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+--- Thread: [PRP] in hell I'll be in good company [azuhel + jette] (/thread-1948.html)
in hell I'll be in good company [azuhel + jette] - Nereid - November 01, 2017
[the usual trigger warnings for gore I guess]
Jagged, twin shards of moonstone shone brilliantly in the waning light of dusk as a figure at the shoreline of a long forgotten stretch of river peered over its shoulder at the line of trees for only a moment before turning his attention back to the water.
No matter how many times he saw that glittering thing Jette insisted was his face, it always stole his attention. That shape that apparently matched him just like his shadow did, but he had been unable to make heads (heh) or tails of it for as long as he could remember. He blinked down at it, nose nearly touching the water as his exhales stirred it up. But worth did a reflection have anyhow? It couldn't tell you who he was. How he was a perpetrator of countless war crimes, how he was responsible for holding a man down while his brother ate him alive. How they fought like dogs over children's hearts. How he was a failure of a culling in his mother's eyes, how he idolized a father until the man himself grew sick when he shed his skin to reveal his true nature. A silver-tongue, a siren, a murderer, a soon-to-be father, a whore- a dragon himself with a horde of lovers and gore collected over the years in lieu of gold born in the dark, shimmering water at his feet. A boy who beneath it all was forgotten by his family at the beach, and turned his attention to smashing other kids' sand castles in frustration.
He grinned to himself.
Skin rolled in pleasure before pounding feet launched the wild thing from rotting log to murky water, panting mouth agape and tongue outstretched so that he landed with a splash and a mouthful of water lilies to spit out. Watery cackles bubbled out of his throat at the feel of that soft sand in-between his toes, the buzz of mosquitoes at his ears as he surfaced, and he paddled back to shallower waters to shake out that dirty fur of his and laugh and laugh and laugh. He was wheezing with it! Oh, how he had waited for just this moment- to return home with his brother and just go fishing like they used to when that pain above his brow was less a phantom ache and more throbbing fire. Doggish jaws snapped at the surface as his front feet stomped and shattered it in glee, and dipped below to snap up a crab that fluttered up from all the ruckus to toss to his brother-
He froze, racket ceasing to a few quiet drips of water back into the river.
A crow jeered as it landed on a nearby branch softened with Spanish moss. A shape had stepped from the twisting roots of the mangroves, shaded by a setting sun and a thick, twisting canopy.
Without Jette to aid him the brain registered that familiar coat of rust-colored scales, nose nothing but the mild tang of water dripping out of his nostrils, and painted an impulsive picture to satisfy that writhing, whispering, jealous itch born out of childhood. That girl who had stolen his face when the concept had meaning still in those formative years! Echoes in his ears urging him to plunge a dagger into her temple and dig in with dirtied fingernails and pull it from shining pulsing muscle and take it back and take back what had been done to him (what you did to yourself)! Blood beat a steady drum in his ears, and those milky eyes rolled in their crusted sockets to consider the shadowed figure once again.
"Thought ya ended up like da rest o'em, sis." Smacking, waxy lips at the prominent scar (a lover's kiss he fully intended to return one day, the heat in his belly coiled and surged) split to reveal a curling grin as water and pulverized shell dripped down to meet the water at his elbows. "Y'finally learn ta'fish?"
Jagged, twin shards of moonstone shone brilliantly in the waning light of dusk as a figure at the shoreline of a long forgotten stretch of river peered over its shoulder at the line of trees for only a moment before turning his attention back to the water.
No matter how many times he saw that glittering thing Jette insisted was his face, it always stole his attention. That shape that apparently matched him just like his shadow did, but he had been unable to make heads (heh) or tails of it for as long as he could remember. He blinked down at it, nose nearly touching the water as his exhales stirred it up. But worth did a reflection have anyhow? It couldn't tell you who he was. How he was a perpetrator of countless war crimes, how he was responsible for holding a man down while his brother ate him alive. How they fought like dogs over children's hearts. How he was a failure of a culling in his mother's eyes, how he idolized a father until the man himself grew sick when he shed his skin to reveal his true nature. A silver-tongue, a siren, a murderer, a soon-to-be father, a whore- a dragon himself with a horde of lovers and gore collected over the years in lieu of gold born in the dark, shimmering water at his feet. A boy who beneath it all was forgotten by his family at the beach, and turned his attention to smashing other kids' sand castles in frustration.
He grinned to himself.
Skin rolled in pleasure before pounding feet launched the wild thing from rotting log to murky water, panting mouth agape and tongue outstretched so that he landed with a splash and a mouthful of water lilies to spit out. Watery cackles bubbled out of his throat at the feel of that soft sand in-between his toes, the buzz of mosquitoes at his ears as he surfaced, and he paddled back to shallower waters to shake out that dirty fur of his and laugh and laugh and laugh. He was wheezing with it! Oh, how he had waited for just this moment- to return home with his brother and just go fishing like they used to when that pain above his brow was less a phantom ache and more throbbing fire. Doggish jaws snapped at the surface as his front feet stomped and shattered it in glee, and dipped below to snap up a crab that fluttered up from all the ruckus to toss to his brother-
He froze, racket ceasing to a few quiet drips of water back into the river.
A crow jeered as it landed on a nearby branch softened with Spanish moss. A shape had stepped from the twisting roots of the mangroves, shaded by a setting sun and a thick, twisting canopy.
Without Jette to aid him the brain registered that familiar coat of rust-colored scales, nose nothing but the mild tang of water dripping out of his nostrils, and painted an impulsive picture to satisfy that writhing, whispering, jealous itch born out of childhood. That girl who had stolen his face when the concept had meaning still in those formative years! Echoes in his ears urging him to plunge a dagger into her temple and dig in with dirtied fingernails and pull it from shining pulsing muscle and take it back and take back what had been done to him (what you did to yourself)! Blood beat a steady drum in his ears, and those milky eyes rolled in their crusted sockets to consider the shadowed figure once again.
"Thought ya ended up like da rest o'em, sis." Smacking, waxy lips at the prominent scar (a lover's kiss he fully intended to return one day, the heat in his belly coiled and surged) split to reveal a curling grin as water and pulverized shell dripped down to meet the water at his elbows. "Y'finally learn ta'fish?"