Gonna Marry the Night is a modern fantasy RP. Based in a fantasy world, where two tribes the Sun Clan and Moon Clan live divided and in constant war against each other. Where is your allegiance? Or perhaps you might be one of the exiled or survivors of various shipwrecks. Come to these lands to see what it offers.
WELCOME TO GONNA MARRY THE NIGHT!
< must read this, folks >
updates
< Reopening of Gonna Marry the Night > Welcome! We are officially reopened. Take a look at all the important areas before deciding to join. Such as the rules, plot and face claims board. If you have questions, don't hesitate to ask.
< Events > We don't have have any events at the moment, so we'll keep you posted.
“Hmm, you flatter, but I assure you it’s not as spectacular as you might make it out to be.” Emery responded lightly, recording the sound of the other’s voice moments after his own comment was conceived.
He was rather pleased there was an agreement to both ideas, and he made it known with another small smile. The silver hue of his eyes homing in on the shifting of two fingers, observing in silence as the digits’ owner moved from their seated position and stood. Spine vertical and at full height. Towering over Emery like a golden god among men.
A blazing figure against the Sun.
The coral pink line of his lips drew into a wider smirk when a friendly hand descended into his line of sight; splayed out and searching, reaching for him to join. A gesture offered so kindly to the silver haired witch, it did not go amiss. “How chivalrous.” The pale appendage snaked into the open palm, slender fingers curling, mapping out the creases within the flesh. It was still as warm as he could recall, emitting a heat that quickly engulfed the coolness of his own hand. “No qualms here, dear Sun.” He clasped the hand tighter as he brought himself upright, delicate fold of white robes caught between his free thumb and middle finger to prevent stumbling.
Gaze lifting straight into the snagging color of jade green windows.
It was such a lively hue, full of indescribable life, that it drowned any shadow.
“You know the way to the river?” It was a question of uncertainty that plummeted from the edge of Emery’s tongue, whether the other knew the correct trail or not. The mortician may have trekked many a time through the sprawling labyrinth of tangled roots and vines, but he never cared to memorize the specific features along the way. Always peering down at the soil, searching for hidden tracks of game to manipulate, there was never the time to seek out nature’s more inspiring creations.
Until meeting a certain healer, of course. And if they were going to depart, there was one valuable item the young male left forgotten.
Head swiveling, disrupting the fixed position of platinum locks, Emery cast his quicksilver eyes onto the black satchel left alone by the wildflower-marked grave; a curling pang of relief rupturing within the center of his chest, and spurring him to retrieve the possession. Fingers reluctantly slid away from the warm palm, a disconnect that allowed him to venture towards the leather bag.
It took him a few strides to breach the distance, his knees folding – stooping – to allow a dainty index finger to hook around the strap. Taking heed to not displace its weight and send the herbs tumbling out, the young man slipped it over his shoulder and turned.
Holding it to his right hip as his pinpoint of vision settled back onto Quinn. The smirk, loose against pastel lips, threatened to grow with each step he used to narrow the expanse between them.
A palm gently slid into his own before drawing taut by a resistant force that helped prop the other upright. It was cool like glass but still held the strength of a living man. The clasped hands remained in place, neither one pulling away yet and the sunny one unwilling to.
Irises of emerald hues carefully watched their company, following the moonlit gaze that turned elsewhere beside the grave that had been constructed. There, a satchel had lied that he had not noticed before and let the angel pick up. Their hands were no longer entwined, but there was no reason for them to be as much as the bewitched child of the sun wanted there to be.
“I have an idea on the general direction and a bit of venturing should be enough until we can hear the sounds of water.”
There were several odd ways for him to find the river, either using Julmunui as a scout or relying on his own radar of living essence, but the simplest was to just experimentally walk. The torrent of splashes against vegetated river banks were more easily audible than his sixth sense anyways.
Hearing the readied cue from Emery’s lips, the tour guide started forward, stepping from their clearing into the thicket of shrubbery that layered the jungle floor. Legs reached over roots and arms pushed aside vines, progressing at a pace he hoped wasn't too fast. An occasional glance was given backwards, checking up that his follower was faring with the hike.
As for their walk’s conversation starter…
“If you don't mind me asking, what's in the bag?
“And is that all that you've brought with yourself out here? My mother wouldn't even let me leave our gates without being properly armed… She's too paranoid for me sometimes, although coming out with gear has become a bit of a habit.
“Do you or others close to you not worry about the dangers of the wilderness?”
Emery padded quietly behind him, a white robed witch trailing as best as possible. With the Sun lord’s response fading against his ears, he realized he’d merely have to trust that the other knew the correct path to their destination.
Wherever that would be.
It was simple, moving behind the course laid out for him. Over the roots and gnarled vines stretched before the guided pair. Though the pace was laidback, casual, Emery managed to snag the bottom of his clothes on two different places; thin hands vainly wrenching them away from grabbing creepers, and silently dreading there to be a tear within the silken fabric. To his silver-eyed dismay, there was.
