[AW] Open Arms [Relic Contest]

[Camdis]

Camdis Lohir

It was like waking up. 

The dense emerald of the grasses and the freshness that rode upon the back of the soft afternoon breeze was a soothing balm to the cranky stallion's bitter moods. While he would be loath to admit that he was enjoying himself, Camdis couldn't help the contented sigh that blew from his nostrils as he continued his leisurely stroll across the fields. It came as a pleasant surprise to him that the realms that he had stumbled into had helped ease the tension of his existence, had help lighten the burden of guilt that pressed so cruelly into his shoulders. 

Well, as long as he was alone, anyways. 

It seemed as if when there were others around, all the stallion could think of were his failures and of the bitterness that pressed close to his heart like a brand. He had never known true companionship, he had never known a conversation that was not of an educational or commanding nature - he hadn't even gotten to know his own wife, the poor girl. Camdis Lohir shook his head at himself, considering the beautiful cousin that he had taken to his bed in his desperation and agony. 

Her name had been Twilla and she had been kind enough. A dutiful wife, an even more dutiful priestess, she had not blanched at the stallion's admission of cowardice and his intent to vacate the throne once their children were ready to submit to the counsel of the elders. She was a good mother from what he had seen, loving and affectionate where he had been distant and terrified. 

He sighed again; they were in capable arms and he prayed to whoever would listen that his failures would not bring them the strife that he so deserved                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

 

THE MELODRAMAA

[Bexley]

A desert day trip may have been one of Bexley's dumber ideas, but it sure as hell makes her feel more relieved to stumble into this place. Vibrant grass instead of dusty red sand, dew frosting Bexley's skin instead of leaving it drained by the sun - a bluer, wetter sky, promising rain at some point, which means a rush of cool air to be counted on. 

As she walks, Bexley drags her feet through the short-cropped grass, humming contentedly as her body temperature drops and stabilizes, her curls returning to their former glory, the heat that's collected just under her skin being leached out by the damp turf. She wants to hate this place - she shouldn't even really be in the Dusk Court - but can't bring herself to do so. It's a beautiful day. Dense white clouds, a slow, soft breeze. Over the rise of the field looms a collection of thickly-packed trees, and behind them, the ocean. Tiny white flowers dot the vast expanse of flora around her. It's so basic, but so peaceful. Bexley inhales deeply, catching the scent of salt, and wet dirt, and - 

Someone else. Damn, just like that, her few moments of peace ruined. Bex's mouth curves into a deep frown, and she throws her head up higher to look around, squinting against the sun. What a huge world, she thinks to herself, and yet people only show up when I least want them to. She's a social creature by nature, sure, but she's also out of her element, and the thought of being caught off guard unnerves her deeply. At least she's stumbled on this stranger before they stumbled onto her. That's an advantage right there. And whoever this is, they're probably as new as she is, and definitely not as self-confident. Her small moment of apprehension vanishes as quickly as it came.

A silhouette appears, someone hulking and dark, and Bexley forces herself not to snort at the melodramatic sight of this man walking on his lonesome through the field. Instead she sidles up slowly behind him and takes a good look. Black legs and a reddish coat, huge, spiraling dark horns curving out from his forehead, bundles of black hair dripping off his back and neck. As she approaches, he lets out a deep sigh, and Bexley can't contain her judgements. 

"Aw, is someone grumpy, being all on his own?" she teases, catching up to walk beside him. Her reddish eyelashes flutter, laughing, mocking, or both. "Life sucks and then you die, huh? I get it, I guess. But I'm sure you have so much to live for. I'm Bexley," and she beams, flashing rows of white teeth unselfconsciously: this should be fun.

@camdis hope its ok we jumped in!!<3

love, space

[Camdis]

Camdis Lohir

And just like that, the moment of solitary contemplation was ruined.

She had been downwind, so he hadn't caught her scent, and the soft shushing of his mane and tail dragging along the grassy earth had masked the lightness of her steps. That, and he had been paying attention to nothing but the questions clanking around in his skull and the tugging of the relic's magic in his muscled chest. Ears pressed against his skull for a moment at the sound of her bubbly, bright, girlish voice, before perking back up and swiveling toward her. 

