Earth tumbles and recoils beneath heavy weight pushed in it's thick hide. Alive with the endless pain of icicles driven into skin, the world prepares it's powerful threats of what it is to come.
Frostfall is returning, but not even the strongest may go without it's heed.
Dappled skin laced roughly over weak bones and muscles of power, dusk settles a bursting scene of vibrant colours across an early blanket. Further north, into the mountains and towards the northern sea, everything is deep within the white. Steam rises with wispy fingers outstretched from the mask that hides the face of a monster. A fresh scar is lain upon his neck. There's still blood strained into the gray skin about his neck and to the tips of a short black mane.
What is about his head is firmly placed now, refusing to come off without a good fight. Hours of a head slung about leaves the madman with a nasty headache and certain that if he is to be came across, there would be charges to face.
Thrown to the ground and laid to rest, he dazes. His breathing is ragged and rattles his ribs. Inside the mists and snow, there is a strong lack of life other than himself. He never makes for much of life, therefore the land is void of what life it should hold. Birds refuse to let their songs fill the air and make up for the emptiness. A dark shadow fades over the area as an orange moon settles to the sky lights.
He makes no complaint, only raises a masked face to gaze with almost neon green eyes, to inspect the sights that follow in the sweeping skirt of moonlight. A blink once, a blink twice, and a body shifts the blanket and unsettles it. More will fall soon, and his presence there will have no sign of happening anymore.
Once upon weary legs that shake, his least(but maybe favourite) person comes along for their usual visit. The white form comes as snowflakes fluttering in the wind, golden eyes upon the dark stallion. 'Lonely?' No. 'So our company is nice enough for your liking now?'
Time would say that every time Scinfaxi spoke to Shajake, there was always a question brought to the conversation that the green eyed man chose to ignore. They were typical to be ones that came from the stallion's personal views, and he lacked the need to fish about in his broken thoughts and bring an answer to the table.
I don't care.
That statement alone seemed to be the only sane thought that was ever thought, and let it be set into the history books that it even occurred.


"talk talk talk"

Excile is common to have a reason. One cannot simply expect themselves to be left alone without a true reason and have others understand that being tucked into the mists and cold air means 'leave me be.' A girl will not keep herself away from him, and while he could pass of as a good 'chick magnet' with his bad boy appearance and silent type, if he had hands and felt as if no one would come around later on, he'd have his fingers wrapped tightly about her neck and busy away strangling her. He left them all for piece, and while the last mare to come across him alone was to face a nasty price, that wasn't enough to send this one off.
Tucked deep within a sane section of his transparent walls lays an image of him strangling her and her body burning in the Heart. It could of brought a smile to his face if it wasn't for that damned mask.
Green eyes capture the horn, prying at it. His throat is rough and sore, and he needs the mask off. Once off, eating a bit of snow could quinch his thrist and leave him with the ability to tell her to fuck off.
Before you go asking Unicorns if they would help remove a mask off your head, it is best to try some other way. Leaving a nasty cut on your face after a mishap at the wrong end of a horn would make the ladies lose their reason to be around you. His head swings low, falling beside his black hooves as the front one nearest his earless side goes for the edge of the mask. It pushes against the mask momentarily before finally giving to the stallion's need for freedom.
Once free, he wastes not a second in biting the snow and taking a fast breath without that mask.
Her scent is intoxicating. It widens his eyes and brings his head back to meet her eyes. While he smells like roadkill left in the July Sun, she is the womanly essence of blood and flowers. It makes him interested, heightening his senses and bringing him forward so that he knows she will notice. She'd said something earlier, but he truly doesn't care. The woman smells nice, and that is enough to leave him slightly content though still annoyied about being bothered at such a late hour. There should of been a warning given that masked strangers met at sundown are more likely to be from a horror movie than a lost grandma trying to find her way back home.
A snort moves his head to the right, one ear on the left flopping about in the process. He's the definition of a serial killer from a cheap movie. If he had a knife and a lovely theme song, well, there you go.
"Lee.... Eve....."
Voice clotted and broken to pieces, shattered like a window with a rock thrown into it, his warning would get the squirrel that went in front of his hooves out of there. It stopped short, hearing his call and being confused as of it was. He wastes no time in what seems to have been already started. A swift movement ends in the cracking noise of a broken skull as a hoof is brought up. Scinfaxi, with attempts to be helpful brought along the way occasionally, reminds the madman that she'd asked about a squirrel earlier. It wasn't flying, but changes could be made.
'She asked for a squirrel. Did you just kill her companion?'
He doesn't care to think about what has just been asked, inside his blood stained teeth are down to the creature's limp spine within moments. It is brought into his teeth, held with a death grip as he launches it in her direction. A series of mad laughter could follow this action, making a literal flying squirrel.
'Very funny. How do you think she feels about that?'
Shajake refuses to spend a moment's notice with that question. The Unknown is laughing, a dark, booming laugh finally the inside of the psychopath's skull. His own laughter threatens to make for the border, but never makes it as border patrol steps in and fixes the issue.
"Flying Squirrel?" Hahahahaha...... How comical of him. It's corny though he doesn't understand the meaning of corny and finds this just something that slips from blood stained lips. A smile sweeps across his face as the last seconds of light fade out and leave them in an indigo shade. Here, the vibrant green colours that fill his eyes glow like radioactive material, and he's left to do as much work as he pleases with her.
.