‘Unbelievable. Of course I stumble over the undergrowth after ten and odd years with no accidents.’
The fragile corners of Emery’s lips threatened to occupy a faint look of distaste. It was not worth complaining over, and though he caught the edge of Quinn’s glance multiple times after that, a wry smirk stained his features. Replacing the once doleful expression with falsified amusement. The emotion remained loosely plastered, even when the rise for conversation shattered the silence between them. Casting away the sound of bird cry far within the distance.
Pale fingers curled around the item of question protectively.
“Ah, curious, are you? Well, if you must know,” the mortician’s gentle tone directed to the middle of the other’s shoulder blades, “it’s full of herbs. I use them in my preservations, my projects, but I doubt you quite know what that is.” He surmised, pausing to slip his head to one side; focusing on dredging up another answer from the depths to combat Quinn’s interrogation. Emery did not want to flourish the details of his rather macabre craft, the hideous things he’s tainted his hands on, and settled for replying to the alteration in subject. “But you seem to mistake me.”
The hands that had bound carefully around the satchel were removed, lazily made to drift over to his left side and pause. Spider-like digits grabbed at the fabric there, making short work of hauling it high enough to expose the leather sheath strapped beneath. Whether the Sun lord turned to glance at him or not, Emery displayed the weapon bound to his waist; the almost anemic shade of skin peeking out from between the disrupted folds of cloth. A hip bone barely visible.
He let the slightly frayed robes mechanically fall back into place.
“I never go anywhere without my lovely knife, of course. But in your case, I suppose your mother’s worrying left you to develop quite the useful habit.” The fake smirk across his mouth dropped. “I wasn’t quite fortunate with my own maternal figure, it would seem, though that could suggest the reasons behind my reckless attitude. Unmonitored.”
Unloved.
“Do others worry about you, Quinn?” The change was sudden, redirected back at the man with the golden hair. Emery had no intentions of turning the tide, but the curiosity circling through his veins created an inquiry he genuinely desired to understand. With an open personality and seemingly easy-going background, how could the child of the Sun not have people in his life who cared for him? But it was partially a disguise to remove the burdensome question from Emery’s shoulders.
He did not want to come to terms that all he had were ghosts watching his back. Again.
“I’ve never been quite familiar with the concept, and am interested on hearing what you have to say. Surely a man like you has someone in his life who frets for his safety?”
Following the downcast eyes of silver, Quinn caught a glimpse of flickering fabric, loose from its former network and just starting to fray. It was a pity that he could do nothing about it. Despite being the son of a merchant who was heavily businessed in the clothing industry, the hunter knew nothing about sewing. He hesitated his pace, giving his strides some breath so that his follower would have time to deal with the grabby plants.
As to the activities that Emery shared, the more spiritful man tried avoiding the dark topic of necromancy, idly spilling out other random uses that might've been categorized underneath the given topics.
“I don't know much about your projects… but maybe some of the herbs are set aside for fruit preservatives? It's probably not the preservation that you're talking about but…
“The extent of my own knowledge of herbs is only limited to cooking and medicine.”
When he was corrected over his assumption of the man being unarmed, Quinn curiously perked an ear. Only a pause followed, and the golden head turned around to inquire if there were any issues. What was in the works was the revealing of a concealed knife.
A slumbering sheath that tucked away a blade hilted with a startling black.
A snowy surface that hosted a delicate contour and contrasted against the dark handle.
By the time Quinn had torn his entranced gaze away, he had almost ran into a mossy trunk.
“Ah! Yeah, there has been a few times where I was more than thankful to have my gear with me. I guess I still have yet to thank her about that…
“Although, you seem anything but reckless, Emery. They way each of your words seem calculated and how you've trapped me several times with just your tongue, aren't I, more accurately, the reckless one out of the two of us?”
Daring to fraternize with the enemy, he wouldn't be surprised if his commander wanted his head. There were only a few things that would keep him alive should this secret be exposed, and it would be best if he didn't push those sources to the limit.
“There are several within our clan that would appreciate the idea of me being alive. A lot of people within the forces or the shamans are more than happy to benefit from my blessings. The most are still from my parents though, and as the oldest, it's more of me worrying about my brother and sister than them worrying about me.
“I'll worry about you too though, fret over your safety and everything in between. Will you do the same to me?”
A hopeful curiosity pepper his tone as he craned his gaze to check the angel in his peripherals. Depending how the question was answered, the naive boy might be able to get an idea of what his crush thought of him, get a gauge on if there would be a chance for him at all. Seeing the silvery form behind him, spots of leaked sunshine beaming on neat robes against a background of vibrant greens, Quinn wanted to see it more than once in his lifetime.
Although it was clear what kind of life the moon clanner was living, it still hurt the sheltered sun boy to hear about such details. To help the isolated individual out, to give them a life that they can lean on, if he wasn't blessed by his god to heal the children on this world, then for what reason is he to be walking with these breaths?
