something somewhere out there keeps calling
SEEKING RAKUEN
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Pain. That's what echoed through the dark master's bodice. With every step, the tellings of a forbidden act of love moved through his muscles, pulling them taut, strumming on them. But Darcia would never show it. Having been taught that only the strongest survive, and those who show pain are surely the weakest, the monster was not going anywhere near that break of face soon. Sleek black fur rippled over his shoulders as he passed the boundary line, walking back into his own territory. Boy that was a fucking wonderful thing to think. HIS territory. Not Ajax's. Not Ul's. Not anyone's but his own. A crooked smile passed over his features as he pissed on the sidelines, marking just where he knew it would be taken hint of. The smell of blood soon brought that look to a quick end. The dark pharoah lifted his mug to the atmosphere and inhaled. What he would give to have blood running under his talons once more. Mis-matched orbs moved to the source of the stench and he followed it carefully, a ghost over the freshly fallen snow. Sure, Bright Moon was not plentiful in the sense that other areas (ex. Saw Tooth or Abendrot) were... but Darcia would be patient with the land. It had already been through it's prime when Satowra and Tamlin had ruled it. He would do nothing to push this territory past her limits. Perhaps it was best for her to just sleep for the time being. Laying low never hurt anyone-- in fact, it saved more. Darcia was a patient wolf... a wolf who needed to heal himself before he healed any kind of problems with a pack. So it was probably best that Bright Moon stayed in an unresponsive coma for a while longer. There was no rushing necessary. But just because the King felt a paternal emotion towards the land did not mean he felt the same way when around others of his kind.
It was Iso who had broken the skin of a hare, releasing the sweet syrup of blood into the heavens. With winter coming to her strongest time, prey was scarce. Not entirely "gone" but even Darcia was slimming down. Not that that wasn't a good thing. He was more handsome this way, more easy on the eyes of others, be they male or female. Though he preferred the latter. Antoher encounter with Iason... was not something he anxiously looked forward to. When he spotted the femme, he did not approach her immediately. Instead, he watched from a distance as she delved into her meal, spilling precious crimson to the ground as one who was starved would. Then again, those who are truly pained by hunger would not allow even a smidge of blood to be wasted. Yet here she was... Darcia waited another moment before he decided his choice of action. Seeing as she was on the ground, paying no heed to the character in the shadows, he moved with elegance and grace towards her, allowing himself to touch on a twig or two so that she may know that he was indeed approaching. When he reached about four feet from her (and he took extreme care to make sure the measurement was just right), he stopped, duo-toned portals taking her in. Hot breath, low voice, strong gaze... you would think he was hitting on her-- hah. What a joke. Darcia was a king of many faces. But there was only one true one... and that was a dangerous face to play with-- only Iason had seen such a palette and he would be the only one to ever live and tell of it. A storm is moving in from the northwest. The wind whistled around the duo, touching on bare tree branches, rubbing the arms together... in front of her, the demon was untouchable. He had a softness to him, but it was a deadly sort of softness. Surely he was capable of embracing another, of whispering sweet nothings, of bestowing kisses and bite marks that were to mark one as his own... but to anyone and everyone, it was all just right out of reach. If anyone came near to it, a gun would be held to their skulls, finger twitching on the trigger. Then again... that damn idiot had managed to twist the gun right out of his grip, seduce him with just a look, and take him. Darcia flicked his plummage behind him, cutting the thought in half. He need not think of his fall from grace. To this wench in front of him, he was still the same as he had been. And indeed he was. He would always be.
darcia
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