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01-31-2016, 11:15 PM
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Gull!
underneath it all, we're just savages He feels the knife drag and twist as it sinks into Deimos’ flesh, and he grunts, trying to keep his grip on the hilt. Though the beast writhes away before he can drive the blade deeper, now it drips properly, wet with his enemy’s blood. Triumph spatters hot and red across his face, and he grins around the dagger. There, he tells Tiamat, chest heaving. There. The unicorn charges forward, but he is already dancing away on three legs, a savage smirk stretched across his face. The gash on his thigh still throbs, but he ignores the pain—it is Tiamat’s pain that he wants to feel, her agony that he wants to hear. Look, he taunts her, Look what I’ve done! Yet she says nothing. The blood seeps from the wound he has inflicted, but to his surprise, she does not scream, nor does she cry: she only blinks long and hard, pressing her lids together until the storm has passed. When she opens them again, the once-gentle eyes are as cold as moonstones. Not a word escapes her lips, but he can feel her disgust. It’s in her pale stare, in the unspoken accusation that hangs between them. Do you think I’m a killer? he asks, his mocking tone only meant for the pair of them. She looks away. ANSWER ME! he roars, nearly losing his footing in the sand as he backs away from Deimos. He can feel the rush of his enemy’s onslaught, but he prepares to dodge and strike, his knife at the ready. The blue mare remains silent. Come on, Tia, he snarls, wake up. We’re all killers when it comes down to it. Him, me…even you. He is gripping the hilt so tightly now that his jaw aches, but he only grinds his teeth harder into the leather in his anger. His life was not enough to pay for theirs—not for Ma’s, not for Muriel’s. Who is she to judge him, when she doesn’t know what he has lost? “C’MON!” he screams around the knife, goading her, goading Deimos, goading both of them—they’re one and the same. And then the dark unicorn is upon him. The scream dies in his throat as Deimos’ magic seizes him, and he stumbles badly, pitching his weight to the right. The stolen pelt, loosened from the fight, slips from his back and onto the sand, but he barely notices. Blackness swims at the corners of his vision, and it is all he can do to keep on his feet. His muscles are trembling, his breath shallow—it is as if all of the life is being sucked from his body. Deimos’ pounding hooves thrum, then segue into Tiamat’s tinkling laughter. All right, she coos, let me have it back then. "talk talk talk" OOC: I missed the time slot for this roll (ty time zones), so unfortunately Gull forfeits. The hide has slipped from his back, just wanted an IC way to close this out! |
@Deimos
Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!