"talk talk talk"

Annoying, lost and clearly idiotic female who stays to poke and proad at the man. His eyes remain about her every action, single ear mounted atop his head accompanied by a scar where the partner once rested hears every single one of her words. She's so irrogant, and all he wants to do today is see the skin that she wears peeled off of her bones and made into a good rug. He'd invite guests over and allow them to walk all over her, and then admire the unique style of her delicate coat. He'd make sure that there wasn't any scars just so that it looked even nicer on his floor.
Whatever she is going for, it gets her no where. The mask swings on it's leather strap around his neck, bouncing against his chest as the squirrel is caught in her. Pleased, he smiles more to her. For once, he's found a counterpart that he could later on have more fun with. There is only one thing that stops him from accepting her now is the horn.
At one point, she almost touches him. His head is filled with the knowledge that this is good chance to lunge out and take a piece of her for him to keep just to himself. The Unknown begs him to do so, and he is such a loyal bastard, but this time loyalty trips and doesn't make it to the finish line.
"Why do you not tear her limb from limb? Are you looking for some better thing to do with her, or is the incident with Half-Eye making you rethink this whole thing? Don't go soft when you're so close to your prize." 'You need to shut up, useless asshole.'
Arguements ensure after those words, the voices in his head fighting with one another. He's too caught up to even notice she did touch him. It sends waves of anger and he swings the heavy, block of a skull in her direction with teeth bared. His aim is towards a soft spot between her ears and eyes, though if it had hit it wouldn't been of a dreadful blow. Simply a teasing gesture that carries a hidden warning.
Her name is Azucar, and like many others she asks for his own name. Snorting, his lips find his name and bring out to her like a bloody head on a platter, just for her to play with. "Shajake." It might as well be the only word he can speak without that dreadful stutter. His voice rises out of the horror movies, dark and deep like shadow voices that lurk in the graveyards where the corpses rise to feed upon the living. He smells like one, so if upon horrible chance that he went into the graveyards with them in there, they'd crown him the king of corpse scent.
Trail of thought going straight back to that damned horn she's bore, he glares upon it. Her moment of truth would within the entrails of her next words, dare she speak them wisely.
"Bay..... Sin?"
Simple enough that she could understand him, he only wants to know if she comes from the damneed place he is so proudly fond of. Oh yes, that's extreme sarcasm. Sarcasm so thick you can cut with a knife and eat it like a tasty piece of cake. That is, if the cake is made with ground-up bones and iced with blood.
Mmmm..... Tasty.



