| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13 |
| Shoikan |
Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft
The ghoul is pacing.
Lately, the ghoul has been restless, in constant motion, thick tail lashing behind him in agitation. He knows he shouldn't be here, hidden away in this dark forest, when he has been taken into the ranks of the snow-beasts, the unicorn herd that resides in the northern mountains. Yet he stays away, haunting the forest, where the trees offer protection from those who may seek him out. It is not as comforting as the swamp he had lived in once-upon-a-time ago, but the swamp is gone, swallowed up by darkness, and so he was forced to adapt. He doesn't mind much, though he misses the thick curtains of moss and the stench of decay, for there are new treasures here. Gashes on trees, like the signature of some clawed monstrosity, and a crimson pool that makes him think of magic and the hoards of dragons.
Yet, despite all the wonders and mysteries of the forest, it is the solitude he prizes most, for the ghoul is not the most social of beasts. He doesn't mind the occasional visitor, but the constant presence of others that his herd promises is more than Slaiter thinks he can handle. That is why he lurks here, refusing to go to the Basin stronghold, thriving on the solitude and spookiness that settles beneath the trees. Besides, the dead do not wander open tundras, where others will see them coming.
Still, he knows that he should travel to the Basin at least once, let the herd know that he is part of them rather than a homeless wanderer.
Maybe another day.
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@[Abishia]
Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16 HH :: 5 years ~ Birdsong Buff: NOVICE |
| Wild. |
a b i s h i a
there's always a dawn before the day
Her harks flick forward, senses aroused, for she has spotted a common coat ahead, making it's way through the forest with scarred trees... Scars similar to those that have embroidered themselves into her vulnerable soul. Those that have weaved their way into her heart, clutching the throbbing red muscle until it is ready to burst, until she struggles for air, gasps for life. But if she begs, it replies by residing. And soon, she will let her guard down... Then, it will grasp her again, take her for another ride, observe what happens this time... Remember. Leave. Return.
The pain. The swinging of moods. She doesn't know who she is. She doesn't know who she wants to be.
The demons. The evil. They live inside her too.
Her gentle steps upon dainty hooves lead her closer and closer, his grim coat becoming more recognizable with every second. It only takes the slightest glance at his facial features, his horn, for her to gather the pieces of the puzzle and create the full image. Carefully placing the pieces together, she remembers. Slaiter . His shyness, his comfort, all in that one moment, during the dark days, where the menacing Windwalker had Abishia fall so easily into his evil trap, with Africa standing by, watching, without a word. She had liked him. She had wanted to get to know him. But once the scene had faded to black and the curtains closed, she thought she would never see him again.
She comes to a halt, a warm nicker cascading from her ivory maw, kissers curled into a warm smile. She wants him to turn, to look, to remember. Her breast sparks with the fear of what if he doesn't remember. What if he can't recognize her behind the fake horn she has stuck so pathetically upon her brow? But no, she blows out the spark before it even has a chance to light the fuse, to become a flame. "Remember me?" Soft, sweet vocals echo throughout the forest.
@[Slaiter]
 
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13 |
| Shoikan |
Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft
He does not hear her approach, too wrapped up in thoughts of should, and don't want to, to notice the painted girl emerging from the evergreens. It is only when she speaks that his attention is gained, the ghoul whirling around to face her, horn instinctively lowered to point at his unexpected company. But his brain catches up quickly, shouting that he knows that voice, recognizes the dainty build and colorful coat of the girl standing before him. Abishia, and his mind begins to reel out their story, from their first meeting in the rain to the tense encounter in the dim light of a glowing cavern.
She looks different, he thinks, but it takes him a moment to place it, to truly see the glass spear placed on her head. Confused, his head tips slightly to one side, as though seeing it from a different angle will reveal answers. He could just ask, but Slaiter has never been good with words, not out loud. Instead, he dismisses the horn as unimportant for the moment and steps forward, midnight lips lifting in a smile. He is glad to see her, even if she has changed, for he remembers that Abishia has always been kind to him. "Bishi," he calls her, the odd nickname flowing out without his notice. Prancing hooves carry him closer, and he reaches out his muzzle to brush against hers, should she allow it. "Missed you. Where have you been?" A bit fond, considering he hardly knows her, but Slaiter has rarely met with anyone more than once, and so their multiple non-hostile encounters have led him to label her as a friend.
