The Taste of Blood and Chocolate in my mouth, each as hateful as the other...[LOG]
Synopsis: Out hunting in the depths of Arden, Rae finds Prospero. The two engage in some mutual creepiness, Prospero attempts to seduce Rae, and further seeds of doubt are planted in the young Weir. Perhaps a little bit above PG-13 for blood and less than conventional ideas of prey.
Where Black and Corruption stretch forth their hands to touch the land, this is where Prospero is found. He sits on some bit of stone, his chest bare as he uses his shirt to touch at a wound in one of his shoulders. The smell of fresh blood is on the wind.
It might be the scent of blood in the air that brings the hunting wolf this way, so very close to danger. Human blood, and heroic instinct--or foolishness. The cinnamon wolf that is Rae slips out of the cover of trees, and she shifts into the woman, dressed in her own hunting leathers. When she bespies Prospero, she pauses, hesitates. "You are wounded," she observes, neutrally.
There's an expanse of corruption between Rae and Prospero. Enough she'd have to walk on the Black Road to get to him. "I am wounded, little wolf."
Rae frowns at the Road between them, finding its very existance disgusting, and even more so when it's in her way. She looks back up to the man, cocking her head as she looks over him. "Is it bad?" There might be genuine concern in it.
"I will not die," Prospero says, dabbing at the wound again. When the shirt comes away, she can probably see it looks like, well, he's been stabbed. "Come, little wolf. Would you taste the blood? Feel it on your tongue? Know its warmth in your belly?" It sounds so reasonable, when put in a tone like he's using. So tempting. And it's such a small distance, between them.
Those questions go unanswered, though there's a flicker in Rae's hazel and amber eyes as she studies the wound from afar. "Who stabbed you, and why?," is asked instead, as she tries to judge the width of the Road between her side and his.
Prospero shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. The past is gone, we've moved on." He holds out a bloodied hand. "Come to me, little wolf. Let me show you the delights I can offer you. Come!"
Rae's nostrils flare, scenting the air by habit. She points down, at the corruption between where she stands and he rests. "We have that between us," she notes. "It twists and squirms and brings darkness. I do not think it would be wise for me to step on it."
Prospero gestures all around him. "Yet here I sit, unharmed by it. Have you never had a lover in the dark, little wolf? Never felt a bite in a sensitive place that made you moan with the unexpected joy of it. Have you never been pressed against something solid and taken, dear wolf, howling at the pleasure of it? Do you fear those like you fear this? Is it not the same thing?"
Rae's eyes flicker, more the wolf than the woman looking out of them for a span of heartbeats. "This is not like that. This is something that plants a seed of death instead of life. It writhes around and destroys the core of things. It is a lover with a poison kiss."
Prospero stands, a stream of red tickling down his sculpted chest, flowing towards his stomach. "It is not death, it is change. Do you fear change, little one?"
"Change is the nature of things. This is not nature," Rae says softly, her gaze distracted by the flowing blood, the crimson stain that moves over him.
Prospero takes a step towards Rae, his stream of blood glistening with the movements, the toned muscles gliding beneath smooth skin. "what would you give me for a taste?" he asks. "What would you give up to be allowed to run your tongue from the lowest point of this trail to the source?"
Rae's regard returns to his face, head tilted to the right as she looks over him. "I am sure your blood tastes sweet, dark one. But I would not give up my soul for that taste. It is far from an equal trade." She takes the smallest of steps back.
Prospero smiles. "I never asked for your soul, little wolf." Two more steps are taken towards her, slow, casual things.
Rae points to the Road. "That thing does," she whispers out, watching him carefully as he comes in closer.
Prospero continues his slow approach. "Kneel, little wolf," he urges her. "Where you are, just kneel. A small price for a sweet taste, is it not?"
Rae gives Prospero a wary look. And then she gives his blood a hungry one. There's a little rumble issued from her throat as she takes a knee where she stands.
Prospero lowers himself to his knees in front of her. His blood hand reaches out, running its touch over her rune, leaving its blood on her. "Taste," he says, reaching forward to grab her hair and drag her face to the lowest point of the blood trail.