Silvery eyes were still trained upon the ground before him, but he slowed his heavy steps to match her own.

Camdis Lohir was a dick, a jerk, a crass and bitter fool, but he was not entirely without manners; especially when those manners had been literally and figuratively beaten into him by years of tutors and their heavy-handed methods. So he gave her his attention, whether or not he deserved hers. 

At her statements, he felt his lip begin to curl, and was shocked to find that her flippant remarks could stab at his heart with such casual ease. Did she know? Could she somehow see the sin etched into his soul with every step that he took? He shook his head at himself, no no no, there was no way. Sins weren't visible, were they? They couldn't be, for how else could murderers and depraved souls walk about amongst the masses with no one the wiser? 

Taking a deep breath, Camdis Lohir finally tore his eyes from the earth at his hooves and straightened, fixing the slightly shorter mare in his sights. Quickly, he gave an assessment - bubbly had been an apt description, though beautiful could be added to the list of descriptors for the lass. Despite her beauty, though, there's something slithering beneath it; a cruelty, perhaps, though that word did not feel quite right when placed alongside the mare. Manipulative, serpentine, tactful - now those were words that he would pin to the maiden's hide without remorse. Cocking his head, the Exile King raised a brow and allowed his baritone to fill the short silence that had sprouted between them, though his voice was scratchy with disuse, "Your use of sarcasm is spot on, Pretty Bexley, I have near nothing to live for. I'd have thrown myself onto a blade by now if I wasn't so worried that I'd fail at that, too."

His voice held no trace of self pity, no inflection that could imply that he wanted any sort of sympathy or for anyone to attempt to relate to him. No, his eyes were shuttered and his expression blank. He spoke as if he were just remarking on the weather, having accepted his position as a blemish upon the earth's surface long ago.

"My name is Camdis Lohir. Do you get off on bothering strangers?"

                                                                                                                                                                                                       

 

AAAAHHH I LOVE HER SO MUCH YAAS @Bexley

[Bexley]

When he looks back at her, it's a strange, unexpected gaze - so empty, so...dense. Bexley doesn't falter, but her curiosity does kick up a notch; a tingle of surprise rushes through her small body. She watches him intently for some reaction to her words and finds almost nothing, just one small curl of the lip, he can barely even meet her eyes. And then his face goes blank. For a moment the world between them is quiet and still, waiting for some scale to tip, for a coin to to hit the bottom of a well, and for his bitter, defensive response to come. But it doesn't. Her brain whirs and hums in mechanical excitement. Lonely and seemingly void of emotion? Bex can't help being surprised that there's no trace of anger in the lines of his body, no immediate visceral response to her ridicule, which almost everyone has. 

But she's sure she can wring it out of him soon.

They make eye contact, and Bexley's lip twitches as she catches sight of the teardrop markings that are dark against his skin. The amount of melodrama that surrounds this man is simultaneously pathetic and funny. "Your use of sarcasm is spot on, Pretty Bexley..." Pretty Bexley. Her nostrils flare in amusement. Pretty Bexley, that's her, all golden skin and fat white curls, pretty Bexley, who has a penchant for blood and is already pining to bend this man to her will, just for fun. Pretty Bexley - ! The attention is beautiful, hits her like a shot of heroin. Her one need has been met. She grins, and it's saccharine. Genuine, blindingly gorgeous, but not exactly trustworthy. The rest of his words are irrelevant. She listens - even tilts her head slightly as his sentence ends, her smile slightly faded wondering how long he's been this acutely depressed - but says nothing, still batting those eyelashes, knowing he won't be able to stop just there. 

And her intuition is right. "My name is Camdis Lohir. Do you get off on bothering strangers?" Instead of smiling at the goad, she pouts, giving Camdis a look of displeasure with those fervent blue eyes. Her face is convincingly upset, watching him like he's just committed a serious infraction. "Oh, not at all." She steps closer, so that they're almost chest to chest, and raises her chin defiantly so that their faces are almost level. She hopes he's noticing exactly how gorgeous she is up close. "I'm an angel. I wouldn't call it bothering. I get off on making things, mmm... interesting." That smirk again, splitting itself across her face, turning her blue eyes bright with mirth. "Isn't this more interesting than moping around all by yourself?" 


