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04-07-2016, 03:46 PM
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Rikyn
The cold of her skin is noticed after his words still on the salt laced air, the pure snow smell giving the mists that cling to her skin a sharper note, one that melds with the cold wind that tears white caps upwards across the face of the sea. It covers the metallic tang of his blood in the sand below, or the saline stench of his sweat, so that all that remains is the sweet, grass smell of his breath against the winter of her skin, the gossamer silk strands of her curled mane.
He doesn’t notice the shudder of her figure beneath his imposition, not like he notices the burning cold of her strange eyes meeting with his own, that she, like always, is afraid of nothing. Perhaps it is only the curse of the wings on her back, her brain barbaric and animalistic, her soul, as all souls of hybrids and pegasi, eternally writhing in the agony of being two foreign beings at once: the unicorn, keeper of the earth, and the sky bound bird. Such a conflict would leave one stupid to the notions of danger, because what was danger to a creature which defied the very laws of nature? Perhaps, though, it was that she was, quite simply, brave. Her words as her pale eyes hold his own flaming aureate ones are soft, almost devoured by the croon of the wind and the steady thrum of waves against the shore, the pounding of his blood in his ears. The trembling of his muscles are visible, the urge to grab that pretty white ear despite her patience with his foolish youngness growing into an uproarious clamor the longer she looks into his soul with her weird gaze. That she still doesn’t seem to understand that, sometimes, the obstacle rears its big ugly head up and bites you clean in two is something Rikyn has very little time to consider a reply to (his thoughts muddled with her cold skin and the volatile rage that crackles against the ice wall she provides). The determination of her hobble as she steps to the side and marches back towards the cliff face is a sight that, surely, an endearing one, to many who see it. Rikyn, on the other hoof, loathes being mocked by crippled freak, loathes her ignorance of his natural born dominion over her, and absolutely loathes what she says even more than either of its previously mentioned mates. He wants to cut her into ribbons as she hobbles on by him, like she isn’t some crippled freak all alone on the beach with a fucking bad ass. He hadn’t grown up any?! At least he knew how to mind his own business when, obviously, someone was having a bad day! A disgruntled and savage snarl breaks from his mouth, the sight of the Edge above her all that restrains him from slicing the tendons on her otherwise useless legs (though he does pull forward to snap his teeth at the flick her dismissive tail). "Oh, go choke on hemlock, Erthë," harshly cajoles the unicorn at her turned back, "I didn’t ask you down here, now did I? No. I didn’t. You thought like a little girl that maybe, oh just maybe, if you came down here and batted your lashes we could be friends." The sarcasm, the mockery – it covers the bleeding of being as very isolated as he is. "News flash, you nosy little bird – we are not, and will never be, “friends.” Sorry reality has disappointed you so much, you naive, intrusive, self glorifying twit."  |
