the Rift


[PRIVATE] just one more time before i go

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#1
Nymeria
- the raven casts the longest shadow -
It was time to talk.
She remembered the last time she had been with him; most clearly, the desire written across his face, the hunger in his mirror eyes—and her stomach, clenching tighter and tighter. For him she’d cried, and took him in her [metaphorical] hands, and made a fool of him without him ever knowing. He’d pressed against her in the night, and she against him; but even the warmth of their chaste union could not undo her misgivings, her cruelty.

It didn’t matter. What she’d chosen to do was a choice she’d stand by. As he grew stronger, so would she, even if it would not be in the same way. When his muscles and veins waxed and his need for wits diminished, she grew the confines of her mind and expanded on her own unique set of abilities.

At some point you will need true friends, not lies. No—Nymeria did have friends, just… not ones she saw often. (Thranduil, for example.)

The Hidden Falls wouldn’t serve as a suitable meeting place. There would be too many ears around, even if they wouldn’t be listening. As the sun rose, snow fell, and Nymeria began to walk. Away—away—to her first home, her first love, the architecture of kaleidoscopic colors and gossamer drapes that drifted in the breeze.

Sunlight glittered on the drifts of snow, thickening with each passing days. The air—brisk but not cold—smelled strangely of flowers despite the winter.

Nymeria felt alone. Lilómiel, bonded so closely to her, was only a distant voice as he sought out her brother. And instead of him filling her up she was but half, an emptied vessel, her skin stretched too thin and her heart beating too fast (come back soon Lil. I can’t survive this feeling long.) Maybe if he went too far away she’d collapse in on herself—maybe she and him would die.

Her hooves clicked on stone.
She waited in the Rotunda.
image credits
table by neo ♥


@Volterra
OOC: Short and sweet to start with!


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#2


A broken man, a broken man. He moves away from her, away from the shattered memories of their union, away from the blackened pieces of his heart that she's left crushed on the floor. From euphoria to misery in the space of one meeting - his memories of their bedding are tainted by the agonising thought of the careless way in which she'd thrown his feelings back in his face, left him agape and aghast in her wake.

And he still doesn't know why. Why had his kis hollo - although he must try not to think of that name, now she's shunned it - turned against him so quickly? Had he not satisfied her properly that day in the Fields? Had she expected more? Or is it something else, something his useless, stupid brain simply cannot understand? For all his strength, his power, Volterra is oblivious to the subtle nuances of others. He must have missed something - oh, he wishes he had the wit, the raw intelligence, of his sister!

His sister. Her memory draws a pained smile to his face, a face with hardened, pained lines and dark, dark misery. Their last meeting had not been straightforward, either. Like with Isopia, he'd somehow managed to offend Nymeria without intending to. He seems to have quite the skill for it, for turning the ones he loves cherishes most against him.

When he scents his twin, he feels nothing. He is numb. Even his loins do not flare at her heady aroma, and that's a sure sign that he isn't himself.

The goliath's dragons are staying away. Since the incident with Isopia, his temper has been more frayed than usual, his anger more violent. As the woe from Volterra's mind radiates into their own, the friction between them grows; gold scales collide with red over and over again, as they take out their confusion and frustration on each other. He demands that they leave him be - he is not in the mood for their squabbling.

Thus, he is alone when he strides towards Nymeria. She is in the Rotunda - one of their favourite childhood haunts. He does not smile at the memory. He simply moves, muscles bunched and rippling beneath his blackened flesh, jaw tight and eyes as hard as rubies.

He halts, looking at her through an emotionless face. For the beast, it is unusual for him to be showing nothing at all - he's usually so animated. But today, it's like he's dead inside. Maybe he is. "Sister." His voice is a guttural snarl, the only evidence of the anger that quakes within. Not at her - how could he be angry at her? - but at the fucking world.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


@Nymeria

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#3
Nymeria
- the raven casts the longest shadow -
The sun streaming through the stained glass casts bright splinters of color across Nymeria's coat. Ash and coal, normally dark and absorbent, now shimmers with indigo and emerald, sapphire and gold; her eyes, red and haunting, seem to glow brighter rather than be diminished by the addition of color. Her neck curves to her right as she watches her brother approach—she observes his walk in silence, and notes the absence of his dragons with apprehension.