@camdis <3

love, space

[Camdis]

Camdis Lohir

Pretty Bexley was an interesting creature, indeed. 

He watches her face just as she watches his, the two an image of shared curiosity and attempted superiority. Camdis was not of a competitive nature, and as he had yet to discover just what, exactly, they were competing for, the stallion had a distinct sense that he would either lose or be left with more questions than he had started with. Her grins are breathtaking, eyes sparkling and wide; innocent and guileless, but the way she uses her words, the quickness and tact with which she wields that deadly beauty of hers, Camdis knows that it is not a dove beside him, but a raptor - wings tucked, talons out, razored beak agape and poised for the kill. 

She has done this before, and she is damn good at it.

The stallion cannot help the tiny smirk that curls at his lips as his initial distaste wavers and vanishes, and he hopes that she believes that it is a smirk of arrogance, not of amusement. But Camdis had never been a very good liar, even when his lies had nothing to do with words.

She stepped closer, so close, in fact, that he can feel the heat rolling off of her golden skin and distantly, he wonders how many times she has pulled that exact same move and how many stallions and mares alike had bowed to the allure she brandished so expertly. Before he could comment, though, her flowery, girlish voice floated between them once more, her lovely face now wearing a mask of chagrin - as if he hadn't nearly hit the nail on the head, as if she were just a sweet girl talking to a tall, dark, brooding stranger just to lighten his day. 

Camdis' grin grew slightly, though he carefully kept the grim delight from reaching his eyes. 
Pretty Bexley, Serpent Bexley, A Knife In Your Back With A Smile On Her Face Bexley.

He wouldn't admit for all the world that he was beginning to like her.

I'm an angel. I wouldn't call it bothering. I get off on making things, mmm... Interesting. That deadly grin again, those burning blue eyes once more - If Camdis Lohir had been a lesser stallion, one with less "baggage" - he scoffed at his own poor terminology, though he was sure Bexley may think it in response to her words - he would have crumpled at her hooves right there. The wonderful wretch, the breathtaking gorgon, the delectable, vile, horrendously smart little witch.

He might just admit that he was beginning to adore her. 

"I would have to agree, you do make things rather interesting," he murmured, eyes lighting up and wondering if he, too, could play at her little game, "Tell me," his voice lowered, taking on an intimate, husky note as he leaned closer, lips aiming to brush against her cheek, the velvet of her nose, her chin, "How stupid do you think I am to not see that you are a stunning viper? What turned you into a siren, Pretty Bexley, and how many souls have you stolen so far?"                                                                                                                                                                                   

 

 @Bexley <333 sorry for the wait, suga

[Bexley]

Bexley, watching that tear-marked face shift and shift again every time she speaks, finds herself relaxing into the familiar feeling of being in control. Perfect. It’s like a high, especially after being deprived of power so long. Manipulative and horrible of her, sure, but Bexley is what she is - a hedonist, a witch, a princess-comma-viper - and any remorse she feels is entirely overwhelmed by the hot, blood tingling rush of watching Camdis writhe in her grip.    

He’s smirking now. Bexley finds herself simultaneously intrigued and amused; he must think he has some kind of trick to pull off on her, and he’s going to be very disappointed. She tilts her head to one side and watches him evenly, not bothering to flutter eyelashes or smile too hard now that she know’s he’s already reeled in. Instead her face takes on a sheen of calm. Behind that, something knowing. 

You love me, she says loudly in her own head, willing it into existence the way she has a hundred times before, stretching it out to him metaphysically, a hundred little tentacles, flowery green vines, saying You love me, you love me, like an enchantress weaving an everyday spell. 