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@[Abishia]
Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16 HH :: 5 years ~ Birdsong Buff: NOVICE |
| Wild. |
a b i s h i a
there's always a dawn before the day
Her smile widens as her twirls on his heel, meeting her appearance with a slight lowering of his horn, but he quickly regains a more... Well, approachable position. But she can't help but notice the way his gaze dancing over her, how his stare stops at the artificial horn. She wants to shrink away, she wants to flee. She wants to say, no! Don't think of me differently, I'm the same. I'm the same she pleads inwardly, desperately grasping for a foothold in the darkness that cloaks her mind, I'm me. I'M ME. I'M NO DIFFERENT. ACCEPT ME. She screams inside, she cries, she guilt's, she regrets... But the mask lets no emotion seep through, her smile does not falter, nor the joyful light in her gaze. She is skilled.
But her screams and pleads are put as ease when he advances, his expression turning light, a nickname flowing from his mouth. Bishi... I like that. The screams reside, the iron grip refrains. Then, he reaches out, and so does he, his maw bumping hers in a simple, but meaningful embrace, to her anyways. And he has missed me? She takes another step toward him, her smile widening as a giggle spills from her kissers. "It's such a pleasure darling. I've missed you also." She shrugged slightly, wanting to reach out to him again, wanting the feel of his touch. A touch to her means so much, the physical presentation of feelings. It reassures her that what she thinks the other feels is true, how she knows if she is doing right, or if she has wronged in a situation... But she mustn't reach out. I cannot be attached. What if he just leaves? She thinks this, despite the warm feeling brewing in her breast.
"I'm glad we can meet out in the open now, without the darkness lingering over our heads..." Her smile faltered slightly, the thought of the plague that destroyed so many once again encompassed her mind. But she refused to give into her negative thoughts, switching her gaze to meet his. "You live in the Basin... Right?" Her thoughts scrambled as images of Illynx and Jorogumo flew past her mind, daring to distract her but she refused. This Slaiter, this kind man, couldn't be tainted by those of the Basin. It didn't matter if she herself wanted to live there, she didn't want him to be ruined. Raising her maw to his ear, she dropped her voice to a whisper, her breath stirring the hairs on his lobe. "Wh-Why don't you hate me?..."
@[Slaiter]
Yay for active threads (((: thanks for replying so fast!
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13 |
| Shoikan |
Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft
His feeling seem to be returned, for she smiles wider, laughs, is happy, and she says that she has missed him too. Calls him darling, as though he is important, special, wanted. Being wanted is a wonderful feeling, knowing that there is someone who genuinely enjoys his company, someone that he can approach without fear of rejection. So many others have cursed him, chased him, hurt him, that even the smallest acts of kindness mean much to the ghoul. He wants to sing, to laugh, dance and shout, declare to the world that finally, finally someone doesn't care that he is a monster. Someone wants him.
He doesn't do any of these things though, holding himself in check, allowing only a small bit of excited prancing. She's talking anyway, and he is expected to answer her, to reply with comments and queries of his own. He's not very good at it, but he will try because that is the polite thing to do, because he wants to talk to Abishia, to tell her about the things he has done and seen, and find out who she is in the process.
But, she seems upset by the memory of the wraiths, the smile slipping, and he doesn't know how to answer. He had loved the idea of wraiths, had gone out looking for them, longing to caper and consort with the undead. They had never come, and now they were gone, and he remembers how devastated he had felt, how utterly betrayed. He wants to explain this, to smile and speak of death, but it will make her unhappy. So he keeps quiet and pretends to agree.
She doesn't seem to notice his uncertainty, turning her gaze to him and speaking of the Basin instead. This is another complex question, though not for the same reasons. How is he to explain that he is part, but not? Well, he supposes he could just say 'part, but not', but he doubts she will understand. Instead he opts for something a bit different. "I live here," and it's not a lie because he does live here, has lived here since leaving the caves. He may belong to the Basin, but he has never even been there, accepted into their ranks while everyone was clustered in the volcanic caverns.
She raises her head then, up toward his ear. He doesn't quite understand what she's doing, has never had anyone near his ears, but he doesn't move away either. All she does is talk, whispering like she's telling him some great secret, even though it isn't. It's another question, an odd one, as though she thinks he should hate her, but why would she think that? Because he's a ghoul? His brow furrows and he turns to look at her, confusion clearly written across his face. "Ghouls don't hate." Other creatures do, but not ghouls.
