Scythia

users currently online

The Storm ---
The Lightning ---
The Cloudlings ---
The Winds ---	The Thunder ---	The Rains ---

The Trove

---

Next Judgement

TBD

Some like fast and some like slow
IP: 50.47.0.174
Posted on March 30, 2011 at 03:58:02 AM by Paparazzi

Ear swiveled slowly as the pale mare approached, unmoving even as she spooked back, obviously surprised by his position, his coat some how managing to camoflague him. Eyes rolled in their sockets to peer out at the intruder, watching her from the corner of his eye. Nostrils puckered as she made motions to apologize, air rushing from his lungs in a disdainful snort, the only response to her words falling on decidedly deaf ears. Sunlight continued it's ever rising path, creeping into the shadows that held him dear, burning across the dark blue skin, drawing beads of sweat from the skin beneath as he stood bathing in the radiation.

Her question caused something inside him to snap, twanging like a rubber band as he whirled to face her. The lip curled, near snarling expression taking hold of his features, the citrine vanishing into the folds of skin like a drowning man beneath the waves of an unmerciful sea. Teardrop shaped ears, swaths of lavender darting across the midnight blue base, slicked back to his skull, expressing his distaste with the situation. Dark eyes were hard and unforgiving as a granite wall, sneering down at the ink dripped mare.

What, interesting? No. I most certainly am not.

Dark tangled banner slashed at his haunches in annoyance. He was used to the stares, the jaws on the floor, the attempts at hidden laughter. He wasn't a toy, a freakshow simply put here for one's entertainment despite what one might think because of his oddly colored coat. He had no stories to share apart from having managed to snag Rapier from her comfortable home, no scars to bear to the world, flashing them in an attempt to get someone to question. No, his scars were internal and metaphorical, spilling bile and other shit with each and every beat of his heart. He was a man torn apart, half healed scar tissue tearing open anew with each breath he took, the well sprung ribs complaining at the effort. He was an unfixable golem, bound to servitude until he crumbled to dust. She would not be the one to repair him, not matter what magic she could call to her fingertips, no one would. He was the broken character, the man happy dying in the streets, ignoring all offers of warmth of sustinence. Tones were sharp, succint as he finally spoke again. Stained enamals, worn with the years of use, snapping off the words as surely as they snapped off foliage.

Run along now, I'm not your boyfriend nor your plaything to sit and oogle all day.

Turn off the lights and now I'm gonna film it
Turn on the night vision like she's Paris Hilton.

Replies:

I may be bad but i'm perfectly good at it - By Beatrice March 30, 2011 at 01:19:00 PM
Show me yours, I'll show you mine - By Paparazzi April 8, 2011 at 01:47:13 PM
sticks and stones may break my bones but whips and chains excite me - By Beatrice April 8, 2011 at 03:43:26 PM

Post a reply:

The Monarchy
Reign	Kings	Queens
December 2nd 2010 - January 20th 2011	None	Sasha
January 20th 2011 - July 15th 2011	Taboo	Sasha
July 15th 2011 - Current	Taboo	None

Name:
Subject:
Message:

Link Name:
Password To Edit Post:

Accept the fires from which I came ;;

The Storm

The Lightning

The Cloudlings

The Winds

The Thunder

The Rains

The Trove

Next Judgement

The Monarchy