i tasted shadow long before i ever knew the light.
Silk over sand, shadows over cobbled streets, he is the moon and night sky, a shooting star given flesh to walk as a mortal among men. Golden feet ring over the cobbled paths of the Night Market. Alecto breathes in, he breathes out, he moves to the rhythm of the world around him. This is a place for magic and mystery, a place for thieves and opportunity. For one such as he, an enigma as much as he is a man, it is a place to become a mayfly. One who lives for just a night before dying.
Over and over. Again and again.
One night, he shares stories out of the dark alleys to awe and amaze, and then he's never seen like that again. Weeks later, someone whose voice is similar, but different enough that it seems a different person, appears along the riverside, laughing and flirting until the men and women in his company are too drunk on wine and berries, on the high of life, to remember anything more than the whisper of flesh against flesh in the dark of the night.
Now, he comes forth again. As much a ghost as every other night, and still enough of a spectacle to draw the eye, to draw attention. Eyes follow down his throat, to the faint tinkling of the ring around his neck. For a moment, he pauses long enough in a shop to grab a tea. There, he sips and thinks. Sips...and thinks.
open <3
09-05-2021, 01:00 PM - This post was last modified: 12-31-2021, 06:20 PM by Alecto
The markets were always spritely with an assortment of festivities. Music played in the streets: a mandolin, a tambourine, the jingling of anklets and golden jewelry keeping time against the dancers' skins. It was always a sight to behold, the merriment and mystery that only Denocte could provide. Thomasin tried her best to keep her attention focused on her work, but it was so hard when the dancing and gayety looked so inviting. As she damped the coals in her little oven, she pulled the last of her batches out and set them to cool – a small assortment of winter-fruit tartlets and a root-vegetable pie.
The tiny creature blinked her big, pewter eyes in wonder at the women who danced. How she wished she could move like them, like liquid, spilling into the night under their sheer satin sashes, keeping the cold at bay with their warm smiles and playful sashays. But alas she stood on the sidelines, a wall flower, watching them with awe. One of them winked at Thomasin.
She stiffened and blushed immediately, tearing away her gaze and nervously dusting the soot and flour off of her. Despite how hard she would try, she would never fully rid her knees and chest of flour – like an artists’ glitter or paint, if she was baking, she would be decorated with the dusty powder.
With a flutter her duo-toned lashes and a toss of her umber braid, the lamb scurried to her neighboring stall, hoping to distract herself from the temptation of joining in a dance. She gave a small nod to the tea maker – they had a silent but brief exchange, as it was in Thomasin’s nature to come over every night and offer left over pastries. In routine, she knew they would want some goodies, and Thomasin was happy to oblige. Thomasin never made breads or sweets for the money, she didn’t really care for the coin – she was born to serve others, in the humblest of ways. It pleased her to watch patrons bite into fluffy, warm nuggets of savory or sweet goods. They typically melted, and that satisfaction was what Thomasin thrived on.
The mousy mare turned her head, prepared to return to her stall before catching a glimpse of a stranger seated. They sipped their tea, quiet, perhaps thoughtful. Thomasin couldn’t help but envy the way their skin danced, mimicking the entertainers and the stars in the sky – a milky and delightful display of ink and honey swirling into faux galaxies on the contours of their body. She tilted her head up slightly, shifting her body away from the stranger – in case they might noticed her beating heart. But she was distracted by the tea in the air, and the smell of mint on his skin. It was like a breath of fresh air, her own dulce skin was earthy and slightly spicy – like black chai.
Curious creature she was, she approached the stranger. Perhaps he was a dancer one of the dancers taking a break? He sure looked the part. “Might I offer you something to eat with your tea?” Her tender, quiet voice found its way out of her pink mouth, and the corners of her lips curled into a soft, yet sheepish smile. “I’m sure I can find something to pair with it, and I am trying to get rid of the leftovers after todays’ sales. I’m not one for waste.”
It was not in her nature to be so bold and go out of her way to start conversation. To be honest, she just wanted an excuse to get a little closer, to look at him just a little longer.
☾✩☽
"talking."
tagged: @Alecto c:
im feeling some of this ~ : X
i tasted shadow long before i ever knew the light.
Gentle as a swan-song, she moves in the night beside him. Careful. Delicate. Like Thomasin isn’t sure she wants to be seen, yet she so desperately wants to be known. And it is a terrible thing to know Alecto, for he is, perhaps, truly unknowable – especially by night when it is so easy to be nothing more and nothing less than smoke and shadow. Golden eyes flick her way, watch intently as the blush fades from gingerbread cheeks and she shifts her body away from him. Not as though she is disinterested, for doe-ears tilt his way and pewter doe-eyes are wide and intent, the direction of her horn unchanging with him as her sole target.
He pretends not to notice. Alecto looks back to his cup and pours more from the teapot, left thoughtfully sitting above a candle, into the delicate porcelain before him.
Dancers laugh as the fire between them gurgles and cackles with glee. Their bodies weave a story into the night, move the smoke with magic and joy until figures dance within it, too. They remind him of the great bonfires of home, of Attune and her envy, of Tienar and his secrets. Everyone has secrets, every story is riddled with words that are never said. Things to ferret out and unveil if you’re truly invested. As much as his body longs to join in the fray, to press into the sides of another, feel their warmth and revel in their arms, their midst, for just one night, he does not.