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@[Abishia]
Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16 HH :: 5 years ~ Birdsong Buff: NOVICE |
| Wild. |
04-25-2014, 11:37 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-25-2014, 11:40 AM by Abishia.)
a b i s h i a
there's always a dawn before the day
She wants to touch him. She wants to embrace him. Why must she feel this way towards this Stallion... This ghoul, as he just called himself. A ghoul? A monster? A ghostly being? No. This Slaiter is so kind to me. Why must he give himself a name worth such menacing meanings? To me, he is No ghoul. To me, he is a kind, mighty Stallion. But I need to know more of him. I want him to tell me about him. She smiles, he lives here, a place she visits every so often. But now, she decides, she will visit her much more often. For he, this ghoul, this brute, lives here in this forest of scared tree and crimson water ways. She ignores the fact that she was pretty sure he was part of the Basin, and simply smiles wide. If he doesn't hate me, then what does he think of me?
She takes another small step toward him, closing the space between them, her forehead nearly touching his. She has to tilt her head slightly so her horn doesn't hurt him, but she doesn't touch him, yet. She giggles, her orbs lit with laughter, all worries melting away, her forelock cascading down her face, her dual colored orbs boring into his... Full of joy, happiness, and something more, She's felt it with Aza before, but he had forgotten about her. Her breast warms, her heart speeding to uncontrollable speeds, thumping so loud she was afraid he may hear... But this time, she didn't allow her fears to control her. I need to let go for once
She reached out bumping her maw against his, then reaching to set her maw on his forehead, a wide smile curling her kissers "Tell me more about yourself, dear Slaiter ".
@[Slaiter]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13 |
| Shoikan |
Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft
She moves even closer, mere inches away, and the ghoul feels paralyzed, thinks that this must be what looking at Medusa feels like. He is stone, trapped by her presence, and the strangest bit is that he doesn't mind, enjoys the attention and affection being showered upon him. He has spent far to much time alone, skulking in the shadows to avoid the notice of would-be heroes, and Abishia brings light into his dark world. She is so open, like a dissected corpse, except without being dead and ruined, pouring out happiness instead of viscera and blood. Tangere had been kind and open to him as well, but she has vanished, perhaps blown away like the rainclouds she had reminded him of. Abishia is here, standing right in front of him with gleaming eyes and trilling laughter, and he decides to relax, to simply bask in her glow.
He has never had a friend before.
And friends seem to touch a lot, or at least Bishi does, gently tapping her muzzle against his before bringing it to rest against his brow, just beneath his horn. He tries to look at her, to see the cheerful expression on her face, but it is hard to focus on something so close, making his eyes ache, and so he closes them, trusting that the painted girl will not take advantage of his self-imposed blindness.
"Tell me more about yourself," she requests, and he isn't sure how to answer, panics silently, for he is not good with words, not really. He can tell stories, but those are easy, all he has to do is repeat what someone else has said, and his audiences have always been dead, silent and unjudging. But he doesn't know how to tell his story, has never heard it before, and the mare asking is alive, will probably pick and pry at his tale, wanting more than he is willing to tell.
But gods, he wants to tell her everything. Wants to pour out his soul to this lovely, warm, filly, wants her to know him and understand, but he is afraid that he will end up scaring her away. After all, he is the son of a necromancer and a corpse, the witch-born, the ghoul, and she doesn't belong to such grim tales. She should surround herself with shining knights and charming princes, attend balls and live in a palace. Monsters have no place in her world, and if he tells her about himself then she will know that he doesn't belong.
So he keeps silent.
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@[Abishia]
Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Equine :: 16 HH :: 5 years ~ Birdsong Buff: NOVICE |
| Wild. |
He fell silent. There was no response to her asking, her inquiry. He only stood and looked, but she looked deeper, saw the emotion portrayed in his pools. He wasn't what he thought he was. He wasn't some useless ghoul. He was oh so much more. But why did she have to fall so quickly? Why couldn't the girl just be happy with herself? It was a question no one could answer, because her admitting it would prove how vulnerable she really is. But now, she didn't care about Azarel... She didn't care that he didn't love her. Slowly - Actually, rather quickly, she was falling for the grim colored brute before her.
She shuffled forward, ducking her dome so she could set her neck alongside his, and press her dainty chest against his. A soft smile crawled onto her maw as she spoke again. "I don't think of you as a ghoul. " She touched her maw gently to his shoulder, then pulled away from the sweet embrace. She meet his gaze and smiled wide. "Tell me about yourself..." She repeated, a bit more firm this time, but her voice softened as she spoke again. "I'll tell you every last thing about me. Even the things I'm ashamed of. Even the horrid parts, the bloody parts. "
She sighed, looking away as the faces of MeMe and Ma clouded her vision. Then their deaths, played out like a movie before her. When the fille looked back to the man, the emotion and sadness and pain and guilt was all shown right there. Held out in an open palm for him to grab, for him to manipulate, for him to take advantage of. It was a true test to see if this Slaiter really deserved her trust, or if he was just a side effect of this thing we call immaturity. But really, she hoped he wasn't just another con. Her harks flicked as she stared, then closed the silk curtains, chestnut hiding blue and brown as darkness met her and she took another, ragged breath. She spoke with her eyes closed, still facing him. "Who am I to judge? I've done bad things Slaiter..." She trailed off, eyelids slowly fluttering open.
