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Soft Falling [Fin] Read 12562 times

VenomousEve

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #90 on: August 04, 2016, 09:38:40 pm »
She watched his genesis and held it fast at the pit of her ever-living heart. In her world beneath the stars, bringing the favored into the fold was commonplace. Her siblings had lineages which branched like fractal frost on glass, shadows begetting shadows with thinner blood. At some point, it must lose its magic. But Marin, who had wondered if she’d ever wanted a soul enough to snare it forever, was sure now it was something she’d never forget. Centuries from now, Inan might not be a name for her tongue or a face she’d recall but this moment would carry on. It had been foolish of her to think this might wash away on the tide of time. She remembered, after all, the first time she’d fallen in love as clearly as she recalled the first life she’d snuffed. They just didn’t have names. This, new Mother, was all of that and tenfold more.

Marin petted his hair and let him burn beneath her. He was in pain and it was beautiful. A pretty that rivaled the ache he carried for the sister that wouldn’t have him. This might be more lovely still. She’d only ever see it once. In the widely drawn tree that was the spawn of her ill-fated parents, her bud blossomed. Stretched forth. Uncurled a single silver vine. He gave her gold, then, blinking, and found the harvest moon to reflect her mercury. She smiled. Fury-born, her first and only resurrection. It was the deepest pit of selfishness, but Marin felt a little of her lonely die with Inan’s humanity and she was glad.

“Hello, Inan.” She told him, curious when she watched him swallow her red. Marin had never shared, after all. She was still unveiled in all her moon-spun brilliance, a white he’d not seen on her before he’d tottered over the edge of death. “This has always been the world. Mine, at least. Yours now, too. Yes.” She confirmed. He was hungry, the way she had always been hungry, but more ravenous for its novelty. Marin let him pull her on his tide.

He was lucky, perhaps, that she never grew old. This first thirst for his Mother’s veins was his to keep. They all did, for the heart of their Line. Dusty, coffin-bound, ever-aging things. Bones and blood and a death wish, guarded by the Children with self-discipline. It was discipline Inan would never need. His starlit demon would never crumble. She laughed at his eager. “You may try.” She hummed. It was good his new physiology would demand this of him before he had time to contemplate his new moral reality.

His blood, she was sure, had turned on him. No longer his to give, because it had mixed with hers and learned to heal the body it served. He was sweet and generous. She wondered if he understood he was eternity for himself alone, now. And the violence it would require to spill the red he had and the red he wanted. “Don’t be gentle, Inan.” She told him, and took his hair in her hand and pressed his lips in the hollow above her collarbone, where she’d peeled open Martin. She felt one of his newly budded fangs scratch against her skin. Little surface vessels broke at the assault and then hurried to repair. “You’ll never get anything from me, if you’re gentle. I’m sorry.” She told him. “But eat until you’re satisfied.” She said. Marin could be endless for him.

She stroked his throat with her other hand. Violence in his future, too. She had no reason to restrain from her own fledgling. Addiction was part of this dance they’d spun into. There was nothing to protect. Was it cruel that she’d offered him this fate when he had the least to bargain with? Desperation was a convincing salesman, after all.

--

Cat wrinkled her nose at the man. “Rude.” She informed him. Leaving her to Braxton for his own amusement was mean, she thought, but took his assessment of her character as a compliment. It may not have been, but she had never seen her stubbornness as anything other than charming. That might have been Inan’s fault, for encouraging it.

She listened to him justify his thoughts on leaving her behind, tucked it away as a valid lesson, and still determined she was set on going with him. “I know I’m new, but you’re not and I won’t get in the way.” Catalina stared at him. “I haven’t gotten in the way yet. I think I’ve been fairly helpful, in fact.” She grinned a little. “I mean, I assume you don’t get into so much trouble all the time. You’re still alive, after all. But…” she waved her hand. If the shoe fits.

It was teasing only, of course. In truth, she’d left Olister in a haze of mystique born out of their earlier encounters. Young Witch caring for the veteran Hunter who, she was sure, had done any number of heroic things before succumbing to a backhanded and cowardly attack. And this more recent spar, too, had gainer her sympathy. Tsoalle played with minds. That made him cowardly by nature, she thought. Rough-around-the-edges Olister was an honorable knight still.

Catalina made a face at him, when she realized her intentions were contrary to his. He had not been convinced of her tagging along, it seemed, at that was annoying. Still, she finished her meal quickly and plunked the money for the meal on the table. “Better not make a mistake again, then,” she grumbled as she sulked back toward the car. She wondered if there was any room left to negotiate going with him. “If you get killed and leave me at this House with that stupid Braxton boy,” she started and fixed him with livid green eyes. “I’ll never forgive you. In a million years I won’t.”   

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #91 on: August 05, 2016, 03:09:15 pm »
When she greeted him, his wide mouth closed over the asymmetric deaths he’d grown. Shy, perhaps, under his guardian gaze, because he was a new creature and didn’t know what kind yet. He’d not received enough attention in this incarnation to have learned what was warranted, what was flattery, and what was undeserved. She gave this universe to him. A word-wound agreement that he was to live here. He shivered. The angel allowed him in her garden. He’d didn’t know there were two boys tucked away in Valleyrun and other broken things that wanted this more than existence. Inan only enjoyed it for itself. That was overwhelming enough. He held back a little laughter against her skin. How could he control it? There is glee in answered hubris.

When she told him to abandon his gentle he pushed his head back into her hand, holding his hair. But it was a false show of misplaced affection. That shake of his head, to reject the image of hurting her, as though he truly could, cut the longest fang across a weave of blue underneath her moon smooth. The gasp that came for the beauty of her magma and the hungry hum it raised in his rendered lazy heart closed fast around the short river. A little sigh when the line was shallow. He looked at her, veins gold, also, in the whites of his eyes. Mother, why has the cut gone? But she had the answer ready in her expression. He swallowed diligently, fortifying himself to be a brave new eater.

At first he needed to know, needed to see her magic. Upper row of teeth came down, curiosity keeping those gold-woven eyes wide as the streams inside her crashed against the dipped dragon’s fang and then the shorter ivory cutter, too. He dragged his head toward her shoulder, outward, undoing skin, and quickly turned back to see the gash close, leaving only a small amount to have rolled and stayed in the valley behind her collarbone. A quick look to mother and then his lips into that long bowl, dipping petals and drinking with one kiss. The threads of light on the surface of his eyes breathed when he didn’t need to. It gave him magic, this kiss, and brought contentment to his soul that was already staring into eternity. He was at once the first creature staring at its first obelisk.

He had to wonder what this meant, and realized when the first lash had caught his spirit and torn it open, that there’d been an instance where he’d lived with Catalina’s absence, when that pain had been overwhelmed, also. “No.” he said, drunk on Marin, disappointed at himself for craving this refuge. Protect me from this new addiction because it is too lovely. But if she read it in his eyes as they were drowning in that glower, she wouldn’t have time to help  before he took another kiss to her, to her throat, to the side. She’d said not to be gentle, and his lust was not. His body to hers, as though there was enough power in the new him to hold her if she didn’t want to stay. Eagerly his clasps of eternal ivory closed to carve out a jagged smile on her neck.

He parted it with his lips, trying to keep the portal to liquid heaven open after swallowing mother’s flesh. His tongue in that brook, so he could lap and suck and forget about Catalina. Marin was small, so he lifted her higher on the wall, dug a wider pool on her nape and the rising column for himself. Her rapture circled his native blood, witch’s son and witch’s brother, and wrapped him. He’d sooner want to become it than wear it. How could he recover from this love, he wondered as his legs gave but his arms on her would not. On his knees with her, biting her again and again, to taste her texture on his grinding teeth, and suck her into his lungs and stomach.

Inan fell back, but he clutched the back of her head to keep her to him. Blood tears from treasure eyes until his own life was so threatened with this new craft it locked his jaw. At first he tried to have more, courting the wound with insistent strokes of his slick muscle and the waiting palled, but then life’s magic protested further, and sent a reminded of the death he should have had through his heart. Punishment pumped through his limbs. Inan hammered his head back, into the motel floor, and arched with the surge. Arm still around her. Save me. “Is this—“ Comon? Real? Penalty? It didn’t matter because a groan took his throat.

"Marin!” but sounded like ‘mother’. Her mercy was causing upset with the mercy for others that already lived in him. A glow from inside, weak but true, guarding the veins that were already hosting Marin’s honey. He’d become a stalemate. Suddenly he breathed rapidly because he needed it. Smears of her wonderful  blood on the face that her forever had only started to conserve. In a pulse the bites on his arms and neck from the uninvited boys and the hole from Nona’s knife came back, all Elise’s cuts open, flesh trying to remember humanity. In another beat they were gone, as though they’d been projected and the source had gone out. “Why does it hurt again?” he asked, uneven fangs exposed as he tried for oxygen. If the Marin layer of her was new to have a sprout like Inan, it was also new to losing one. The goodness he was meant for fought with the amalgamation of holy and damned things that had been introduced.

-

There was a smile for Cat when she underlined his lack of courtesy. He shrugged. He was planning to be rude a lot to this girl. Anyone who knew him could expect that much. They weren’t victims or potential sources. He had to save his niceties. The light audacity in him went away when she reminded him that he was still breathing because of her. It wasn’t meant to buy her a place by his side for this hunt, not a real calling of his debt to her, but rather proof of what she considered valuable skills. A conceding huff, at that. “Not saying you couldn’t be very useful. I’d just prefer you be a little more knowledgeable.”

She knew which strings to tug. “Hey now.” He said as he followed. A distant wave to the waitress. “You were conversing with a vampire, remember?” he said. He understood the charm of Catalina. Perhaps it was some of his own, though he’d not been mistaken for cute in a long time. He opened the door for her. “And I wouldn’t leave you with that boy.” He said with a smile that turned into a cringe by the time they reached the car. “Human hormones that age are worse than fangs.” He supposed he felt protective about her. It was the perfect storm of gratitude, having borrowed someone else’s child, and liking her.

He got into the car and wrung it into a healthy sound. She was beautiful in this light. Her story could be beautiful, too, if he didn’t get her killed soon. “Alright.” He said, soaking in the disapproval she was putting out over the thought of being left. Not every day he had someone who would rather be with him than anywhere else. He smiled at her as they entered into a rather populated area, driving toward the heart of the city. “You’re in the car, though, and you bring books but you somehow keep an eye out too.” He said. He reached over to her and pulled down the compartment again, and didn’t like that his forearm sought out her knees during that motion. “That box.” It was clear plastic. “Titanium and glass. Not the same concentration as in the blades. If you’re coming then you get the good stuff.” He was so busy smiling at her he didn’t see the porcelain mayhem dressed in the dirty coat of a recently gone unfortunate in the mouth of an alley. “They’re expensive. Just saying.” They passed the target they’d been traveling for, and came into tighter traffic. Though Catalina was beautiful, truly, Olister felt it a bit much, for a few seconds. It made him a bit nervous, but not suspicious.

“So, and I’m being serious,” He said when they stopped. The house had a good address, just away from the really busy areas. Tourists were easy targets, and hunting was an old tradition, there was money. He stepped out of the car. She would know he wore a gun and a blade, this time. “you’re not going to get your way every time. But I  guess I shouldn’t be so strict with you on your first day.” And he believed it, too, when he said it, and took her up the short flight of stone stairs.

VenomousEve

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #92 on: August 09, 2016, 09:52:59 pm »
There was no name for the memory of slaughter he conjured with his teeth, but she knew it as true as her heartbeat. Perhaps she had been close to her siblings in an earlier era. When he carved out her flesh he drew a ragged breath with it, blades from her lungs. Marin’s head fell back against the wall, stray beads of crimson sweetness dying the white strands that fell across her neck and teased Inan’s cheeks.

It hurt. A gasp when he pulled away her flesh, undressing the desire beneath, and she bathed in the sounds of his jaw working her between his teeth. She was laughing. There was so much newness in this, to share herself and defy the Magic that sewed her shut. Marin was proud of her ravenous Fledgling. At first, she did not understand the initial strokes of agony from pleasure. She tumbled with him, eager to oblige him, and then pulled back suddenly when he called for her. Baby bird, falling. Her momentary euphoria shattered like so many years spent on the other side of the window.

She was astride him as he writhed on the hotel floor, springing old wounds fresh like too many gaping mouths. There was no life Marin had lived that could have taught her this outcry. She understood how it should happen and that this was not it, but there was no legend for her bleeding boy. It did not happen this way, for others. In her dedication to solitude, had she spoilt her ability to share eternities? She was confused, but the rhythmic destruction wasn’t unfamiliar to her own bones. Marin had existed too many times to wallow in this stroke of failure for long.

In her first skin, she had been worshipped. The ageless, moonlit goddess. She had fallen to the same hands that praised her as gods are want to do. A bloody ceremony by the light of the full moon. Blades with strange Magics that opened her to the night sky and left her bare. Gasping gashes until there were too many to count and she was too many fragments to count. Then was born the Bennu from her alter. That myth had resounded, bearing a single name, and Marin wound on in too many lives. “Phoenix,” she told him, as if were an answer to his pain. The silver eyes were bright. The red lips were bloody.

He was not she and was not the same, but she had given him a little of her tarnished divinity. This roiling conflict that was his blood’s reshaping morality and mortality was Feng to her Huang made bitter. “The moon may help you win this.” She said, and pulled herself off of him. It was optimism because there was no other option. The blood that had spit itself from his angry body painted constellations on her dress. Marin picked him up, cradled like an overgrown child. “Take more.” She insisted and took a fistful of his hair to push his mouth against her throat. “If you can.” Urgency, because she had made a promise in blood to this once-human. Something in her questioned whether she ought to regret it, but the part of her that had been happy when Inan blinked gold rebelled. Her sad son. “Your sister would save you.” Marin said, and she was certain that the green-eyed witchling would have if she loved her brother a fraction of how he loved her.

She was out the door and at the car in a breath, setting him in the back seat as efficiently as possible. It was fortunate that Valleyrun was a sleepy town and the soccer team had had better sense than to call out the pitchforks. The tires squealed as she raced out of the parking lot. With the accelerator straining, pedal to the floor, they blew past the edge of town. Out of the low light pollution and into the unfettered evening. There might have been a chance at a more nostalgic departure with this place. The sky was still light but the moon was rising full.

Marin had begged the moon, before. On her own behalf, dragging herself through the snow in a forest across the globe. The rattle of Inan’s lungs in the seat behind her sang déjà vu to the poetry she’d exhaled those centuries ago. Selene, then.

They squealed to a stop as the moon continued to chase the sun away. If there was any blessing in the war raging in Inan’s veins it was that Marin’s blood was not apt to succumb and the clock on his salvation still ticked on. She was rough when she pulled him from the car. Jarring, surely, when he was already tearing himself apart. She scrambled to the middle of the empty road, holding her Fledgling like a sacrifice and insisting his lips to her throat again. To give blood was the only kind of care her kind knew. “The moonlight makes us stronger. Maybe…” he’d hear the little bite of fear if he was strong enough to hold it. Unfit Mother, agelessly young, with her too-gentle Child.

Her fingers were slick with the blood from his pulsing unravel. It was dizzying, even for her, the scent making her senses swim. She made sounds that were meant to be comforting but spoke more to her inexperience. Lonely satellite on her first reach for a tether, met with the cruelest kind of red ribbon. Bright angel with the devil’s soul. “You aren’t getting better.” She said, and it was accusatory. “Can’t you fully embrace this?” she shook him as she held him. “You can’t even die, like that.” Scorn, perhaps.

The sunset silence was deafening. She set him gently on the pavement, watched him in the throes of the personal hell they had crafted for him. Marin was frustrated at the moon’s helplessness and her own. She had accepted her solitude before. This little spark of humanity should not have burned so bright. Marin petted his hair. “I’m sorry.” She apologized in little murmurs and kissed his forehead where cold sweat beaded like too many tears. And then, “Be stronger,” because his torment angered her too.

When the sky had wrapped itself in the deeper shades of evening and the moon’s softness was an evident failure for his continued writhing, a thin sanguine slick pooling beneath him, she put her hand around his throat. “Shall I kill you then, Inan, my Phoenix, Feng? It might be your only hope.” There are beasts who eat their young, when they are too weak. Whether that death is merciful or vain is subject to romanticism. For better or worse, Marin’s weaponized mouth and the steel grip of her small hand was a ferocious sort of beautiful.     

--

Catalina was surprised when he relented. She’d more or less given up the idea he’d take her go. Her sullen had simply been to underline her displeasure. It was a treat she was familiar with from Inan’s affection only. Mother and Father did not generally give in to her pouting. “Oh.” She said, as if she was unsure of what to do when she’d gotten her way.

She followed his instructions and pulled the box into her lap. A smile for the Hunter. “Thank you,” Cat said and was grinning the rest of the ride. There was more carefree in her than there should have been, if she’d known the sort of fangs her brother had grown. Diverging stars, white hot and red smolder. There was irony in the way his silvered ammunition reminded her of Inan’s pretty eyes.

Cat found a little less anger in the pit in her heart that his tongue had carved out. There was, instead, a more contented ache. Somehow, she thought she could believe she was doing this for both of them. Inan was Mother’s favorite, anyhow. He’d live nicely as an only child and she would rid the world of the Vampires that lived outside of Valleyrun, since she hadn’t the power to destroy the ones within. She thought of Nona’s face when she loaded her revolver and missed the snowy wraith that passed by their window.

“I know, you make the rules. That’s okay. Thank you for this time, Olister. I don’t expect you to spoil me too much.” She was agreeable when they got out of the car. Cat followed him up the stairs. “I mean, it’s okay if you do.” She added, half-joking. It had been strange to say his name. She realized she hadn’t, before, and wondered if this made them partners. She wanted to ask but thought it might be trying her luck. She’d been fortunate he’d given her wings out of her town to begin with. Before the reached what looked something like a reception desk, Cat reached out to touch his arm. “You’ll let me take another look at that before we go, too, right?” she asked and Tsoalle’s brief pass through their orbit might have insisted her fingers linger just a little longer.
 

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #93 on: August 10, 2016, 06:28:19 pm »
Her blood, that he had swallowed so easily, had a pretty soak first. And then the edges of that reaching saturation hurt. A spreading burn without temperature. An expanding map of naked pain. The flesh he’d taken, carnal as it is said to be, had more potency still. He didn't know the bolts of pleasure that became the swords and hooks of his inside war really carried power. Their magics spoke the same language, the way rust is meant for metal, but necessarily unkind, also. Two combatants of vastly different weight.

He stayed underneath her when her legs were over and around. Inan looked up at Marin, his lashes infected with gold, also, the veins from his whites traveled out onto his skin, a mask of gold threads onto his cheekbones and brow. Pretty rootwork, but she could be sure they spelled his demise rather than received divinity. The toil on the expression said as much, the lack of light on the slick lips. He reached to touch the trails on her mouth when she named that bird. Inan gave a nod, and tried for a smile that couldn’t have been. I’ll be that for you. But his heart’s strength was not so, and the hand that sought her out curled with red on the tips. He’d forgotten that one-name lore by the next set of drumbeats delivering suffering onto parts of him that had greedily taken her.