The white noise of clear waters slowly reached his consciousness, the familiar sign of their destination. Quinn twisted his torso to flash a smile at his partner in crime.
“Do you hear that?”
Excited legs leapt forward, making quick distance until emerald gazers rested upon rivulets of light that glittered on the river before them.
Emery’s lips twitched in amusement, a fragile motion; content entertainment aimed at the similar tactics the man spoke of. In an endearing way, he was not wrong – if fruit were the withered bodies of the dead, of course. Yes. Let’s just leave it at fruit. Nothing more.
With the pace that had slowed, the white mortician found it easier to keep the edges of his robes away from leering vines. His eyes focused a little more forward to gaze at the slender back of the line leader. At the mistake that could have been made if it were not for sharp reflexes and quick timing.
A smirk broke the line of his coral pink lips. Maybe he’d have to start showing off a little more skin if he was garnered a humorous reaction.
But the way the other had caught himself, he could not help but notice. Well-rehearsed despite the stumble, the striking Sun lord moved in a way that implied a sinewy build; taut muscle beneath the skin a buildup from years of archery, Emery assumed mutely.
He wondered what lay concealed behind the levels of colorful clothing.
A curious thought flickering across the space of his brain like fireflies, it was immediately banished to the darkest corners. Left to rot at the very back of a torn up subconscious. The witch did not want to consider what implanted such a strange idea into the synapses of his mind, so lost in thought he almost missed the pull of his name.
The tug of familiar syllables on sun-kissed lips.
Quicksilvers fluttered, snapping out of the long-winded, contemplative trance to zero in on the voice’s owner. As smooth as saccharine honey, and ensnaring his attention.
“Sweet-talker.” Emery whispered almost fondly under breath, a quiet hum that barely made it to his own ears. “I suppose I can’t get around your reasoning, dear Quinn.” The volume of his tone restored. “My thoughts are collected, but my actions are not always considered. Though, realistically, it would seem you are correct. I have a penchant for the deliberation, of course, so there is some favor working on my side.
“It is, however, surprising to hear you have siblings. A reckless man, like you claim yourself to be, should not squander the opportunity of worrying over his family; to care and be cared for back. You’re fortunate.” The young male’s words plummeted, leaving him stripped bare of sound as he caught his companion’s allegiance; the pledge and following inquiry that nearly arrested Emery in place. It stabbed through his lungs, rendered his tongue mute. The air in his lungs stalled.
Such an oath uttered so easily, and yet… His lips drifted up into a weak smile; brittle. Gaze meeting the viridian orbs that peered over a shoulder.
It meant more to him than he let on.
“Consider it done.” He breathed out quietly, sealing the promise in stone. “I don’t know what I did to warrant such kindness, but I promise not let it fade from my memories.”
'Because you’re the only one to have shown me concern.'
Emery trekked behind in silence, the previous conversation ringing within his head; a record on replay. It would have stayed, locked in his conscious, if the phrases were not drowned out by the signature spatter of water. Tearing his musings apart, it disrupted the young male, and he lifted his silver mane. Perking up at the boyish smile flashing his way and the excitement practically pouring off the blond.
He could hear the river, a clear trickle to the background of wind fall, and pushed after his companion who had sprinted on ahead. An eager sensation prickling the center of his rib cage. The quicksilver of eyes narrowed against the glinting reflection of liquid as he cleared the rest of the tangled growth. Halting at the border of jungle and river, and finding the other man standing not too far off.
They had finally made it.
“You really did know your way here. I’m impressed.” Emery called out, taking careful steps to trudge down to the riverbank; scent of moist dirt and water overwhelming his senses. It did nothing to dampen the content smile toying with his lips, the impressionable light within his gaze.
A refreshing sight, he was not opposed to a swim within its cool embrace.
A warm embrace that curled around his heart, a returned promise that the two would watch out for each other. Quinn didn't know that his lips could spread wider, but the smile on his cheeks grew with the response. To be in heaven, was what that second had felt like.
“Is it not normal to offer up one's own kindness? A few have warned me that I'm too generous with myself, and it is rare for the two of us to be sitting on opposite sides of the war, but that's trivial! You can trust me~”
Although, he did keep in mind the previous advice on family. Quinn was grateful for the kin he had and welcomed the reminder to not take his life for granted. There was an uncomfortable pit in the back of his thoughts, worries on what could happen if the council had found out about his little betrayal.
But it was those worries that he pushed away for another day. The moment that beheld their eyes was trickling sunlight, a width of water that gradiented from shallow to deep, a segment of pebblestone shore that slowly declined into the center of the river.
The small burst of energy and frantic feet had worked up a bit of breath, droplets of sweat sticking to his clothes in growing dark splotches.
His companion, luckily, was not far behind and announced his arrival with astonishment.