Tell me… Oh, he’s horrible, leaning in like that. Bexley hates that he feels comfortable enough to do so. In her utter refusal to lose any of these games, Bex doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lean away as his lips brush her cheek - but she surely doesn’t lean into it, either, and she hopes he can read the fact that she’s entirely unfazed by his sudden boldness. Like hell she wants someone else in charge. What turned you into a siren, Pretty Bexley, and how many souls have you stolen so far?

At that, she snorts. Half derision and half real laughter, she raises her brows at him, expecting some level of insincerity to be on his face, but there isn’t, and that’s worse: “Sweetheart,” Bexley ridicules, giggling, “You can’t be serious. I’ve been this way since the day I was born, no turning, just crawled my way out of hell and got to work. I’m not much for wasting time.” She gives him a sincere look. “And, to answer your other question, it’s gone beyond counting.”

@camdis <3

love, space

[Camdis]

Camdis Lohir

She does not shrink away from his touch, yet she doesn't lean into his warmth, either. 

So the serpent's pride will not let her lose, yet she finds no joy in the imitation of her skill set - and intriguing, markedly possessive quality that is not lost on Camdis. Still his grin does not waver, watching her with no trace of heat in his gaze, picking apart her every well-timed breath and perfectly punctuated flutter of lashes. She is skilled, she is vicious, she is all things lovely and cruel. His tail snags on a rock or a twig or some other miscellaneous trap for locks like his and the stallion winces as a few dozen strands are ripped from his flesh, but he cannot be bothered to worry much for the lost hair lengths, more shall take their place in time. 

Her snort, a mixture of mockery and laughter, draws his attention away from the sting that has begun at the base of his tail, a surprisingly welcome reprieve from the small hurt. His eyes follow the line of her brows as they lift, searching his face for something that she wouldn't find. It was a more genuine expression than he had seen from the lass, and his curiosity piqued - beneath the veil of lullaby laughter and deadly intent, what else lurked beneath Bexley's skin? Did she even know, or was the selt assurance that dripped from her gilded skin a farce as well?

Yet, her sugar sweet siren's song giggles in his ear, a Sweetheart playing off of her tongue and it is an effort not to purposefully misstep, to drive his shoulder toward hers and find out just how graceful a mare Bexley was if she was caught off guard. But her answer is far more entertaining than any stumble or sailor's curse that could fall from those perfect lips. 

"Ah," Comes his reply, a brow tweaking heavenward as he stares at her sidelong, smile still toying with the curve of his mouth, "Born a wretch; it seems we have more in common than I had thought." A pause where he takes a contented inhale, adoring the scent of freshness brought along on the coattails of Spring, "And if I have nothing to offer you?"                                                                                                                                                                          

 

  @Bexley

[Bexley]

The amount of silence that passes between them is becoming tiring. Bexley is impatient at best, doesn’t like to go in circles; fun doesn’t come easily to her, not with her level of ambition and that one-track brain, always somewhere else, thinking about a crown gilded with red jewels, a feather bed, a husband with a well-known name and a lot of money. So, yes, this is fun. Except that’s not enough. Camdis is great - easy to impress, doesn’t mind her big mouth - but can he give her any of that?

Of course her only question is unanswerable. There is no indication he’s given her that he’s capable of any of that, the way some people exude their power like a perfume, but that also doesn’t mean he isn’t, leaving them both in this smoky gray area where Bexley is loathe to ask from. For a moment, watching him, she laments the enormity of her desire. If only this were enough - a man and a woman, and the vivid, overdressed green of the field all around them; the smell of new rain, the dirt wet under their feet, and the sky blushing its rich blue. But it isn’t. Bex shifts her weight, blinks serenely. Camdis’ time is running out. She hopes he knows it. 

And if I have nothing to offer you? Oh - ! He does. The boy just keeps surprising her. A smirk flits over Bexley’s face, and a glint of genuine joy surfaces in that blue gaze, like something metallic underwater, being lulled and pulled, swung, slowly, to the surface. “Then I’ll leave,” she says simply; there’s no use lying. “But I’m sure you can think of something. I’d be gone already if I didn’t think you had something to give me.” Her gaze meets his evenly. He doesn’t need to know that she’s not totally confident in her decision, just that she is, indeed, expecting something from him. “Am I wrong?”