She spoke of the moon, and he tried to hear it. At once he was against her, traveling. A soft huff on her neck, already shut to him, when she said to take more. Shiver through his longest tooth when it returned inside her. The cut was deep, he was learning the way she’d open, and his mouth applied suction as he held on. Diligent boy, taking the humming demise down obediently. By the time she put him into the car, it was simply affection there, his tongue and his suckling, onto her healed self. Inan could still love her, if he wouldn’t live. He relied on her, saw her shining through the murmurs haunting his ragged nerves. It felt good to count on someone undying.

Bravely he tried not to succumb with every returning wave of ravage that wanted him as she drove. Were they driving to the moon? Was there enough power on it to chase this away? Delirious, still romantic heart. The car’s halt flung him into the back of her seat, then she plucked him out into the night that wanted to be as pale as her. What lack of others. How much of a goddess she was, here, trying to recreate the miracle of human form, when his was failing. Must have been like this, he understood, eons ago, because if the maker didn’t struggle, why would the worship from man be so important? He bit when he was offered. But the moonlight found her blood in him, and made it stronger, which only spent more of his innate defense. He was expiring in the cure.

The mask of starlight vines covered his lips too, as though Inan Copper had tried to eat a beaming star and not taken a napkin to himself, after. He shook his head, new strength to try and deny her disappointment in his inability to thrive with her blood. “No. No! I’m better. I feel stronger.” And he bit his lip until it was mauled in an endeavor to appear stoic. Her blood folded the flesh back and sew it fast. He held on to her harder, though he didn’t know where that initiative gathered strength from. “J-just take me back. We’ll eat Nona together. I’ll have the biggest piece.” Was that how he should talk now? He was certain that if it was, it should not come with chopped up syllables and crushed pitches. Marin would also know that murder for hunger wasn’t his personality.

When she told him to be stronger, he was already afraid, laid away from her, but he smiled a rebel bow onto his addled lips, winking with a beautifully sick eye. It might have been more convincing if that flicker hadn’t dislodged an orb of truth wetting the golden seems on its way to his jaw. Foolishly he arched his throat into her hold, assuming tenderness. His eyes grew when she offered to take him, really snuff him. “What? Why?” he asked, retreating back against the road. He shook for answer and held her wrist. He would let her tear his cartilage if it got him free. Perhaps she’d see this determination and reward him his freedom, for pity, even, unless he be speechless because he’d be breathless. “I’m alright!” he insisted with panic in his air.

He got up, thanks to some miracle that found him too late, stumbled over the line in the road, somehow, and then came back, hunching, to a legged position. “I just need solace. I just need to collect myself.” As though this nowhere wasn’t already too quiet. Both forces in him fed off this new adrenaline, and let him spend himself getting off the road. The act melted away as he walked where there wasn’t a path, Marin’s blood putting fire to his vision while his own tried to dull it back to humanity. It was a dizzying kind of help, but at least he wasn’t entirely blind. He was running soon, the way only the Copper children with the house close to the trees could run.

He was crying as he made his way, cut here, healed there, on the torso she’d rendered naked. He knew these woods better than she, he thought to himself for courage. But he’d not been here often, certainly not in the dark, and never without Catalina. He whispered for his sister as he divided walls of branches so he could press. Through coagulating Marin he said his first love’s name. Then he turned out to a passage that wasn’t so tight. He buried his head into his forearm, that arm onto rough bark as he breathed. It wasn’t that he was afraid to die. He cried with fingers on that mouth when his legs remembered there was no strength for this bravado, and folded him.

He understood then that he didn’t fear the perils of death, its unknowns, especially if he’d learn them as a part of Marin. He’d become attached to her when she accepted him, and delighted in the love they’d made on rented sheets, and worshiped her when she rescued him from Nona’s obsession. He ran now because if that moonlight form took his life, it meant she had rejected him too. If he could postpone the waltz of her teeth on his bones, and prolong her hunt, because he wasn’t such a fool that he truly believed he could best her, then there was more time in this pocket where she’d not put death on him, yet, and he wasn’t some lonely soul, who had lost two great lovers so soon. Inan sobbed and clawed the tree to have its help to stand. “What a miserable thing.” He said to himself as he staggered on, for love and from its absence, the sorrow eating his flight-chemicals too fast.

The clear-as-day train running over his preaching system of nodes had him on a knee three times before he toppled and let it circle his bones and make fires all over his heart. Inan cried. “You were supposed to love me when Catalina wouldn’t.” he said to a leaf that had glued itself to the corner of his panting maw. A hiccup, but not enough breath to lend strength for another upright stumble. He ground his teeth and tried to crawl, so the world couldn’t bring Marin to him. Deep in struggle and the breaking heart, the lifeblood of Valleyrun felt commotion inside, like boil in the pelagic sea. It was Marin’s flesh, his teeth still remembered, and her elixir, his throat contracted. He sat on his heels and looked up at the gape in the wind-run ceiling. Moonlight on him, in a perfect pillar. The light was speaking to its mistress inside him, giving his miserable state more grief. Inan lowered his head and drank in the air. Her hard blood around his lips flaked and came into him as dust. “Don’t come.” He prayed. Let me die without knowing I was only sport and game.

-

The man at the desk lifted a brow when he saw Olister with the girl. Olister smiled back at Cat and nodded. “I was going to ask, actually. They have rooms here.” His arm, where the teeth had cut him, felt a bit cold right where the fangs had passed, but hot around. It wasn’t the smarting of an infection, he knew, but this kind of magic worried him. Better she have one too many eyes on it than not enough. He turned to the receptionist and received a key, a tablet, and a handful of printouts along with a comment that Olister ‘was a long way from home’. If cat was listening she would hear the friendly tone.

Truth was, the more understanding she was with his inability to always treat her like a guest, the more he wanted to spoil her. He couldn’t know this familiarity with her, this slight gravitation, wasn’t the work of the stress they’d lived through, or even her magic on his pains, but rather originated from another mind, seated in a cab by the side of the building. Tsoalle, who had frozen the driver with the memory of a great loss, was very much there with them when Olister walked his newest apprentice to the provided rooms. How long gone that threat when Olister opened the door.

“It actually hurts more than before.” He said. That wasn’t true, but Olister wasn’t allowed to know that. For all their physical measures, the house had no way of warding off magic. The few hunters with such abilities that flaunted their skills were usually employed in more important places. Tsoalle made sure Catalina worried overly for the man that had taken her out of the putrid town, where there was only bad relationships for her. It was a bit of a strain, though, for their preternatural stalker, to filter out all the tendrils that sought Catalina out from seemingly nowhere, her power, perhaps, aiming to alert her to what had happened to Inan, in the night. Olister sat on the bed and took the jacket off, finally, sighing in relief as he started to free himself of the shirt, as well. “So, given enough time, do you think you can make it as strong as it was?” Really, his usual disposition was that it was alright to suffer a few injuries if you got away with your life. But suddenly it was crucial he have her attention, and if possible, her proximity and sympathy.

Tsoalle leaned back in the crack of the leather. A silver thimble with teeth held on to the finger that refused to heal in his usual rate. He laughed as he kicked the driver in the back. It wasn’t enough to wake him from apathy. The connection between the girl and the hunter had almost been Olister’s demise last night. If they were further attached, Tsoalle reckoned their next meeting would hold a satisfactory end. Or two.

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #94 on: August 16, 2016, 01:31:31 am »
Marin would have missed all the pretty in his demise if she’d been a few centuries younger, but the Vampire’s heart was old when her mind was not and she found some space to lay between herself and that poor creature she’d made her own. Lovely golden spider webs, golden strings to snare bloody insect gashes. He asked for Nona and she shook her head. “No, my dear Feng, you aren’t stable for that sort of filth.” She said, but worried mostly for the blood of his the girl had pocketed in her veins.

She pet his hair absently, running her tongue across her sharp teeth, tasting her own blood before the slick pink healed. “No, you’re not alright.” She told him, not as mindful to the rising panic in him as she ought to have been. This being had died many times. Her infant Fledgling feared what she could not find frightening. Marin did not understand it was rejection over death that haunted him.

Marin was surprised when he staggered to his feet, briefly proud, and wondered if the Moon might have helped him more than she thought. His first steps were weak and stumbling, though, and she understood it was that very mortal sense of dread that had roused him. She stood. “You shouldn’t be going anywhere alone.” She argued, though she watched him as he teetered across the road and into the trees. Watched him find some speed. Watched him awkwardly tear off into the trees.

She was moonlight and mist. The white angel in the dark, alabaster demon among the trees. Marin was noiseless as she followed him. She watched him cry and bleed and gasp and run. She let him carry on. Curious, in some sense, if he’d found some other way to fix himself and grow stronger as she had demanded, or if he were simply delaying what needed to be done. It seemed to be the latter, she decided, the way he indulged his agonies as he went. Marin ghosted in and out of his peripheral vision, if he’d had the senses to blink and see her. It wouldn’t have mattered much, though. His Matriarch at such a proximity should be screaming to his senses, even as they fought for their humanity. He must know she was close.

She slipped in closer when he called for his sister. Marin had promised to be that pretend for him, if he wanted it. He spoke to the leaf like it was her face, when he fell, and she appeared over him. “Don’t come?” she asked. “But I am here, Phoenix Inan.” Marin said. “I have not broken my promise.” She descended on him like a pack of wolves in a single mouth. Dainty fingers on his shoulders to pin him to the earth and her mouth over his jugular. “I’m sorry that it must hurt.”

Teeth around the matter of his throat, crushing and tearing. There were the chords that made his voice sing and the tunnel through which he gasped. She was indiscriminant. He would hear his own cartilage crunch and the spray of eager red and the gurgle from his own lips. She ripped him open where he might bleed for her brightest and took flesh and muscled in her wake. Red lips found red cheeks and crimson jewels for her long white hair. And Inan’s flesh healed.

If it should have been hard to consume her own Childe, that bitter was flooded by his sweetness on her tongue and the thick of his muscle in her mouth. She swallowed him down as her tiny fingers clawed at his chest, ripping to pry open the ribs that held the organ she wanted. If he wished to escape her again, it was only that moment that gave him the chance, when she was too eager to split him open to concern herself with pinning him down. If he scrambled away, dragged himself against whatever pain she and his own body were crafting, she would pounce back onto him before he could struggle far.

Pretty, monstrous, eternity. “You said you wanted me to taste you,” she reminded him. “This is what you wanted. This is what you need now.” She pushed his arm up and sank her fangs into the thick vein that ran there, tearing the ligaments that might let him resist and reach to push her away. Another wild spray of ruby wet. Her mercurial eyes blistered with his gold. “Be strong and die for me.” She clawed at his stomach, pushing her fingers into the wounds his own body opened for her and tearing them wider. Each new injury pulsed open with the chorus of old scars and his agonizing heartbeat. She fed from where his red rivers ran widest. Down his belly, along his thigh when she tore open his clothes. The scent was heavy, like honey sweet wine, and she began to laugh, fevered.

“I’m here, think of your sister. She would save you.” She insisted, his blood slithering with her saliva down her chin. “I can save you. If you die and fight back.” He would realize it soon enough, when he was losing enough blood with each pulse that he soaked her thin dress and plastered it to her skin as she moved over him. If his soul did not, his body would. She closed her lips over one of his eyes, tongue pushing against the socket. Her grip was firm if he tried to fight her, but her own throat within reach of his lips. She carved a gash down his cheek with her teeth after she’d plucked the orb from its cradle. If he was hoping to cry out, the ever-opening hole in his throat would soften that sound with his slick sanguine.

He would eat or die when she’d bled him enough that dismemberment seemed the only path forward; Marin would admit at the end of this that she didn’t know if he could truly heal the way she could. “Sad brother, don’t you want her skin between your teeth? Your Catalina?” she urged. With his blood in her hair it might not be so hard to pretend.

--

Cat frowned. “It shouldn’t be hurting more. Can you lay down on the bed for me?” she asked when they’d found the room they’d been instructed toward. It was good to fuss over him. Catalina had always liked caring for Inan, even if she’d hated where he’d earned his injuries. She blushed when he pulled off his shirt, glancing down at her toes as if that might hide the reaction. “Let me see.” She mumbled.

She crawled onto the bed beside him and gingerly picked away the herbs she’d plastered against the wound. It looked as if the injury were weeks old, rather than hours, and she was inclined to be proud of her handiwork. “I don’t know why it would hurt worse…” she hummed, though she held his arm still with one hand and hovered two fingers over the red welt that remained. Olister had never heard her sing anything other than healing words, but it wasn’t a secret she was a songbird. A sweeter sound from the usually rash and biting tongue.

A soft green-gold glow and then a spark of fire that died on her fingertips but suffused the limb with a soothing warmth. “Given enough time, I could probably make it stronger.” She said with a cocky little grin. But she was blushing again and realized quickly she mustn’t look as cool as she hoped. She averted her gaze and reapplied the smear of herbs.

“You know, I remember you from when I was a kid and you found me in the forest. You scared me at first, but then I thought you were really cool.” She cleared her throat and tucked a fall of stubborn scarlet behind her ear. “I mean, I never thought I’d be running off with you from Valleyrun but…” she realized it might have sounded different than she’d intended, but it was too fitting for her to take it back. “I’m glad. I thought I’d be starting out somewhere new with my brother, but this is probably better.” She said, and was surprised when she believed it more than she expected.
   

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #95 on: August 16, 2016, 07:28:56 pm »
In the loneliness he had to imagine, forgetting the white shadow of her that had followed at the farthest reaches of his attention when he ran, he remembered how she’d read through his lies before his escape. A little chuckle, to know those truths to himself, as she had painted them for him. No fooling something like her. Her coagulation, the blood cherry blossom he’d breathed in, became a mosaic lining his lungs, and he thought the atmosphere tasted like her. He wondered who he had loved more, if Marin had known him half as long as Catalina. Would that affaire have been kinder on him?

It was a useless story, she proved, and appeared in the beam of moon that drowned him. For a second or a thousand of them, she did not obstruct the light as much as she was of it, backlit, or glowing. As she spoke, her other colors came. The ends of her hair was already him, after all. The fear was a welcome cold, and it brought about a sweltering summer, the kind that makes ashes out of crops, to his chest. He’d prayed and she was here to tell him she’d heard, and that she would not be granting. A globe at the corner of his right eye, enhancing a gold line already there, when she said she’d come to keep her promise. Somehow he was grateful for that, and clung to the sentiment. It was enough to have him follow her to the ground.

All that he could scream was blood when she built herself a crater where the softer skeleton of a cylinder protected his trachea. Like thunder in the distance, but without the disturbance of the atmosphere to compromise the sound, inside his head. Surely this was the song of death. He took her arm and her hair, for support and with hopes of escape, still. Hope as useless as the call that began at the bottom of the crevice she’d made, above the meeting of his collarbones rather than his strung wide lips. Almost at the pace of the rising howl, the cartilage circled back into existence to host the reforming pipe that she’d claimed. She ate faster, of course. The pain rammed him every time her teeth clasped around the hollow. Because he couldn’t succumb, his consciousness not extending such mercy, the suffering became familiar, and he could read it for its quality, no longer blinded by the shock of it. It was when she bit deep, inside the pool, and not the sides, that felt the most, because it was then that his alerts told him that he was about to die in their loudest voice.

When that area of him, her feasting hall, started to emit the craze of native medicines to send him off to death pleasantly, her fingers made a new place of mayhem. Such effective little characters, her digits. His body arched, heels cycling to peddle away from the tormentor above, but her hold had already hooked into the ribs she’d stripped, petting the beating heart. A thin way for his air had been resurrected from the carnage of his throat, and Inan was allowed to gargle as his never before graced muscle sought out her touch. Harlot heart, indeed. As though her magic was gaining ground in him, finally, the skin of his neck shut around the profound damage she’d performed underneath his chin. His breath said ‘I did not’ with some hesitation, when she said he’d requested these things, as though that modesty was more important than calling for her cease.

He barely felt her open his arm, or when she drank that strategic source. When he commanded his arm back, she’d already ruined it. His torso, his belly, gave way like thaw in morning, offering little resistance to protect the treasure underneath. Inan was crushed again under the new helping of stimulation, encasing his overfed mind and swimming spine. No extremity would take his orders. Her teeth were open wires, sparkling with the command to stimulate his connections, every time she severed them. When she undid his clothes and undressed the pillar of blood that ran by his modesty and then inside his thigh, he asked for mercy again. That carnal teasing added on top of this onslaught would surely have him in oblivion or madness. He raised his hips for her teeth, her drinking a familiar pleasure.

Inan listened when she spoke of Catalina, instructing him how he might survive. He nodded to the monster that, he knew now, would be the last face in his life. Dumb, still, he wrapped his hand willingly around the back of her blood dipped head when she licked his tears from his iris. He had been made insane from the crackling of her continuous murder. Why would there be tenderness now, simple Copper son? His mouth gasped and hung blood foam in the air when her tongue scooped and her teeth took. Foolishly he pulled at her head, and only aided her in taking the gold encrusted sphere from its place in the bone niche. The nerve whipped back. The pain, or sensation, now, climbed the vault of his cranium and rocked his head.

Such sacrilege she spoke, with his memories on her breath, his life swirling on her palled. He would never eat Catalina, his baby sister. And at once, as the thought was spread into the lucid, overcome mind, he could not let it go. Cat’s voice for mercy, her freckles in his mouth. He forgot the pretend, their deal of Marin donning the make believe, and he truly knew it was Catalina come to him. It is only possible to eat so much of a creature before reality twists around him. Inan, exactly half blind, pulled her hair toward him and lanced the skin with her pulse with his uneven bite. He could taste the origin of her voice and he cried as the sugar power was released in every strike of his teeth. His skull rattled, skeletal seams all but failing to host of her magic.

Inan sat up to press his face against her. He ate from her windpipe and around toward her spine, jaw pulling back, holding hard, when she was too tough to chew through. When he moaned a particulate cloud of red drops puffed inside their scene, within the moonlight pillar. He was weak, a nothing under her, but with every taste he felt something akin to forgiveness onto his sinful being. And Inan Copper died, inside the cave of her throat. And then he woke to another life. Hands pulled at her dress, not to have it open, as was the real result, but to bring her closer, rather. When her blessings traveled onto him with her flesh, his tongue between the vertebrae of her spine, licking after electricity inside that sensory elevator, he felt new life, on him, where she had consumed it. After gnawing and sucking at the bone chain for another frenzied moment, he pulled back, lidless eye coming along well as it and its intact twin stared at her as though she’d betrayed him for not having said she was so scrumptious. As he sought this flattering bridge of sight between them, his fingers came up to caress her rapidly closing neck, pushing inside and pulling to keep her open. It also brought her closer for a kiss. His one good tooth stirred inside the initial puncture when he courted her mouth and then took his fingers out of her, to replace them with his tongue. But there was too much drink in there. He wanted to eat.

“You killed me.” He said, fibers healed but not the skin over his vocal apparatus. That death was still tingling and making its claim in him. In fact, she was saving him. Heaven come to give him eternity without consent in the moment. Mortality, the way he’d been taught it, was behind him. It was freeing, the way sins from another life are distant. Who was Inan now?

