i am the vanguard of your destruction

[ love that table image, btw. :3 ]

Once, this fanged lullaby had been a constant in his life. The push and pull of the ocean, its whisper as it met rocks; and in storms, its roar as it crashed against the unyielding land. Once, the scent of brine and gull had been as commonplace as that of pine, their discordant chorus echoing up with the capricious winds. So many times had he stood at the edge, peering out into the distance, hooves upon the brink of nothing and heart straining towards some vague, distant future, as splendid and bloody as the sunsets playing before his eyes.

A long time ago, now. Years. He felt older, infinitely old; so old that his heart and soul were heavy, tired, dragging like his tail through the sand. Empty, robbed of those dreams and their brilliant colors.

He wasn't sure why. A few times he'd tried to ask himself, what happened?, but he never had any answer. Whatever store of energy he had had, had run out, and to even dream of tomorrow seemed both futile and vain.

He felt like he had no future. No beginning, no end. Just a constant gray spanning from horizon to horizon; always had, and always would. Memories of joy and life seemed distant, crumbling at his touch, like things he had made up—an empire of dreams that came apart when it met the desolation of reality.

The ocean rushed up, touched him, and pulled back, taunting in its ceaseless cycle. His legs were slick with saltwater, tail a sandy tangle, eyes bearing dully down upon whatever came in their way. How long he'd been walking along the shoreline he couldn't tell, because he couldn't recall when he'd begun, but he thought it was a long time.

It didn't really matter, though. All he did was walk, aimlessly crisscrossing Helovia in the hopes that the futile possibilities would align and his path merge with Ophelia's; it felt like it was all he could do to keep walking. Maybe, in a year or two or four hundred, they'd outrun probability and meet.

He closed his eyes, pretended for a moment that the stranger loping along the sea was white instead of black, wondered what would happen when his journey reached its end. But there was only the darkness of the inside of his lids, and without sighing, as he always did otherwise, he opened his eyes again.

It all seemed terribly pointless.

i am the vanguard of your destruction

He could've walked by the ocean forever, following it into the dark, murky depths of the ruined land south, and disappeared, gone like so much smoke dispersing. Would they look for him, or breathe a sigh of relief at his passing? Or simply not know, not care?

The latter, he thought—it was a long time since he'd been anything at all. He was hardly more tangible and corporeal than a ghost, drifting about Helovia and remembering what he had been like in life.

But he didn't get to find out, because he didn't walk to the ends of the earth. As the dark stranger came closer and closer Mauja's movements stalled, ceased, until he stood where the sky met the sea like some kind of monument of forgotten, glorious times. Tarnished and lackluster. The ocean kissed his frozen feet; perhaps it would have mercy on him and freeze him to its pull, chain him and drag him down.

In a shower of sand the stranger halted, sunshine arcing along the slick, black skin; water and sweat mingled in her scent, with something colder lurking beneath. A faint, brief spark of interest flashed in his eyes before fading. Someone from the Basin? Perhaps. Black, black and blue. No one he knew, but she seemed curious enough about him, looking him over as thoroughly as Aurelia had that day back in the Deep Forest. He stood still, allowed her scrutiny—let her see the broken remains. An aura of shattered glory and exhaustion clung to him, fouling the pristine white to something off-white, dirty, old dried sweat curling his coat.

"Hello," she said, those blue eyes as devoid of emotion as Mauja's. Two statues facing one another upon that beach.

"Hi," he simply responded, the word barely more than a deep sigh.

i am the vanguard of your destruction

[ bahah love her brazen ogling xP @[Sialia] ]

Briefly, he wondered if he was boring, and thought that, yes, surely he was. Because what was there to him, right now? A shell, a skin, a body, but no soul; his eyes were empty, not cold and glistening, but empty, as lackluster as his filthy fur. What was there to look at, except the defeat of one's self? When you were your own greatest enemy it was a hard battle to fight and he wasn't sure he'd ever fought.

He had probably just given up without even knowing. Died in his sleep.

At least she didn't mock him. Small a mercy.

Was she frustrated by him? By his dead weight, dead eyes, dead soul? He couldn't tell. She was as closed off as he, nothing lurking in her blue eyes, in the lines of her face, the lines of her mouth; nothing. They were only colors with no souls.