...And Rae does taste, licking the blood from Prospero's stomach. She runs the flavor over her tongue, like he were some exotic prey. Savored in its wrongness. He lets loose his grip on the Weir, and Rae continues the cleaning of his skin...
Rae finds her own grip, one hand reaching back, taking the length of his hair in a fist. She pulls it, bringing his head back, making his neck stretch. Growling, she leaves the wound in favor for his neck, licking along his pulse before biting down over it. Far from a gentle thing, hard enough to leave marks.
"That's it," Prospero whispers. "Come with me; and you'll have blood. Come with me, and you'll be free. Free to run, to hunt, how you want, when you want. Come with me, pretty wolf."
Rae tugs his hair harshly, tightening her grip on it. Her teeth nearly draw blood, but she stops just short of it, instead dipping down again to taste once more at the wound. Her tongue drags along it, then pulls away. Suddenly, she's kissing him, bruisingly hard. Fast, violent, before she pulls away, releases him. "I am free," she rumbles lowly.
Prospero returns the kiss, his own mouth not tasting of blood. " You wear the fetters of another." He rises to his feet, making to head back to the road.
Rae licks the taste of him from her lips, rising smoothly, like liquid pouring strangely upwards. "I wear no one's bonds," she murmurs, that low tone still in her velvety voice.
"You lie to yourself," Prospero says, only once he's back on the black of the road. "You wear the bonds of fear. They are the chains clamped to your arms by another's words. You bear the bonds of lies, told you by the blood of Amber."
Rae's eyes narrow. "I wear no bonds," she states again, more harshly this time. "It is you that is chained, Prospero. Bound by that...thing," she hisses with distaste, a rising anger.
Prospero turns back to smile at her. "I walk it freely," is all he says, pointing out that she, well, doesn't.
"It's not something I wish to walk," Rae insists. "Only seen destroyed."
Prospero shakes his head, sadly. "One day you will tell yourself the truth, Rae. Until then...." He picks up his bloodied shirt and coat and starts walking along the Road.
"I do tell myself the truth, Prospero. Your version is one tainted by lies, while mine is only truth." If Rae looks uncertain, it's hidden by her hair as she looks away.
Prospero laughs again, but leaves that as his parting sound.
Where Black and Corruption stretch forth their hands to touch the land, this is where Prospero is found. He sits on some bit of stone, his chest bare as he uses his shirt to touch at a wound in one of his shoulders. The smell of fresh blood is on the wind.
It might be the scent of blood in the air that brings the hunting wolf this way, so very close to danger. Human blood, and heroic instinct--or foolishness. The cinnamon wolf that is Rae slips out of the cover of trees, and she shifts into the woman, dressed in her own hunting leathers. When she bespies Prospero, she pauses, hesitates. "You are wounded," she observes, neutrally.
There's an expanse of corruption between Rae and Prospero. Enough she'd have to walk on the Black Road to get to him. "I am wounded, little wolf."
Rae frowns at the Road between them, finding its very existance disgusting, and even more so when it's in her way. She looks back up to the man, cocking her head as she looks over him. "Is it bad?" There might be genuine concern in it.
"I will not die," Prospero says, dabbing at the wound again. When the shirt comes away, she can probably see it looks like, well, he's been stabbed. "Come, little wolf. Would you taste the blood? Feel it on your tongue? Know its warmth in your belly?" It sounds so reasonable, when put in a tone like he's using. So tempting. And it's such a small distance, between them.
Those questions go unanswered, though there's a flicker in Rae's hazel and amber eyes as she studies the wound from afar. "Who stabbed you, and why?," is asked instead, as she tries to judge the width of the Road between her side and his.
Prospero shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. The past is gone, we've moved on." He holds out a bloodied hand. "Come to me, little wolf. Let me show you the delights I can offer you. Come!"
Rae's nostrils flare, scenting the air by habit. She points down, at the corruption between where she stands and he rests. "We have that between us," she notes. "It twists and squirms and brings darkness. I do not think it would be wise for me to step on it."