She was still seated on him, all he wanted, so, like she owed him, he lifted her until he could throw her legs around his neck, for her to sit on his shoulders in part, and his mouth could be at her stomach, where her dress had been shredded. His hand on the low of her back as he kissed her navel, to ask for permission, before he clipped her with predator weapons. A careful appreciation of her flavor, and the eternity he gained from it, bulging one cheek. Inan licked his lips and looked up at his new mother, Cat’s features flickering on Marin’s beauty. And then he nuzzled her belly again, eating like a good child, making his way through the skin, tongue between her winding places and her folds, tugging and sucking, slurping and swallowing. He moaned into her organs and ate deeper.

-

When he laid down as instructed, he was almost convinced by Cat’s certainty that he didn’t hurt. In the critical now, it didn’t hurt, actually, but he remembered a vivid pain just a moment ago. Tsoalle’s magic, but that would be a far guess, in this closed off environment, so the suspicion didn’t enter his table of possibilities. He was amused at her embarrassment. His composition, in front of her, was built from real work. Nights of fighting, stalking. Hard life to yield a hard health. Innate strength where Inan had angel limbs. It should have ended there, a flighty grin to have put some color on the girl, but the implication lingered, and meant something to him. Tsoalle asked him what it would be like, if she was hurt too, and she’d have to shed her top, as well. A cheap train of thought, but Olister had laid the tracks so perfectly.

He took her in as she worked the fantastical magic. Her burning fingers. How tangible it was, the good mysticism. Too often there were just fangs and monsters that had lived longer than they deserved. It was satisfying to see otherworldly gifts could be used for other things than bloodspilling. And her voice was very sure. He’d not heard that kind of song before, mostly he heard polished wailing between weaves of static on his radio. Catalina sung honestly. The moment was more intimate than he’d expected, with her magic coiling inside and warming the hurt, and her tune filling the room itself. He fooled himself by leaning over the line she’d made of the injury to see, when in truth, he was drawn closer to her.

He tried the arm as she was brushing back the ointment, enjoying more of her blush. He’d not thought the child in the woods would have grown into this woman. The memory was significant to him, too, and the memento of it was right there, on the chest he’d exposed. Tsoalle was almost innocent when he tied that gratitude and nostalgia into a deeper attachment to her body, rather than her actions. A few signals inside Olister’s mind said he should stop this, but the emotionalist maestro quickly swatted those specks of reason. “It is definitely better for me.” He said, sitting up, which brought them closer, still.

“I’d be dead without you.” He declared, and held his posture up, to improve his silhouette. He’d not been prone to such vanity, before, but it was unthinkable to lay, listless and lazy, when she was in the room. It shouldn’t matter of course, but he could think of nothing more important than being presentable in his bareness, then. “I don’t think you should think of your brother for a while.” He said and reached to tug at the strand she’d hung back. It fell, of course and he mirrored the motion she’d performed to make it sit, again. “You can take care of me. Or better yet, I’ll take care of you.” Olister wasn’t overly romantic, but he did open up well when he did. “I mean,” he wanted to pull her in then, and there were not many warnings in him that said he shouldn’t. If not to try and win her over with a kiss, then to place her in his lap. He didn’t for some reason. “if you still think I’m cool.” A little laugh. “it must be tiring, all the directions your heart’s been torn.” It was Olister’s voice, but Tsoalle’s words. The hunter didn’t know exactely what that meant, after all. “Would you like to rest with me, girl?”

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #96 on: August 20, 2016, 07:35:17 pm »
Cat had the sort of look on her face that said she wasn’t used to this sort of attention. At least, not from anyone but Inan. It wasn’t so much that other boys hadn’t put their sights on her. It was mostly that she’d never paid them mind, or found them caught further up in their own ego than anything to do with her. Like the Braxton kid. Olister, in his curiously rough but genuine way, was something else. Of course, there was Tsoalle to blame too, but he’d only pulled on the fantasy she’d harbored since she was young. Rogue with a heart of gold, the fine knight that had taken her out of her miserable town. Or, perhaps Catalina simply needed someone to cover the void that was Inan.

She rubbed her cheek with one hand, as if she could push back the way she was blushing. “Uhm. I mean. That would be nice, if you don’t mind it,” she mumbled. Cat unfolded her knees from beneath her and gingerly stretched out on the bed beside him. Careful, like she wasn’t sure if he’d meant it this way. It would be embarrassing if she’d misunderstood, but Tsoalle’s encouragement told her that it would be worth it to make him notice her. She wasn’t the child from the woods anymore, after all.

Catalina settled onto the pillow beside him, rolling onto her side to face him. “It is tiring.” She admitted then. “I know it’s wrong of me to struggle like this at all. It should be obvious, how I’m supposed to feel, but it’s not.” She said. Cat tugged at her hair. “Does that make me childish?” she asked. She didn’t want him to think so. “Because I’m—I’m not a child anymore, you know?” the green eyes were purposeful. “I’ve grown up. That’s why I wanted to leave with you.” If he laid down beside her, she would hesitate and then wriggle closer to place her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. She’d often sough the same comfort at home and told herself the suggestion was innocent. Cat did not deceive herself so much, now.

--

Marin was blood and moonlight, gasping when he tore into her at last. His teeth were not so surgical and sharp and her body healed with a vigor his had yet to aspire to. It was the sort of pain she hadn’t known since Yue died. She was laughing at the shock of it, even as tears sprang to her eyes in reflex to the jagged. Marin wondered if he feasted on her or Catalina, blindness in the eye she’d taken and hallucinations in the other. She wondered to whom he would be most brutal.

He did not sample from this vein and the others, the way she had sought to open his rivers and bleed him dry. Her phoenix child, instead, meant to consume her. He burrowed into her throat with his unpracticed mouth, pulling when she was tough and pushing greedily further when she was welcoming. At her neck like this, she would not have been able to scream as he repaid the injuries she’d played on his own trachea. Hers closed around his teeth so he tore himself free with every bite. She would not have screamed anyway.

Marin had learned the pleasure of agony long ago with a brother she could not recall. He had loved her through the destruction, taking her flesh but not her blood. A gentle concession to that which she held selfishly. Inan had been given her flowing immortality and must not yet have realized that it made him a singularly granted being in all history. Her only Childe. She made him clean as he took her in and expelled his own human sympathies from the wounds that still gasped with each heartbeat. He died for her again, and then Marin sprang into motherhood and its bliss with the pressure of his tongue when he found her spine and his second rebirth.

When the wounds closed, this time, they did not reopen. Only those gashes which she’d torn new remained and were closing rapidly, too. He sat back and her throat was nearly clean, a dribble of drying blood mingled with what she’d sprayed from him. She took a thick breath, relief when she saw that her vaguely frenzied plan had worked. Death, not the Moon, had held them to its bosom tonight. It hardly mattered. They were both her mother in turn. He pushed his fingers into that small window of her neck that had not finished resurrecting. Inan’s mouth in the digit’s place drew a moan past her lips. Good, lonely boy. She nodded at his remark. “It is in our nature.” Our because he was like her, now, and she was in him. “Feng, your blood is gone. It is mine, now.” She said. “Ours.”

Marin had not moved from her place atop him, though he was sitting now. “It shouldn’t hurt so much, anymore.” She suggested, watching his skin thread slowly to form a lid over his new eye. He must have felt well enough, and ravenous still. It would take time to learn the pit in his stomach would never be satisfied. He would always be hungry. He learned his new strength quickly, though. Marin was slight, but he moved her like she was hardly more than a breeze. She wrapped her legs around his neck and stared down at him. “Restraint is a worthwhile human trait.” She told him. “But it isn’t one you must learn with me.”

As if he would have waited for the entirety of that lesson. She gasped when he pulled a taste of her free. “Go on, eat.” She murmured. He hadn’t quite waited for her permission either. It made her tremble, the way he gnawed through her flesh. She wasn’t immune to pain. Panting, she wrapped her arms around the back of his head, cradling him further into him, and arched toward him to offer the slick muscles to his tongue. They reformed almost as quickly as he consumed them, an endless banquet, his Mother bird. “Inan Copper,” she hissed his name through clenched teeth.

Marin let herself fold backward, fulcrum at his palm on her lowed back. Her hands on his thighs, she pulled away from him and threw her legs over her own head until she had returned upright, kneeling in front of him. “Restraint, for now, is unnecessary. But you must learn to share.” She scolded, lightly. She leaned forward into his chest, low enough that her bottom fangs might hook in and search for his diaphragm. Tongue on the base of his sternum, she suckled the film of blood there.

She sat back, licking her lips, and then climbed back onto his lap to press against him between her thighs. Marin hooked her teeth into the taut band of his trapezius and pushed the muscle into her mouth, chewing the sweet fibers as she pressed her face eagerly into the wound. Sighing, she arched her head back to expose her heart to him. “I am your Mother now.” She reminded, grasping at one pert round. Death had held them to her bosom, and she offered that Mother’s embrace to his hungry mouth now.   

 

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #97 on: August 21, 2016, 03:34:16 pm »
Olister wasn't this kind of hunter. And still, when he saw her lack of defenses toward his small output of charm, its direction at her, a fixation purred in him. A focus. Tsoalle took the vision of her reds, worn on the pretty of the young woman, and made it all the brighter to his eyes. How easy it was to follow her when she settled in against him, where he sat. He needed this too, if he dared belive this sudden warmth, clammoring to be shared with another body. A sweet acceptence, out of her lips.

In his mind it became a kindness toward her, as well. "I don't mind at all." he assured her, because that was what she wanted. Easy to justifye his motivations, when his preferences were so strong. This was hardly any game at all to the lazy vampire outside. She was the picture of youth, laying there, close. A natural thing, in the modern city. Olister reached to touch her hair, the bright treasure about her, before his body followed hers. The comfort of the cheap matress was deafening to his senses. The luxury wasn't allowed to spoil him to sleep. Instead it gave him strength. Or something, that he didn't recognize as foreign, in him did.

A small laugh, that she could hear through his chest as he put an arm around her. "You're not childish." because children weren't useful. She'd more than shown her worth. His hand, without permission from either of them, laid over the valley of her waist, and it fit there. Olister blinked with hesitation at the impulse to squeeze, but an insistent urge inside still had his fingers push a bit deeper into her body. The resistance in her texture felt so rewarding.

"And you've grown." It should not be such a relevant seasoning to this moment that he'd seen her before she'd matured into this beautiful, aluring thing, but the contrast between the two, and the gravity it added to their ties, made him want a sordid thing from the good Copper girl. The argument in his head was meant to disuade him, remind him of anything else, but somehow it only worked to cast this all in such a light that made it seem like the best of ideas. "Look at you, Cat." he said and let the hand climb the hill toward her hip, collecing a few folds of her shirts in its coy hold. "You're not a child at all."

All too easily, because she was so small, he pushed that hand against her, to roll her and lock her against his body. A new intimacy. He breathed slow for her ear, chest rising, as more of her top had to give for the work of his thumb and palm, until the deceptively lethargic hand could hold her bared skin. It went back down into the valley, which took it under her clothing. His chin brushed her scalp through her hair and she smelled like a new life on the road, and day old schampoo. His eyes closed to lament on that perfume. "And you feel grown." he said without the same that should have come with.

-

When he took her flesh, she moved and sounded in a way that made him want to have more, as though the flavor and glistening power wasn't enough to bind him. He'd only been pulled like this by his sister, and neither of them had known to enjoy such gravity, until it overswam in their distant cave, filled with fire magic. His mind examined this now, the way she held her abdomen up, and kept his head close. That in itself was a reward, though it couldn't rival the delight of more treasure to eat, filling the bites he'd already taken. She trembled and he licked her wound until it closed to suckle his tongue.

Inside the new life that was taking him, as he experienced a change of self, transitioning into another creature completely, he heard her say his name. It was much more encouraging than his sister's voice had been. Inan Copper looked up as her Feng, lulled and stressed by his metamorphosis, secure between her legs. Did she see the unhinged pleasure and the caution? It was this sedated state, shoulders and chest swimming with satisfaction when his center still hungered, that let him watch as she rolled back over his palm and onto her knees. A clean motion. And considerate. His jaws were still jutting as he ground physical mementos of her belly until he could swallow them down.

He loved her dizzilly when she spoke. He wasn't sure he heard the lesson, but went along with her body when she moved, nodding to please her. His skin knotted in anticipation when her mouth opened near the bottom of his chest, and his hand came out to collect the back of her head. His throat clenched when she opened him through that tension, and his red babbled to a gentle fall, body eager to give if she wanted. He held her to him with gratitude when she came to sit on his legs. He was an addict, made, but not so desperate now, still suffering the rapture inside from the amount of her she'd allowed in him. The sensation of genesis was amplified on the road between shoulderblade and spine when she cut and scooped from that stretch.

She chased away that stupor when she said she was his mother now. He awoke fully to that sentiment, and looked from the lovely orb to the angel face. "Mother." one that wouldn't sell him, one that had only protected him. That he had misstaken for evil, when she was forgiving. He lowered his head onto the gift and the human that he hadn't had the time to grow into said this was a deeper delight than bestowed nourishment. He pierced the bud with his longest white, and drank from it quickly until it closed. Confounded, and showing it on his features, he looked up with his eyes but not the angle of his face, before he took hold with all of his teeth to open the rounded softness.

Her blood was its own corse. Inan sought it with his head, pushing at her until she'd be on her back, and he could kiss with bladed effort onto that cup of immortal womanhood. He nuzzled deep, his jaws stretching and closing to have renewed flow for his eager. It was this that he would be, then. What a well of purpose. All he could possibly need and desire, in a creature that wouldn't leave. "Mother." he gasped before he bit again. He lifted her hips deeper into him, her legs already around his waist. He wanted at her heart, and pressed his mouth deep enough, but wouldn't dig with his teeth. For the poetry of it. Inan could not know what the material of her heart was worth.

A rumble in his throat that multiplied into her ribcage. He was looking for more of her as he drank in bursting spills from her mother's well. He crawled the ground with her, moving them with his enthusiasm. Audacious, finally, from underneath, he licked and then clasped given teeth tight, moaning at the mouthful, chewing and swallowing quickly to lap the healing gash until it was only trails around his lips. His body, that knew how to renew human kind and was learning what it could do with such an old concuction, was quite elated with all these unknown heavens. With ecstacy he climbed her chest with kisses, until he could have her mouth. He was overcome with affection, an effect of being saved and remade by her, but also his own, longing disposition. "You're everything now, Marin." he said closing lips on her cheekbone. No tooth, long or stout. It was simply love as he threaded his fingers into hers and squeezed.

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #98 on: August 25, 2016, 01:12:13 am »
Marin wasn’t much for symbolism, but her phoenix in the forest begged for it with that romantic heart and new blossoming hunger. She fed him as any new mother fed their child, with the best nourishment she could provide. Beautiful, crimson, immortal life. A babe and a grown man at once, Marin was his life cycle wound toward infinity and promising more. To the lonely boy, from the lonelier satellite, a promise manifest.

She let him have his desire and wear it brilliantly, leaves catching like summer ornaments in her long white hair. Marin took the indulgence and held it on her tongue, playing him encouraging moans and wrapping her arms around him tightly. For all that, she was stunned when he stole her sounds straight from her lips and she found the softness of his mouth. Perhaps he’d been too sweet to lose everything to the depths of forever, the affection in his touch resonating with every old lover she’d neglected to keep and twining a jarring contrast to the ravenous teeth she’d expected.

Young Vampires were almost always more animal than human, when they first bloomed. It took the careful training of their covens to reestablish order in the chaos. Inan had died twice, though, and for that effort run two lifetimes into his third. An older soul than she had found in the hotel room. “I know.” She said, for his sentiments. “I will care for you.” Gentle in that practicality. Marin wrapped her legs around his hips, humming. “However you like.” Mother, sister, lover. Marin could be everything, as he said.

The sun was low by the time they had reassembled what bloody scraps of clothes they had left and returned to the car. She was shifting in shades of silver, containing her aura as the evening approached. “We should go.” She told him, climbing into the driver’s seat. Inside the vehicle, the pearlescent angel looked more human, but he would never mistake her for that kind of simple. “Do you have regrets, Inan Copper?” she asked. “If so, bury them now and put Valleyrun from your mind. You are new.” Marin said and turned the key.

As they pulled back onto the road, she turned on the radio and let it play low. A steady calm drawing between them. He’d be hungry again, soon. Which was to say, the always-hunger would be harder to fight until he’d learned it as his constant companion. “Tell me, when you need me to stop.” She said, because he would. Marin had not realized she’d longed for this.
--

Catalina felt a momentary panic, when Olister pulled her close. She thought of Inan and how she’d violently rejected what they’d shared. Still, she was sure she was betraying him. As much now as when she’d left Valleyrun. Would it have soothed her conscience if she’d known the path her brother had reached for? Tsoalle’s Magic was quick to turn her thoughts toward the way his hands felt and how it made her heart race. She understood the sensation now, and what she wanted. It was always Inan’s fault in the end.

His breath against the lobe of her ear when he pulled her into him, and his fingertips on her skin. She’d had some confidence, walking into this. It faded now and she grasped at the things he said in hopes of making them real. She wanted to be grown, for him. He’d take her seriously as a partner. He’d take her seriously like this.

“I—I’m glad that you think so,” and she was a little breathless with what she’d started. She shifted slightly, so that his hand might slip higher, grazing the wire of her underclothes. Cat was immediately worried she’d gotten ahead of herself, biting down on her lip, and went still in his arms. Tsoalle had such pretty artwork in her. She laid her colors bare and needed the prompting of confidence over any suggestion of emotion. Cat had never been shy with her feelings, when she acknowledged them. It was too simple to tell her she needed this, to prove her heart was free. She wasn’t a challenge here, for the Vampire outside or the man in the bed. Earnest and eager Catalina who had fallen into her brother as easily. Surely she’d not hate herself afterwards for this.

“I’d prefer it, if you thought of me as a woman.” She mumbled. Little Witch and her innocent spells. Pressed herself against him to find his hips and tucked one leg between his. “This is… nice.” Cat breathed, entwined. He could retreat still, of course, hold her tight and pretend he was her father. The Hunter, she hoped, knew how to reject her kindly if it was his motive.
 

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #99 on: August 25, 2016, 08:39:46 pm »
He relished in the stability that came at last. Extinction at bay. A howling inside, still, that he couldn’t place, for him to have more of her. Like the distance between every little thread he was made of echoed, calling on him to be filled or addressed. But Inan loved more than he hungered at that moment, and used infernal strength only to clutch her hand tighter. He moaned softly on her, when she agreed to be all that he wanted. The boy from the blood house needed this kind of love, and he was anchored deeper into Marin for giving it to him so seamlessly. It was true that he was seared to her then, golden eyes, one new, onto moon woman.