She's never seen him without his dragons before.

Finally he is close enough that she can see the emptiness in his eyes, the hollowness in his breast. To him she turns, pivoting casually around her haunches, ears sweeping forward in sharp silhouette to catch the edge of his greeting, the guttural snap of his voice. Volterra is here, and nothing has ever felt more wrong than this confrontation. He is—he is without emotion. Her brother! Her volatile brother was always overflowing with energy, always spilling over with tumultuous and violent feelings; what had gone so wrong that he looked at her so coldly? And why, why did he snarl at her when there was nothing she'd done wrong?

He's found out. He'd realized she'd been stringing him along—he'd realized that she'd been planning for his eventual rise to power—her thoughts fragment, convulse, and shatter, and she is left staring at Volterra without any words to excuse herself, her heart beating harder than it's ever beat before.

No. No. I'm wrong.
Nymeria didn't know, and she couldn't know, and that was because couldn't read him at all. (Where's my brother gone? Why has a stranger taken his place?)

There's more than one choice for her. She can see them diverging before them, full of calculated risks and promises of success. Some of them are excuses: ways to talk herself out of an argument, ways to talk herself out of a fight. One is a fight. And others are worse things, options full of violence and lies she wants to put aside. Despite this, the ease of which she could squirm herself out of a confrontation, when she looks at Volterra's callous face something in her weakens.

Wasn't he still her brother? Didn't she owe him an explanation?
(You could be wrong.) Perhaps this... this wasn't really related to her at all. Perhaps. She shifts back, lifting her head—curls sliding and tumbling over her neck—and she swallows back a mouthful of ash. For a moment she stands, stranded, on the precipice of here and there, but only for a moment. Then she takes a step of her own choosing, and that step is towards I owe him nothing.

To him she does not return a greeting. To him she does not offer brother or Volt, or even a smile. Instead her ears lash back to her neck and she steps forward, channeling all the rage and all the fury that's been burrowing through her soul. "You," she spits out from between gritted teeth. "You made me an aunt, and you never told me. You—you're a disgrace. How are you going to take over the fucking world when you're too busy fucking?"
image credits
table by neo ♥


@Volterra


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#4


She speaks, and for a moment he's as numb as he was when Isopia took to the skies.

Then, his emotions begin to come back. It is a blessed relief, to feel something, and he shuts his eyes so he might revel in the pleasure of feeling.

But when the first thing to return is rage, when it adds to what's already bubbling in his bloodstream, he decides that perhaps nothingness was better.

"Fuck off, Nymeria." The words burst free, unbidden, from clenched lips and grinding teeth; they take him by surprise, because he's never addressed her with such anger before. It feels wrong, dirty, like getting his dick out in front of his mother or like kicking one of his dragons with intent to harm - a limit that he should never breach, a line that he should never cross.

But how dare she? How dare she address him like that, speak to him like a piece of shit, when she should be fawning and cavorting around his ankles, crooning what's wrong into his welcoming ears? How dare she rage at him, when his broken, broken mind is incapable of handling it? How dare she be unaware of his pain, his anguish, and how dare she not immediately move to comfort him, as a good sister should? How dare she not know that he is in no mood to defend himself, when his - as she so eloquently puts it - fucking has already lost him one of the most important women in his life?

How dare she threaten to be the second to leave him?

The beast's eyes are fire now; his face, his posture, is a writhing sea of rippling muscle and flailing mane. He is a man insane; a man broken. "You do not own me. I am not yours to command, and my life is not yours to interfere with. So fucking what if you're an aunt? I've had to become a father when I didn't want to be, and I've managed to handle it."

A little voice in the back of his mind - maybe one of his dragons, maybe not - laughs nastily. Handle it? it says, giggling maniacally. As you're demonstrating, you're incapable of handling anything. Look what losing Isopia has done to you - you'd be a hypocrite to accuse anybody else of not handling something.