"Letting the salt clean your wounds?" He was too far gone to pretend not to understand, or to chide her, or to tell her that everything was fine; just peered at her with a mildly odd look, heart beating dully. Could veins ache? Because he was pretty sure the thrumming pulse of blood was a painful throb.

Mauja shook his great white head, clumped mane rattling against his thick neck. "They scarred over a long time ago but left the infection within," he replied with a lack of humor, not even favoring her with a sour, self-deprecating grin. Everything, the sun and the sky, seemed distant, and bleak; calling up the energy to make a face seemed entirely out of question. And so, there is nothing to clean. Nothing to take the poison away.

He hoped she'd leave it at that.

And that she wouldn't stop staring. It made some small part of him feel like it wasn't entirely dead yet. Almost a kind of confirmation he actually hadn't died physically as well. Not that it really mattered. Maybe it would be a relief to die.

We've been through this before. Going in circles.
Irma's distant comment; he knew what she referred to, his little jaunt in an alternate dimension, and her vehement denial of his death—and her vehement denial of death being an acceptable way out of anything. His death, at least. She ate living creatures otherwise.

Slowly, he craned his head to peer at the mare again; he'd already looked at her, but with no judgment. Not that he judged her now, but this time there was a vague flicker of life in him. His name? What did his name matter?

"But isn't it the best when you have nothing but a face? No identity, no strings attached..."

He gave a slight, barely perceptible shrug. Maybe it was just he, but he thought it would be a bit more awkward to be so brazenly checked out by a mare if she knew his name. It became so much more.. personal that way.

i am the vanguard of your destruction

She seemed to like his eyes—not their physical properties (because he was starting to think she always wore that face, no matter what she looked at, beauty or gore), but the fact that he was watching her, and a tad more intensely than before. It was, so far, the only real reaction he'd got from her, at least that was worth mentioning. The posture she struck made her seem proud, the sun glinting off her sweat-slick body.

It would've been more atmospheric if it had been night. More.. private, and if there hadn't even been a moon—they would've practically been invisible.

But as it was, the sun was beating down, and the shore was a common haunt. For now, they remained alone, Mauja's eyes roving over her once more, wondering if it was just a quirk of hers, or if it was him that somehow seemed to make her feel good about herself. After all, she was hardly the first mare to attempt to take that approach with him, so you never knew. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered what it would feel like to react like that under someone's gaze—bloom, grow, flaunt yourself a little and just enjoy the attention.

Was it cowardice, that he didn't dare to try?

"Ah, these roots go too deep," he murmured in response. It was actually quite truthful; despite the fall of his reign a few years ago, too many still knew his name. And his name.. was an identity, an obligation. Without it, he was free (even if only for today).

Fortunately, she didn't press him about it. Just gave him a new one. Liam. He'd never known anyone with that name. "Liam," he repeated, tasting it, feeling it roll off his tongue with ease. Yes. He could be Liam, today, for her. He wasn't sure whether he felt reckless, or just totally disinterested in the consequences of anything.. as if nothing truly mattered. As if it was all just a dream, and his spirit was bucking under its heavy load.

Well, better that than rigor mortis, he guessed, gaze flickering down for a moment to capture her soulless smirk. Should he be worried?

Probably.

"And what should I call you, hm?" he breathed softly as she came closer, letting her touch him; just tilted his head slightly sideways to keep her blue eye in sight. Her muzzle was warm, her breath tickling in a nearly disturbing fashion each time she exhaled. It was a recipe for disaster, one he'd cooked and tasted a few times before.. somewhere, deep within, he sighed. "Are you so unbound that your real name cannot bind you, or should I find you a new one for today?" A slight, crooked grin curled the dark corner of his mouth up. Another spark of life flickered in his eyes, giving nothing away, just a sharp-edged amusement. His tail flicked against his hocks, Irma rolled her eyes (Diego just seemed oddly.. excited), and he rather suddenly turned his head further towards her, to try and give her cheek a nip.

He didn't even remember deciding to do it. It just happened.

[ @[Sialia] ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

Games. He was always playing them, wasn't he? One way or another he danced with words, bodies, toyed with lives, and frequently it was his own—and his sanity—that he tossed onto the board. Watched it squirm. The majority of things done against him had been his own doing, one way or another. Some, simply because he hadn't been good enough to prevent them. And some, because he seemed to be terminally stupid.

