Irial breathed in the scent of a woman in the downward breeze that traveled between them, carrying notes of tender skin, soft hair, and apprehension. The taste of Omi's emotions, however, hadn't changed with the temporary alteration of his body.
They were alluring as ever.
Irial cast unseen shadows on the smooth pavement, walking in slow, measured steps in the wake of the assassin - enjoying the wary inclination of his head as Omi scanned the vicinity for the source of his apprehension.
Ah, yes. The boy was sensitive to his presence, even without the ability to see him. Irial wondered what it was like for a human, how their body recognized that they were not alone. Was it a brief trick out of the corner of their eyes that their better judgement chose to dismiss? An added tension along their spine following some undeniable instinct? Or a phantom tingle across the sensitive skin of their arms and the back of his neck, reacting acutely to the danger his presence posed?
Irial was more familiar with the emotions his proximity aroused and the reactions of a human body once he or she was within his grasp. Despite the instinctive fear, he knew Omi would struggle and fight him. And how delicious would that be now, as Omi still possessed the tenacity and will of a man, but the fragility of a female form?
The dark faery smiled, the distance closing between them.
It was a weight in the stomach, this recognition of danger nearby. An acidic prickle that made his insides feel heavy and cold and constricted. The muscles in his legs began to tingle with soreness as though they hadn't been exercised in too long. Omi thought of the darts at his waist which he carried with him at all times. His eyes scanned the area as he began to walk again, alert not just for the hint of the danger, but of his environment. The most likely places for a threat to come from. The best places to hide or to take cover. Potential routes of retreat-- or of luring the threat into a trap. What did he have close at hand for props if the darts failed him?
Never run from the fae. They enjoy it far too much.
And so Irial gave pursuit, silent and invisible as he paced himself, rushing to follow the female close, but not overtaking Omi. He could move in a blur, streak past his charge and run unseen circles around him, but for now, Irial was satisfied just to keep close enough to smell her hair, to hear her labored breathing, to listen to the frenzied pace of her pulse as she tried to flee.
Could she feel him there, a familiar shadow? He was tempted to reach out and touch, but no -- not yet. He was going to savor it this time.
Omi did not feel panic just yet. Adrenaline, yes. Determination, yes. His heartbeat was quick and he was finding once again that running was not as easy as it was while in his usual body. His lungs couldn't seem to take in as much air, which shortened the amount of time before he felt out of breath.
The logical place to run for safety was to a crowd. Omi did not look for the cover of a crowd. It would be wrong to endanger the lives of others when he was the target. Better to face whatever threat pursued him alone. He'd hoped to draw it out of hiding in his sudden dash, but that gambit hadn't worked as he'd hoped.
Before his chest's aching with hunger for oxygen became too extreme, he slowed to a stop and braced a hand against the nearest building. Maybe the threat simply hadn't pursued him. He maintained a guarded watch while he worked to catch his breath regardless. Better to not be caught off-guard. And if a fight was coming, better not to be too tired to defend himself.
Irial slowed as Omi slowed, stopped when she stopped, watching closely as Omi leaned into the building, waiting. He could taste the wariness that remained, longed for the fear that he knew was so poignant when the boy was roused. Would it be the same, now he was a woman? Perhaps even stronger?
Only one way to find out.
An insubstantial pursuer was nothing to one who appeared in the flesh. This was undeniably Irial's favorite part, that moment of recognition, the flash of panic.
Irial lowered his glamor even as he loomed over the slighter form, shadows passing across his eyes from the lingering excitement of the chase. His face was still, impassive, but his eyes - they were hungry.
The emergence of a figure seemingly from thin air, and hovering so close, was never a pleasant experience. For that first moment was the dawning comprehension and dread as his form fell under shadow. The look to identify the source, the spike in tension and grabbing out a dart to hold like a knife because it was the only weapon he had.
"I told you to stay away!" Was that panic ringing in his voice? Most likely.
They were alluring as ever.
Irial cast unseen shadows on the smooth pavement, walking in slow, measured steps in the wake of the assassin - enjoying the wary inclination of his head as Omi scanned the vicinity for the source of his apprehension.
Ah, yes. The boy was sensitive to his presence, even without the ability to see him. Irial wondered what it was like for a human, how their body recognized that they were not alone. Was it a brief trick out of the corner of their eyes that their better judgement chose to dismiss? An added tension along their spine following some undeniable instinct? Or a phantom tingle across the sensitive skin of their arms and the back of his neck, reacting acutely to the danger his presence posed?
Irial was more familiar with the emotions his proximity aroused and the reactions of a human body once he or she was within his grasp. Despite the instinctive fear, he knew Omi would struggle and fight him. And how delicious would that be now, as Omi still possessed the tenacity and will of a man, but the fragility of a female form?
The dark faery smiled, the distance closing between them.
Soon he would have his answers firsthand.
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Then, after a beat, Omi simply broke into a run.
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Never run from the fae. They enjoy it far too much.
And so Irial gave pursuit, silent and invisible as he paced himself, rushing to follow the female close, but not overtaking Omi. He could move in a blur, streak past his charge and run unseen circles around him, but for now, Irial was satisfied just to keep close enough to smell her hair, to hear her labored breathing, to listen to the frenzied pace of her pulse as she tried to flee.
Could she feel him there, a familiar shadow? He was tempted to reach out and touch, but no -- not yet. He was going to savor it this time.
Reply
The logical place to run for safety was to a crowd. Omi did not look for the cover of a crowd. It would be wrong to endanger the lives of others when he was the target. Better to face whatever threat pursued him alone. He'd hoped to draw it out of hiding in his sudden dash, but that gambit hadn't worked as he'd hoped.
Before his chest's aching with hunger for oxygen became too extreme, he slowed to a stop and braced a hand against the nearest building. Maybe the threat simply hadn't pursued him. He maintained a guarded watch while he worked to catch his breath regardless. Better to not be caught off-guard. And if a fight was coming, better not to be too tired to defend himself.
Reply
Only one way to find out.
An insubstantial pursuer was nothing to one who appeared in the flesh. This was undeniably Irial's favorite part, that moment of recognition, the flash of panic.
Irial lowered his glamor even as he loomed over the slighter form, shadows passing across his eyes from the lingering excitement of the chase. His face was still, impassive, but his eyes - they were hungry.
Reply
"I told you to stay away!" Was that panic ringing in his voice? Most likely.
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