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10-10-2015, 02:16 PM
Vestiges of rawness, of bitterness, clawed down their throats and out into the air: alive and reborn, seething and simmering, varnishing and rasping and growling amidst everything they’d seen and done since they’d all parted ways. The rancor was a harsh, unrelenting, beating heart, howling into the wind, spewing embers and venom, nasty, vile toxins, and he should’ve thrived on it, given way to its merciless, chaotic semblance – but where his father had mastered the realm of anarchy, Erebos had only borrowed its essence in brutal, barbaric times; not when his beloved friends unraveled and unfurled their fangs. His fractured soul bent in pieces, his head turned low, shallow and grave, wondering how and why everything had to go so wrong, why things couldn’t have stayed the same, why they had to grow further and further apart until they simply nettle one another and broke apart. In the midst of Aithniel’s fiery bellowing, something that had enticed, allured, and beguiled him since their very first meeting (when she didn’t want to be taken away, piece by piece, feather by feather), and Rikyn’s savage explanations, he became the quiet, composed one, melded and molded by something foreign and unknown. He didn’t give way to the burning edges curling against his veins. He didn’t shift or shudder or fracture when they all spewed and raged – because he’d already been that angry little boy amidst the gallows, yelling and shrieking and swearing vengeance upon the beasts who crossed him – and it would never be these creatures, those he cherished, those he loved. But Rikyn wasn’t like that: bursting and conforming and desperately trying to contain the rancor lodged inside his throat, but it stained the walls, the puddles, the flattened lands. Everything came in sharpened, keen, blunt edges, and while the prince leaned closer to him, notched his maw across growing locks, because he knew about trying to be brave, trying to be stalwart, trying to become something someone would admire – he knew it wouldn’t end there. The lad’s poise remained, accepting his friend’s sentiments and regards. But Aithniel wasn’t like that: fueled and massacring and burning fortifications, entreating brutal movements, motions, and phrases - he became punctured, lacerated, and torn down again. The clip of her words, the bestial surge of her heartless, embittered tempest clung to his skull and threaded through his membrane, so every moment, every syllable, shot a stinging barb straight into his temple. Of course I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone! It said so many things all at once: he was worthless, he wasn’t worth knowing, he wasn’t necessary, he wasn’t vital, he wasn’t a part of her life anymore. The fragile toil erupted a fierce chord in his frame, and he could do nothing about it. It stung and it bled and it boiled through his thoughts, his sentiments, and all the days he’d left behind, searching for her, searching for them, all of their lost, little souls, and how much time he’d wasted trying to foster something that could never be there again – she didn’t want them, she didn’t need them, she didn’t care at all. Why should she? a piece of him muttered through all the hollow granules and the embittered strife. She’s a daughter of a God. But his words spoke volumes; strong and enduring, unwilling to be cowed or daunted, unnerved or intimidated, slinking past the bounty of his sadness, slithering amidst the soulless refrain, sliding through the heady, overwhelming throng. “That was a year ago, Aithniel.” The scion’s eyes bore into hers, raising his head, invoking all the durability, all the persistence, all the perseverance his kingdom expected, ending the first stroke of his speech with an inquiry, a delve into the unknown, a curious tilt, a roaming into the infernal warren. “When have I let you down?” Had he, in some uncharacteristic way, forgotten about her, driven her into ill will, pierced the mighty sanctions of her presence? “When have I told you what you should become?” Erebos stared, irked and irritated, bristling notions growing despite his composure, despite his forbearing patience – exasperated by all the vicious accusations thrown their way when he couldn’t recall doing anything of the sort. He wasn’t going to be punished for something he hadn’t committed. He didn’t deserve all the heartache, all the twisting knives, all the darts thrown in his direction - he never left. He never fled. Then, to Aithniel’s turning back, to her shift of impudence, he forged one more oath, taking her apology and solidifying it back into the emboldened air. “That’s up to you. I’ve always been here. I’ve always tried to be your friend.” He paused, still watching, still indomitable, reaching and reaching for the stars even when he knew he couldn’t touch them. “I’m glad you found a place to belong.” OOC;; --- TAG;; @[ ] "talk talk talk" |
- table by Niki -
@Rikyn @Aithniel
