FOLKLORE


[ PM ] Delusions of Grandeur
#11
There had always been… something.
There had always been something else lurking behind his slippery grin. Something else within the playful glint of his luminous eyes. Something else coiled in the lazy movements of his massive paws and lounging body. It was something, perhaps, unpleasant and something, maybe, dark. Something jealous and something…..

frightened.

When he heard the snarls, the something else became alive.

It was her on the ground struggling — it was the scent of smoke and blood and an empire burned to the ground — it was the murder of a Phoenix — it was abandonment -- it was the cinders of childhood — it was —

loss.

No.

He was not a child, and he certainly was not helpless.
No... he could be a monster too.
He had grown into his father’s son, his mother’s son, filled with righteous fire and illustrious venom. Baol raged forth and in one sweeping motion his teeth latched into the man’s scruff. He yanked him from her body, pulled his claws away from her flesh, his weight from her form. He would get this beast away from her.
The man thrashed his head to rip at his skin in one sweeping motion before releasing him onto the earth, standing between the two. Sinead behind him as he faced the stranger, and the message was clear.

If he wanted Sinead, he'd have to kill him-- and it'd damn well be a fight.

“my sin, my soul.”



ART ➤Snow-Body!


@Lachlan @Sinead
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#12
a rose bleeding...

The feel of his weight above her did more to close her throat than his teeth ever could. Panic set into her limbs, stiffening her movements until she was little more than a rusted, clockwork doll. Her frenzied snarls found purchase in his skin, but not before he tore himself free. Blood splattered against her skin as his snarls reverberated through flesh and bone. Her heart beat wildly within her chest, rattling against her ribs like a ravenous beast. It was fit to burst and she—she was so horrified that a slow numbness began to fall over her. Desperation had made her feral, but futility was beginning to press a weight down onto her chest. It sucked the breath from her and made each movement more weak as muscle memory held her in a vice grip. She recalled his phantom touch as it had slid over her back and down her spine, ending at the base of her tail—

A great gasp of air filled her lungs as she was freed. Long gashes now marred her throat, each one a present from a philanderer scorned. Though blood wept, her eyes did not. She blinked back the tears that had begun to form and curled in on herself, tucking her tail firmly between her legs. While Sinead was loath to remain on her back, she was more fearful of baring her hips. She remained broken upon the earth, poised upon her side.

Chocolate eyes stared up at her savior, though he was a pirate before he was a prince.

The fur along his spine had sharpened into blades. His posture was sturdy and tension lined every limb. So aggressive was the stance that—even at his back—she felt a shiver run through her. She had always seen him as the lazy, mischievous boy with a wolfish grin. Never had she witnessed the nightmare that he could become.

And yet she was not afraid. She was numb from panic and relief, but she felt the faintest sense of comfort when she gazed upon Baol.

Nonetheless, her breaths were feverish still and she could not yet find her paws.



"..."
...on her own thorns
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#13



Lachlan could feel the fight beginning to fade from her once he got a hold of her throat. He clenched his jaw, tightening his grip and stealing her breath away.

A part of him he didn't often entertain found a sick thrill in overpowering her and perhaps, if he didn't get control of himself, he might go too far. However... he would not get the chance this time. His jaws opened in surprise when he felt teeth in his own neck, but not wide enough to be loosed without causing damage. He was flung from her before he knew what was happening and he lost his footing and fell to the ground with a thud.

Weakened from the blood loss, and confused as to what just happened, he stood up a little slowly and blinked at his assailant. A larger male, lighter in coloration than himself, but with one ugly fucking face. His amber eyes were bleary as they drifted to Sinead, who sat upright now and said not a word. She hid behind this man now and Lachlan quickly put two and two together. So this was where she had gone off to. "Ah," he rasped. It all made sense now. Well, actually it didn't. This guy was hideous, and Lachlan fancied himself much handsomer. He wondered what he was offering that Sinead liked so much, but the dirty smirk on his face said he already knew.

He coughed, and spat blood. Fuck, that wasn't a good sign. It was time he got out of here. He was no match for this new wolf in the shape he was in and no bitch was worth this kind of trouble.

Without a word to either of them, he turned and sulked away, into the forest. He knew better than to try his luck. He was better off heading home to lick his wounds.


