[TW] musings

[Anonymous]

A N O N Y M O U S Boredom. Straight boredom. He wanders the plains in the darkness, the dawn not far off. Cloak wrapped around my shoulders, wings exposed to the cooler summer air. The day will grow hot, suffocating, but at the moment it's comfortable and relaxing. And yet he is so bored. No contracts, no bloodthirsty, revengeful aristocrats. The purpose in his life has come down to nothing. Maybe he'll start raping and murdering just to make his life more interesting. Sure he met Only, and that was the first exciting experience he's had in a long time. He met Finnian and lurked among some gathering of Dusk inhabitants. But besides that, there's been nothing. He grunts and stands still then, looking to the East where the sun will rise. He wonders if his brother across the sea is watching the same son. If he is surviving - thriving or failing? Is that damned tutor in charge or did he relinquish his control? He sighs, his two-toned eyes shadowed. Part of him wants to know what is happening at home. The other part never wants to go back, in mind or body, ever again. The thoughts linger, fading at a snail's pace, and he stands still, only just aware of his surroundings. After all, it does no good to have anyone surprise him in this moment of reverie. Short and museless, but I think it'll get better. @Only

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[Only]

Mornings like this reminded monsters like him about the glory days when it was easier to live with himself without any concerns regarding his behavior.  Waking up covered in a fine spray of blood (who's blood?  His blood?  Only's blood? ) - all over him.  Everywhere-

his nose stinks with it,
his ears are thick with it too,
His pretty blonde hair clings to him in bloody pink clumps against his serpent neck which -

"Damnit Only," Stephan huffs.  The macabre reality unveils itself entirely.  He sees the front of his legs stretched out in the grass and they too are covered in a fine mist of the same blood (who's blood? Stephan demands to know again).  It paints a path of horror all the way up his chest, along his slender long neck, and the rest off his chin which itches to the point of madness.  Only has done something - but what? - Only has done something terrible - to who? - Only should be here, right now, but he isn't - why not?  What has he done? 

Not that anyone's concerns concern him all that much.  Only's failures are not his failures - and he is only vaguely aware of that pathetic whelp's life in the form of dissociated memories.  He does not know how Only feels right now (he does not care - really), he does not know who Only knows or who he does not know, he does not know the places that he has been, he does not know what that slippery catfish has been up to the night before either -

Why am I...?  For the first time in a long time,  Stephan is the one worrying.
 

***


Only is a tight fitting mask that Stephan cannot lift to look under - it is annoying.  Only's only skill is lying about things - about making it seem as though everything is okay when it really is not.  Only's secrets are what confuse Stephan - control him.  Only's secrets have Stephan  weaving the fields in search of something - anything - that may lead the man towards the answers of any questions this strange morning has left him with.  While he does not like cleaning up Only's messes, he has a better sense of self-preservation.  If anything links him to the blood that has him more red than black right now, he should find it and get rid of it.

The problem with that, however, is that he is not alone.  Even though the dense morning fog has yet to lift from the edges of where his eyes can see, a subtle breeze has carried the notes of another presence to him.  Stephan stalks after it carefully, following the scent trail until the haze thins out enough that he spies another man out in the distance.  Waiting.

For what?

Anonymous, his mind is quick to recognize the runes glittering down such a strong neck - the thick wings tucked into the beast's solid form are not new either.  The whole smell of him reminds him of a night they had shared together weeks ago (was it weeks? how long? why did it ache to see him?)  

Stephan scoffs loudly at himself - he gives himself away in doing so but he isn't sure he cares enough to have done it.  

"Well if it isn't my favorite snake handler - "  Stephan hums demurely once the stallion's attention has been piqued.  The serpent slides through the grass towards him, the space between them permeating with fresh blood (again - who's blood?) - he has half a thought to ask Anonymous how long he has been standing here and whether or not he has seen anything strange during that time...but he refrains.

Why?

He isn't sure why, he just doesn't.  The breeze fills Anon's cloaks and they billow out around him elegantly, Stephan keeps his distance as his eyes locate the knives glinting in their scabbards.  The scars on his cheeks tingle with familiarity - he knows those knives most intimately, he has felt the kiss of them against his own skin and he has even used them against their wielder.  Whether or not Anonymous is still angry for that - he'll never know because he will never ask.

He will, however - for his own sake - ask the man questions to hopefully unveil secrets that the morning has left him with.

"Has it been a...quiet, morning for you?  Nothing unusual?"



@Anonymous

.only
si vis pacem para bellum

There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
For many are called but few are chosen.

[Anonymous]

A N O N Y M O U S He stands upwind, and so the scent of someone approaching does not reach him. But that is only one sense, and his others are perfectly functional. So first his ears swivel, then his horned head as he glances to his 2 o'clock. Even in the dim light, his keen eyes find first the outline of the approaching stallion, then start to fill him in with blocks of color, shades, getting more and more detailed as he approaches. He hasn't met others in Novus, but even if he had the stallion would be unmistakable. Only greets him smoothly, with a compliment to boot. Favorite snake handler. Anonymous feels a tick in his chest, a physical sign that he likes the idea. He remains silent as the pet snake nears, feeling no need to rush conversation. The breeze swirls, bringing the scent of Only back toward him as the air fills his cloak. The assassin's eyes grow hard as the scent of blood wafts toward him, filling his nose and almost overwhelming him. His eyes glance over the snake, taking in the spray of blood that really seems to coat him from head to toe. Not even bothering to clean himself, it would seem; certain to attract attention. The assassin doesn't let anything on, remaining more or less stoic except for the hard look in his eye. "A quiet morning?" Anonymous muses, showing a sign of thinking over the question, his answer. "Oh, it's been quiet for me." He chuckles then, knowing that the carefully placed emphasis will disturb Only. How does he know? Just by the nature of his question, the inquisitive, hesitant approach that shows he is trying to pick the mind of the assassin. So the assassin steps closer, letting a knowing smile slip onto his handsome mug. As he turns his head, the slice on his left cheek shows; scabbed, but healing well. The slice gifted to him by Only. "Tell me, friend, what have you been up to, to leave you painted so?" A gleam in his eye, the sly manner of his voice are the only giveaways that perhaps Anonymous knows more than he lets on. But why admit it? That would take all the fun away. @Only

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