Newborn spine to worn down seat, a doll dusted with alabaster sand and stained in dark wine replaced Martin’s earthly handsome. In the car Inan breathed again. Did the creature he’d become need breath? He was made out of that which used to be evanescent now, because what else could this magic be, all magic dreamt, and if the mirage needed to recognize itself to stay intact, then maybe cardiovascular cycles could be a part of that image. If the romantic in him had been awake and not occupied floating in new, red medicine, it could have also appreciated the flaw of an oxyphile son born of a deathless mother with only ornamental lungs. He smiled at her contrast to this aged, lamp lit environment, their iron casket, as his blood and hers fragmented and faded into his skin, complexion claiming that blush and pulling it deeper, like seafarers fan out vastly to disappear with their part of the treasure. Even his hair, because the smears were hers, ate until it was its original dark again. Though still tattered, he would be clean of crimson, soon.

“Then we go.” He said, tracing the firework on his face as those spills hurried outward and then diluted to leave white only. A little tinge, because through a pair of deaths he still remembered Catalina with all her colors and her songs. Marin’s eternal life disappeared from his fingernails, sucked up underneath the nail and the skin. He watched the process and nodded slowly. “So I bury her.” He agreed and looked at his mother with a tear. Farewell to Valleyrun, where a brunette boy whore used to live with his beautiful little sister, so another Inan Copper could bask in the days and bathe in the nights that burned and shaded the rest of the world.

He was held by the beauty of the dashboard for a while, its details seen from impossible angles, dried plastic and parched rubber with their minuscule cracks and stoic stories. Each diode was a separate cosmos. Could you sell vampire eyes? When he touched them, golden ocular tools, curiously, their surfaces told him he was scraping fingerprints across their sensitive outer, but there was not so much discomfort that he needed to stop. This place, earth itself, belonged to Marin, and this was their chariot. He felt entitled and grateful. With this delight he looked at her, her ruined clothes, and felt a bit proud. “You don’t ever have to stop.” He said with a grin, leaning over to bite without mar at her exposed shoulder, sucking on it. Still, his affections were larger than his hunger. He pretended he’d made a terrible wound on her, and imagined playing with her sinew with his tongue while lapping at the overflow. In his game, she could not heal, for some reason or the other.

“I’m so obsessed with you, Mother.” He said with some distress, kissing onto her neck, facades of his teeth denting her flesh like the front row of a fist, never making blood. He gasped as golden eyes rolled back, drawing in her scent. “How can I please you? How can I destroy and wear you?” he asked, addled by the expanses of eternity trying to present themselves to his mind. It was not a creature that had been manufactured before, petitioning for her attention. Her blood was rare in the world, and he’d not been the usual sapien clay. A town had come for his liquid, after all. So the world couldn’t know what he was now, only that he was rendered deeply in addiction to Marin. His system tried the dark miracle of its new fuel as he gripped her knee and slid that hand inward while burying his nose into the line of hair behind her ear. “I think love is killing me, again.” Sentimental and self amused as he wet her roots with his tongue.

-

He didn’t have to tell his hand to slide on in when she moved to invite it. And the physical clever that lived inside Catalina met no defenses in Olister when her hips traveled back to meet his. Tsoalle breathed for their gathered heat and chuckled. The trap had sprung and they were caught, much by themselves. A quick jolt of want to Olister’s mind and he cupped the material that protected her softness. He thought it was uncouth of him to do this to someone who needed his protection, and Tsoalle in his mind agreed. But that was also what made it all the better. Trust the family breaker to nurture that point of view. Olister didn’t much stand a chance and Catalina would feel it, as his hips sought hers out, unashamed of the proof.

“I think you’re very womanly, Cat.” He said and laid the first kiss on her neck. Tsoalle was thankful for the sparkles of that adhesive peck and let the little embers snap until they were many, overtaking her face and spine. Olister remembered what she’d told him in the car, and felt a bit hostile toward the brother that had been allowed to have Catalina before him. Tsoalle knew jealousy well, and included it where he could. It made the man squeeze the girl a little firmer to seek out that sweet, rounded flesh. Olister had not had anything so pure as the fiery Cat, and had no thought of being fatherly to her, today.

“Do you like nice?” he asked her as he let go of the cloth sphere. Tsoalle made her thing it was a rejection. Had she said something silly? Was this an adult game, where this was as far as they’d go? Or was she inadequate, underdeveloped? Ah, and wouldn’t that be rude, to cast a girl aside for that reason? There was her courage, because Catalina was more angry than she was brave. Anyone who lived in her knew that. So she should show him, shouldn’t she? It was the vampire that would pose the question, if she didn’t ask it herself. He aimed for it to turn her around, and then, in rolling, she would feel Olister’s hand pull along, and discover that Olister had only let go with the intention of making her face him.

He kissed her, scruff and all. She smelt innocent and tasted like the air she’d not breathed. Tsoalle, in the privacy of the vehicle and the blinded driver, indulged himself, by himself, to their fate. With Olister over her, she would have memories of the cave that had hosted her first time. But if she chose to turn the handsome, grown-up hunter into Inan, then at least she was not the same as she was then. Tsoalle said she was older now, and without fear of ruining something pure, because anything that she could do couldn’t taint the strong person putting his weight on her. And if she was to be Cat, runaway and hunter, with her seasoned guide, she should prove herself to him. He’d take her seriously as woman if she was at home with the schematics of casual love. Tsoalle didn’t let her know that she was already delicious to Olister, who’d not realized he was starved until he tasted her.

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #100 on: September 06, 2016, 01:59:17 am »
She was less inspired than her new moonlit shade, but smiled at his enthusiasm. It would have been strange if he were anything but obsessed. Like a hive with its precious queen, each coven was slave to its Origin. Inan, her hive of one, was a lone disciple charged to worship his lonely goddess. An odd and artistic arrangement. “You will learn to control yourself,” she assured him, whether he wished for it or not. “You will find those human memories which restrain you and they will be your protection. Infinity is like a drug.” She thought about Pasqual’s Childe in the forest and the way he’d played out his games with Inan’s sister.
 
“I don’t mind it, you clinging to me. I might even enjoy it. But I would be remiss if I did not remind you, your monster was born when you looked at Catalina and wanted more than a sister. I have simply given you teeth.” Marin turned down a road that took them out of the trees and into sprawling farmland. To the North, the great and somber silhouette of the mountains cut the starlight. She was welcoming to his advances, though she did not slow the car down. “It’s good to leave that sort of love behind, but you shouldn’t forget it. You don’t really forget the dead, do you? Even when you bury them. It might keep you from eating me whole, one of these days. Maybe it will keep me from gnawing your bones, too.” Temperance. She had lived abandon and she had lived restraint. Wild, spinning, drunken dervish had been mad and wonderful and short lived. The quiet calm let her lose count of the years. That was better, important, even, if she was no longer alone.
 
“If you forget her and love me a little too much, enough that you eat until I am nothing but inside you, I’ll forget you.” She reached for his hand on her leg with one of her own and drew his fingers toward the junction of her soft thighs. “I can only keep my promises as well as you let me.” She said. That’s why she’d asked him, too, in that dingy hotel room. He’d had the answer that would break their little agreement. She’d given him the option to die like a common man by Nona’s little knife. “But, that’s not all too much restraint, sweet one. You may hunger and fill yourself as many times as your heart desires, beyond that.” And as many times, his not-sister lover would feast on his organs too. Beautiful, bloody thing. She ran her tongue across a rosy petal. He had the sort of red worth getting drunk on. She couldn’t deny that.
 
“We’re going to head for a city I haven’t been to since 1806.” She told him then, when she felt her cautionary words had become too solemn. “I presume a lot has changed.” Small shrug. “In the meantime, do you have questions, Inan Copper?” She glanced away from the road long enough to steal a feather light kiss. “About me, or you, or this thing you’ve stumbled into? About what was or is?” And then she laughed. “Are you pleased to have shared your blood and mine?” She wondered if he had even realized he was capable of regretting it.

Marin did not ask him if he was hurt because the town sweetheart had tried to kill him. She did not care if the near death experience had been frightening. She had killed him herself, twice, and watched him rise. They would deal with whatever cracks in his euphoria developed as they came. This high was as much a defense mechanism as it was anything else. Dizziness from too much air, burning in those lungs which had been drowning. Instead she hoped he might take wing on this whirlwind and learn not to scar too much from his humanity. It was all a tedious balance she hadn’t had to consider before. “I have questions. For us, not you. Things change when you form a family. Your blood changes. Your Magic changes. Your forever changes.” She could feel it snapping in the air between them. Mother and Childe. Fledglings brought power. Morphed Magic. “There is a lot to learn.”

Scarabesque was a city that had been built to glitter. They were still miles away with a thousand conversations to pass before they’d reach the bright city. Still, they would see it on the horizon by this time tomorrow night. Winking lights, dazzling and lovely. Something warm for the two cold bodies. Something a little rooted. Marin wanted that. Right now, vibrating on the precipice of some great newness with this strange young man she’d stolen off on a whim, she saw her mind cresting the clouds. She wanted to be grounded, so she could hold them to their lives as they began to burst.

He was young to this, and that meant he needed time to enjoy the way the world tasted with his reborn tongue. It was a tide she could easily sail away on. Compelling. But she was wise enough to search for anchor. Something. Metal and smoke and neon. They could kill each other making love on every hotel floor, but the cigarette burns in the carpets would remind her it wasn’t paradise no matter how he glowed. That was important. So she could remind him, and tuck his teeth behind his lips, and take him along broad avenues his sister would have adored.

Marin let those soft maternal things float around her curiously full heart as he nuzzled her. Long drive. He must want to stop soon, and they hadn’t really gone all that far. That was fine. She wasn’t worried about being found. As long as they kept on, they’d reach Scarabesque eventually. She set the car on cruise control and leaned into his touch.

--

Cat was glad when his voice sounded a little too loud for the quiet of the room and their proximity. It gave her hope that he couldn’t hear the way her heart was pounding, beating hard in her own ears. She recognized that tone, just a little. It was purposeful in a way Inan hadn’t been, though. A man’s wants. Something he knew. It made her shiver, just a little, and she nestled herself a little harder against him. She felt him, too, and that he wanted what she had hoped. It gave her a strange and unbalancing thrill. There was nothing in her that knew how to please him skillfully, and she had listened to her brother’s body enough to know her eager could more than make up for it.

There wasn’t a chance in all Heaven and Hell that Tsoalle missed the way her skin set fire when he kissed her in that tender span below her jaw. She swallowed hard and bit back a small gasp. Catalina might have cried if she’d known her hunter’s jealousy was inspired, another unintended insult from her brother pried open by the Vampiric puppeteer outside. They were supposed to be after the white pretty, not after each other. Cat would remember it later, bashful but unashamed.  It was cruel to them both that he touched her like a woman, too. A dangerous trick, if he might be unwilling to cultivate her later. An unattended flower plucked early loses any hope of blooming.

He let her go and she felt the sting of rejection instantly. Vile. To start such a thing when he knew the tender state of her heart made him an awful man. Or it made her such an inadequate prize that he would risk the insult. Ever the fire brand, she was immediately desperate to make him regret his decision and burn with her. Turning to face him, her expression played a pretty series. A mission to prove her feminine worth turned into a stumble, because he’d expected her childishness no matter what he had said.

Catalina made a surprised sound, plans foiled, and found the taste of his tongue. He was nothing like her brother and it was painful and wonderful at once. She was fast to reciprocate; hungry the way youth is romanticized to be. She wanted him to be different and was overwhelmingly relieved that his weight and scent was everything other from sweet Inan. She reached her hands to twist her fingers in his hair, arching to press what her slim body had to offer. Pretty because she was feral, in that way. Stringy limbs and hot lips. It might be endearing, how obviously she tried to match him. When she pulled back to take a shallow breath, staring at him with her deep green eyes, it was evident she wanted to seem unsurprised with this successful seduction. But, perhaps she’d forgotten how unwelcoming she’d been toward the boy in the diner. He would feel special almost precisely because she seemed to not want him to. Silly concepts of how mature women loved mixing with all the enthusiasm of young desire and whatever other suggestions Tsoalle was conjuring in her warm cheeks. She let go of him to tug her shirt off, looked momentarily unsure of her decision, and then sought his neck with her mouth when the thought of his eyes on her made her blush too deeply.


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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #101 on: September 06, 2016, 07:43:23 pm »
Her promise that he would have the strength to rein this roiling love, affection above the depth that would center him, felt almost like an insult. Surely it was condescending. His two youths, the brother and the son, thought, as youths do, that what he felt in the moment was all there was to feel. A protest on the tongue that cleaned her. A speck in space ready to lecture a star. But she was right, the world became as she said, flicking an expanse and sending powerful base into his new field of latent emotions. Inan was subjected to the awakening of Catalina, her memory rising finally to reach him, through the deaths he had traveled on Marin’s blood. She was painted in all the primordial, shallow sentiments his boyhood remembered, when new Mother spoke of her, and also held in front of him in strings that didn’t end. She was a part of him the way time is in everything earthly. There were no memories without her, in childhood.

So Inan listened to Marin when she told him who he should be now, and what Catalina could be for him. He was reminded of the sin he’d applied to her, nostalgic for that lifetime, and her necessary death. It was the kindest murder, from brother to sister. She would go on in the world, strong, without him, and he would use what they’d had to become more of what Marin had started to make. “So I give her body to whatever mortal path she walks away from me, and keep her ghost that it might thwart and define me.” He repeated. Acolyte to deity. He hung two fingers on his lower set of teeth, quenching something. But I do want to gnaw your bones. It is all I’ll ever want. It is how I’ll love you. But Marin wasn’t some shortsighted, petitioning to be fatalistic, bookworm-nightcrawler dressed, filled with country dirt eroticism Nona. Mother Marin wouldn’t appreciate such declarations, spoken, he thought. To end her, even with her permission, would be an affront to the world, as she had been its partner longer than he could think.

The hand she allowed closer cupped her firmly, to comfort himself, when she laid out the scene that would spell his expulsion from her memory. His mouth watered but so did his eyes. Inan gasped as new, aware, long fingers looked inside her. He moved the hand and wrist to little avail, the way he’d seen, but decided for real fiction, gentle, when he learned the theatrics of available media was most probably just that. He looked at the side of her face, blazing beauty, pinching his own lip with some horror, but also some awareness of what he was permitted to do to her body. She promised him his worry that gluttony would be a thief should be small, and that he could indulge. So he fret less, and explored her diligently, looking for signs on her lips and face that he caressed her right.

She asked what he might wonder about, and looked at him, with the night world still colliding past behind her. He’d been studying her, so he became suddenly aware of his own presence in her frame. Without knowing it, a natural inclination toward pleasing her circled his fingers and increased pressure with the hand. “A city?” as though she’d said ‘candy’ and he was much younger. Like that youngling, he leaned in and closed his eyes for the peck. Marin would be a kind mother. His face followed hers when she had to see the road again. He did not understand the privilege of her as a well of knowledge. He would drink, nonetheless.

“So pleased!” he stressed. A mortal, pulled into eternity’s fray. He was not so daft to think this was owed him. He kissed her neck, and felt hunger collect his ribs. Continued without teeth, for now, since it seemed appropriate with kind attention there, when he was also doing a novice’s work with his fingers. If he was endearing enough to make up for skill he did not have yet, he didn’t know. “Questions.” He said into the kisses. “What was there in the beginning, do you know? Is there something that judges me, and am I doing well with that?” His small fang bled her and he licked it up before she healed. The blood taste brought another mystery. “My blood. Why did it do what it did? What was I before I became this? What is this?” Swept along with the mysteries and swelling new existence, he bit into her, not thinking, claiming for himself a mouthful and chewing in delight. “Do you love me?” speaking with her in his mouth, as though it was simply road fare he’d taken.

Those full cheeks added to the raise of his brows when she also had questions. He listened, as Inan always does when Marin speaks, and licked his lips clean when another piece of lovely went down his throat. He took another taste, skin, pulling it free with his retreating head. His hand was becoming bolder, creative. Reactive, responsive to her. “I will learn with you, Marin.” He said, nuzzling the trail of red left when her robust spell sealed her. It was frustrating that she wouldn’t hold a mark, but it was also decadent. “I will be the best you’ve ever had.” It was a goal as much as it was an oath. If he tried for her, and could not perish in doing so, then surely he would become something worthy of standing by her side. Family, she’d said. He would be honored. Inan blinked when something occurred to him. “Am I the only one? Do I have siblings?” Catalina, as beautiful as one of her songs, wrought over his inner vision. Would it be unfaithful to love another sister or brother?

Inan would be done with his search for approval inside her, those nimble fingers leaving her be, either upon some lovely receipt he’d done well – an innate talent, then, to read her rolls and shifts - or by her annoyed or disapproving signal. He would be either ecstatically accomplished or sullen. It wouldn’t be enough to keep him away. Despite his bravado before, never stop, the hunger came upon other weaknesses inside him. Sister, dear. And wouldn’t it be a waste to leave her be, when she could be its ally? So with the surges of want and starvation, came Cat’s laughter, and the image he’d drawn himself of her fleeing the town where she thought he lived. Done with you, porcelain boy. He wanted the rush of Marin’s magic to cleanse him again, fill him up until he choked. He wanted to put red hair on her. He wanted to make love and rip wounds into his sister.

The sign was beautiful with missing lines and awful colors. A simple flower of curved pipes, run through by whatever trick makes lamps glow in yellow, green and red. If he tried, he could count the currents. If his awe had not been enough to her, he pointed, as though she could possibly  miss the only establishment visible on their night stretch of concrete. “There. I need…” he looked at her and smiled. No hesitation. She’d promised a tourniquet. “I want to stop. Let’s rest for a bit.” As though he was some kind of coy seducer. “We’re tired and—let me take care of you.” Stupid, sweet Inan.

There is a certain kind of flaw in humanity, that lets a young man without a shirt, though beautiful like any clean thing is beautiful, walk in to a motel reception and ask for a key, if there is a beautiful someone waiting for him outside, also, with questionable stains on her questionable clothing. The girl producing the wooden ornament with the card attached to it even pointed out the small section of attire. Not the first time people were in this distress, here. Martin’s money for her troubles. Inan didn’t know that. Would Inan be wrathful if he did? Envious and awful. But another sin came over him as he took the plastic and the wood with the number eight. She was glorious in the dead light, without powders or smears. Her lips were naturally red, far above her nametag and her shirt said the name of this run-down oasis with pride. Just the kind of girl that was destined to die. Expire by his uneven fangs. Inan hurried away, instead, hanging clothes quickly over his arm and shifting faster to Marin outside. His sin was not any of the wanting ones. It had been sloth. Indifference. Even though his teeth were dry and his tongue was cold. The girl had not been vivid sister or moon shade mother.

He looked over his shoulder, back at the treasure of veins and rhythmic life beyond the glass of the door, squeezing the cloth he’d gathered, and then turned again to his new worship. “M-must I eat her, Marin?” fear, as though her word would compel him to do things he might otherwise fight. He wanted to be smaller than her, then, so he could hide. He shook his head. “I don’t want to.” The parking lot with its lines taking on the hunched streetlights and casting out less, seemed a world of its own. Here was a private kingdom, tucked in by night itself, and he was frightened by the idea that he might have to live a separate life here, as a new thing learning from an old thing to eat a warm thing. “I’d rather have you, always.” He said, tugging at her arm, nodding for the room.