@[Slaiter]
SO SORRY THIS TOOK THIS LONG!
I'll be faster next time (:
"blah blah blah."
ABISHIA
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 13 |
| Shoikan |
Slaiter
Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.
-H.P. Lovecraft
She moves again, as she seems so prone to doing, until they stand chest to chest, neck to neck. The ghoul shifts a little, twisting his head so that he may lip at the girl's mane if she will let him. He isn't quite sure what's going on, but he likes the contact, the feeling of touching something warm and living rather than cold and long dead. His swamp is gone, the rotting carcasses of his other 'friends' swallowed by a darkness that not even he can penetrate, but he finds the loss doesn't much matter now, thinks he may even prefer lurking in this forest, simply because he can't picture Abishia in that profane place. Here, he can imagine her staying, at least for a while, laughing and dancing beneath the ancient trees.
What better place for a dryad?
She breaks his concentration then, talking again, but her words are difficult for him to understand. Not the words themselves, he knows what she is saying, but the meaning behind them, the simple fact that he's not a ghoul to her, is astounding. He has always been the ghoul, the unholy abomination, the grave-robbing monster. He wants to shake his head, pull away, cry that it isn't true, he is a ghoul, simply because he doesn't know how to be anything else. What else is there to be? He is the son of a zombie and a witch, raised in the haunted wastelands of Ryvegyr, taught stories of ghost and goblins the way other children were taught religion. He can't be anything else, not even for Abishia.
He is the ghoul!
But he doesn't run, doesn't scream, doesn't break down into a gibbering, sobbing mess the way he wants to. He just stands, silently panicking as the paint retreats slightly, barely feeling the soft brush of her muzzle. He isn't ready for this, hasn't been told how to change his role, but he knows that he will not risk this odd friendship over a simple belief. He can pretend, after all, has been acting out stories his whole life. Granted, he has never played anything besides monsters, but surely it can't be that difficult. Quickly he summons a memory, thinking of a wolf pup and it's would-be killer, tries to remember how it felt to step in as a defender. That's what knights do, right? Defend those who cannot, protect those smaller and weaker than themselves? He thinks so, but he's not sure he can do it, recalls very little of his experience as a guard, was too hyped up on rage and adrenaline to be thinking clearly at the time.
Well, he hopes Bishi isn't looking for a knight or hero. He doesn't want to disappoint her.
Maybe this was all a miscommunication anyway. After all, she hadn't said what she did think of him as. Maybe he's not a ghoul to her, but is still some type of monster, perhaps a goblin or a zombie. Something he can actually be, still ghastly and macabre. He could handle that, doesn't care what type of beast he is. No way to know without asking, and so he does. "What do you think I am?"
She still wants to know about him, demanding his story again. He hesitates, always hesitating, and his tail lashes behind him, stirring up dirt and leaves and everything else one finds on the forest floor. This is another thing he doesn't know, can't just tell her because he doesn't know how. Abishia is trying to bargain with him, offering to share her life if he will only share his, but he is hardly listening, trying desperately to think of something, anything to say to her.
The urge to run grows stronger.
But, she looks so sad, gazing at him without shields or lies, grief shining through her eyes like some kind of dark light. He doesn't want her to be like that, wants to see her smiling and happy again. She shouldn't have to feel bad, should be protected and cherished and loved by all the kingdom, the beautiful and kind princess. Well, he supposes, a princess wouldn't be out here in the woods sharing her soul with a ghoul-boy. Would turn away in disgust when the creature reaches out, as he is doing now, to lightly caress her face with his maw. She says she's not perfect, hasn't always done the right thing, but he doesn't know why that should upset her. He certainly won't mind whatever she's done, might even be delighted to find that the princess practices dark rites and sacrifices others for her own gain.
Maybe this princess is also a witch, and so consorting with a ghoul is only natural. Maybe she won't flee if he tells her who and what he is, what he's done. But, he needs to know something first, for his own peace of mind, to put his racing thoughts to rest. "I'll tell you, if you answer something first." A brief pause, as he finds a proper phrasing for his question. "What are you?"
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Permission granted to use magic and/or physical violence on Slaiter, as long as he is not killed.
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