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+---- Thread: [AW] It's all Fire and Brimstone, Baby (/showthread.php?tid=1181)
It's all Fire and Brimstone, Baby - Rhiannon - 10-25-2017
"No!"
It was a feral scream from bleeding lips, wide, rolling, two-toned eyes narrowed as she thrashed in the sand, flailing, kicking up gritty, unsavory granules of fucking sand with every rough bout of movement. Frosted ebony tresses, wild and unruly, clung to the mare's sweat-soaked skin in uncomfortable clumps, but she didn't care. She didn't care, because she was still clearly very much alive. This was not how it was supposed to be when she had stepped through the portal to Fuck Off Land into only Kaos' tits knew where. Maybe, a little piece of the she-devil had wanted to die. Maybe a little more than a little piece of her had wanted it, yearning for freedom from her demons and her shitty hand at life... But here she was, alive and whole, in a land that she did not recognize. In a fucking desert. A desert! What cruel ironic bullshit mockery was this? Couldn't the portal have just deposited her onto the peak of an icy mountain instead?
Son of a bitch.
"No! You fucking son of a bitch! You cock-sucking bastard! Send me back or just fucking kill me!" It was a challenge. A dare. Rhiannon had seen Kaos effortlessly slay far too many lives with simply a thought to know that he simply couldn't kill her. Why?! Yeah, she had gone through the magical doorway like a good little mortal, wondering what the hell could be worth it on the other side that survival even fucking mattered, but here she was. Alive. Breathing. In a fucking desert. No one else was with her. No one else had been shit out of a magical portal into a fucking desert. Just her. Fucking great.
The brindled mare grew still at last, sides heaving from her fit of intense rage, icy-silver and molten-gold eyes regarding her surroundings for the first time since waking up in this new place. The sun was set premature in the sky, the dawn having barely broken the horizon, and already it was uncomfortably warm, especially for one who had spent their life in frozen mountaintops and snowwy valleys. For miles stretched dunes and hills of bronze sand. Sand. Rhiannon hated sand. Well, she hated almost everything, but sand was definitely near the top of her 'can piss off and never return' list.
Where did she go? Where the hell was she? This didn't look like 'Kaos Home for Creepy, Displaced, Homicidal Children', so what the fuck was she supposed to do? Give her an icy wasteland devoid of life and Rhiannon knew how to survive. She knew, intimately, how to endure the cold. Here, with her thick winter coat from Helovia in preparation for the Basin's brutal winter, the warmth already uncomfortably clung to her, making her sweat in rivulets. Fuck. Fuck.
"... Fuck." The word, however, lacked any of the previous venom that previously laced the brindled devil's words. It was soft, pitiful almost, and allowing just a touch of that innocent fear that was long forgotten. With a glance around in every direction and none the wiser as to where to go, Rhiannon stared defiantly at the sliver of sun peeking out over the horizon, the skies twisted into shades of deep blue and purple, and began her trek. For now, she would follow the sun and continue towards the east. Hopefully it wouldn't let her the fuck down.
Open to anyone!
RE: It's all Fire and Brimstone, Baby - Bexley - 11-03-2017
BEXLEY BRIAR
The day is hot, and Bexley watches this girl suffer with inexplicable apathy. Her expression is stone and silver, unbent. A tiny dot perched at the top of a rolling slice of sand, hair moving just barely in the wind, azure eyes narrowed against the oncoming rays of yellow-white light, for many moments she teeters between interest and discomfort, swaying on gently dished hooves from her spot far above the stranger: it’s been quite a while since the Day Court was so disturbed, and despite the feeling that maybe she should help the poor thing, Bex is so also annoyed by her shrieking that she is fighting the urge to turn around and let it waste in the desert.
Solis takes what He likes, and who is Bexley to stop Him?
Yet there is drama waiting here, something the Solterran’s life has been severely lacking, and so as the stranger begins to move, Bexley moves after her, tracking a lazy path on the dunes far above. Separated by hundreds of feet, she watches the girl with a hawklike intensity - sweating and upset, fur too thick to be comfortable in the clawing heat of Solterra, obviously not meant to be here, maybe not even meant to be in Novus. She has the kind of energy Bexley has drained from many other acquaintances, the kind that comes from being new, from being vulnerable, from not understanding anything about this place, a foreigner utterly and completely.