Don't disappoint me, she thinks in her head, because she doesn't want to leave, not really, not yet. Give me anything.


@camdis <3

love, space

[Camdis]

Camdis Lohir

What a blessing she is, what a curse. 

For a swift moment, he assesses their differences; her hooves are small and bleached, the tea cups to his dinner plates. Her hair is pale and curled where his was obsidian and coarse, yet they both gleamed beneath the setting sun. Soon, it would be Camdis' time, that breath of space between the sun's wakening and his fall. It was the time where Denocte's children could dance beneath Calligo's embrace, where they could breathe the cool air and move about, cloaked in the shadows of their Holy Mother and watch their nation come alive. Indeed, the stallion had found a sense of belonging within the Night Court, though he had yet to meet many within the borders of his home. 

But being alone and being lonely were two separate things, and the horned beast found that wrapped in the arms of Denocte, he couldn't quite slip into lonely. 

Silvery eyes were drawn back to the mesmerizing violet of Bexley's once more, her melodic voice wrapping about his ears and settling in his head, his chest, his heart; the thin serpent was making wonderfully quick progress in burrowing herself into Camdis' life. Already, he felt exasperated, as if they had already been over these words and these steps, an old dance that had grown into more of a natural movement than a conscious act. It was easy with the golden girl, whiplash tongue, fanged smile and all. 

A huff of a laugh broke through the stallion's lips at the lass' blunt quip and he didn't think she was joking for even a moment - no, Bexley was a liar and an actress, but she pulled no punches if honesty would end up having a bigger impact than a farce. A wry grin twisted the stallion's lips, the smile reaching his eyes for the first time in weeks and causing the silvery depths to glimmer and gleam with abandon. What did he have that would be of entertainment for a dolled up witch who dealt in secrets and subterfuge? She was a spectacle, a gleaming icon and a shadowed wraith. 

"I was a King, I have a wife and children that I fled from. I frequented whorehouses and bought an Empress. I have snide jokes and bitterness - is this what you seek?"                                                                                                              

 

 @Bexley PLEASE ACCEPT THIS GARBAGE

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

The sun is setting, and Bexley’s skin crawls with the promise of impending darkness. Of course the sky will first go purple-and-pink, and she’ll have the pleasure of watching the sunset, of feeling the wind, of going twilight-hazy as the clouds drift and unspool, but then she will be out of her element: night-shrouded. She doesn’t like to be without light. Stars are not enough, neither is the moon. Night may be Camdis’ home, but it’s sure as hell not hers.

I was a King, I have a wife and children that I fled from. I frequented whorehouses and bought an Empress. I have snide jokes and bitterness - is this what you seek? Bexley’s eyebrows shoot upward. No way that’s real. A disbelieving, completely incredulous smile splashes over her face as she watches for any sign of a lie, but there is none. Camdis’ voice is even, his expression flat. He’s being sincere. Holy Solis, what has this man been doing with his life?

Disappointing, she admonishes, and turns around. With slow strides she heads west, sinking deeper into the grass with each step, and knowing, hoping that Camdis will follow. That’s all in the past. What are you doing now? I would guess you’re playing by the rules of whatever court happened to adopt you, but feel free to surprise me. There’s something almost sharp in her voice as she tosses that bomb over her shoulder, tick-tick-ticking, the venom in her body starting to boil as she continues to walk. We all have tragic backstories, but there’s no use for them unless it’ll make you rich. Her body is starting to vibrate. She’s not even sure why she’s so mad, just knows that suddenly the sight of Camdis’ face, the fact that he had a life before her, or exists when she’s not around. It’s crazy, but for her it’s not uncommon. 

She grinds her teeth and forces a stop to the bitterness in her voice. She even fights the urge to ask a stupid question.He can’t know that she’s genuinely intrigued. Pretty Bexley will lose that card over her dead body.

@camdis she's in such a bad mood randomly oh ma god i'm sorry

love, space