-

The plan Olister and Tsoalle shared bloomed perfectly. She was angered enough to show it in the turn. What a glorious red, expressed. He was pulled into this deep enough that he kissed her hard. He didn’t worry for her when he rested on her body, but gave her space when she discarded her shirt. Tsoalle was simply looking now, through them both. No need to further push. This had become a show independent of the demon’s influence. The man, if the girl did not, harbored enough want to carry this through. Olister reached behind her, and took off the wires that framed her rounds. Beautiful daughter of the woods, with her pagan magic. Freckles and pure skin. What a waste on the boy. He kissed her harder, to punish something. It was not right for the man to want her like this.

Olister started at her jeans, expertly tasting her mouth, meanwhile. If there was a thought to be particularly gentle, too much of it was burnt away by the flares Catalina would light in many men, from hereon. She was more delectable, bare at last. The hunter who had no thought of dark, eternal wraiths now, hurried to share in the freedom he’d given her, his denim copying the arc he’d sent hers in, off the bed. Quite a different gestalt that descended on Catalina, than that of her fresh brother. Their scar, the bandage on his arm, the other marks that had not been healed carefully when they did. He’d lived, protected, not shared his life to mend others. If she thought Inan’s blood and its abilities had been a bane on the brother, the scars on Olister told of willing acts that left him marred, his strength.

And there was more strength for her, in his arms, even the one that supposedly was weaker. The careful hesitation that then spilled into a confused abandon Inan had given her in the cave was instead a sure number of actions, here, pressing her into the sheets. Perhaps his hips felt oppressive to hers. It was something to be enjoyed as well, because it was a consequence of her loveliness to him. But Tsoalle would not intervene if she chose to be angry at it. In this state Olister might not listen, she’d discover, drawn in by her eyes that tried to project a story, but telling the truth of her inexperience. He kissed her cheek after he had smothered her mouth, and her neck also, as she had, but he wasn’t escaping, he was chasing a path he’d learned, to make her shiver and quake. An automatic kind of massage, because, though Olister cared for her, he’d been in this moment enough to know his desires had worth to them both. And a prominent fragment of him wanted to outshine her brother. This was pure, after all, wasn’t it, when her earlier experience had been under vampiric influence. He was a bit naïve, here.

And so, with a sure touch, and blessedly free of controlling craft, the Copper girl would be made woman a second time, by her woodland rouge.

VenomousEve

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #102 on: September 11, 2016, 12:24:46 am »
Marin let him try and learn, pleased by his enthusiasm as much as whatever sensitivities he stumbled upon. She moved for him, gentle guidance toward what might satisfy her. He had his next eternity to make the craft his own. Lips parted, unashamed. It was an excellent trick that she drove so precisely despite his ministrations. A good mother, teaching him like this with a tender touch. He did not contain his eagerness overly well and she moaned softly as he dragged the shred of flesh from her and made to bury himself in her.

She listened to his questions, let them roll around in her head and well on the back of throat. Marin made to answer, but then he bit deeply and his fangs and fingers were enough that the car swerved and she squirmed to free herself of him. “Some restraint will be necessary, as I said,” she said with a breathy laugh. Little chastisement from this parent. But pain was their only persistent punishment and immortality made her insistence lax. Marin glanced at him and hoped he was not too unhappy that she had shaken him off and out of her. Practicality, she was aware, was a sour competition for her romantic wash of moonlight. Dampened euphoria.

“Let us start at the beginning then, shall we?” she hummed, clutching the steering wheel just a bit tighter. It would be best if he contained himself until they stopped. “There is something about living things that makes us most cruel when we see ourselves in others, you know? It’s easy to hate something from afar and take no action, but we see our own reflection and we’ve got this thirst to destroy it.”

--

Catalina was as shy about her own body as she was about his, which was to say that she refused to look him in the eye but let her fingers run eager over his back. She could feel his scars and they were different from Inan’s finely bladed slivers of silver. These had some hard won character that made him into more of that fantasy she’d cultivated since her girlhood. Handsome and wild, she was sure his scent was the same as the earth in her beloved woods.

She was relieved to find him confident in the way he held her. With the right sort of compliance, if she could keep her breath steady, she might hide her inexperience in his surety. He was warm. Cat tried to press her hips toward him but found him overwhelming in the sort of way that made her shiver. Cat had known pleasure beneath her brother for the ache of years he’d satisfied between them. A feverish and desperate release. Olister was a different tide, carrying her down into a thick and heady sweetness that pulled involuntary mewls from her gasping lips.

--

“I suppose there might be something to judge us, on the other side. The things humans pray to exist in some form or another. Heaven and Hell and all their hosts. They aren’t so different, though, I guess. At the infancy of our story, there was not enough to keep apart some ill-fated pair, at least. An angel and a demon produced a child, out of love or under duress rather depends on who you ask.” Marin said. “And that child, a son, found no harbor above or below. Monstrous to both because of what he was and what they saw.”

“That child grew into his own desires and, taking refuge on this fantastically spinning ball of dirt, took a human bride. Their spawn were my siblings and myself. The first true monsters of this world.” She had told this story to Martin and contrived it for Ahler. This telling, though, was to her phoenix Childe. A history, rather than a legend.

--

Cat trembled, eager to meet the path his lips pressed to her flesh. She wanted to please him, to know she could be pleasing, and touched him the way she had known to make Inan quiver at night. If she had learned to be honest with herself, she might have realized she’d never been so innocent as she had told her heart. “Olister,” she moaned and peeled away whatever remnants of her childhood she’d been clinging to. Eager heart, eager spine, Cat found the currents of their embrace clearly. The Witchling’s Magic danced and played curious chemistries where his body met hers. Her inexperience left her uninhibited and she might have made the observing Vampire proud with the way she lit the hunter’s synapses with her own hazy fire.

--

“That is the only beginning I know. And humanity has been here since my own genesis. If there is a ‘before’ all of that, I don’t know. I don’t much care, either, with all of the future left to live. There’s only so much you can bother to keep, you’ll find.” She laughed a little. “I’m not Divine, either, so I can’t tell you how you’ll be judged if it does come to that.” A bit sullen. “Frankly, it may never come to that.”

Marin reached over to tug at a coil of his hair. “Your blood was special. You know that. It was the perfect contrary to my own. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that there was some kind of war in you. It’s rare though, you know. A Witch’s son. A Witch’s brother. That kind of blood is always special.”

--

She gasped, that loss of self to his provisions catching her in ragged breath, and she held fast to him as she gave up the full evidence of her pleasure. It was different when she was unashamed. Young thing, learning adult games, she did not tire when she had nothing to hide. Eager to give him the same satisfaction, she kissed him and arched in some effort to place herself over him. It might be cute, if he did not allow it, as she would grow frustrated quickly and give in to his continued guidance. If she was successful, she would offer the full ambition of a novice lover, willing to ply the trade she didn’t know with her fingers, her tongue, her softness; anything to make him call her name as hotly as she’d begged his.

--

Marin waved him off. “You are the only one. You were born with a sister of your own and,” she gave him a curious glance. “In that way you might have been the only acceptable choice. Though it was not expressly planned.” She admitted. A sigh. “And to that end, if I love you, Inan Copper, you should not take it to heart.” Marin leaned over to kiss his shoulder lightly as she drove. “Not yet. It would cheapen it all, I think.”

He had been patient long enough, it seemed, and she was willing to indulge him when he asked her to stop. Marin made no outward indication of the apparent thinness in his attempted cleverness. A good mother should feed her Childe.

She stayed outside and let him test his new self before the girl at the counter. Marin wondered if it was odd to see her as something different now. She had never been human, but Inan was hardly hours removed. He looked distressed when he returned to her and it was all she could do to contain her laughter when he unveiled his worry. “Then don’t,” she said, simple with a shrug. “I told you that you might take what you wish from me whenever you’re hungry. I am yours as much as you are mine.” She said. Soft smile. “Though you may find your tastes grow more diverse, someday.” Marin inclined her head. “Perhaps the better question, my Feng, is whether you would be unhappy if I chose to eat her.” It was simply a feature of their bond that she would not suffer the same addictions as he, no matter how delectable she found his blood. She was sure he would not have wished to share Catalina, who now writhed beneath another man, and wondered now what he had conjured for his midnight Mother.

Verse

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #103 on: September 11, 2016, 03:59:30 pm »
Inan didn't carry the surprise of being sent back a few inches into his seat very long. He was embarrassed for the smallest while, thinking that he should have been so great as to have Marin abandon all practical thought upon his limber touch. He wouldn't know himself, remembering, if that ludicrous expectation had been abandoned for reason, or for the story that followed his questions. Inan was something kind because he'd been raised to be, and it was curious to him the way Marin laid out the contradiction of man's love for himself, and the animosity he might carry toward his likeness if it stared back from another. He'd not examined the human animal in that way, and it was painful to have it pointed out so plainly and suddenly. He was swept along, listening to this creature he trusted, satiating his thirst for knowledge while he sat on his other hungers. She could have poured ridiculous lies and he would have swallowed them and made them part of himself. Marin had never failed him, and she was beautiful. He could not have done anything but hang on her words and swing from her phrases.

He had posed, of course, but it could have been cruel of Marin to answer him so easily. His golden eyes were aghast when she told him what she knew of judgement, and the receivers of their prayers. The confirmation was harsh, and Inan was a bit frightened, or at the very least overwhelmed. The implications made him worry about his choices. So many sins he could burn for, eternally. And then the romance of the story had him frozen once more, fixed on the driver, narrator, who quickly painted the plot for him. Of course it was out of love, he decided. There was no method to precede that certainty, but there was no doubt that followed, either. That passion above forethought found momentum, and also let him connect with the son she spoke of. Inan was made out of two things, as well, he argued inwardly. Magic and humanity. He was not bothered by the detail of how well those two married, in opposition to heaven and hell. He'd found acceptance bordering on worship, to a degree, while the son had only found rejection.

It was another turn that captivated him completely, when she revealed her place in this lineage. The scope of her age hit him, and for a moment the truth of the story was so distant from the mother he saw beside him. Hadn't she always just been this, his savior and liberator? Now there was also millennia about her that he didn't know. Inan had to shake his head when she accused herself and her siblings of being monsters. She was mother. She was one of his greatest loves. She'd given him life twice.

But she referred the final weighing of his soul to other things, predating herself. It was a bit disappointing, like realizing your parents did not control the weather. The future left to live. Exiting to think he'd see so much, but that swell of emotions was spread out over the thought of eternity itself, and this left him exhausted. How much more of this Marin must feel. How much of it she must have already lived. The pity for himself, and the sadness he gave to her in his thoughts, quickly died when she gave him attention, drawing on his hair. He smiled and the blood she addressed coiled in its vessels.

No other like him, under Marin. The lips tried to make the grin modest, but his teeth showed the ego she'd nurtured. Only child. Against her suggestion, he'd already tucked this away in his heart. Because love is strong, but it is also cheap. His attachment was as unshakable as it was simple. Not multifaceted. Just an endless expanse, like the ocean is one simple thing with many consequences.

With the cargo in his arms, and the key, he was relieved that his new existence would not make him into a murderer by itself. If there was always Marin and her flesh, he could hold on to his soul, the color that it was now. The light outside the window was superficial, maybe all light had always been, but that was an honesty, too. He shook his head with upset, that he might have cravings outside of mother. All this uninformed innocence should be dear to her, saved, because as true as his tastes were now, as surely they would diverge with the maturation of his palled.

"You mustn't." he said and looked at the girl again, who waved at him. Her hand disappeared behind a streak of gold reflected in the glass. She reminded him of Nona, the way her eyes stayed on his face while her head moved, but pure and tired. Mustn't eat her, mustn't harm the precious human. He was not like her, but he did not feel so far, yet. "I--" he said to the girl but then turned to Marin. "-- don't eat them, Marin. What if I'm ravenous one night and have all of you. What if judgement comes." Empty fears, useless, but he'd not lived long enough to understand. What if she's already filled canyons with bodies, Copper boy? At least she would know his sensitivities, at current.

Their room was close. His hunger was pulling at his gums and the inside of his lips before the door was closed. There were areas of him that felt cold, and begged him to double over and lay on the mute carpet, asking her to make it better. He had more sense now, and started picking shreds off her, again. She'd said he could have from her. "Hungry." a thought spoken. He was trying to understand this agony. he knew she could mend it. Her shoulder first, with wide jaws. Spread of blood into his mouth. A tear down his cheek and he didn't know what it was for.

Without meaning to, he was chewing. He had wanted to mark her and watch the theater of her closing. He was planning to be a gourmet, and prove himself as someone with sharp senses. Maybe he could conjure in her some delicious insecurities whether he approved or not. Games that human lovers played. Equals. But he was not on her precipice. He was a grain of salt beneath her, and his lust would be his adversary before his pride could ever hope to help him. So he took her toward the bed, always rented beds for them, and would push her down. If she awoke him out of his own pace by stressing her strength and his need for her approval, he'd fall on his knees instead, her above, as he looked for the flesh of her stomach.

Out of frustration he would watch each crater close, almost in rhythm with how his hunger regenerated despite the delight of her taste. He did not see the symmetry and tried with foolish fingers, not to pry, but to hinder the ruthless healing. All the art he tried to do was unmade, so he ate faster, hooked his fingers deeper. If she would topple, if she hadn't already and he was bent over her on the bed with his knees still on carpet, he would have her thighs on his shoulders, that he could eat their insides, each side, where she was soft. The rapture weaving with the exploding famish took over him soon, and he was madly smitten by her, his mind completely colored. Where were her bones? More tears and more tongue.

-

Olister had not expected the girl to be so accepting. It couldn't be a matter of knowledge. This was compatibility. So he took freely, because there was nothing in her that forbade him. Her skin was young, and impossibly inviting in texture. He didn't know it could be her magic or that some of that power rode his nerves all the way to the scarred arm. And all the pleasure laid before him made it hard to think. He was in the midst of her lovely when he realized the meeting of their bodies felt a bit insistent. When he opened to this possibility, he smiled through a breath. It was not in him to fight her if she wanted to try, so he rolled to see her plan.

Olister wasn't spoiled often, but he'd kept himself with lovers for his sanity. Her tricks, as she learned them on him, were of novice choreography, perhaps, but the help of her extraordinary pagan craft made it shockingly deft to the hunter. Gravity of who she was, and what she allowed him to be to her, spiced this session to become more memorable than the haughtier debaucheries he'd engaged in before. When she strained his senses with her softnesses, and her mouth conducted affection as well as currents of crackling spells he couldn't recognize, he knew truly she wasn't some breakable thing.

Roughly, even, he held her to him, and kissed her with a confession on his tongue. He didn't know what that truth was. And then he taught her about the volatile dedication she had the power to call upon in lovers, if she played them right. He met her, remaining on the sheets while she was on him. Her red hair rising and fanning around her abandon. His beautiful ward. A magical thing he'd helped from the woods she didn't like anymore. Hands on her hips to steer. It was his intention to protect her, and still he acted desperately toward his own pleasure, that moved closer but became more acute.

Tsoalle was impressed by them, and ate plenty from them both when the fumes were nurturing rather than reaching. How simple a task, to sew them closer.

Olister held an arm around her, and kissed her hair. It was true that the initial lure had been effective, because as he lay under her, every breath giving him strength back, he did not think of the vampire they'd come here for.
« Last Edit: September 11, 2016, 04:56:55 pm by Verse »

VenomousEve

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #104 on: September 16, 2016, 04:18:55 am »
Catalina had the chance to be formidable. There had been something stifling about Valleyrun, which she had never realized until now. Caught up in Inan, always, she’d never paid much mind to the way she’d been left to stagnate. That festering conflict with mother Elise, too, had soured her training. She’d been dutiful on her own, the small sprout pressing upward in a concrete wasteland. Now, queen of this bed, she was a real Witch. She could learn from the Earth and from this man and it wouldn’t matter whether she’d passed her mother’s tutelage. An older Magic, pure and wild.

The Copper siblings, healing in their blood and in their love, should have been a better treasure than their dirt water town had afforded them. Cat mended his body with her own, spells cast in her breath while her aura ravaged the fine nerves of their skin. She wondered if Inan would have been jealous if he’d seen her effort for this Hunter. She couldn’t have known what her brother had found or how jealous it might have made her.

When she was spent, and she was eventually spent, she was pliable and ready fall into the comfortable embrace of his arms. Long and deeply drawn sighs, some contentment with that release. It had been as much pleasure as it had been purge. Farewell Valleyrun. Farewell Inan. Catalina had no last name but her own womanhood. She would be a Witch of the land, she decided, and heal it by slaying the scourge Olister pursued. If she was given the task of nursing the good Hunter back to health on occasion, too, she would not complain.

Laying there, she felt as if she should have a cigarette at her lips and some story of a past lover to toss casually into their aftermath. Not because she desired that sort of flippancy but because she might have thought it to be expected. Experience man of the world as he was. She reminded herself she had intentions of making herself his equal though. His partner. That leant itself to a thin contentment. Any small security in this big new life was enough. It was a long while before she could bring herself to speak. “Your arm…” she began, and felt silly. “Does it still hurt?” small talk, because she hadn’t realized that she might have been lending him her Magic in their exchange. “We should be looking for Tsoalle, shouldn’t we?” she murmured. Guise of professionalism because she thought it meant maturity.

--

Marin followed Inan to their rented room, a few steps behind because she was thinking of the girl in the foyer. It was not to say her silver Childe was not enough; in the span of years that composed her eternity, she had learned it best not to become bored easily. Or, if boredom were the sickness, to accept the symptoms without cure for the ailment. Inan would be interesting for years. Lifetimes, maybe. His blood had been enough to draw her into his town and to birth him from it. But Marin was not so sentimental about the places her mouth roamed. It was a large world with so many tired people. Withholding miracles was practically cruel.

He would learn it with time, she was sure. The ways it was possible to burn fully for each other and desire painfully for others. He might have already learned that complex if he’d taken the time to reflect on the hole in his conscience his sister lived in. Marin had no need to be possessive, nor desire to be possessed. Not by this Fledgeling that was as much her as she was. He could have been everything she was, the Vampire with too many names, and she’d not have the heart to remember it. He was of her and there was never fear of losing one’s self. Not really.

Hungry baby bird, he wasted no time or pretense with her when they had gone inside. It was refreshing, she realized, to neglect the usual games. Humans, when she was disinclined to eat them whole, necessitated some effort. “Then eat,” she said to him when he was already chewing. Accommodating Mother. She let him settle atop her and felt him push into her flesh with teeth and fingers. A shudder and soft hiss of breath because this pleasure was always painful.

Invaded, like worms into corpse ripe caverns. She had died slowly once and been the lover to a host of beetles. The wife of a hundred centipedes. His tongue slithered and she wondered, gritting her teeth when the ache was sharp in the constant, if she was using him. Marin had never understood the final nature of her reality. To delight in the desperation of herself and others, begged to accept pleasure like it was a gift. This Witch’s son that hung his subsistence on making her tremble as he plunged pearly shafts into the slick winds of her muscle.