"talk talk talk"

This one strikes lucky, and he's comfortable with her now. Her name's Azucar, she isn't part of the Basin, she likes killing things, she's sort of pretty. Eh, he's not enticed completely. Maybe he's gay? Inside, he's pleased to know that someone is worthy of his time and shares common hobbies.
She doesn't stay with him too much longer after he bites her, tasting the sweet essence of little drops of her blood that barely escaped her when he got a hold of her precious flesh. He was more than pleased with himself. The Unknown filled his walls with laughter, mad and slamming itself into transparency, finger nails clawing for freedom. Scinfaxi finds his escape in a laid back way, appearing beside the stallion where only Shajake's vision can be aware of the solid white body. Gold eyes hold their place on the mare while the mad man's green eyes linger elsewhere. His single ear hears the noises she makes, and at the sound of a snap, the white man winces and fades.
'I never liked the idea of killing.' "Yet you stick around. Time to move out."
More arguements follow, yet this time the man ignores them completely. She comes back with a dead rabbit and flowers. In return of polite gifts, he takes the rabbit and slings it to his withers, holding it there. For the flowers, he takes them and holds them for a moment, remembering the gift he had offered Half-Eye when she came to him pregnant after the rape. Azucar wasn't standing around with his kid up in her stomach and dying to get it out of there, but she was polite enough to offer him something.
Placing them to the earth, and looks around for something he could take down easily and bring back alive. Snakes would already be gone (what kind of girl wanted a snake thrown at them anyway?), and mice would pose a challenge. He looks at the flowers and finds her some, returning to offer them to her. He's never really that patient when it comes to giving gifts, and throws the flowers to her.
While they shower her, he sneaks that weird smile of his into the equation and nods his head once to her in a way of saying that it suited her. "Prit.... Eee.... Uooh..."
He tried, so give him a thanks for that at least.
Scinfaxi chuckles, half hearted but surprirsed to hear Shajake say something of that sort to her. 'So maybe the flowers do make her look beautiful, do you think so?' I don't know.
Those words pain the one who is like a ghost, staring at the stallion who known to be a monster trying to be nice to her just because she offered him flowers and a rabbit. Everything seemed backwards for the day, so please ladies and gentlemen, mark today was the opposite. It's exactly what it is.

"talk talk talk"

Blink once, blink twice, blink five or six times. Green eyes stare upon her, wandering if she even took much thought to what he had just spoken. Mares can be dumb; he has seen their high points like this one seemed to be earlier, the low points of the exceptionally joyous and happy. This here falls to the middle. There isn't a point for her to take on with that question.
He nods, just so the bitch won't have to worry about if he really thinks she's pretty or not.
She takes the flowers he's tossed and braids them into her tail. As he watches, he picks them up himself, adding sparks of red blood to their stems as they reside in bone dipped with the blood of dead animals and Azucar. A few steps closer and he offers her them, offering any she wants to add upon her body if she chooses another placement.
'It is good to see you play nice for once.'
Physically snorting though he doesn't mean to, he has no way to alert this one that the voices inside of his head are his only socializing, that he speaks to them with his thoughts and that his voice is ruined because of them.
How long had been mute at one point? How old was he when his brother died before him and he added the stains of his sire's blood to a handsome black coat? It's been five years at least. He was young back then with the world at his fingertips. He could of killed them all if he wished to.
Though some people just never get their wishes coming true, and he lost all of it before he could have it.
"The flowers....... They... Look good.... On you."
He could say more if he wanted to. He could tell her she had pretty eyes and smelt good. So much more to stay and still he refuses to speak more to her.
"Conversation?"
It was a try, an attempt to see if he was able to put up with that sort of thing and keep things going on. It's time to change now, and he's come prepared.



"talk talk talk"