Fresh meat.
With one calculated turn, Bex goes skidding down the slope, sprays of sand arcing from her feet like gold high into the air. Sun glitters off her coat, the stark white of her hair, her tiny porcelain body, everything in direct contrast to the darkness, the heaviness, the strangeness of this new woman. Aw, someone’s lost - this sung in a smoky voice, reverberating, lower than expected, through the dry air. Need some help?
@rhiannon
RE: It's all Fire and Brimstone, Baby - Rhiannon - 11-05-2017
It was the sound of rolling sand cascading nearby that stole Rhiannon's attention from her dark, internal musings. An ear flicked, two-toned eyes turning to watch as a copper creature descended the dunes nearby, skidding through sand effortlessly with the same confidence that she used upon ice. Clearly this creature was familiar with the workings of the desert, with how gracefully she traipsed through the cumbersome sand. Envy bloomed anew in the devil's breast, and her teeth gnashed in vast displeasure. Whoever it was, whatever she wanted, Rhiannon hated her already, the burning feeling spurred by her vast discomfort and annoyance.
She froze, halting in her progressive steps, hooves sinking into the golden granules of sand, and her gaze remained upon the golden woman with her ivory mane and tail. Lips drawn back into an impassive expression, eyes narrowing slightly in judgement, she held her tongue. The golden thing was pretty, Rhiannon supposed, at least on the surface. She had no horn, though, and the last survivor of the Plague did not even bother to hide her scoff of resentment. A pretty face, then, and nothing more. What a pity. A good lay might have been just the thing she needed to wind down from such a shitty situation.
The gilded woman spoke, and just as she had assumed, Rhiannon was unimpressed. The sing-song, teasing dulcet of her tone was grating and less than savory, and the dark lady was not in the mood for such frivolous altercations. Molten-gold and frozen-silver eyes rolled, but she spoke to answer, not bothering to hide her annoyance. She was hot and miserable and pissed, flung far from home and left alive.
Why couldn't you have just killed me, too?
"All I need from you is to know where I am," she muttered, the deep, masculine baritone of her voice carrying easily over the dry air, "And how to get out of this fucking desert." Simple. Precise. To the point. Rhiannon lacked the patience for anything else.
@
RE: It's all Fire and Brimstone, Baby - Bexley - 11-08-2017
BEXLEY BRIAR
They are strange and unholy, the two of them - Bexley regards the stranger with an even and suspicious gaze, noting with considerable impression the stark contrast of her eyes, the sharp rise of her cheekbones, the wolfish intensity with which she dares to meet the Champion’s stare. With the pressure of the world mounting, something calls for a halt. They stop at once. They become pillars. Bex’s legs lock in the sand, and her hair finally settles into still waves. Around each body the air coalesces into something electric, crackling with impossible tension, with impure opportunities: deep in her stomach something hums and buzzes, a low-velocity takeoff, and she shifts slightly on her feet, unsettled, intrigued.
To know where I am… So Bexley was right, her initial distrust of the stranger something to be counted on, the experience stored for later - that her intuition can be trusted. Her eyes narrow unhappily. The tone of the stranger’s voice is obnoxious, whiny, even, and the disgust with which she’s responded makes Bexley’s teeth itch, the hair on her neck stand up. She’s unused to being disliked, unaccustomed to being disrespect, and the obvious derision coming off this bitch in waves has already set Bex’s nerves on fire: her narrow shoulders set into an angry stance, her tail lashes behind her, and with a simpering, violent bare of all her teeth, she snaps, Good fucking luck getting that far with such a huge stick up your ass.
Snorting derisively, Bexley turns away, ears flickering to touch the back of her skull. You’re in Solterra, she continues, voice flat with disgust, And this fucking desert goes on forever.
She grins then, a wild, violent thing, and waits.
@rhiannon