--

Juliette looked up from her coffee, a flash of recognition in her mismatched eyes. She’d know that magnetism anywhere; the pull of the First Ones. Four hundred years ago she’d stumbled into Selene. Unfortunate, to be drawn into that storm. Beneath the northern lights in a snow blanketed town. She’d made promises her immortal heart hadn’t known how to keep and Selene wouldn’t remember.

She set the mug down, cold hands on the table. “Check please,” she said when the waiter came by.

“You look just like this girl I used to know.” Regret in his voice as he held the bill. “You know, you just got the coffee. It’s on the house. You have a nice evening.”

“I get that a lot, if you’d believe it.” She said with a smile. One blue eye and one green, reflected hazel in his gaze. She didn’t ask him what the girl’s name was, though she could see the syllables hanging on the edge of his lips. “Thanks for the coffee then. I appreciate it.”

Out into the evening and across the road, her hotel on the other side. She’d never mistake Selene for anyone else. Juliette stood at her own room with the key card at the lock. The door beeped and a small light flashed green but she didn’t move to enter. She was close. Incredibly close. Juliette grit her teeth. It’d be better to pack and go. They’d spoken of it years ago. Juliette would never forget.

She raked a hand through her short brunette bob, tousled the strands and left them awry. “Fuck.” She said under her breath. It was a big world. It hadn’t been hard to stay far away. Juliette sighed, frustrated. She hadn’t heard any news to say Selene—or whoever she was now—was back. She swore again. Marched up the stairs and down the hall, like she’d been told exactly where to go. She was shaking. Selene’s aura was so strong it was stifling. And then, above that sense, the heavy intoxication of blood. Her blood. Blood she’d never shared with Juliette.   

Verse

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #105 on: September 16, 2016, 07:52:15 pm »
In truth, Cat should not have been able to make such good play. There was more to the act than experience, and Catalina offered everything else. She was searching, sometimes, and he completed her reaches, so that he could have that pleasure, too. He wasn’t a teacher, didn’t intend to, but rather along for her discovery. How rousing it was, that she was so naturally unashamed, honing her schemes atop and under him. The passion wasn’t for him entirely, but it was lovely to witness, and scalding to experience. She made their game her escape, and he held on and shifted when she need him to, restricting nothing. During one high, he moved against her, a bit of rough, a bit of himself in Cat’s path, because he had to, compelled to be selfish, too. And her response was wonderful.

The magic was delicious as it courted his nerves and awakened sensitivity where her touch traveled. Just his hand on her skin was a reward. Somewhere he knew this wasn’t normal, but lost in the throes and the pretty of her abandon he didn’t linger on that. Instead he took of Catalina when he wanted, because she was so inviting. He breathed out with their collisions and drew her scent when they retreated for leverage. The friction was electrifying. Perhaps the hook of his hand around the back of her neck, a squeeze on her shoulder, were approving messages, that she would know she was doing well in providing rapture. Because he had to encourage, that perhaps she’d perform this in the future.

And it was his fault, in part, that she became so spent. Because when her enthusiasm had paid with her strength, he held the low of her back and urged her on. Olister was rough by nature, after all, she’d not been wrong about that. He goaded her on for as long as the girl could continue. Not a game, not a malice. Her magic made her necessary for him. He was not a novice finding new things with excruciating, delightful strain. He knew what he liked. So when there was no more spring in her arms and legs and hips, he placed her firmly in the sheets. All the things her Inan couldn’t do for himself or her. Scruffy gentlemen and attentive, he’d be at the angles she responded to, but he’d also now use his own strength and breath, which she had spared. If he was panting toward the end, then yes, the girl should be exhausted.

He was more comfortable in the silence than she. The arm awoke when it was mentioned, and he held it up toward the ceiling, fingers flexing with power he’d forgotten. They both watched. “It’s as new.” He said with some surprise. He felt it was better than the one that hadn’t been bled by their pallid demon. He suspected the sensations running on rails throughout his body while they’d been at passion might be the culprit of this. “You do great work, as always.” Did it sound as though he was complimenting her acute touches, as well? The extremity would indeed be good to try out on Tsoalle.

Their vampire realized his mistake in having watched and not engaged when he’d left their minds free to remember him. He stopped what he was doing, finished anyway, and cleaned his own palm with his tongue, a special kind of narcissism, as he waved the other for the driver to be on his way. This should still have made the two less effective killers. Incepting a notion of not hunting, when you were a hunter and his witch, would only lead them to recognize him in their heads. Better let them believe their tryst had been initiated by their bodies and not him. He could spin this in to something more useful, next time.

“We got distracted.” Olister noted as sat up, that healthy hand through his hair a few times before he stroked the mess back. He thought tenderness might not be appropriate between them yet, and his haste to find clothing and putting it on wouldn’t be a dismissal, since they were leaving together. “It’s better to be distracted away from danger than in a fight.” He added with a shrug. “But better not to be side railed at all.” A small smile this time. He’d not have traded this for anything. Truth was though, idle hunters made for rampant vampires.

-

"You heal too quick. Is there a spell to slow it down?" he asked. Hand on her leg, both limbs bare, like his heart and her forgiveness for his naive. Fingers to cage the cupola of her knee, her foot on the floor. He sat beneath her, where she was on a bed they owned until ten tomorrow morning. Inan's muscles were visible on that lengthy limb from having eaten only enough to bleed and pick herbs for The Blood House. Little excesses for the mouth, so he'd taken his indulgences in love and importance, kissing and hugging Catalina too long, and filling the town with his blood. He wondered briefly if Marin had felt him in the others of Valleyrun, because if blood had spirit, then that town was his graveyard.

"Can you see?" he asked, patient. His jaw was shaking from the hunger he felt, teased by the bits he'd already taken. Inan put his kiss to the bend of his arm and sunk his longest fang in. A groan into that delta, vibrating through the forearm and onto her leg. He brought his head up to follow that line of base, opening sinew, flesh and crimson highway. That enamel sword cut the upside of the arm as Mars life radiated out to clothe him. Up the knuckle, over his longest finger to finally dip into her leg. Fast he stood on his knees to slide his head and tooth to her hipbone. Simple artist with unusual canvas.

Inan sat back, cheek smeared as he looked at the damage. Once or twice he examined her face to see if she was watching, also. Her healing was swift, and the road he'd dug in them shut quickly all the way down to her knee, his nail. It became noticeably slower on himself, that momentum of closing skin almost painfully lazy before he was finally, too, intact. Inan laughed at the spectacle. "Not fair." he whispered to the leg and cut at the far end of the bone cup, rushing his tongue in to see if he could fit it underneath that hard sphere. Could he bite it and pull it out? Like a mouth, always like a mouth, her flesh tightly pinched his tongue until it was expelled, and he was left licking at an unscathed groove.

"I will find your best part." he decided and lifted that leg. Standing and then placing his body atop hers, it would fold her, leg over one breast, calf to his chest. He looked in her eyes as he placed his palm on the back of her raised heel to keep the pretty leg where it was, that he could nuzzle her achilles tendon all the way to the cavern dividing the back of her thigh and her shin. He lapped that bowl until it was brimming with his greedy spittle. Then lower, hands climbing downward on her calf, until he kissed the hill of her thigh. He clipped that taut ridge with little effort, the bite deep and with purpose. Crescent hollow would shut soon, and he had the presence of mind to watch it, as he slid her inside his mouth, from cheek to cheek. "Powerful. Savory." he swallowed and blew where the wound had been. "Lingering." he licked his teeth for more. "But I like the torso better. it is sweeter and richer." He smiled. She was spoiling him, and he'd never been before. He retained that boyishness in the charm he was putting forth when he kissed the back of her leg. "Do you have any recommendations?"

VenomousEve

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #106 on: September 22, 2016, 03:17:00 am »
Catalina allowed herself a measure of pride when she saw that his arm was in such fine shape. She did not attribute it to their sheet-spun venture, but assumed a bit of “rest” had done well to let her previously distributed Magics run their course. A further inflated ego, then, because she was confident he had found their exchange pleasurable too. She felt rather adult for it, and thusly independent. “No harm done, then.” She agreed, and did a reasonable job of containing her rosy blush.

She was quick to dress, turning her back to him as she shrugged back into her jeans. Curious how she could still be a bit shy in this aftermath. “Well. Shall we go, Teach?” she said, cheeky, and flashed him a fine smile. Cat would flourish in this world. She had known a dark and dirty of a different sort, rankly festering beneath the supposed warmth of familial care. There was freshness in open danger and a life that welcomed a fight.

“I’d like to make you proud.” She said, as they made their way out. “Maybe someday I’ll see my brother again. I’d like to think he’ll be proud of me too.”

And so Catalina shed the skin of Valleyrun and stepped up as the Hunter Witchling in her sixteenth year.

--

Marin laughed at him. Not maliciously, but sweet because he was sweet. “Would you really want to slow me down, Feng?” she asked him. Because she was the way she bled and the way she didn’t. Her snowdrop plucked from the waste and his silly questions. If Inan romanticized her as his Mother, she could romanticize him too. It was easy, for a beast that had waited so long for this kind of adoration. To adore and to be adored. So she nodded when he asked. “Yes, I can see.”

She gasped and let his name slip off her tongue. So very hungry, her Childe. “You are of me, but you aren’t me. You’ve been changed. So have I.” she reminded him. Let him feast more to swallow that fact along with her sinew. Marin’s teeth were pretty when they clenched hard against the snap of her muscle and tendon. Carnivore.

“You like it better because it bleeds sweeter.” She agreed, pushing to free her leg and rolling herself on top of him because she could. “Recommendations.” She hummed. The way he hurt her was so transient. He’d said it wasn’t fair, watching the way their bodies had sewn themselves shut. But there was something fine to preserving pain when there was no dying at the end of it. Marin wanted to show him. “Vital things. And to learn that it is as lovely to be eaten as it is to eat.” Fangs at his chest, raking his skin like the fingers of a fabled beast.

She ran her hand between his legs, stroking for pleasure as she bit deep into the muscle over his ribs. Tearing and chewing, lapping up the crimson slicked fascia and working insistently to outpace the way he reformed in her wake. She wanted to reach his heart, fluttering fat thing, reaching with one hand to pry away a rib that barred her entrance. “Recommend… that there is art in taking what you want, because you will always be chasing it.” That rib had already begun to regrow as she spoke.

She found the life pulsing muscle and buried her lips around his left ventricle. Like nectar from a fruit. The rib that grew pressed insistently against her cheek, pushing and worming until it broke her skin and grew like roots into her eager mouth. She released the heart, which spilt happily until it, too healed, and bit down on the bone that had invaded her. Took it between her teeth, broken as quickly as it had formed, and pulled it with her as a memento when she sat up to let his chest succeed in modesty. Blood on her lips, blood on her face. A generous kiss for his mouth. See, how lovely you taste?

A knock at the door.

“Selene?” and Marin sat bolt upright. She pulled what was left of his discarded bone from her mouth. That had been a name of hers, once. “Selene, I know you’re in there. Open up.” It was difficult to detangle her senses from the overwhelming scent of Inan’s blood mingled with her own. Marin had not met anyone from before. Not as Marin, at least. It had never gone well in the past, though she could not have said with whom she’d shared such misfortune.

“Inan. Be wary.” Sharply, with a look that said he best hold whatever protest might be working its way past his lips. If he was crying, because she had dug so roughly into him, she would wipe his tears with a soft thumb. If he was eager for more, she would press that thumb to his lips and promise his satisfaction later.

“Selene, I’m going to open this door if you don’t.” Strangely desperate, on the other side of the door. Marin wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing Inan’s blood like war paint. She reached for the door and thrust it open. Juliette stared through, fist up as if to knock again.

She was exactly as Juliette remembered, terrifyingly wonderful, an ancient and perfect entity, a queen among Vampires, and the deepest love of her existence. That awful, bitter, bloodless romance. And here she was, smeared in the heady wine of some insignificant Childe with fragrant blood that reeked of Selene’s possession. “I’m sorry, there’s no Selene here. Who are you?” Frigid, because there was no other way. Juliette, who had looked first livid, stepped back as if she had been slapped.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known. Selene had told her again and again. Juliette had been good to stay away for all these years. It really wasn’t as if she didn’t know. But there was the boy. Boy with silver skin and Selene’s blood fresh on his teeth. “It’s me, that’s all.” Because Juliette knew her name meant nothing as Selene meant nothing. Marin smiled, distant and vaguely impatient.

“That’s all? You were making quite a ruckus, Vampire, and I was busy.” She said. No affection there. “So, I’ll ask again. I am Marin. Who are you?”

And Inan would recognize her, because she Catalina. Catalina with teeth like his and a stricken look on her face. He would not see the odd-eyed Juliette, just his titian Cat aghast in the doorway. Upset because she stared down a lover who saw nothing familiar, looking like a sister that had been betrayed.     

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #107 on: September 22, 2016, 06:44:03 pm »
Inan was surprised by how accurately she assessed his preference of flesh. Yes. His mouth became slick with the thought of it. Because the torso bleeds sweeter than the strong parts of the leg. So he was this kind of dead immortal. The kind with a sweet tooth. Only one. Tongue to the little tusk behind his upper lip. He could accept that. Seek out her sweetest, then, he decided with excitement, lost in that promise when she freed herself and the leg. She took him gently from that little gathering of scenes growing before him when she had that leg over him, sitting. Inan looked around with two tosses of his head and then smirked up at her, excited.

“Vital.” He repeated. His hand caressed the skin lining one side of her spine. She moved down to lengthen that stroke when her teeth visited the stage above the baseline of his heart. He was about to speak a sentiment he thought was clever, all of you is vital to me, but that breath rippled in his trachea when her hand cupped him through fabric still around his hips. Instantly engaged, he inhaled to offer willingness, unknowing he lifted his chest into her bite. A shallow cough to express the pain and the sudden introduction of sensation mingling with what she nurtured with her hand.

He made sounds that wouldn’t be words to stop her. They failed to convince when she’d already brought his mind toward pleasure, a rush of sensory treasure, and delivered in a different flavor. One leg bent in panic, a hand in her hair. Mostly it was to brace himself, lying under her, nerves trying to make sense of the conflict that was already growing exotic. Pliable, susceptible Inan Copper. He said her name with an overflowing tongue when the air hit his squeezing and expanding muscle. Looking down instead of bracing himself against the mute of the ceiling, he realized how beautiful and enticing this happening was, Marin with her lips buried toward his heart, in a shrinking cavern. He shook his head, frightened, but the wide of his eyes told the truth of his electric curiosity. Her voice rumbled against his heart and it was almost too much.

When she broke the bone the echo multiplied into his body, a delicious release. Her grating tongue played with neglected surfaces her teeth had undressed. He was torn between all the dread he expected, and the scorching other universe she injected into his hungry nerves. When she stabbed his heart his body tried to flee into the bed without successfully escaping her. The pain was too plentiful to be familiar as suffering. It was simply overmuch. A strange decadence that spent his mind. When he had sanity enough to look at her, and that white dagger hooked into her face like a deliberate ornament, his feelings about it would make themselves known, primal swell, in her hand that cupped him. She let him bleed, teeth taken back, and he went half way toward death, as it started to become kind to usher him onto styx gently. The gravity of the blood she’d given him floated him back to the shore, and it all became an adventure instead of his conclusion. His lips were wide when she kissed him and he responded to it, fully alive again. There was nothing anyone could offer that would be more precious than this, he realized when he tasted hearts blood.

And then something so human as an announcement at the door invaded their built oasis. Inan saw her fret, and sat up, sliding a finger over the last of the opening before it closed and his heart was proper again. He felt suddenly exposed, and crossed his arms and curled his naked toes on the floor. Wary, like a good son. He’d not realized there were tears on him until she wiped them away. From when she’d amalgamated pain and reward. She had not stayed when he tried to keep her, but her refusal had been sweet, inconclusive. What could this be, at their door? He said the new name. Marin was not Selene, but Marin answered, anyway.

Mother tore the initial spring into a gaping maw. And there, in the mouth of flimsy wood and lower jaw of threshold and inside, was Catalina, resurrected into his life. The next three heartbeats were like his name in their cave. Inan stood quickly to see her fully. She was as hurt as he had been, when she refused to remember them and their over spilling reaction to each other, in their secret, firelit cavern. Beautiful little sister. Marin had offered to be this, but truly, this visitor wore the beloved he’d been raise alongside. “Marin.” He said, moving quick, quicker than any other childe should, so young. Perhaps Juliette would notice, and if she didn’t, she’d see the life burning on his lips, at least. He smiled without knowing what kind of wound that was to their guest. Sympathy in gold as he peered at the newcomer from behind mother’s shoulder, towering over both women, but infinitely their junior.

“Can’t you see?” he whispered to Marin, as he remained transfixed on Cat and her pretty red. His arms around mother, bent down to reach her ear. It was a bit odd to him, that Cat’s expression glowered more with hurt when he did this. Then the limbs unlatched around Marin so he could move around her and bring Juliette in by her arm. “It’s Catalina.” He said, a pulse of gold veins living and retreating on his sclera. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked  and took her other arm too. “Why are you sad?” There is a madness in this kind of mistake, and the madness tried to protect itself with only shallow thoughts. The heart can persist on no thought at all, if it needs. “Don’t be sad, Cat.” He said and tugged at her short hair as thought the strands were only the beginning and not the full length of her mane. A clue to his illusion was when he combed through the air and down, where there were no brunette lengths.

Inan rubbed the flat of his tongue against his small fang, cleaning it of persistent life that mother let him have. What would Cat think, now that he’d become this? He was proud. She’d never judged him, only scolded him when he thought he was being kind, and she thought he was being too gentle. “You found me.” But the madness didn’t let him ask how. Without a doubt, it was because they were meant to be. “Marin.” He turned to his Mother New to show off his Sister Dear as though she didn’t already see the only other soul with them. “It’s her. She’s come back.” A kiss on Cat’s eyebrow, above the blue eye of Juliette, to see what kind of mood she was in, and to hope to relieve her of some of that pretty hurt she was carrying. Unless Juliette struggled, he'd hold her temples and put his head to hers. Sometimes, at night, in the Blood House, he would fall asleep doing this. “Can I help you? Can we?” he asked in this privacy, the recently bitten heart moving hot blood. “I’ll give you anything.”

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #108 on: October 02, 2016, 03:44:48 am »
Juliette was in some other plane, it seemed, with the way she seemed not to see Inan at all. It was a lie of those talented eyes, surely, but she was staunchly tied to it nonetheless. “Marin.” Juliette said, and the name tasted foreign and sour. Marin nodded, blood-stained chin bobbing. It wasn’t fair. “My name is Juliette. You knew it once.” She said, and all the bitterness of her empty years came to the surface in sharp and jagged edges.

Marin pursed her lips. “Did I?” She said, and she was cold. “I don’t think so. Marin never knew a Juliette.” Even tone. It was better that way, whether this other could see it or not. But there was Inan mewling like a kitten and gasping in fascination over a phantom sister that Marin did not see. She understood it though.