“Were you undermining my knowledge now? I can show you many secrets of the jungle, if you want. Tell me where you want to go, and I'll take you~”
Gazing upon the glittering surface no longer attracted him, and Quinn roamed on over to a dry ring of grass, dropping his weaponry down and slipping out of his shoes. His stride was smooth until the ground shifted from damp soil to round river rocks. With an eroded surface or not, the uneven bumpiness still prompted an odd dance from the golden boy. Bare feet were picked up high before gingerly placing another step forward, all the way until toes paused before the water’s lip.
Dipping a foot in, the trickle enveloped his nerves with a crystal chill, a temperature drop that would be more than pleasant when splashed upon his shoulders that the Sun beated down on. And consistent with his memory, there were wriggling trouts just a few feet deeper.
Hands tossed the shedded red tunic that previously draped over Quinn’s chest onto the pile of belongings. After seeing the cloth land on its target, viridian eyes searched for where the friendly pair of silver were.
“There’s definitely enough fish to promise us a catch.
“Not intentionally. You’re quite versed in the labyrinth of this jungle, and it has my admiration.” Emery’s eyes glittered with an expression of interest, a hand waved at the other’s playful accusation. “I’ll certainly have to take you up on your offer, Quinn. Make it a date~” One silver spotlight closed, shielded away by a thick line of scandalous eyelashes. The nictitation, however, was short lived, falling away like the mild jest he had played.
From his perch higher up the riverbank, he observed the lord of the Sun moving across the slope; equipment and shoes dispatched, headed for the lapping edge of the river’s broken surface. After a wavering moment of hesitation, battling between seeking refuge from the midday heat or retaining his dignity, professionalism lost to comfort, and Emery descended to join him.
Shifting over to the patches of grass, the male dropped his shoes unceremoniously next to Quinn’s, but refused to do the same to the blade wrapped around his waist. Nimble fingers undid the strap beneath the white robes, allowing it to gently fall away to the softened ground below with a muffled clatter. Effectively setting him up to remove the colorless articles hanging about his person.
As hands drew up to start sliding off the layers, Emery made the mistake of glancing over to his companion who was already a step ahead. The mortician watched, bewildered, as the other’s tunic was thrown back near his position; drawing the silver-eyed attention towards a rather rewarding sight.
Defined, just as he had guilty imagined. The Lord’s torso bore the markings of an archer, an attractive layout that burned within the day’s reflective light.
A god of the Sun himself.
The witch tore his detained gaze away, immediately shattering the reverie to throw view upon the jade green orbs that warmly greeted his. A pin prick of mortification welled up against his rib cage, but the carefree comments thrown his way put to rest the sudden bout of anxiety; something that could anchor him back to reality. He had not been caught staring, or at least that was what he assumed. Emery just hoped the faint itch on his cheeks was not blood threatening to bloom beneath the skin.
What questions reached his ears, however, were met with a widening smirk. A sly grin as he addressed the consequences of each answer within the forefront of his brain. Now or later? Ah, it was too easy to decide.
Two can adhere to the teasing game.
“Play now~” He responded coyly, a sweet tone slipping from between curled pink lips. The hands that had stalled on the threshold of white robes finally grabbed and pulled downwards, and whether Emery possessed the hunter’s gaze or not, he proceeded to strip. Parting the fabric to expose smooth shoulders the color of ivory. Drifting further – slower – until the bottom of his rib cage was exposed and no longer hide away the skin of his naval.
It dropped off at the hips, and pooled around bare ankles like a molten lake of silver. Leaving him standing in something akin to shorts; black fabric settled about the middle thigh, bearing the length of his legs.
He stood still, the heat of the sun warming exposed pallid skin.
Built like a bird, compact and willowy, the hollows of his ribs were predominant; expressing a lack of health not worn upon his face.
But if Quinn noticed, Emery did not mind, and made his way down towards the river’s edge. Abandoning his robes for cool water. Soles of his feet gingerly stepped over smoothened rocks, erasing the meager distance that had rested between him and the hunter.
The pebbles digging into his heels did not hinder his progression.
He hid his hands away from the man and pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Everything had already been euphoric for him up to this point, and Quinn didn't think he'd be able to handle anymore.
The lingering of silvery eyes on his own form and the sudden face jerking away, the sunny boy was unable the register the implications of it for he picked up where Emery left off. A silly tag team the two of them were, where after one had guilty torn their stare away, the other resumed. Caught frozen at the sight of the angel in preparation of stripping, robes hanging loose and pliant to any forces at it met, Quinn almost lost the words in his mouth.
To force his thoughts back together, he didn't know if it was getting easier or harder, but his question had miraculously found a way and made itself known. But immediately afterwards, before he allowed himself to see the response, golden locks twisted away from the sight.
Eyes were downcast, watching the fluctuating surface reflect flickers of green. To direct his thoughts elsewhere, he stared intensely at the chroma of stones beside his feet, the forces gaze roaming upwards to the center of the creek that deepened in hue. Pebbles turned into rocks, and trickles turned into torrents. There were about three or four fishes that consistently made an appearance. Did he still have twine in his quiver to make their lives easier?