Like now. With another female breathing on his cheek, her body smelling of sweat and salt and mare. Letting her touch him (and secretly, enjoying it). Was it because she reminded him of Psyche? Or just because, for today, he'd fallen so deep into the pit he couldn't remember how to care? That he just cherished whatever scrap of faux-life his battered, ragged nerves could produce, with a few chemicals that would dry up when they'd run their course?

He didn't want to fall into his thoughts, to ruin the moment by being responsible. He didn't want to be Mauja.

He hated Mauja.

She'd given him respite from the white beast, and asked for the favor to be returned. Did she hint at having an allegiance, maybe even a mate? Then what was she doing, going about touching men she didn't know? (Maybe the same as him. Escaping.)

But, rude that he was, he didn't answer her immediately, just bit her cheek, lightly. She tasted like she smelled, but clearly—and in hindsight, he wasn't surprised—she wasn't too fond of what he'd done. Eyed him weirdly. "That was rude." He was inclined to agree.

"Was it?" he asked softly, his voice neutral, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her sentiment—just soft, hushed. There was no guilt in his eyes, just that awakened, mild interest, and he reached out, to close the gap he'd made between them. He reached out, because he wanted to touch her, and not just be touched. Because he wanted to run his plush muzzle along the edge of her jaw and up her cheek, past her eye to her ear, and whisper,

"Alleshia,".

[ @[Sialia], and you have no idea how much trouble giving her a name gave me/us ><; originally he was going with something a bit more fucked up but uhm.. he decided 10 minutes after posting that no, he didn't want to have it that way. ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

He felt his breathing grow rugged.

It was because of everything—the sun, his situation, the sweat and the heat and the scent infiltrating his mind. It triggered reactions, reactions he normally ran from, and feared; but hadn't Illynx told him to stop running?

If he needed justification, he needed no more than the reckless appliance of flawed logic. And maybe, just maybe, it was some kind of revenge in it. The only one it would hurt in the end was him, so why it felt good to twist the Gilded Blade's words against her he didn't know. It just.. did. Like the feeling of the finely carved features of Alleshia's face underneath his sensitive nose, her breath stirring against the side of his neck. Their eyes were nearly level, the name just a breath leaving him, a sigh, a longing—yearning.

And her eyes, came alive. Gone was the dispassionate blue, the iron-hard lid masking her soul. For that brief moment, he felt like he could drown in their depths, in the sharp, glistening blue—in the excitement, the spurring, the daring. It sent a jolt through his body, a rush of fire down his spine, tingling down to the region of his hips. Senseless.

In the distance, Diego gave an odd, drawn-out shriek. He shut the owls out, as much for himself as for the young one.

"Alleshia... I love it. Thank you, Liam." To hear the name—his name for today—whispered, breathed, in such a way.. his muzzle pressed a little harder against the base of her ear, tail flicking once, agitated and restless; the sun glistened in the sweat along her flanks. Muscles bunched and the light rippled as she came a little closer. He could feel the heat off her body, chests nearly touching.

Alleshia repaid him in kind, running her muzzle along his mane, down to his shoulder; with his own nose pressed firmly against her neck he lost himself in the feeling. He couldn't have told what part of his body she was touching, his nerves over-sensitive all of a sudden, and her teeth—it drove a deep sigh from him, and he craned his head inwards, to peer at her. "Cheeky," he murmured against her skin, his voice husky. With no thoughts beyond the two of them he ran his maw down along her neck, unable to stop himself from giving her little bites, until he came to a pause by her shoulder. Simply breathing in her scent, his eyes drowning in black.

Touch me, a small voice in his mind whispered—no, begged. He couldn't recall the last time he had felt so alive, so.. good, and he wanted more. He wanted her, and he wanted to feel her teeth against his skin.

[ No worries @[Sialia] <3 Also Mau's a ho <_< ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

He didn't need words. All he needed was their bodies, her scent, the swish of her tail.. her skin between his teeth, the taste of her sweat—his skin between her teeth, nerves tingling. It drove the breath out of him, and all sanity from his mind. Lightheaded and aflame, the half-steady rhythm of his inhalations were not enough to counter the swirling in his head. He wanted to gulp air like someone drowning, but something kept him from it. Perhaps he did not want to seem like an inexperienced youth being touched for the first time.