“Inan, you and Catalina buried each other, remember?” she hummed. “This is not your sister. This is a pretty trick of the light.” But Juliette could have been Cat in body a hundred times over what Marin could conjure. Marin had offered to be the sister he could have, but he’d only have it with his eyes closed. A curious ability and one she remembered well. A sister’s Childe. Juliette was laughing.

“But you’re special, Selene. This boy is just another Vampire. He can’t see me like you can unless he really wants to.” And he wants to see his sister. “You can see me the way Mother can.” Juliette looked like she might have been hopeful, so Marin scowled.

“My name is Marin, I told you that.” She said, and then gave Inan a softer expression. “I suppose it is a treat then, that you can see her like this.” But Inan was already pulling Juliette into the room. Juliette did not want to be touched by this boy that had won her Selene. She pulled her limbs free from him sharply and swatted him away as best she could without moving out of the room. Juliette sneered at him.

“Pining after someone else, besides your goddess? Shouldn’t you see your Mother?” He didn’t deserve her. Juliette had watched Selene burn and nursed a broken heart for a century. She’d carried on and kept her promise. Juliette had never gone running to Yue, but she’d wept when she heard that Yue had passed. She’d been so loyal to Selene’s wishes. All these years. She’d been loyal in the beginning, too. She hadn’t questioned Selene when that shining woman had told her they’d not cradle each other’s veins. She’d been in heaven so that sacrifice had been fine. This boy could not have done any such thing. He still stank of humanity. An infant, uncultured, and standing there wearing Selene’s red like a badge he had earned.

Marin arched a brow and reached for her gold-flecked Fledgling. “Feng,” she murmured, pulling his shoulder to bring him close to her. She would pet his hair and place herself between them. Juliette’s teeth were sharp. Inan would see that, no matter the illusion. Would he be delighted to find his sister wearing immortal blades like him?

“Juliette, was it? Perhaps you should come further inside. I wouldn’t want to make the other customers here uncomfortable.” There was a harsh pang in the back of her throat. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t conceived of such a meeting. It wasn’t as if she didn’t feel badly for it. But she’d always had this resolve. She knew that she’d carried it through ever name. Always, she rose, and always she was new. Juliette’s lips pressed into a hard line, but she complied and let Marin shut the door behind them.

“I know I shouldn’t have come, but you were so close that I had to.” Juliette said, and under the stiffness there was still desperation. She watched as Marin led Inan back to the bed that wore their colors and pressed him to sit there. Tiny woman, but regal the way only her queen could be. Perfect moon goddess. Selene had worn her hair shorter and kept it tied into plaits, mostly. It was lovely, loose and flowing around her shoulders like this.

Marin waved it off. “If you knew, then you shouldn’t have done it. But, from the way you say it, we must have been close.” She said, and turned back to face Juliette with her arms crossed over her chest. “So, what were you expecting?”

Juliette touched her own lips, brows furrowing as she looked away. “I could smell your blood. You always said you’d never share it. So you wouldn’t leave anybody you cared for behind.” She muttered. “You changed your mind? For that brat?” Juliette laughed. “He smells like you too. But he doesn’t even see you when he looks at me.” Marin sighed.

“I’ve lived a long time. It’s alright if I change my mind sometimes.” She didn’t say it unkindly, though. If anything Inan might have heard something like an apology there. “The circumstances were somewhat dire.” Juliette felt a pang of guilt. Selene had broken rules too. When the circumstances were dire. Selene had gone up in flames for it.

“I shouldn’t have come.” Juliette said again, a bit softer. She turned her odd-eyed stare onto Inan. “You have her in ways no one in history has ever had her. Why would you see anyone else?” she asked. “Who is this Cat and why is she anything to you when you have Her?”

Marin made a disapproving sound. “Inan loves as he wishes and desires as he wishes, the same as I.” She shrugged. She glanced at the young Vampire. “Do you want someone else now? Blood that isn’t mine?” she asked him with a small smile. Standing right in front of him like this, Juliette must have looked like paradise. Catalina made into an immortal illusion. One that was less pretend and less betrayal. “You must have loved Selene, Juliette. If you’re here. Enough to break her rules.” Because Selene had only broken her rules for the same. Juliette let out a heavy sigh.

“You loved me too. Or. She did.” And it could have been a beautiful kind of jealousy for Inan to hear his sister’s mouth say those things. Or it could have been the height of a shared passion. Either could be igniting. Marin sat down on the bed beside Inan.

“Are you why she died? Selene didn’t love anyone else.” She asked. A curiously vulnerable expression. Marin did not dwell in the past because history itself was her phantom. She had always raced to stay away from confronting it. In her many lives, she had been mostly successful. Juliette, who could have forgotten Inan and the smell of blood and everything else about the room at that moment, looked as if she might begin to cry.

“Yes. You did. To save me.” Juliette had known Marin by two names before. As a human child, she had seen the white demon by moonlight, standing on the shore. She had yearned for that image for years after and given herself to the beasts of the night to try and touch it. It wasn’t until she had run into her childhood memory reborn as Selene that she’d been able to catch her. And she’d held on so tight. Too tight, because Selene was gone. Marin had a boy. Marin had broken rules for him.

Lovely trails down Cat’s cheeks and Marin tried to look away. “I’m sorry that you came. But Selene did die. My name is Marin.” She set her palm lightly on Inan’s thigh. “You’ve not met another Vampire, Inan Copper. This woman is a bit like you. Is it frightening, or do you like it?” she said and tried to sound chipper. “I’m not sure which you ought to feel, because this Vampire seems to have been very close to me at a time, as well.” She leaned to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “And you see that I don’t know her? It will be the same with you and I someday, if your appetite gets the best of you.” She grinned at him. “This is why I would like you to learn just the smallest bit of restraint.” Like it was a minor matter.


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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #109 on: October 02, 2016, 02:56:46 pm »
Marin did not nurture the pretend he'd clamored to when Juliette had come in like dream clay, offering to be what he yearned for in exchange for only his disillusion. Some mirages are not deceit. His eyes stung when New Mother took him back to the absolute circumstance of Catalina's departure from Valleyrun, and him. And his pledge to leave her as a memory. He'd gone from the world twice and thought that would be enough, that such distance would keep his promise for him. How many times can you cut a bond? And then, as Marin said, this pretty trick of the light.

When Juliette got free of him, his arms lingered in the storm of her rejecting hands until she was satisfied with that small discourtesy. Cat had always been physical, it was not against her nature, as he remembered it, to hit him when his jokes were tart, or even when she thought they were clever. This had to remind him of that. How could she be so casually playful - though he'd seen it before - when really this was a reunion? They could be their blood House selves later. Now he'd rather just be dearly reunited. "Such things you say, Cat." he muttered, to see if his obvious hurt would pull her out from this stubborn act.

And how had she become so familiar with his Marin? This talk of Mother. Golden eyes glittered when Marin took him back a few steps into her, and he saw white peaks where they shouldn't be in Catalina's mouth. Like him. This was surely a dream. He'd not seen Marin take Cat. All of this didn't have the impact it should. It didn't shake him. A dream them. And as it is with those, he forgot having discovered that truth, though false, very soon, and took some strength from Mother's affections in front of the vampire that wanted it more than he could know.

So close that I had to. Inan whipped his head back to see her over his shoulder as Marin took him to the bed, perhaps to lure the guest deeper into their rented haven, as Marin had suggested. Had to come because she'd felt him, was what he chose to hear. As their conversation went on, and he was left to sit and wait, he was not so pleased. Cat was not tender, tonight. Perhaps this dark gift, that saved him, had done something else to his dear sister. He did not deserve this, though. All he'd done was survive. And in the cave, well, he shouldn't carry that by himself, she shouldn't want him to.

And then the lecture about New Mother's glory. He had to nod along. Of course he was grateful. That didn't mean he had to swallow all the unkindness of his beloved, always raw sister. If Catalina loved Marin so much now, shouldn't she also be grateful? Inan didn't have much wit, he could hold an argument because people in small towns worship beauty, and wanted to preserve his naivety and innocence, but he also had bile that longed to be expressed. It was growing potent in this confusion. Why didn't Cat want to be Cat, for him? "Shouldn't you be that Cat then, that I see?" He'd not had a love like Marin's, so he was proud of it, would try it out as a weapon. Mother hadn't wanted much to do with sister, at the door.

He would spout some other nonsense that felt good to give away when Marin offered him Catalina's blood. He would not remember having squeezed the blood sheets in his fingers at that new want. He wouldn't remember nodding, either. All his life they'd explained the holiness of blood to him. He'd learned it deeply with Marin. Would it be as intimate if he could drink Catalina? Would it be more binding than the lust he'd lost control over when they'd been in the stone privacy?

The talk of any incarnation of Marin dying took away some of the excitement. He knew this could be, but he didn't like the severity this conversation brought to it. He'd not wanted to know the ends of his new goddess so soon. And now Catalina was crying. Catalina that wanted to be called Juliette. He took some comfort in mother's closeness as he stared at the saddened girl he'd loved all his life. If she was another vampire, somehow, he had to believe it if Marin said it.

"I'll be good." he promised Marin when she held this visitor up as an example of what could happen. The sorrow in her air, and the jealousy and bitterness at the tail of it, he didn't want to feel any of those things. Not for the passion that he felt when he tasted Marin, even. He could learn to take a little less if he could preserve his forever with New Mother. He leaned his head to hers and touched the hand that she caressed him with. A prominent part in him loved the way this Cat looked at him when he touched mother.

"It feels dear. I like it a lot." meeting her. Not frightening. But she wasn't entirely like him, as she's said herself. If you are not Cat, but look so much like her, then you can be something for me. Inan wasn't cunning, but he was a spoiled child in many aspects, event though he'd been used in his first childhood. He was greedy enough to understand the value of what he had. "A bit like me." he repeated as he laid one arm around Mother. "But not entirely." He'd not been this kind of brother to Catalina. But this Juliette didn't want to be his sister. "You didn't make her. You didn't sustain her. You're not with her now." he was appalled by how easy it was to say. But he knew part of what Juliette felt, because he loved Marin, too, and that love was absolute. Perhaps it should be the guest that should be frightened, then. Because she'd told him her weakness and he knew how deep it ran.

"You came here for something, Juliette." he said as he lifted Marin's hand and held it to his cheek, golden orbs watching the new creature without mercy. In something that currently lacked of evil, that gaze looked a lot like cold curiosity. There was some blood on Mother's thumb and he licked it for himself, and swallowed slowly. Juliette. Yes. He could easily call her by the name she preferred when he was being mean. "You didn't break Selene's rules just because of mischief."

But how could he barter with what Juliette truly wanted? He was inferior to Marin in every way. And her blood was sacred. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't like how she despised him, either. That would have to change if she was to satiate the yearning she summoned in him. So he got farther up the bed, on his knees. "Did you want the blood you felt in the air?" he asked and felt kind for suggesting it. He would have taken it as a kindness in her position, after some time without. So terribly spoiled, he was.

He nuzzled Marin's hair and ear. Not possessive, but he still had something Juliette did not. "Would it be alright if I offer her some of mine? She doesn't like me much, and you don't know her, anymore." he was being a bit of a villain, but he wanted this so much. And this mother hadn't denied him when she could indulge him. On his knees, in the sheets, if Marin would allow him to use the ruby riches she'd given him, he would hold out his hand, palm up, life's bracelet. "Try it. I'll let you, Cat." and the name was part of the price. "But you have to sing a somber song for me." his fingers waved where they hung, to make the sinew dance underneath the skin of his wrist.

He would think that was all he wanted, too. But if the picture of his sister did come, and she tried him the way he offered, he would very likely use his other arm to secure her to him, and take a bit of her for himself, as well. Cat had always had a beautiful neck. Photographing her when she slept, it had been one of his favorite focals. He would love to sample her like so. New Inan didn't even have a thought to what his blood might do to her. He hadn't pondered how unusual he was to either world. Perhaps, even, in tasting her and finding that she was her own delight, far removed from what his witch sister must feel like on his tongue, he'd drink harder. Some pretty toys, after you've opened the box, become outside toys fast.

But if Mother forbade him, safeguarding the blood she'd put into him, he'd still try to keep Juliette in the room with them but sucking from shallow cuts on Marin's shoulder. He wasn't awful in his soul, he mostly knew his relationship to others through different kinds of love, but that could make his cruel acts all the worse. He didn't realize that if Marin had been in Juliette's arms, letting her shoulder be scratched with teeth and cleaned with tongue, he'd also hold a broken heart. "How do I keep her?" he'd pose, either way.

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #110 on: October 12, 2016, 04:38:31 am »
Juliette was angry with this stupid boy that had captured Selene. She didn’t understand it and her frustration was plain when he played at being sullen. It was infuriating, entitled Childe hanging on Selene like he could take her for granted. Juliette wished he could see what she had. Maybe, if he’d watched all of his Mother’s skin drip away from her pretty bones and watched her blood vaporize to the night air he’d be less cocky. He’d appreciate the phantom he’d captured.

“Call me whatever the hell you want, Kid.” Juliette spat. “I don’t know a Cat and I’ve got no plans to play pretend with you.” She snapped. Marin gave the odd-eyed Vampire a tight-lipped smile.

“Juliette, he misses his sister, that’s all. I told him it was fine to miss her. Loneliness is pretty on him, if you look carefully.” She said, and reached to stroke Inan’s cheek. Juliette shook her head.

“Loneliness is torture. He doesn’t know loneliness. You know loneliness. I know loneliness.” She strode forward and dropped to her knees in front of Marin, hands balled into fists like she could make Marin remember if she tried hard enough. “I tried to stay away. I did stay away. For centuries.” She searched Marin’s dark eyes for anything to hold on to. Marin’s gaze was unforgiving. It was worse than being unseen.

Marin let Inan test the Vampire she understood she must have once loved and felt a genuine sympathy for her. She wished she might feel regret over the way the back of her hand grazed Inan’s cheek or how he said things she knew must feel cruel. But Marin had never met Juliette, no matter how sweetly Selene might have held her. Marin only had care for her spoiled Copper boy, whose fated thread had vibrated with hers down lifetimes he’d never met. She knew Juliette had not had such an effect. No one had. What Inan was mattered more than love. She felt his warm tongue on her digit and gave him a curious look. Sweet, trembling thing that had feared death hardly a day ago. How quickly he had blossomed. It made her proud, perhaps, and a bit sad. It might be good for him to miss Cat a bit more. His golden eyes were pretty when he was crying.

Juliette’s lip curled. “Tell me, brother, would you have been able to stay away? Maybe you don't love your Mother at all,” she said with Cat’s voice. How dare this infant mock her. He’d never met Selene. But he was offering her the blood that she’d never been permitted to have and it made her shudder. Not because she desired it, though she did, but because it was as if the boy had slapped her in the face with the worst sort of insult.

“I want hers, not yours.” Juliette hissed. “It has always been about her and nobody else. For as long as I have lived it has only ever been about her.” Juliette said. Cat’s green eyes were the sort of livid that Inan would not be able to recall having ever seen. Was it, then, that Catalina had never loved Inan the way this Vampire loved his Mother? If he found the thought disheartening, it would be unfair. Juliette had lived his life fifteen times over with her unrequited desire. But that itself should have frightened him. Really, what could he offer to this woman that had maintained a singular love in all these years?

Marin inclined her head and pinched Inan’s shoulder lightly. “You want to hold your sister again. It’s good there’s something to want beyond me. In case I don’t love you.” She told him. The Mother that would never leave him had never sworn an obligation to hold him in that corner of her heart. To adore him, which she did, was not the same as love. She was fairly certain that she could, in fact, love Inan Copper dearly with time. But then, there was this woman, Juliette, before her and she had nothing but empty for her. It was the same heart which had been mad enough to die for Juliette, once. Or so it seemed. With that sort of uncertainty in her future with her sweet Feng, she was unwilling to promise him her deepest affection. It would be good if he understood that. It would be good if he could keep Cat in the places she was not ready to fill. How complicated, she thought, to not be alone. It had been a good deal simpler before she'd gone to see the Blood House.

“You can have her if I give her my blood. She would be Cat for you if we made that sort of trade, I think.” Marin hummed. Juliette looked stricken over such a proposition, posed as if she weren’t even in the room. She had longed for the smallest taste of her beloved Selene for years. An offer made like this was crude, at best. From Selene’s lips, no less, but it might as well have been a stranger’s suggestion. It was so offhand it was grotesque.

Marin pressed a palm to Inan’s outstretched wrist. “Far be it from me to tell you who you may or may not give your blood to, but perhaps you ought not make light of her suffering.” She said, as if she weren’t doing the same herself. Juliette stood from her knees.

“Is it so easy for you to give out now?” she asked, voice trembling. Marin blinked at her.

“No. But you say you loved me and that I loved you. And my Childe, for whom I broke my most fundamental rule, wants his sister.” She said. Like it really was simple. Marin ran her fingers along her own throat. “It’s a new thing for me, you know. To be eaten.” She sighed. “Would you be able to control yourself, Juliette? If I let you make me Selene so that you’ll be my Inan’s Catalina?” she asked. Juliette, who had made believe in many beds for many mouths, was certain she’d never been offered a dirtier bargain. But then, she had come here after something, after all. Closure, maybe.

She should have known better.

“Maybe, if you are nice, she’ll want your blood too. The same way you want hers. What a dream that would be for my dear Feng.” She said. She had promised him his sister in that fantasy he had died for. Marin had certainly not anticipated laying it out for him like this, but she saw the possibility of it none the less. Would it make her a bad Mother, giving him the sweet he wanted even if he couldn’t keep it in the end? “It is up to her, of course. Whether she wants this. Vampires are not kept by any but the ones that made them and their own hunger.”

Juliette hung her head. That was mostly true. But Juliette had been always Selene's, regardless of her lineage. Selene had been a more romantic heart than this Marin was. Selene would never have made this sort of proposition. They were the same, beneath the façade of a new life, but Marin had built different walls. They stung. But, she was still beautiful and Juliette still wanted her. She wondered if it was betrayal to look for her Selene in this. She'd already been wrong to come here in the first place. A little further couldn't be any more damming. She reached out for Marin with one hand. “You would do that for this Childe of yours? Give me what you refused, even when you loved me?” Juliette laughed bitterly. Selene had been right to tell her to stay away. This was some bizarre torture. Maybe she deserved it.

“Is she worth turning my back on what I loved? Will I be satisfied, brother? Will you?” And Selene reached out to touch Cat’s hand and pull her gently onto the bed between them.

“Inan, come. Share me with your Catalina and give me a bit of yourself in exchange. You’re a spoiled boy, my Feng.” She said and took the arm which he had outstretched so that she could sink her teeth into the vein he’d offered his pseudo sister. Marin’s tongue pressed insistently into the wound so that his eager rust flowed around her lips and dribbled into Juliette’s lap. “Won’t you open me for your sister?” she asked against his skin and pulled her hair over her shoulder to expose the soft span of her throat. Juliette felt her breath catch. She could still leave. She hadn’t anticipated this when she'd knocked on this door. Wasn’t it enough closure to see that this woman was not the Selene she remembered?