He smothers the voice and tries to smother his temper too, but alas, it is not that easy. He has always been a man who struggles with his anger, and that was even when he was a perfectly happy, well-balanced creature. Now, he's lost something he cares about. Now, he knows true pain. So now, his already volcanic temper has moved from being slightly worrying to fucking dangerous.

It's his turn to step forwards, and he draws himself up to his fullest height. He looms over her, monstrous, muscles rigid and skull-adorned face set into a snarl. His eyes are molten pits - he is hellion. How amusing that, only a few seconds ago, he'd sworn he could never be angry at her. Now look!

Then he turns, so he's side-on to her. "If you are just going to criticise me, sister, then I will leave you be. I am not in the mood for this." His voice is a gravelly growl, his body still as taut as a canvas. He has offered the olive branch to her, albeit unconventionally - it's up to her if she wishes to seize it, or to carry on her crusade against him.

Because he's sick of letting her walk all over him. He's sick of doing something wrong - even if he doesn't realise it - then grovelling at her feet to get her to forgive him. He's sick of being so damn scared of losing her, that he'll un-man himself in order to keep her. Let her see what it's like to be on the receiving end of an angry twin. Let her see what it's like to know that you've either got to swallow your pride and let sleeping dogs lie, or risk losing the most important person to you forever.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#5
Nymeria
- the raven casts the longest shadow -
He closes his eyes. That should've been warning enough for clever Nym, always reading his every twitch and his every quiver—but she, looking at him all swollen and unrecognizable, thought instead: fuck him, and fuck his warnings. To him she gravitates (two meteors on a collision course); shoulders squaring, nostrils flaring, and ears lashing back tight to her curled mane. When she looked at him, she looked without seeing, selfish and impetuous and uncaring. There wasn't a trace of the sister who cried when he cried without knowing the reason why—and why would there be? She was tired of him, and she was tired of her own heart.

Fuck off, Nymeria.
Despite herself, she flinched. (Traitor.)

When was the last time he swore at her? When was the last time he spat at her? When was the last time—ha, never, because this was would be the first. Some moments she thought she'd remember, and would forget; others, she knew she'd remember. This time, it was the latter. Nymeria wouldn't be forgetting the scornful twist of his mouth, the roiling, coiling sea of his sinew, or the bitter brightness of his red, red eyes. (I will never forget.)

Despite herself, in the same way she flinched, she groped for security, for safety, for a way to disarm the rage that was spilling out from Volterra's every pore: and she came up empty, all her thoughts unravelling and her own anger blossoming in turn. Think. Think and breathe—don't do something you'll regret.

His every word found its mark (new splinters in a wornout soul) and she looked at her brother without emotion, reflecting his former emptiness. The words should sting. They didn't. Perhaps it was not quite so big a surprise as she thought it would be; because didn't she already know what he was saying to be true? (That was why she'd cried on his shoulder.) Didn't she already know that he'd drifted away, long ago? Didn't he realize that this—this thing—between them was failing? That his every word didn't bring her crawling to him but drove her further away? (Why should she care for him, or why should she love him anymore? She didn't know him. She didn't know anything but her own head.)

They were never destined to rule together.
Why had she resisted the truth for so long?

And she closes her eyes in turn, for but a brief moment, and then she curls her upper lip into a sneer that makes mockery of all his feelings, of all his wounded masculinity. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she'll regret this, that she was being stupid and arrogant and would only worsen their ever-growing divide—but the heat of the moment made those thoughts inconsequential.

He's growing, swelling, pumped full of bloated emotion and something hellish, twisted beyond recognition; what is wrong with him, she wonders, what happened? The way he stands, looming over her, was not meant to impress. It was a threat.

Volterra was threatening her.
Oh, fuck you.

Before his anger she diminishes, settling, letting her eyes skitter away from his. The mare breathes out, slow and to the fullest extent, admiring the shape of the horizon before at last returning her gaze to him. Her ears return from her neck to their proper position, angled just slightly back in casualness; the stiffness around her eyes and mouth soften, flexing subtly into an expression of apology.