Prospero gestures all around him. "Yet here I sit, unharmed by it. Have you never had a lover in the dark, little wolf? Never felt a bite in a sensitive place that made you moan with the unexpected joy of it. Have you never been pressed against something solid and taken, dear wolf, howling at the pleasure of it? Do you fear those like you fear this? Is it not the same thing?"
Rae's eyes flicker, more the wolf than the woman looking out of them for a span of heartbeats. "This is not like that. This is something that plants a seed of death instead of life. It writhes around and destroys the core of things. It is a lover with a poison kiss."
Prospero stands, a stream of red tickling down his sculpted chest, flowing towards his stomach. "It is not death, it is change. Do you fear change, little one?"
"Change is the nature of things. This is not nature," Rae says softly, her gaze distracted by the flowing blood, the crimson stain that moves over him.
Prospero takes a step towards Rae, his stream of blood glistening with the movements, the toned muscles gliding beneath smooth skin. "what would you give me for a taste?" he asks. "What would you give up to be allowed to run your tongue from the lowest point of this trail to the source?"
Rae's regard returns to his face, head tilted to the right as she looks over him. "I am sure your blood tastes sweet, dark one. But I would not give up my soul for that taste. It is far from an equal trade." She takes the smallest of steps back.
Prospero smiles. "I never asked for your soul, little wolf." Two more steps are taken towards her, slow, casual things.
Rae points to the Road. "That thing does," she whispers out, watching him carefully as he comes in closer.
Prospero continues his slow approach. "Kneel, little wolf," he urges her. "Where you are, just kneel. A small price for a sweet taste, is it not?"
Rae gives Prospero a wary look. And then she gives his blood a hungry one. There's a little rumble issued from her throat as she takes a knee where she stands.
Prospero lowers himself to his knees in front of her. His blood hand reaches out, running its touch over her rune, leaving its blood on her. "Taste," he says, reaching forward to grab her hair and drag her face to the lowest point of the blood trail.
...And Rae does taste, licking the blood from Prospero's stomach. She runs the flavor over her tongue, like he were some exotic prey. Savored in its wrongness. He lets loose his grip on the Weir, and Rae continues the cleaning of his skin...
Rae finds her own grip, one hand reaching back, taking the length of his hair in a fist. She pulls it, bringing his head back, making his neck stretch. Growling, she leaves the wound in favor for his neck, licking along his pulse before biting down over it. Far from a gentle thing, hard enough to leave marks.
"That's it," Prospero whispers. "Come with me; and you'll have blood. Come with me, and you'll be free. Free to run, to hunt, how you want, when you want. Come with me, pretty wolf."
Rae tugs his hair harshly, tightening her grip on it. Her teeth nearly draw blood, but she stops just short of it, instead dipping down again to taste once more at the wound. Her tongue drags along it, then pulls away. Suddenly, she's kissing him, bruisingly hard. Fast, violent, before she pulls away, releases him. "I am free," she rumbles lowly.
Prospero returns the kiss, his own mouth not tasting of blood. " You wear the fetters of another." He rises to his feet, making to head back to the road.
Rae licks the taste of him from her lips, rising smoothly, like liquid pouring strangely upwards. "I wear no one's bonds," she murmurs, that low tone still in her velvety voice.
"You lie to yourself," Prospero says, only once he's back on the black of the road. "You wear the bonds of fear. They are the chains clamped to your arms by another's words. You bear the bonds of lies, told you by the blood of Amber."
Rae's eyes narrow. "I wear no bonds," she states again, more harshly this time. "It is you that is chained, Prospero. Bound by that...thing," she hisses with distaste, a rising anger.
Prospero turns back to smile at her. "I walk it freely," is all he says, pointing out that she, well, doesn't.
"It's not something I wish to walk," Rae insists. "Only seen destroyed."
Prospero shakes his head, sadly. "One day you will tell yourself the truth, Rae. Until then...." He picks up his bloodied shirt and coat and starts walking along the Road.
"I do tell myself the truth, Prospero. Your version is one tainted by lies, while mine is only truth." If Rae looks uncertain, it's hidden by her hair as she looks away.
Prospero laughs again, but leaves that as his parting sound.