That my starseed had however many bodies before mine." So that's the bitter tragedy behind eating starseeds. He whetted his lips.istoleyurvamps not at all, it was primo!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2018 7:17 pm
Castor enjoyed the sound of his own voice, that wasn't news. He also enjoyed talking about the past if only because he loved it. He moved his past lives, the people in them all, no matter they pain. They were precious memories to him. Reminders that no matter the trials he faced now, he'd faced others and survived those. Whatever came at him now, he would still survive. The man seemed at war with what he'd been told, not that the senshi blamed him. It was rather heavy handed, and few under stood the implications immediately. To find out one might have had a life before this one, a life forbidden from you simply because you were a thrall to another wasn't.. a kind revelation to have. "It's not as tall an order as you think. I can't claim to know how you agents feel, but I image it is like when I was bound on Alkaid. The power that fuels you remains, yet something covers it, smothering any feeling from the source. I know the feeling of being directly bound, so to suddenly be bereft is..." He cringed at the memory, wing jerking in a phantom pain. "It is unpleasant for me. Yet, you are in Metallia's thrall, and in not knowing what it is like to be anything but, your starseed's power and your wonder are indistinguishable I would guess from her own. Again, I can only speculate. Metallia's brand of chaos is her own, and as such it works outside of certain.. expected perimeters." The vial's appearance drew his eyes, curious but wary. He'd heard rumors of objects that carried gifts like this. Imbued with abilities to aid. "...Huh." He watched it glow, and with the appearance of it's darker twin Castor hummed low. Two objects alike in purpose and effect. Not the call of a wonder but- something that granted a vision of the past. Perhaps some for of distilled energy? A means of temporarily lifting the veil of chaos upon them. "Thank you. I am afraid I cannot offer insight to what those objects are, nor, where they come from or what they contain." But they were no doubt powerful, to craft visions. No false vision would have been able to call him by his old name, to recall his home in such detail from nothingness. "Tell me, have others found these vials? Seen the same vision as yourself? Or have they been unique? Different? If you all were to share a single past entity, then it would be sensible to assume someone is reaching out, yet if they be unique..." He did not take the vials, only looked at them. Trust was a two way street, and while the youma fused man had given him a measure, he would not be so bold as to risk damaging something as valuable and precious as a way to see into their past. "Velvet.. is not a name I recall immediately. Perhaps, after this encounter, I might search my world to find an answer or to, try to find the name of your wonder. But- calling a memory is.. difficult. It is like sifting through photo graphs, attempting to find one that you know exists, yet can never seem to find until you are no longer looking for it." There was a sense of obligation he realized. "It is up to you. As a royal, I am unfettered in limits to how often I might return to my world and remain there. I am quite certain you haven't lied to me- Apollon is a name only those who knew my past would recall, much less that I hosted actual forums. You were a knight I am certain- it is a possibility I might be able to find who you were and what mantle you wore. But, this is not something I would offer without letting you know what this might entail." Reaching down, he picked up the tiara, placing once more on his head. "If your superiors discover that you have been seeing memories of your past, they might seek to further corrupt you, and with a youma siphoning your life and fusing itself to you, this could be.. detrimental to your own existence. If you know of your wonder, they might attempt to force you to go there, break past it's defenses and barriers, corrupting it, and your starseed in a manner I have come to understand is nearly impossible to repair, if, at all. Knowledge of your past is not a terrible thing, but in the position you are in now, it could become a tool to be used to harm you- even kill you. For if your wonder is destroyed, there is a chance you would be as well... and thus never return to the cauldron." "It is still, however, an offer I would extend. Understand, I am your enemy, that is unmistakable. Had we met in different manner, I very well would be attempting to kill you. However, I am also a prince, and one duty I am sworn to uphold is aid those seeking guidance and freedom from the thrall of Chaos. Yet, it must be a choice one makes. You were a knight, and if that knight was Velvet, then you too, are Velvet. Individual, but also the same. So Faustitle, the choice is yours to make. I cannot promise answers, but, if you wish for me to try, I would."
|
|
|
|
|
|
iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2018 8:21 pm
Alkaid. Faustite's eyes widened a touch at the name. Ascendant General Alkaid. Do you know how she became, Prince? The words remained, brimming, burning their slow circles into his tongue. They changed shape over the time of Castor's explanations, his confessions, and soon became other words — other questions as urgent as the last, always begging to spread their way down into this new well of ignorance. From there, he knew, a thousand questions would spring from a hundred would spring from ten would spring from one. There were no answers in this finite lifetime for the rest of the universe — even from a point as small as Alkaid. As their connection. As Castor's moments spent in bondage.
More information was taken in quietude, from speculation on distance and its effects for Metallia's agents to the golden vials and their purpose. A direct bid for answer broke his silence. "I haven't met others who drank them. It isn't a call — the memories were too personal for that. Think of watching someone's home videos. Someone you don't know. That's what it was — what I saw."