His mischievous mouth twists ruefully as he takes another sip. Listens to another beat tap-tap-tapping on the drums, keeping time for a people he is a part and apart of. The stars of his skin dance as, at last, the unicorn comes forward in a cloud of spice and sweetness. The flour on her knees is ignored, the smile she wears is mirrored. Open, kind, sharp, inviting. He is a wolf, and he is hungry. “My dear little lamb,” he states with a dip of his head. “I could accept only if you’d offer your company for a time, too? Desserts would not be so sweet unless there is another to share them with.” His voice is as gentle as the wind, as thunderous as a summer storm, flashing in with a rumble, rolling out long after he’s stopped speaking.
A brow lifts, it always seems to at some time or another, and he pulls the chair beside him out, inclining with his chin that she take a seat. “Please, offer miss…” a glance, the other brow raises at the absence of a name, “my friend whatever she’d like to drink. I’m happy to oblige her this evening.” And their kind host seems to know what Thomasin likes well enough, for soon another pot is placed above a candle, delicate flowers that match those along her ribs (such soft, beautiful bent structures, like spires into a world all her own) painted within the cup. Alecto nods his thanks and pours Tom her tea.
“I’ve always enjoyed fire dancers,” he whispers beside her, looking back to the coven before looking back to Tom. “But they pale in comparison to you,” the compliment is water between them, drifting on the current, finding its way from one to the other. Looking then to see if she would blush once more, the man offers a smile, a shrug as though it were the simplest of truths that she should already know. Movements jostle the ring about his neck just so, the silver of it, the dragon stone heart of it, seeming to laugh and devour the look of the flames as they glanced off the two.
There is a magic to her that his home would appreciate even if his father would not. His sister would have eaten the little lamb whole.
Like a moth to the flame, she lingered just out of reach of this warm, charismatic stranger. So starved of connection, conversation, even if it was idle prattle, she craved attention.
The embers of his eyes were inviting, as was the sharpness of his smile. Was everyone she was bound to meet so much more charming than she could ever be? Did they all gather in a cult in the deep of night and drink from a fountain of beauty? Even the way the porcelain tea cup touched his lips – how did he make something so ordinary seem like an extraordinary act of grace? For a moment, she wished she was his cup; maybe if he breathed on her, he would spill his secrets, gift her this unspoken blessing of unearthly beauty.
When he insisted upon her company, at first, she was prepared to decline. Her mouth opened wearily, but instead of her own voice, the stranger continued to speak, a molten growl that dripped from him, and he said the forbidden word that made Thomasin button up her jaw. Friend.
Still on the high of the friend she had made the other night - the gentle vampire - she was gluttonous for friendship. Even if just for a night. Even if he was pretending. In defeat, she would lay in the den he made. A soft, airy comment as she took her seat, “Thank you, you’re too kind.”
Quietly, she would place a plate on the table to split the distance between them, and in the center sat a pair of tartlets. She was quick to reach forward and gingerly wipe the edge of the plate of cinnamon – because of course, to Thomasin, she strives for beauty of all things, including her edible arrangements.
“They are cranberry and cream,” She motioned to the pastries, each one a perfect buttery cup, cream and honey based, crowned with small blood-ripe berries, a curl of orange peel, and dusted with spice. “I foraged them this morning.” She stated it so matter-of-factly, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she nodded eagerly for him to indulge in it. “Please, enjoy them.”
As the tea maker brought over another pot and he poured it for it, she watched him carefully. Not a single drop spilt. The lamb slowly took her cup, admiring the beautiful painterly flora display, before taking a prolonged drink. When he whispered of the dancers and how they failed to compare to her, she paused in sudden surprise, scoffing into her cup as she almost choked on it. Her wide eyes looked up to his dark, chiseled face, and to her amusement, she laughed. A laughter that shook her tiny frame, unbridled, spilling from her pink lips delicately, but full-bodied.
When she finished her giggling spell, she dabbed a tear away from her eye, and nibbled on her lower lip. “Come now. If I looked like them, why, I don’t think I’d be spending my time cooking.” A golden chuckle laced her words before she turned her head back to the smoke and magic show. She spoke again, a whisper more to herself than to the other."No, I think not. I would be dancing." Figures of smoke, wispy and silky, partnered with their fleshy counterparts and swayed to the music. Every swirl of their hips, every beckon of their fingers, and every mischievous smile entranced her.
Thomasin allowed the silence to sit between them before returning her attention to the star-ladled man. “But you,” she mused gently, “You would strike me a dancer.” Her shoulders slumped as she relaxed in her chair, but her line of sight couldn’t help but tip-toe along the curve of his neck, fingering the chain around his neck, before contently staring at the stars that played on his skin. She admired how they twinkled, like he stole them from the sky: diamond dust. Abruptly, she realized she was staring. How rude of her. Her cheeks flamed in coral pink as she felt embarrassment fester in her body.
“Forgive me. I apparently misplaced my manners. My name is Thomasin, Thomasin Gray.” She leaned forward, a humble and sheepish simper teasing her lips, as she eagerly awaited to drink in his name.
☾✩☽
"talking."
tagged: @Alecto
im feeling some of this ~ : X