He didn't live for long in his thoughts until a green presence arrived beside him and surpassed him with a second. Emery had not stopped in his venture towards the water, and Quinn regretted looking up from his meditation.
With a complexity that almost rivaled the head of spider silk, the moon child was delicately structured, a fragile frame that might've shattered if he pressured it too hard. Larger contours were soft, elegant, but the beauty was contrasted by certain points made prominent by visible bones.
His form was thin, and it was a sight that terrified him. Underneath pearly robes of perfection was a body of skin and bones, and Quinn could distinctly feel his worries rising. He did not move from his stand and did not tear his scrutiny away.
“You're thin.
“Do you not eat well at home?
“You can't go in the water like this, Emery, you'll become ill. Come back to shore, I'll catch you something to eat, and I can also catch something for you to take home. Don't force yourself into the river if you don't want to.”
The baseless conclusions spilled from his lips but the eldest son couldn't help himself. It was a rare appearance he only saw on sickly patients and on no one else. How generosity kept the clan fed and as a caretaker for two, Quinn instinctively forced his habits onto the man.
“…don’t look at me that way. It makes me feel filthy.” The words slithered out, a plea that did not quite cross the sound barrier of the river’s melodic gurgle. Emery stood his place at the watery edge, the cool chill lapping over his ankles, but doing little to ease the boil in his blood. The explosive pounding of the haphazard organ against its bony cage.
A sharp glint of scrutiny tainted the other’s unbreakable gaze, and ate away at the bitter quietness of Emery’s voice.
“That judgement in your eyes.” A breath punctured the transition between hasty observations, expanding the protruding depressions of his ribs. “Do you really find me unsightly?”
It was a question that had never made itself known past unsteady pink lips. He had always hidden his fragile figure beneath the layers of ivory robes, no plans to remove them in front of a stranger’s view. No concern in fretting over a lover; no worries about whether a friend would take heed of the gauntness. The mortician concluded such people would never cross his path in life, but now, someone had. Cornering him. He had contained the body that wasted away behind fragile beauty for years, but in the light of accosting behavior, it hurt.
A scalding lash as hot as the Sun itself.
Quicksilver spotlights clashed vehemently against a sea of green. “Assuming you wouldn’t mind, of course, it would appear my reasoning is at fault.” He whispered between the caress of a sigh and drew up a hand - shielding away the part of his side that was currently under assault. There was no burying what was already exposed. He’d have to explain the situation, sling out any word that would ease the interrogative look off the Sun lord’s features.
The white mane of hair shook hesitantly from side to side, twisting the silver sunlit locks back into down crested eyes. Clearing away the thoughts that paraded through his skull. He could not meet the viridian stare. “This thinness is… self-inflicted. A mere consequence of my innate power. Despite its drawbacks, I can’t help but loose myself further and further down this suicidal rabbit hole. It is not something new to me, dear Quinn, but what did you expect from someone who carves his initials into the souls of the dead?” A rhetorical inquiry meant to instill thought, it only drew back to the same conclusions as their previous night’s similar discussion.
Death; necromancy; the act of scattering more of his life to the wind. Unburdened and wild.
“It comes with such a price, sometimes I forget if I’m still breathing, only to wake up and realize the Sun is shining… Those are the worst mornings.” His posture overtook a sense of fragility. “When it wears down the body, gouges out what little constitution you have left, and in the end, you’re encased between nausea or a general forgetfulness to eat. And I… I simply do not have the appetite most days. What’s the point of health if I’m content with trudging on to pursue my interests in the macabre?”
Even to the grave?
He cast the shadow of his downfallen orbs to the sweeping water below; the reflection of a willowy reaper staring back. Its mournful glower mimicking Emery’s own sullen mood.
Stilted; shattered against the gentle weight of the coursing river.
His lips tugged into a faint, aimless frown after a tense moment of silence. “You worry too much, Quinn, but illness? I may suffer from the occasional disease, though… I appreciate the consternation. If you’re adamant about making me surrender to eat,” quicksilvers broke the staring contest, drifting up and to the side to peer upon the hunter’s handsome visage, “then I won’t fight you. But I won’t make it easy, either. You’ll have to force me to the shore, drag me out if you want me to move. Since you are aware of this fragility, however, it shouldn’t be a challenge.”
And in a true passive-aggressive fashion, a trait that stained his reputation, Emery stalled by the river edge.
If Quinn was going to catch for him, he’d have to catch him first.
“That’s not what I… I wasn’t trying to say that you-”
Hands spread at his side, palms facing up, as if to present himself more intensely, show his intentions on the outside. A strained face, reflecting the sharp wound that words had pierced into his heart. He had only meant well, but to be returned with such friction, his shoulder felt heavy and sagged from their posture.
“Emery, you know that isn’t what I mean.”
And to hear again that the man was purposefully wounding his own health, Quinn could feel his own wellness declining. They were complete opposites, the truth that the golden boy more so didn’t want to admit with a lively gaze lost and drooped down at the washed rocked..
