[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by Slv. Voraer on February 14, 2009, 7:35 pm, in reply to "I'm shushing my lips I'm doing the hellen keller I'm talking with my hips? Is this right VORAER" Voraer was wandering absently around Desreal, his brain on fire as he worked the little hamster wheels over time to mull over the current state of things. There were many thoughts that whizzed by, though mostly he focused on Fenris and the damnable wolves as a whole. He wanted revenge on her, on them, on Nicodemus too. He wanted to help Hypatia bring them down; she was right, they were too powerful, Fenris too smug. But how! Oh how. He wondered plaintively, exhausting the muscles of his mind he used so less often than the muscles of his body. This situation was delicate, he couldn’t get what he wanted by simple force and strength and will power; it had always worked for him before, but he knew it would not do this time. And then of course the issue of Lycoris was ever a walking nightmare. He snorted out ash and smoke, pausing in his wandering to stand beneath the curled arm of a tree, staring at the sunlight that speckled through its translucent leaves. Voraer had a quiet respect for the world and its splendors, its beauty. He didn’t often stop to smell the roses and appreciate things, but today, he did. He was in a calm stupor of thought and musing, and it gave him an inner serenity and clarity. But his fire still burned, his copper body rolling out the heat that raged inside him. Ash trembled from his body as he moved and fluttered as the wind brushed by him. He was still a beast of trembling energy and explosive hate. Voraer
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Lycoris found him then. He should not have been surprised, it seemed the only safe sanctuary from her was the desert, for he had never seen her there, could not imagine her there, a place so different from all that she was. But his eyes widened none the less as her voice fluted into his ears. His heartbeat jumped tempo, his fire rumbling to life inside him as it fueled all the spiteful memories she had given him. But on the outside, he remained the calm bronze statue. But it was wrong to be near her, she only brought him trouble and grief and he felt even now by association with her presence he would be punished, as any pit-bull is punished whether it has yet to bite or not. Her company only ever brought him misery and grief, and he felt so wild and reckless in her presence; in control of his fire and yet wholly consumed by its savage desire to snap at her air and burn her to crude ash. But why? Why did he loathe her so? She was so opposite of him, rubbing him the wrong way, annoying in her persistence and easily hated by all the trouble she had caused for him. But before all that, before the mess, why had he hated her so? Simply because he hated. Because she was so happy when he was so angry. He wanted to rid her of that smile, have her sink into the same agony he felt at the time.
And to some degree, he had succeeded. She was no so jubilant with him anymore, but it didn’t bring him the pleasure he’d expected. It didn’t sadden him either, he felt only nothing. His glassy gray eyes drifted to her, though his head remained lifted, nose barely touching the leaf he’d been expecting. She had grown. His fire whispered to him, able to sense the power within her now. She wasn’t so frail and weak now, and yet she still was, her core personality would always hamper her potential. But she had grown, stronger than him now with her air. His fire growled within him, skulking at this notion. ”But here you are.” He said simply, amazingly calm as he had been as of late, his mind no longer scrambling to find a pocket for the explosives he carried on him like a mad terrorist. He found his enemy now, and his anger clarified the world for him. He lowered his head, leaning it into the wind as she drifted past him, lifting his ragged mane off his curled nape. ”What is Bifrost?” he asked quietly, honestly curious.
Fire II - Dragon's Breath - Silver - Ni'Srilan5
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