And then he turns, and she breathes him in, a scent full of anger and sorrow. Anger is an easy thing to manoeuvre into passion—an easy thing to channel into love. (You're revolting.)

The wolf brings her head up, stepping in closer to him and his back, swinging her haunches towards his face. She doesn't say anything (why would she?) instead reaching out to put her teeth to his haunches, aiming to groom his croup.

Her movements, her face, speaks of peace. Of apology. Maybe—if he's looking for it—something else.
Her mind is toxic, and her thoughts venomous.
image credits
table by neo ♥


@Volterra


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#6


Her flinch would, ordinarily, have had him backing down - grovelling for having the audacity to hurt her. But he doesn't. He's too far gone, he's too sick of always being the one to apologise, to submit, when submission is not in his nature. He's sick of twisting and bending himself to keep her close, and he loathes the weakness he exudes when he's trying to impress her.

No longer. No fucking longer.

When she sneers, his eyes flash. The ground next to him involuntarily begins to bubble, as his livid temper breaks the iron wall that he holds his magic behind. The behemoth is unused to being on the receiving end of her contempt, and he hates it - but still he refuses to waver, simply arching his ears backwards and swishing his tail as the only signs of his emotions. The ground settles back to where it belongs as he manages to smother the volcano inside, with herculean effort.

God damn emotions. Being numb, it transpires, had actually been a hell of a lot easier than this.

Her gaze darts away, and the roaring beast inside him purrs at this perceived submission. Her face twists into apology, and the sight of it, the sight of her, bending to him, sends an involuntary twitch towards his loins. It disgusts him, but it's there. The little voice in his mind points out that it's probably a lie, that Nymeria is a master of creating mockeries of true emotions and wearing them like masks to deceive dumb beasts like him. It warns him not to believe her, not to fall for it - it tries to persuade his stupid, stupid brain to haul his colossal body away from this situation before he does or says something he regrets.

It fails. Because she's coming closer, closer, so close he can smell the womanly reek of her skin, can see each delectable contour of her body. Her haunches are suddenly there, her tail and her odour and her everything, and the involuntary spike of passion to his loins turns suddenly into a full-blown spasm. What is she doing? She begins to groom him, and his jaws reach out without his bidding to return the favour, darting expert teeth across the dock of her tail and her flanks. The rational parts of him - of which there are not many - scream at him to back away, to take his desire and his rage and his hunger elsewhere, but they are ignored by the rest of him. By the parts of him that command his tongue to form a guttural, monstrous growl; the parts that persuade him to shift to the side to press his goliath size and weight against her; the parts that bid sweat to bead across his body and lather across the hard muscles of his neck and flanks.

"What...are you doing?" he manages to gasp, trying to force anger and carelessness into his voice but failing miserably; he continues to groom her, groin burning, heart thudding, whilst those rational bits of his mind desperately hammer against the bars of the cage he keeps them in.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


@Nymeria

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#7
Nymeria
- the raven casts the longest shadow -
What is wrong with him? The Volterra she knew wasn’t like this. He was courageous, heartfelt, pig-headed—argumentative and bullish overall, but not cruel like she was. Looking at him, both concerned for him and loathing him at the same time, she was forced to acknowledge once again that she just didn’t know him anymore.

And there was the truth: the foals were only a catalyst for the insults that jostled for place at her tongue. They’d been there all along, biding their time, waiting for the right moment. (Maybe this was natural; everyone had arguments from time to time, didn’t they?)

They always made up after arguing.

Now she didn’t know if the bridge between them had broken or if it was still hanging on—no, she’d didn’t know about the bridge period. She might be standing in the middle of the bridge or on his side of the island or what the fuck was this metaphor anyways? Complete bullshit, that’s what.

The ground around him shudders and roils in reflection of his rage. Would he attack her? It was hard to tell—he didn’t look like her Volterra anymore, with his eyes smouldering and his jaw so tight. (If he did, would she win? Could she?) Again unpleasant plans seek out her attention. Again she puts on a face for him, but nothing on the outside could accurately portray the problems on the inside.