But beyond Faustite's answer was a question so gravid and so demanding that Faustite froze, a mix of panic and wonder and a peculiar nostalgia — a private affair much like his old daydreams, like sitting through English class mid-fall with the teacher rambling on about Hamlet and himself departed for daydreams of being asked to a date, of all the shock and euphoria and weight that held in his own heart — and he shared only a private, unreadable smile with his romantic's sensibilities. His gaze again touched the ground. I hadn't dreamt of a weightier question then. Not like now. But it's so much more a risk to ask. They don't parallel.
And it's so much more a risk to answer.
And yet Castor added his own disclaimer. So much more a show of recognition on his end, he marched dutifully through all the hallmarks to peril. His superiors' vested interests, this attachment to a wonder had-not-had, the myriad threats of death on the horizon. Death had been a friendly visitor, hadn't it?
Guidance and freedom from the thrall of Chaos. How noble. His smile hadn't faded. "I'm not usually left speechless."
Slowly he worked words to the fore of his throat. There he smoothed them with thought and time, shaping sentence from a jumble of thought and perspective and feeling and reaction and action. "Cavorting with a Prince to learn about the past — if I haven't mistaken your offer." The smile faded then. In its place came heat, blistering and dominant, in all its rush for action. The sped rap of his heart against his bone chest laid out the morse for those actions, yet it was all so much sound and fury.
His attention settled on the silver laurels. "He who allows himself to be whipped, deserves to be whipped." His open hand closed into a fist with smoke escaping between fingers. When opened again, the vials were gone. "It's irresponsible of me to say yes — but one driven by their responsibilities is slave to them. Show me your planet. I want to see this forum."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2018 9:34 pm
His wings shuffled behind him at the firmness in the agent's tone. Not someone seeking then, but the past coming to where it belonged in the present. Memories unique and owned by the one they reflected. The vials were something to speak to others of. If they might help aid those seeking answers, to know their origins and how perhaps to obtain more might benefit those seeking to purify. Or at least, aid in offering a glimpse into what might have been once upon a time. The lure of being denied was often a powerful thing, and what were people but a contradictory species? Yet the hesitance remained in the man with the metal lungs. Understandably, Castor nodded in silence as Faustite dwelt on his own thoughts. It was a breif moment of shared nothing- the implications, the impacts, the risks and rewards- all of it had to be taken into account on one's own terms- And Castor had begun to learn a bit of patience. "You're afraid I'm guessing?" The tiny smirk of schadenfreude graced his expression. "If it helps, you're hardly the first agent I'll have 'cavorted' with. Though, the 'cavorting' was bit more.. Licentious. This is purely diplomatic. I'm not one to seek out companionship anymore, though, some might not believe it, with my particular history. In any case, yes, you have't mistaken my offer." The wings fanned out suddenly rustling before smoothing, resting again on his back. A sign of his own unease and tension needing to be dispelled. Like an involuntary tick, the marks of his status were not always helpful. "I'm not sure if you mean I am a slave to my duty or not but- you're not entirely wrong. At any rate, a fair warning- if you do attempt to harm me, you will find yourself removed- much to your own suffering. So, please do not. Plus I rather like having all my blood inside me you know. Very useful." Holding out a hand it felt a bit ridiculous, but if anyone had told him he'd be escorting an officer fused with a youma to his world that day, he'd have laughed. Ah well, such was the nature of the cosmos. "It's a painless trip, but we will have to touch and trust one another a fair measure."
|
|
|
|
|
|
iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2018 10:04 pm
A thin smile disrupted his adolescent features. He shook his head, lightly, then returned his attention to the starless wings on the history-garbed man before him. "I meant what I said — cavorting. I mean that the secrets we take home with us are as private and damning as licentiousness. It's a dysphemism."
He thought for a moment, his breaths a heat suspended on still air, then continued. "It's fear, it's faith, it's doubt. It's all of these and more. You would know the rest." You who pries agents from their mother.
Mild-mannered the night was, yet it felt too hot to one possessed of fire. If senshi worlds were beholden to their spheres to some capacity — whether literally as Castor preferred or figuratively — then he hoped Hail's dominion was as cold as it sounded. With all stakes aside, an icebox sounded a fair trip then. Yet, as he spoke, that fire stoked hotter. Some fire had to exist within him — nothing else explained the ever-present smoke — but why burn hotter now? Was it the consent to hang his life on another's wall like another mistaken painting?
The prince's warning needed no sonance; a nod of his head implied acceptance of terms readily. Dying now was a waste, fighting a royal asinine, throwing away his caution duplicitous only to himself. He accepted the proffered hand with fingers uncharacteristically hot for a human. Fever-tempered, but light by touch.
Up close, the white hair and dark wings formed an otherworldly contrast. They were their own harbingers.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