He strived to a good living, while the silver haired was meticulously counting their remaining days, quickening them even. He worked with life and keeping it abundant, they dealt with the benefits of death. A love for the Sun’s warmth against an offspring of the nightly moon.
There were many reasons for one to be interested in their own health, the most obvious one being to live just a while longer. People often loved living, people except this one. His eyes that barely met the other had too much agony to hide, darked by the shadowy words.
“Then, is there nothing in life that keeps you anchored in this world?”
The other wanted to play, a soul who was still youthly like his, but may not be able to see into the depths of adulthood nor the grace of the elderly. Quinn reacted little to the proposal, remaining on his border of dry land, watch the speaking lips with misery. It was as if he were toying with his own heart, falling for such an angelic face that hid secrets of obsidian underneath, secrets that he knew of in the beginning yet ignored. He felt his hands at his sides, hands that reached out to the moon sorcerer and hands that so innocently welcomed the grim reaper, hands that should’ve known better.
The reminiscing gaze peeked back up at the lanky figure of white, a ghost from the Sun’s brilliant blaze walking upon liquid clouds. A moonstone from the heavens that he could not allowing himself to have.
“I’m gonna go find some firewood.”
The bare chested sullen postured turned away from the bank, feet slowly padding a turn before cautiously making their back towards soil.
His god was scrutinizing him too harshly from the sky, and Quinn wanted the coolness of shades to figure his thoughts out.
A sharp breath hitched in his throat, wracking pain within his lungs. Reflex, reaction, from the agonizing question that whispered so brokenly and cruelly from the other’s lips. No. By the Goddess, it wasn’t supposed to come off that way; implying a sickness towards living. A morbid wish to simply ebb away from existence.
It wasn’t completely like that.
“No… no, you’re… that isn’t-” He breathed out quietly, but everything in Emery’s mouth felt so wrong. His throat crushed in the deafening hush that had expanded between them; dry and refusing to form tangible words. There was little he could usher out that would not emerge twisted and mangled, and he stopped. Rendering himself mute.
His words, true or not, only seemed to widen the cavernous gap.
Quicksilver eyes dared not risk meeting the sorrow-filled gaze, descending to focus on the grim reflection that shifted within the water’s disrupted flow. It let him dwell on the rampant frustration screaming through his veins; the shrieks rattling through the synapses of his brain. A virulent plague that overcame his slowly deteriorating posture.
Toxic and corroding whatever composure was left.
It barely fractured when finalized conclusions, belonging to the dismayed sunny-haired god, trembled against Emery’s auricles. Sending the serrated nail further through his coffin. He did not look up when the other departed, headed up the bank to find the proposed item; crestfallen. Slow pace suggesting uncertainty. He played with the idea of venturing after him, make amends to the pain wrought, but he did not desire to exacerbate the strain. Ruin what had already been built up, and yet, felt like was crumbling down.
Numbness immediately set in, consuming the fire of self-blame, and easing it into the tight-chested sensation of guilt. It drowned the witch, settling heavy in the bleeding hole of his heart.
He felt ill.
The trust, the hope, that Quinn so eagerly placed into his hands had virtually been spat back into his face. Crushed into the ground, a friendly hospitality Emery, perhaps, had taken for granted. It was his fault. His. His, his, his, his, his, his for stubbornly refusing the healer’s help. The Sun blessed him with someone who had a chance at saving his damned soul, but he still took the opportunity to tarnish it with forms of self-destruction and adamancy.
'I don’t deserve that kindness; I’ve never deserved that kindness…'
Demons screeched in his head as he eventually willed his still body to move, stalking half-heartedly up the riverbank and towards the dry patch of grass that dutifully held their possessions. When the bare soles of his feet hit the prickly flora, he unceremoniously collapsed onto the bundle of white robes. A dismal pile of pale limbs. Succumbing to his musings, Emery lay indisposed on his side, fragile ribs struggling to contain fevered breathing.
It was always like that. Always. A display of concern, and he must go and break it. Tear it apart with the hands that only seemed useful for one thing: destruction.
The mortician slowly dragged a palm up, wearisome silver eyes glancing down to gaze at the appendage. A personified source of problems, for he had dug his own grave. 'Everyone I speak with… it’s no wonder I prefer the isolation. I just-'
“-I’m sorry…” The words broke from his lips, shattering through the shambled wall of thoughts and into the warm midday air. To no one in general. Gentle; devoid of emotion. A hand shakily carded through tousled silver locks, breaking him from his reverie to sow through silent admonition.
He didn’t know what else to say; what more to do.
All he could will himself to commit to was sulking within the grass, awaiting the arrival of Quinn who deserved an angel’s apologies, and an honest answer to the last question that had struck them both so hard.
The Goddess herself seemed to have damned him to turmoil.
Protests sputtered out against his weakened inquiry, but Quinn wasn't exactly in the heart to listen, to understand. He couldn't understand himself, not after the both of them were distantly sullen with his own thoughts overwhelming everything else.