Nobody would have to know.

It was the victors who wrote the history books, not the losers (is that how she’d come to think of this? Her versus him?) If she played this card—the card she’d engraved with a V for Volterra, a V that also meant something else—then that would be a choice that didn’t have to be widely known, or known at all. Only she would know; only he would know. And who would he tell?

It is then she realizes with a touch of sadness that all her anger at him was misplaced, and that it was only ever truly directed at herself. Her time with Kid, her time with her own individuality and perspective, had created a certain (although perhaps deluded) indifference to the reality of him and her. Why should she care for the nuances of their relationship? (She cared anyways.) If this would give her what she sought—then who was she to complain about the means, so long as the ends were achieved?

(Even if nobody else knew she would know, and she’d remember, and that twists her gut with revulsion.)

Why is this wrong anyways? Nobody ever said it had to be wrong except for him and I. Except that this was horribly, undeniably abhorrent—what she was doing, what he was doing, and the hardness no doubt forming between his legs. She was tempting him (and she fucking knew it)—but he should have had the strength to resist anyways. He was weak. Not her. Him.

But those rationalizations don’t seem to mean much now that her teeth are pressed against his haunches and her mouth tastes like him and her heart is thundering. Beneath her ministrations he growls (like a rabid wolf) and she shivers—it’s disgust, but perhaps it would come off sensuous.

“Just shut up,” she snaps, unable to keep her emotion under wraps—her voice cracks and splinters on notes of anxiety and frustration. (Maybe she should have done this with Abraham on the beach in her first heat. Maybe she wouldn’t feel quite so fucking awkward if it wasn’t her first fucking time.) She could still pull away, be a tease, but instead she swung her forequarters away from Volterra, tail flicking up at his face, an open invitation.

(What could possibly be go wrong?)


(Everything.)
image credits
table by neo ♥


@Volterra


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions


Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#8


The leviathan cannot count the number of times he has invisioned her underneath him, ravished beneath his bulk. He has always felt as though he has a divine right to claim her first, to take that precious thing from her, like an ancient lord exercising his right of prima nocta. After all, what other man is worthy enough to mount her? Only him, yin to her yang, her womb-mate and bestial brother, is strong enough to tame the great skeleton queen. The behemoth knows not whether she has bedded other men - he chooses to think not, chooses to see her as pure and unruined, his and his alone to defile.

She shudders - with pleasure, he decides, with the sensuous thrill of him so close to her, the haunting, filthy notion of doing something they shouldn't. The weight between his thighs grows thicker and heavier, his hips flexing as nature seizes him like the jaws of a shark, dragging him beneath the waves, down, down. He is man, simple, primal and easily led by a mare flaunting herself beneath his nose, regardless of who that mare is, what she means... Her tail flicks upwards, caressing the great black chin, and a groan rips away from his jowls to the sweet grasp of freedom.

She is his, presented to him on a plate, a lavish feast spread out for him to sink his teeth into. Ordinarily, he would devour her like a feral, starving dog, but....he doesn't.

Something makes him hesitate. This is...Nymeria. She is the one he cannot stand to lose. Look what happened to his relationship with Isopia after he bedded her! There is something final about the act, something that turns women against him. And this, with her...It does not feel right. The stallion is not one to stick within the boundaries of social niceties, but this just doesn't feel normal. A twist of his gut - not to be confused with the great, shuddering heat in his balls - tells him that something's amiss, that she would not just offer herself to him like this without an ulterior motive. Because that's something he's rapidly learning about his twin - nothing is ever as it seems with her.

Volterra does not know restraint. He is no friend of self-control. Rash is his middle name. He is a hedonist; pleasure is what he lives for, and oh, he knows the curves of his sister would give him that. He knows how good it would be, how his body would sing to the rhythm of hers, how his name would rip like a prayer from her throat as he moved the earth around her.

So why is he stopping? Why, when ecstasy is just a bunch of his haunches away?