And yet, and yet, the curve of her neck was so familiar. That honey sweet aura so achingly dear. An awful purgatory, surely, and the answer to her oldest wish.

« Last Edit: October 12, 2016, 04:53:31 am by VenomousEve »

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #111 on: October 12, 2016, 07:43:09 pm »
While her refusing the name of his sister was aggravating, he thought he saw some of Cat’s fire in the protest. This vampire burned with a colder flame, though. He leaned in to New Mother’s caress but kept his eyes on the sister who would not be his. He did not know how unusual his blessing was, Selene or other name, only that it was a great one. To him it was simply necessary for Marin to give him Cat if she could. He did not, would not, understand what it meant for Selene’s likeness to ask something as impressively old as Juliette to be what he wanted her to be. “Stay away.” He repeated under his breath, almost a growl, still with the sweetness of mother’s finger on his tongue. “What a cold love. What a though-through love. I’d break a thousand promises for love. I’d compromise my character completely for love.” Cat stayed away. Cat left. He’d have nothing of such unfaithful emotions. He thought the mind should not take the heart’s tasks. He thought passion would have kept his sister with him.

“And how did you fare, always loving, then?” he asked back, confidence inflated with Marin by his side. “Never touching, never tasting.” He’d seen this, in Cat, on the morning she’d been cold. It was not his intention to be cruel, but his soul had things a human lifetime would not have revealed that was now blossoming in immortality’s light. His other hand, that he’d not offered, touched Marin. He saw Cat’s opposing side in Juliette now. This all confused him, since it had already seduced him. He wanted her so much. The desire was partially material. He wanted something that would carry out this wish for him as much as he wanted to be lost in a sister that had returned. His hand came back when Marin touched it. He was not a rebel. In his human life, he’d been obedient, too.

It was hard for him to hear that mother might not love him. That hardship was strung between the pace of their conversation, and the intention Marin had of collecting this sudden Catalina for him. With some anticipation, he nuzzled Marin’s cheek. It was not possessive, but it might look that way to Juliette who stood across from them, especially since he did not relent her with his eyes. He had to be good to her for her to want his blood. At least there was a chance. Catalina, the one he’d grown up with, would never have taken a drop. Truly, the way this Catalina trembled, there was hope.

So he waited patiently for mother to draw Cat close. His golden eyes were bright to see his sister between them, and he didn’t fight when mother took his arm. A sigh when she bit into him. To make it all look more delicious to the hesitating vampire that had the beautiful face, he put his lips close to her ear, and breathed all that he felt every time Marin bled him. “How will you know whether you’ll be satisfied if you don’t try?” he smiled to himself as her lap became increasingly wet with his life. “Or you can leave, and let me have her all to myself.” It wasn’t an eventuality that stung to think of. He’d rather have Cat too, though. So spoiled. His arm pulsed with the pain and the echoing pleasure he'd learned.

He found Marin’s nape as lovely as anyone might, and saw that his sister was transfixed by that source. He jolter her out of it, on his way, brushing his cheek against her. His arm, caught in Marin’s lips, moved its fingers. He kissed where he’d drank from before, on her neck, and rested his large mouth on the wet mark. His behavior wasn’t just to tease and savor, but rather to underline to Catalina how lovely mother was. A far better mother than Elise had ever been to either of them. Hesitation, feigned, when he lifted his attention from that sweet skin to look deep into the imagined green eyes. “Would you be my sister again, then?” in exchange for this ruby treasure I wouldn’t share otherwise. If she did not answer, he would put his hand to her mouth and hold it away, that she may not taste. He would try to keep her away, too, for as long as she rejected him, until she said a dewy yes against his palm.

With the ever-hunger always spiraling behind his diaphragm and the parts of his soul connected to his nervous system, it wouldn’t be hard to entice Inan to bite. Whether Juliette agreed, subtle or with some great gesture of either hate or love toward Marin, or if she did not, with a dark rejection or flippant stance, he would still dig those uneven fangs into mother’s holy skin while his protecting hand would try to fend off Juliette’s hunger. Familiar - if sugar-rimmed life can be felt with the same senses twice - when he tasted Marin’s elixir. New Mother and her preservation made this all flawed. She might heal too fast for Juliette to have a proper taste. With his front teeth he tugged at the wounds he’d made to keep them open, bleeding Marin into the bowl of her own collarbone. Would it hurt Juliette to see how he was allowed to play?

His mouth was still saturated with blood he’d not swallowed. Would it look lewd to Juliette when he turned to her, and two of his fingers lingered around one puncture on Marin’s neck, making that wound smile or gape to prolong its generosity. For a short while, she’d have the choice of three drinks. The waning fountain, the bone framed puddle, and his truly rosy lips. Perhaps Inan had it in his mind to let her have either, but if Juliette leaned in for any other source than himself and his kiss, a reaction as deeply rooted as his love for Catalina would have him capture her mouth anyway, with his lips. Those petals parted, drowning in the treasure Juliette had been waiting for, when a surge of pain running along a heartbeat in his wrist reminded him of mother’s fangs. This was all more than a small town whore had the right to, but it was all that he would accept.

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #112 on: October 14, 2016, 08:06:40 pm »
It wasn’t strange that the heady drunkenness of being with her invaded fast. Juliette might despise what Inan had with Selene, but it didn’t make her any less weak. Even impartial Vampires would struggle under the intoxicating aroma of a Matriarch’s blood. Those two shared each other so easily. Like there had never been any reservation over Selene’s spilling red. It was an awful thing to want this. Juliette swallowed back the mounting hunger.

She felt herself imagining Selene had been nothing but a caricature. Pathetic dramatization of a tortured soul, unable to share in the greatest intimacy with her lover. There had never been a good reason for Selene’s rules. “She loves you more than me. Or she will.” Juliette heard herself mumble. “If she’s willing to be selfish with you.” Her bitterness was roiling in self-depreciating untruths, of course. Marin was not Selene. Selene had told her to stay away for a reason. This reason. Things change. And, though it shot harsh pangs of jealousy through her chest, she could almost understand it. The smell of this boy’s blood, thick with the aura of his Mother, was unique. He had been a special human. Juliette had just been a sad Vampire.

Marin bit harder into Inan’s forearm, seeking the crunch of tendon and bone between her teeth. She could have sucked his marrow dry, sweet Witch’s son. He bled into Juliette’s lap, which was a pretty sight. Marin could even pretend she knew the other woman, once she was couched between them and Inan had begun to draw her own rivers for himself. She gasped, lapping at his encroaching skin, and felt it slick along her collarbones. “A sister of my Feng is a Daughter of mine, too, so long as he desires it.” Marin hummed. That offer again.

Juliette was sure she’d been set on by a pair of wolves. They had made their demand so very clear and it was degrading to play in their pretend. But Selene was spilling pretty rust and her Son was nearly as exotic as she. Terrible family, these two. Juliette was nodding at Inan though. “You’ll share with your sister, right?” she mumbled, blinking hazily. Terrible family, but she’d be theirs now if it was allowed. She felt something in her break when Inan pressed his slim digits into Selene’s eager flesh. Like the Mother would swallow up her Childe again, if he’d give her the chance. Juliette shuddered. More self-control than infant Inan, perhaps, but she was not infinite.

She made to press her tongue to the dripping cup of Selene’s collarbones but was caught by the scheming boy instead. At first, a flash of anger because she’d submitted to their game and been denied still. Then, the burning shock of Selene’s blood on his lips and the hunger of a love restrained for centuries. Juliette was all the eager Cat’s body had been with a soul willing to match it. It wasn’t Cat’s sinewy young body. Juliette was rolling curves and a long legs. But it didn’t matter. Her mouth could be Catalina fanged and her eager everything Cat held back. She’d feel just like her to him anyway.

Marin let Juliette fall into their tangle, stroking Inan’s hair as he experienced his sister renewed. She kissed his shoulders and nipped at the skin. Juliette whimpered Selene’s name, raked her teeth over Inan’s lip, and pressed him down to the bed. What a brat he was, and yet he had what she wanted. If this was how she’d get it, she’d accept it. “Give me more of her.” She panted. Marin tipped Juliette’s chin up with one finger and smiled.

“It’s okay, Catalina, for answering to that name you can take it yourself.” She assured her and kissed her softly. Juliette was beside herself. Tears, abruptly, and a strangled sob.

“I missed you for so long, Selene.” She breathed, and hooked her fangs into Marin’s lip.

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #113 on: October 15, 2016, 04:57:16 pm »
He smiled with his brimming mouth, the tongue vermilion in comparison to the darkness that floated and crowded the inside of the cheeks. Finally, Cat was speaking as though she was willing to come back to him. "I'll share anything with you, Cat." he said, soft words so mother wouldn't come spilling down his chin. He'd always save food for Cat if she was late home, or if he had to stay until she returned on days when he was too faint. Elise's orders. Inan loved feeding his sister.

Tears grew at the tips of his eyes when she kissed him back. His free hand took her to him. Catalina searched for something in the kiss. Out of reflex, and because of the nature of a kiss, he took some of the blood for himself. Squabbling siblings. He'd intended to be more generous, but the reaction was too selfish. How happy he became when she put herself on him, that he had to lay down. This had been reversed, last time, the first time, they'd discovered this kind of thing.

It was a pretty thing, above him, when Catalina kissed Marin. Efficient drinker, but a stray drop came down to crash against his waiting mouth. Spoiled boy, he moved up, against Cat, to suckle her chin for trails of mother. He could hear in Cat's throat how ravenous she was. Marin had told him what would happen if there was too much hunger. Not even his long lost sister must take mother's love away. He didn't have the presence of mind, rather, it would greatly contradict what he wanted from this, to wonder if it might be in Juliette's interest to try and make Marin's mind blank through death again.

Inan rested back and let his hands wander the body that he saw as familiar. He tested Juliette's skin and muscles, and did not register the thickness and soft that Catalina never had. This sister was so allowing, even if there was still a measure of flight in her tension. He liked that it wasn't enough to carry her away. Inan put his face to her jaw and piled affection with his lips. "You'll never leave me again." he sang in a low breath as he helped himself to lift the top Cat had lost in the woods when summer was too oppressive, three years ago. It is hard to question dreams.

He put his nose to her neck and smelled the vibrant pulse going through her blood columns. It was the same patter as when they'd fall asleep out in the grass, and he brushed her wrist to make sure she was still alive when he woke first. His fingers dug into her flesh when his teeth stroked their round sides against her heartbeat. When he flicked his tongue out at her, he couldn't stand it anymore. Inan bit into his Catalina, keeping her to him with hands underneath her shirt. If she could take from mother, then he could have this. He sucked to keep her clean, rising his hips into hers while Juliette was allowed to taste the lover that had forgotten her.

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #114 on: October 19, 2016, 07:46:33 pm »
Marin did not have Juliette’s gift of make believe, so her kisses were not Selene’s and did not try to be. Instead, she was simply Marin—the new beast in the beautiful body. She could enjoy this the way she had enjoyed Martin and countless others. Blood was blood if it wasn’t Inan’s and it hardly mattered that this woman was a Vampire, too. They were so different from her. So mortal. They tasted like hubris. If those sentiments wounded Juliette, who wanted to taste an old love as badly as she wanted to taste a forbidden red, Marin had little sympathy. She’d made her rules to be followed, out of care. Really, this was generous. Juliette could bear to suffer for it a little.

Juliette, who was giving herself to Inan’s imagination even as she chased Marin’s veins, was cast into the deepest web of conflict. She’d made her decision and toppled into this tangle but every swallow swelled her guilt. Selene was not in this. Selene would not have been willing. She was taking advantage of those memories as much as she was being taken advantage of. It left her numb to the boy’s advances and her gasps were hollow when he tried his jagged teeth in her. As if it was a form of atonement, she found his shoulder with her mouth and took from that well to chase out the taste of Selene. But Inan was Marin’s son and his blood sang with that intimate bond. Marin made a sound that was not quite approval and not quite jealousy and laid her own blades into her Childe’s throat.

A pant and pause. “How pretty you two are, my Feng. It’s thrilling to be consumed like this, isn’t it?” Sister and Mother to ravage his blood and bones. She reached to join his hand beneath Juliette’s shirt. “But it’s an easy way to die. If there’s really an easy way to die for you and I.” gentle reminders in the chaos and bliss. Juliette whimpered and reached for Selene again. Inan would not wash away her taste. There was too much of his Mother snaking through his veins. Hips for the prince and her tongue for the queen.

And so it went until Juliette’s tears had dried and they had painted rust across their cheeks and fingers. It was a curious thing, to treat this Vampire so gently when Marin and Inan could play murder on each other’s bodies again and again. Juliette bled when they wouldn’t and quickly became a constellation of ruby drops. She was not unaware of that difference. It seemed to delight Marin. A rift between Juliette and this budding bloodline. It frustrated her and she tore at Inan’s chest with her fingers. He did not heal quite as fast. They, at least, were a little alike. But not enough. It was Juliette who brought an end to their tryst. Wounded and bloated on blood that seared through her like alcohol on her throat, she collapsed against the pillows.

“No more. I can’t.” She said, and she was bitter and satisfied and that tasted so very foul. “I shouldn’t have come. You were right; you aren’t Selene.” She said to Marin and the ceiling. Marin began to laugh.

“It ends with regret, then.” She hummed. “But you knew it would. Selene knew it would.” She had wrapped herself around Inan when his Catalina had pulled away. Marin hooked her teeth around the sloping vertebra at the back of his neck and bit until she could press her tongue against the slick bone. “This Cat won’t stay with you, Inan. I’m sorry.” She said without moving her mouth.

Juliette closed her eyes. “Regret, yes, but maybe there’s some closure here anyway.” She said. “Kid. I’m not going to tell you to let go of your sister, but don’t lie to yourself. You’re holding onto a dream.” It was a strange thing to say in Catalina’s voice. She was tired. Selene was gone. A slight frown. Who was Selene anyway, that she should have held this pain for so long? Selene, Selene. That had been her name, right? Marin lifted her head and took a mouthful of muscle with her. It was pretty, the ways Inan’s blood brushed her chin. A curious expression.

“Are you sleeping?” she asked Juliette. The other Vampire did not respond. “Inan. Perhaps we should leave her this room. I’m sure she has a keycard in her pocket. We’ll just go to hers.” Marin wiped her lips with her thumb.

Juliette felt as if she were floating. She’d been alive for a long time, hadn’t she? Had she done anything in all those years, though? It all seemed kind of foggy. If she thought too much about it, it didn’t really seem worth remembering. Why had she come to this room in the first place? The scent of blood was still heavy in the air. It was sweeter than anything she could recall. She must have been curious, that’s all. Who could blame her, with this sort of exotic down the hall.

“Would you be sad, Inan, if your sister forgot all about you?”   

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Re: Soft Falling
« Reply #115 on: October 19, 2016, 09:56:27 pm »
It was harder to believe whatever magic that Juliette wore when he tasted her. He'd not had his sisters blood with his current tongue, but a brother knows. Will over heart, he drank harder, to suffocate doubt. It was flattering when Catalina bit into him, and his hands on her skin went searching deeper into her flesh. They were together in a new way, that Marin had given to them. He was forgetting the sweetness of this, and felt the red on his mood. Cemented, when mother bit into him as well. What an exquisite treat. If he'd had the mind to think, and if he'd thought to wish, he couldn't have wished for anything as decadent as this. He had to nod, cutting up sister farther, when mother asked if he liked loosing himself to them. He breathed through his nose with some frustration, don't remind me mother, when she told him it was too simple an end for them.

He was greedy, and it showed on Cat. Marin couldn't hold the traces of his hunger, but his sister would. It helped him remember she was only to be sipped, and not chewed on. What a game he had, wetting fangs in Marin and using the bloodied, uneven blades to cut Juliette. He couldn't remember the cave or the primal, deep things in that scene that could dispel this one. But he played too hard, it seemed, with his thrusts or with their gluttony or both. She laid herself on the pillows for escape, and the pillows breathed like weighted lungs for Catalina's frame.

Inan - who was overwhelmed for a moment by all the love he'd imagined from the new vampire, and true affection he'd received from Marin - quickly regained his hunger without Juliette against him. But Cat couldn't play anymore. She was fatigued, more than he'd ever seen her, like her mind had walked too long, and the exhaustion had infected her heart. Some old wound, reminding her. "I'm glad you came." he tried when she was regretful, and leaned back into mother. She welcomed him with fantastical pain, shooting electricity through his body when she choked the sensory highway just below the home of his thoughts. Golden eyes fluttered.

Through the delirium of the spine that bubbled into Marin's speaking, vibrating mouth, he cried. Another illusion come to an end. He wondered if these things would be his end, before his hunger could ever consume Marin, as she was now. "She'll stay." this cat had to. She had taken blood. Yes. This was a blood oath. He'd tasted her. New mother had haggled. He was to have her. But Catalina, pretty in the patterns they'd drawn on her, agreed with mother. Then she seemed to let go of something important. Something that kept her limbs taut. She seemed listless, coming back. He was pulled from his fearful wonder when Marin stole meat around his vertebrae.

He put his hands on his face, ruby rings surrounding the folds that made up his knuckles, as her latest bite made a necklace for him. Sleeping, said mother. He wanted that for her, and then she'd wake and be his sister again. Another dream. He should not believe, as Cat had said. Don't hold on. This sleep was the end of something for him. Again. He moved closer, naked, on his knees by the pretty, leaving Juliette. He couldn't wonder if she'd look like something she wanted to see, if she saw herself when she woke. His hands hovered over Catalina's features, wanting to catch her and keep her. But he couldn't bring the reach to connect. His mouth said her name, or sang one of her songs, without making a sound. All their bloods on his face were washed away with his babbling tears. Simple Inan had such propensity to pretend. He'd let himself believe, and he knew by Marin's voice he wouldn't get to keep any of it.

When he looked at the only creature who would have him in this room, he was broken in a quiet way, deep like cracks in a cliff are silent and far. And his eyes were gloriously golden because he'd become more of what he was meant to be. Mute, like the violated, he collected clothes and plundered her pockets for the key. He had to pick the card up twice, empty limbs trying to secure the plastic into a jacket pocket he didn't have. When he turned from her at the bed, he crashed into Marin's arms and soaked whatever clothes she'd wear, if any. He held on so the contractions feeding the crying in his chest wouldn't kill him. "Everything about Cat hurts." he said, somewhere in the dismay.

And again, he poured his love into Marin. It was more like hope, like she'd been all along. Mother hadn't hurt him. Mother was steadfast like so many forever he'd not seen. He was going to eat from her and drink from her and sleep against her. That had been the only deal worth his commitment. A real escape. "I won't be sad." he said against her. Because I have you. I can't believe in anything else. He sought out her hand when his arms had to leave her.

Even though he tried his hardest not to look when they made to leave, he squeezed that hand upon seeing his dearly loved sister, and the little red suns that held her from underneath, her own suns, made from her veins, on the white pillows and sheets. What a beautiful thing she was, his sister. And then he twisted his head around, to escape from the love that welled up, ready to snare him again. "How could she forget?" he asked as he followed her out.