Briefly dusting off the grime that stuck to his dampened feet, he slipped back into his footwear and left the rest of his belongings behind him. The head of gold ducked into the canopy's shadows, sandy hues darkening into an ochre. Eyes were idly scanning the floor for wood and tinder, but the thoughts behind them were elsewhere.
He knew it was going to be hard, and that was the main reason he had willingly jumped down this hole. To find a soul to cradle with comfort, to heal a broken mind that could be so much more… Quinn was only breaking his own mind at this point.
Frustrated fingers tousled blond locks into a mess, only to neatly comb them back afterwards.
He was never good at romance, blindly following any man who snagged a piece of his heart. He was only repeating his first disaster, a rocky love with a warrior who dedicated themselves only to power. Nothing but a plaything for the man and a connection to authority.
The way Emery spoke and trapped him in cycles of thought along with the shares of intimate touches and taunts, was he just being joked with again? Only portraits of a snowy face crowned with silver silk and a moonlit halo would appear when he spoke the name in his mind, but they were too different for him to fall in love with. It would only get worse for him to fraternize with one so acquainted with the dead.
To lie in the embrace of an angel and to feel such heavenly weight above him, Quinn forced his hopeless fantasies away and brought his eyes back to the present. Seeing the henna soil around his feet again, layered with verdure, fidgety hands bent over to randomly grab at twigs.
Twigs thin like the ribs that had so startlingly protruded from the pale chest.
The boy groaned at his own lovestruck heart and tossed the fragments aside, wandering elsewhere in search for more decent logs.
Letting the work consume himself, it wasn't long until the hunter had a bundle of tinder stacked on his arms where the longer lengths had been snapped in half with the help of his feet. The load was carried over to the forest's edge, and Quinn hesitantly stepped back out into the gaze of his god.
The river was empty and upon a closer look, the porcelain body was sprawled in the grasses with their belongings. He was scared to move, scared to return after cowardly running away from the pain suffocating his heart. What could he say, what should he do? But he couldn't linger at the border between sun and shadows for long before getting noticed. The hunter forced his legs forward and carefully dropped the gathered wood onto dry rocks, emeralds of caution occasionally flickering up to see if there was any change to the man's lying form.
Ears perked at the sound of muffled footsteps, the telltale clattering of jostled wood that grew louder with every passing heartbeat. Emery paused in his dull inscriptions, slender index finger stained in a fine layer of dirt pausing at the edge of a symbol; stilted as the cacophony of kindle dropped to the ground. A breath hitched in his throat, straining for a sign of acknowledgement. Snapping to the sound of hesitant lips murmuring a question of curiosity.
“Somewhat.” He responded half-truthfully, palm of a white hand smothering the encryption out of existence; a message written in an unearthly, foreign tongue. Vernacular for the dead. “It dulls on you when there’s no one to enjoy it with.” A silver head twisted, arching to permit a peek over his bony shoulder. Eyes the color of molten metal stared cautiously, shifting to glance at the gathered wood. There was a pause, fragile and hesitant, before the androgynous voice trickled out once more. “…let me help with that.”
Emery drew himself upwards, a slow movement that saw him deliberately reach behind for the sheath of his knife. Hidden within the contours of his robes, nimble fingers slipped the black handle from its leathery home and out into the warm sunlight. Silver blade glinting menacingly within the fluttering god rays. The cold metal was painful to the touch, even more on his teeth as he positioned the edge within his mouth and bit down. Hard.
Allowing his signature knife to rest, out of the way from potentially cutting himself, the young male reached for decaying firewood.
The mortician set it up slanted, leaning the varying lengths against each other to create an enclosure for what would be the flames’ temporary occupation. He worked in silence, mind rattling with the torrent of marching doubts; disquieting conclusions.
Was their brief friendship strained, all because of a few words and hostility on his part?
Coral pink lips dared not utter the damning inquiry, even when he freed his mouth of the blade; metal clattering against his teeth and aching up the sensitive nerves. Quicksilver spotlights had refused to meet the other’s gaze since his return, but in timid audacity, the blond-haired lord was brought into view. Handsome face, an epitome of the sun’s warmth, the focal point of his eyes.
The grit of Emery’s jaw unlocked, the unwinding of a seal. His bare ribs pressed out a long-winded sigh; a gentle breath that took the form of quiet words.
“I… I apologize…” The angel began with a sense of perturbance, pastel orbs winding downwards. Snagging on the nearest rock within arm’s reach. “Concern from others is an emotion I am least familiar with, and… it wasn’t my intentions to make it personal. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Spider-like fingers wound about the contorted pebble, thumb of his left hand rubbing against a sharper edge as he brought it to the level of the stacked firewood. It tipped within his palm, exposing to the blade in his other appendage a point of leverage. The young man readied the ornate weapon, and with a sharp twist of his wrist, struck downwards. Scattering a winking cloud of sparks. “I’m the one who threw your generosity back into your face.”