Because he wasn't. But it was always more powerful when it came out of nowhere, powered by the smell of sweat and salt, and not from some vague, half-realized plan of creating an heir to an empire.

His teeth had begun to nip at her again, erratic little love-bites across the thin skin of her shoulder, punctuated by his hot, harsh breath. Then, a pause. Liam's (because this was not Mauja; Mauja would not do this, would never be so irresponsible, so stupid and callous, not that cold of heart) head rose slightly, an inch, hovering just above the pleasant warmth of her body. She was looking at him, and he looked back, a dark fire burning in his eyes. A want, a need. Right now, he knew what he wanted—he knew what he wanted right now, not tomorrow, not in an hour, but for this short, blessed span of time. He wanted, and so far, she gave that. And he wanted more. He wanted her, to feel the heat burning in her soul.

"Liam. I think I want to play."

Think. He felt a smirk curve his lips, the dark corners tugging upwards, his gaze intense. "I will have to convince you, then, Alleshia," he rumbled, voice rolling through his chest. Because I want you to play with me.

So he bit her again, lightly, and again, down the side of her spine, robbing her of the spot she was rubbing her maw against. Not that it mattered, much—she had all of him before her, to touch, because in that moment he couldn't think of many things that he would not appreciate. And those he could think of, he chose not to think of, except for the fleeting reflection that it would be easier to be a mare; if you were unsure of the dedication of your partner, you could just pretend until you knew whether he was serious or not, and if he jumped off in the last moment possible could save your face by saying you'd been about to kick his legs to splinters anyway.

It was harder to gauge when you were the stallion. But as he was.. and that was the reason he chose not to think, but to just nibble his way down along her spine, pressing his hot flank against hers, nearly trembling with excitement each time her flicking tail struck his chest. Damn it, he wanted control, and tried to steady his nerves, teeth rubbing against the skin of her hindquarters. Trying to see if she was starting to make up her mind about playing or not.

i am the vanguard of your destruction

Girl you're out of your mind, you're my partner in crime.
And I'm sure you had your reasons, you change 'em every season.

It was there, between them; fire-lines of tension and electrical wiring, coiling and writhing, twisting tighter and tighter, until there was no escape. Not from his pulse, or from her, or from this—he'd played himself too well, broken down, all the way down. His mind was full of her, his blood was full of her, and the sunlight striking her sweat-slick skin bit his eyes harder than anything else had ever done.

Struck him harder than the dazzling light on the waves.

Each of her breaths vibrated through him, flanks touching, merging, blurring; burning. Each moment, with her tail flashing against his chest and his teeth rubbing at her dock, was torture; each moment with his eyes glued on hers, each moment of holding back the fire roaring inside of him. Because he could not deny that he was a beast, that there was something in him tearing its way out, swept up in flames and passion.. something that tugged at its tether, somehow still waiting in its impatience.

And then, those dark blue eyes locked on his, on him, scoured his soul clean until nothing but the fire remained—nothing but the way her gaze made him feel, and the thrumming of his heart.

The rush of blood through tense veins.

A deep, guttural sigh escaped him—a single moment of.. relief? The calm before the storm, the moment in which fate turned upon itself and something, somewhere, was irrevocably altered in the spun webs of the world.

But all of that was as distant and cold as the stars.

She was much closer, Alleshia of no face and no name, her smell and taste overpowering, overwhelming, drowning his mind: and for a split moment, the sheer magnitude of what he could do—would do—nearly frightened him into flight. That small part that was still Mauja.

She anchored him with her nearness, with her perfection, with the hot sun and the sand and her body, tail swaying to the side—and that stallion Liam was in him, moving him, chest pressing against the bunched mass of her haunches, savoring the strength of her body. Appreciating it. Wanting it. She could not reach him with her maw, could not set his skin aflame with her touch—

—but there was something else she could do for him.

He suddenly knew that he needed her, right now, and whatever thin compulsion that made him drag it out snapped; he let his mind burn up in the flames, sharing the heat of his body with another flame-wreathed creature of the night.

[ @[Sialia] -- finally, sorry for the wait. ]