OOC: Lachlan exits

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#14
He righted himself in time to see the man walking swiftly away, and suddenly some of the righteous fire inherited from his Phoenix mother kindled within his belly and rose up like bile in this throat: Coward, caustic venom dripped from his stare in the millisecond he remained motionless. He wasn’t sure why the hasty retreat was so infuriating— was it righteous indignation that the man should only prey upon his withered flower and tuck tail when someone else came along? Or was it that Baol simply wanted him to stick around so he could kill him? He suddenly knew that the second option was the correct one, and it was thrilling : he was going to kill him. A bright shadow crossed over his face and for a breath the thought made him giddy that he would sink his fangs into the man’s throat in just the same way that he had Sinead’s. A wild hint of a smile flashed across sooty muzzle, hackles raised— the man was still close, he could be at him in a bound—

He began to take an aggressive step after him, but something caught on his sleeve. Burning, luminous blue eyes flashed harshly down at whatever was stopping him— nobody would stop him— it was her. She laid upon the ground, ripped clothes splattered with blood, delicate, trembling hand reaching up, grasping the sleeve of his leather jacket. A way she never reached for him, pleading, Her messed auburn hair tumbled in heaps at her shoulders and back, covering half her face until she lifted her chocolate glass gaze. A way she never looked at him, Something in his breath caught and made him pause, hesitant to rip his arm away and chase after the defiling man. But he still wanted to. “Don’t go,” spoken in the quietest voice she ever spoke. The man stared down at her with conflict in his eyes, anger in his eyes-- and all at once, the fear, the terror was clear in his expression. It appeared that in that moment he fully took in her form, broken on the ground, reaching out to him. He bent down, eyes round as he tentatively reached out a hand to touch her shoulder— and yet he didn’t touch her, as if afraid she’d break.


"Sinead," he felt the need to say her name, to make sure that she would hear it, acknowledge it. "Are you alright?" what a stupid question. So he didn't say it. Instead, he said, lowly and gingerly: "You're alright." for she was now.



((PP permission given :'D <3 ))

“my sin, my soul.”



ART ➤Snow-Body!


@Lachlan @Sinead
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#15
a rose bleeding...

Her knee stung. The delicate skin had scraped against the pavement and blood now trailed down her leg. Dirt and gravel accented the bruise that was slowly begin to purple. It bloomed like the flowers upon her wrists and neck, for she bore a bouquet upon her skin. They were gifts, actually, from the man who had recently ran.

The sound of his footsteps still echoed in the alleyway.

Her nails had dried blood beneath them and the taste of iron was raw upon her tongue. Splatters of it matched the ruby lipstick she'd put on mere hours before. It was a pity that it'd smeared after all of the effort and time she had invested.

She shook still, quivering as she rested heavily on her knees. The concrete bit into her legs and left pockmarks, but she was far too numb to feel it. When she lifted her hand, it shook.

Brunette hair covered her face, hiding the mascara tear stains that lined her eyes and cheeks. Through dark lashes did she stare at Baol's back. She could feel the rage as it rolled off of him. She could see the murderous intent in the primal, predatory set to his muscles. She knew without needing to ask that he was going to leave—and in that moment, she was desperate to not be alone.

Reaching out, her hand caught his sleeve. She trembled before parting her lips to plead: "Don't go."


He turned and hovered over her, close enough to touch. Though he hesitated, she did not.

Her brow pressed into his lips, forcing a kiss of comfort against her fur. Then, feeling weak, she slumped against his chest. Her tail curled between her legs and she shivered.

When he spoke her name, she felt tears spring to her eyes. "You're alright." No, no she wasn't. She was afraid and she was bruised. Worst of all, she had been reminded that experiencing trauma once did not earn you a free pass through life. It could happen again—and had Baol not been there—it would have.

"Don't leave me alone," she whispered again, desperate to keep him close.

[ Exit Sinead ]


"..."
...on her own thorns
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#16
Pink had always been her color. And yet, pink was only supposed to be brushed across her eyelids as rosy eyeshadow, glossed over her lips in supple poppy, pressed to her curving form as a matching, tantalizing set. It was not supposed to bloom like flowers across her pale skin— showing just how pale her skin actually was and making her look more akin to a haunting ghost than a porcelain doll. The color pink suddenly turned grotesque and the more his eyes roved her body, the more he could feel some ugly and violent thing rising in his chest. He wondered if he could turn the entire man pink and blue, he wondered how much of his body he could cover in red. The man’s jaw was set and he could not spare her a soft look as she reached out for him. But he did stop at her plead. He couldn’t not stop, much as he wanted to go.


Still stiff, he turned to her. Thoughts of ripping fur and skin and cries of mercy still hazed his brain, but she pressed her crown gently to his dark lips. Baol blinked as if coming to, his clearer eyes flicking down to the top of her chestnut head as she sank into him, curled into him, like was going to disappear into him. He spoke her name, told her she was alright— but oh, she shook and shook, and the fresh smell of salt poisoned the air. The man arched his neck over her protectively. “I won’t.” he promised.



- end thread-


“my sin, my soul.”



ART ➤Snow-Body!


@Sinead
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