The second strike ground his blade, sending another wave fluttering to life. What he possessed in his hands was nowhere near flint, but he had to make due with what was available, and continued to grind the side of the knife. After a handful of failed attempts, Emery roughly clashed his weapon against the rock in desperation, the sparks that jolted finally hitting their target; bringing the wood to a small blaze. Dispatching the makeshift equipment to the side, the male lowered his head to blow gently at the pit.
Winking embers slowly blossomed into a quaint flame, the orange and red tongue lashing in its barrier slow to climb up the tent of kindle. Hands of flame licked up the sides, and Emery pulled away to let it grow.
“Do you what to know why I think of life so poorly?” Abrupt, his voice was a soft whisper against the faint crackles of fire. Unsure of whether speech was proper after the tense hush that had draped a blanket over them. He let the dreaded question hang in the air, silver irises adamantly scanning over the hunter’s face; trailing over hair the color of the sun. Bright and pleasant just to gaze upon alone. “I was never taught to respect it. Appreciate the chances given. To me, it’s all just been a stage for traipse; the only purpose I have to further my connection to the deceased. I’ve always thought of death as beautiful.”
Thin knees were drawn to his chest, knobs of visible spine popping outwards to accompany the protective motion.
“The release of life. Tragic; quiet; sullen. It’s morbidly beautiful to die. But life… life always manages to thrive. Springing up in the worst of places, clinging to any chance it can get. So persistent. And yet,” the silver mane of hair slipped to the side, covering away a part of his translucent gaze, “it’s lovely in a way. To live and experience the joys that it can bring.”
Quicksilver eyes met viridian. A soft look that bore no hostility. The lips that rambled uncertain philosophies paused in their whispering.
He had meant to give the man company, it was his intentions since their first encounter yesterday, but instead, Quinn had just up and left the scene for his own selfish reasons.
“I'm sorry to have left so suddenly, after promising that we would hang out together…”
Viridian eyes had dared to glance at the friend, watching the pale form rise from the ground, although only to drop back down at the pile of kindle before his feet. Hands soon reached in from his peripherals and started working with the wood, a glint of metal flickering from the corner. Help was generously offered to him, but all the sun baby could think about was how he was too awkward and shy to respond. Where did all of his social butterfly habits gone…
Timidly and without a word, Quinn stepped a few feet towards the grasses and plucked at the dried strands until he had a bundle to bring back to their campfire. Clothed knees knelt by the set up, and gentle fingers stuffed the fuel into the pyramidal structure.
His posture was stiffer than he liked, hands formally clasped in his lap and muscles aching from the subconscious clench until an apology broke the suffocating silence, and the head of gold rustled from the sudden upwards jerk. Leafy eyes immediately snapped up from the art of lumber and stone to feathery lashes that were occupied with the makeshift flint.
You've done nothing wrong, but there were probably several things that he had done wrong.
“No, I shouldn't have been so demanding with you. There are always topics that people aren't comfortable with, I should've held my tongue back…”
An explosion of light drew his gaze back downwards, and there his sight remained, ears listening intently to the precious words. The leaves and splinters were stubborn against their efforts, but a burst of energy more and the moon angel had ignites a source of warmth.
“I could only guess that those who have not yet seen the glorious parts of life would not know what there is to live for…”
A conclusion that made his heart drop and mouth bland as the statement came out. But Emery’s response was a bit different from his own, more twisted in concept with an elevated thought on depth. Quinn had long ago accepted the presence of the grim reaper, the end of life that cycled into the birth of another. But never had he welcomed losing an entity of green that he could fuel with his own breath.
However, he did know of the persistence of life, being the epitome of it himself, desiring the survival of all animate objects. That, he knew was beautiful and always would be.
“No need to call me a lord, for we are equal, if I may assume your age…
“But it is lovely, it has always been lovely to me. Although, I do understand that I've lived a life much different from yours…”
Quinn carefully tiled his gaze upwards, finally letting his emerald connect with diamonds and accepting the warmth that floated from the look. Hesitant lips inquired the necromancer once more.
“Are you still insistent with the decision to dismiss your own life?”
max: Boy, the site really went downhill... Surprised you two are still here, but fear not, I have returned!
Jun 6, 2018 22:47:16 GMT -5
snowman: Welcome back.
Jun 6, 2018 23:29:23 GMT -5
max: So anyone got hold of the admin? See if they're willing to transfer control to one of us, unless you two love birds wanna be the only ones on this site
Jun 7, 2018 15:10:00 GMT -5
snowman: Tried a while back when I posted to one of her threads, but hadn't heard anything
Jun 7, 2018 17:29:04 GMT -5
max: Did you try messaging her on Discord?
Jun 7, 2018 17:48:34 GMT -5
snowman: I tagged her I believe correctly and nothing.
Jun 7, 2018 23:53:53 GMT -5
max: Hm, I'll see if I can get a hold of her
Jun 8, 2018 0:05:26 GMT -5
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GONNA MARRY THE NIGHT was created by PANDA. The sample background image was created by MOGUMO.
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