He growls. "No." It is not a pleasant sound, and his ears slam into his mane as he retreats. Moving away from her, away from what she's offering, is the hardest thing he's ever had to do - and hardness is not so easily quelled. He aches, a sword without a sheath, but there's a certain other grim sort of pleasure that ripples through him as he clenches his jaw and tries to withdraw his ardour. It is pride, because he resisted. He has never resisted anything before in his life.

In the far reaches of his mind, Vadir croons her approval, whilst Vérzés hisses his disgust at his bonded turning down something so freely offered.

"This is wrong," he croaks, his throat still tight with lust. "Stop playing games, Nymeria. What did you hope to achieve? Did you think we could just fuck our differences away? Did you want to bear my child, just to show all those other women that anything they can do you can do better?" His savage growl of a voice is eerily low, almost a whisper, but never has such a desire-tainted tone sounded so dangerous.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


I literally did not know what he was going to do until I wrote this post, I totally thought he was going to go for it xP @Nymeria

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#9
Nymeria
- the raven casts the longest shadow -
The waiting was the torturous part. She left her haunches to him (a "friendly" invitation), and she waited, uncertain what would happen or if it would hurt—she followed her instinct, but instinct wasn't made for this sin. Time seemed to slow to a halt; she didn't know if this was taking as long as she thought it was or if it was just her hyperactive thoughts slowing everything else down to a halt. And as she waited she realized perhaps it was both, and she wondered if she should turn to face her brother or wait even longer.

(He isn't going to do it.)
Lilómiel. She needed Lilómiel. Come back.

Then a growl rips through the air, angry, harried, furious. Her heart pounds a fearful beat; her blood rattles through her veins. It takes a moment for his words—no, word—to register: no, resonant and resolute. If she had the time, she would dissect his refusal. Determine the exact nuances of his no. Decide if it was her or... her (was it because she was his twin? Or was it because she wasn't pretty enough, wasn't beautiful enough?) A wave of shame overrides rationality, shame tailed by disgust.

Disgust at him. Disgust at herself. And anger. It hadn't worked. When did she ever fail with Volterra? (It was final. He was a threat, not a friend.)

She doesn't know what face to wear for him, so she wears no face at all as she pivots on her haunches to look in his eyes. (Red on red. Both of them angry.) Nym's eyes flicker to his haunches boner, and then back to his white-marked face. Another wave of disgust; another wave of dismay. There was too many emotions vying for her attention. Instead of following any one of them, she ignores them all. She stares at her brother. Stares at his strange face.

Subconsciously she picks at his voice. It is unexpectedly soft, edged with lust and sharpened with something dark and venomous. It doesn't help her.

You need to stall.

“I—” she starts, and then she blinks, falling silent. The silence draws thick between them (perhaps awkward for once in their life.) What do I say? Because in some way it was true. She knew she could never be intimate with Volterra in the way others were (this moment had proved it more than anything) and she was... jealous, envious of their ability to have his children and capture his attention. To Volterra she'd always be a sister, nothing more and nothing less; and to her... it wasn't enough.

She breathes out low and slow. When she speaks, her voice is empty of any marker of emotion.  
"It's wrong but you wanted it anyway. You're an animal Volterra."

Then Lilómiel's here, approaching from behind Volterra towards Nymeria.  

Now.

Black jaws part and flame pours from between white teeth, aiming at Volterra's haunches; then the dragon dips low, shifting his aim to Volterra's family jewels. Nym backs away hastily, and at the same time wrenched at Volterra's blood, attempting to draw it free from his orifices. She was counting on him being distracted (by flame and by pain), counting on him rushing for the river; and then, without another word, she turned and trotted away with a final swish of her tail towards home.

image credits
table by neo ♥


@Volterra
OOC: Lilómiel attacks Volterra from behind, aiming to burn his haunches and then his balls using his fire breath. :P Then Nymeria uses her magic (details below) on Volterra before attempting to exit the thread.

:: [ Magic: WaterxWind (U) | Ability to levitate and control direction of liquids outside or inside of tissue and containers ]
:: [ Restrictions | Effects last for 20 seconds in battle. Symptoms include choking, dizziness, fainting, stomach pain (similar to what having The Bends causes) ]


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions



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