“Bloody,fucking murderer.” The dauntless grey mumbles in anger underneath her breath. It was just an embarrassing outrage that the “King”, Mauja, would kick her out of the Edge. “Why would he do this to me now?” She screamed in her mind with frustration. Charcoal orbs squeezed closed as the saltines started to form she tried to prevent any more tears from streaking down her cheeks. Her jaw clenched shut swiftly at the thought. Raven mane covered the delicate neck line of her swift figure. Collections of frost bitten air chilled the touch to of her skin. The night was only young and the delicate figurine slipped through the moonlit earth without a trace. Her hooves quietly cascaded across the ground with her thoughts clustered. Seiren did not know where the night would take her, but she didn’t care, whatever happened it couldn’t be worse. The tinseled fae was no goody-to-shoes as many might think. She came from a sinister background that haunted her mostly every second of the day. Her brother, d’Artagnan, was not that soul she could got to for comfort, in fact, it was probably the exact opposite. He was the evil bastard who ruined her life. What did he ever do for her except give her trouble? Nothing! Why did she even bother to save him when she didn’t even like him? Hatred boiled in her stomach creating an uneasy feeling. She kept on though, just letting her unwanted self-continue. She didn’t need anyone anyways; she was doing just fine being on her own.

And one would think it could not get any worse… “Of course it could!” she thought with sarcasm almost spitting out the line herself. That winged fool was the excuse of her daughter, Ghost, was what had to ruin the fae’s reputation. The god awful reminder that her daughter was of Seiren’s heritage made her want to vomit up blood. She wanted that disgrace to get out of her life, and if d’Art ever found out about her, oh she dreaded the day would come; he would surely do the job for the grey and then possibly murder her corpse as well. The thought made her spine tremble with chills. Seiren finally let out a discouraged sigh as she knew this was going to be a long night…

[For d'Artagnan and anyone else who wants to join:3 This is also a recycled post for now]

It was dark, but Alan was hardly going to let such a thing stop her. She hadn't spent almost a year stalking Seiren just to lose her now that they'd come back where they started; of course, the first time they started was years ago and miles away, when they were both younger. That time, Alan had been the first to leave. She smiled bitterly in the dark. Only after Seiren's brother had caused a stir, though. Perhaps once in her foolish youth she had loved him - but age had taught her that she was not meant to love, tenderly. No. Seiren's once-called-brother was now her brother, and he was pretty fun to watch when he was around Kou.

But why did Seiren have to pick such a damn desolate place tonight? Alan had been reducing the space between them for a few days, unwilling to lose her in the bustle of Helovia - thinking maybe she'd return to the Edge, which those fat bastards still held, or go north, if she'd even known they'd lost the herd? Speaking of that, did the Plague still roam the Steppe, or had they settled elsewhere? While Alan didn't care particularly much about who ruled where and who said what and who made that pile of shit, she was a warrior. She didn't know the game, the rules, the setting. She was a blind piece stumbling onto the board, and that unsettled her. She had no idea about anything, where she would be welcome and where not (as if she cared, but y'know, no need to have more scars than necessary).

And to top it all of, Seiren had chosen a fucking swamp to come to.

Growling under her breath Alan swatted at her hocks with her feline tail, the humid air annoying her; vines hung down from weeping trees and it was with a certain lack of grace, and stealth, that she forced herself through the vegetation. If Seiren had been aware of her being followed.. well, who knew. There were times when the gray mare's stealth had almost shaken Alan off the trail, but she'd always found it sooner or later, and here they were again. If Seiren hadn't been aware of it.. she certainly should be now. Muttering another curse Alan forced herself through a bush that probably should've chosen to grow somewhere else if it had wanted to avoid being trampled, and then found herself facing Seiren's ass some twenty yards off.

"Did you have to pick a freaking marsh of all places?" she demanded hotly of the other mare, glaring at her through the darkness.

One could say it was the blood lust that was rife in the air that dragged d'Artagnan across most of Helovia to find himself wondering amongst a rather smelly swamp. His sooty nose wrinkled as he recoiled from almost everything he scented around him, Aramis on the other hand, was quite interestingly enjoying himself in the stink fest. Glowing a dull shade of crimson as a pointed tail flicked from side to side, all you could hear was his quiet pads against the moist ground and the soft snuffling of his little nose as he investigated the marshes for the first time. The shade concentrated on the narrow path below his cloven feet, not wanting to stray too far to either side in case he took a deathly plunge into the revolting waters. It was a place you would imagine d'Artagnan to like, however, the Nightshade simply liked the idea of one in stories. The real thing, however, was rather less impressive.

He may have completely missed the presence of others if it wasn't for the sudden halt of his bonded, heckles rising along the pup's back as he lowered his youthful body and growled lowly. The Doctor's ears curved forwards and he carefully picked up his pace into a brisk trot, half watching his footing and half looking ahead of him. It wasn't long until he recognized the snapping voice of Alan and his face noticeably lit up in delight. Finally two figures came into place before him and suddenly the Nightshade fell to a halt, standing like a stature of both shock and anger at the sight of his sister.

Couldn't she just stay missing?

Really, d'Artagnan wouldn't of cared if she had died in a tragic accident. The shadowy mare who thought she was so smart, he smirks and her infuriating looks of pity she always threw at him. Like he was nothing more than a piece of dirt, as if she was something better. Something to behold. He lowered his head and glowered at her through mismatched eyes of hate, just her dappled form annoyed him. Daddy's little angel who could do nothing wrong. She had even fooled him, though the Nightshade had yet to learn to what extent. "A distasteful place for a distasteful mare. Why hello sister dear" he spoke with huge volumes of sarcasm, moving as close to Alan as the little path would allow. Looking critically at the bush she'd shoved herself into, before raising a brow at the bay mare and choosing to forget the more humorous sarcastic comment that entered his head.

No. Not with her here, it seemed that whenever his sister was around she always drained the life and soul out of a place. At least, in d'Artagnan's opinion of her.