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.
The sun halfway down from its peak, the day's heat was dying down a bit, cooling in temperatures as their fiery star slowly inched across the sky. Overhead canopies casted thick shadows onto the forest floor, giving the animals spots of cold to relax in. For those who knew how to look, animals were bustling all over the place, foraging for food or hunting for prey, as did a certain individual.
Patiently crouched upon girthy, tangled roots, Quinn honed in on the target he saw. Analyzing with focused eyes, the rodent seemed to be wounded. A capybara, lacking in physical activity and with gruesome lacerations on the neck. There was no knowing where the injury had come from, but the jungle did have its range of predators.
To hunt, it wasn't his favorite job, but it was also a job that he wasn't against having it assigned to himself. Killing was never a favorite of his, but this appointment allowed him control over what happened out in the wilderness. The blonde could make things quick, end his game's breath in an instant to prevent any prolonged pain or suffering. He could also be conservative, control how much that their people took from the ecosystem and make sure that enough was returned to continue the cycle.
Yet there was something odd about the creature he targeted. It felt like it had an unexplainable irregularity to it, but it was also at a far range that stretched his own sensory capabilities. Sending the girl forward was an option, but it could also startle the creature.
Light as a feather’s breath, Quinn lifted his bow up and positioned it forward as his other hand pulled Gossamer taught with an inhale. The silent tension of the sinew and the force that slumbered like a beast, it did not tremble under the Archer's experienced hand. Colorful feathers flanking the sleek arrow, the pointed stone tip aimed at the unfortunate prey.
Fingers flicked themselves and the arrow whispered forward with an exhale from the hunter, lodging itself into the capybara’s chest and piercing into the fragile heart.
It was early in the evening, a radiant decay of sun rays shifting between the thick sky of leaves and vines; highlighting patches with its blessed light, and turning the slick pool of blood fiery red. A buzzing angry red that captured Emery's silver stare. Fixating his downfallen eyes to the blood's furry owner that lay limp in the thick foliage, he knelt close to the earth. The palm of a left hand - a long-fingered thing capable of wreaking both life and death - gliding over the beast's brown hide with fragile gentility. He could make out no heartbeat.
The young man's lips curled up into a rather soft smile, and he drew his bloodstained right hand to the chest of his most recent kill. A capybara rummaging through the undergrowth, it had barely put up a fight, leaving him to easily slip his signature blade under its throat and render it deceased. But it was a messy affair, the male concluded, after the capybara stopped twitching and his hand and blade were soaked in blood. Seeping through the sheath attached to his belt, and oozing into the lining of his shirt.
It was the least of his concerns, however.
The jungle was an unpredictable stretch, both generous and cruel in its offerings, and Emery was not in the mood for running into any familiar or unfamiliar tribesman. More so the ones that carried the sun against their backs and waved penchants of blazing gold in their wake. Heathens, he surmised in his head, rolling over his kill so it rested on its back; the plane of its chest exposed. Drawing his slender hands over the creature one last time, he paused against its rib cage as a whispered breath of air fell from his lips. Residing heavy against the back of his tongue, weighty and thoughtful, carrying the unholy words of expiration.
'Awake.'
It echoed in the back of his head, rattling against the confines of his skull; a writhing force of black magic that coursed like a virus through his veins. It spread from his fingertips into the beast beneath his palms, tearing away at something within the young man's chest. An ache ripping through his heart, and then nothing. Only the cool settling of realization that a little part of him was now lost forever. Breathed into the capybara to let it rise again.
But the pain numbed when his gaze ensnared on the twitch of an ear. A wriggle of its nose. The grin that had died from his lips grew back even wider.
"Welcome back, little one." He ushered out quietly, back straightening and the rest of his once stagnant form following. "Stand." The one word command immediately went into affect, and the furry rodent shifted its weight; legs bending against the soil for leverage. It barely swayed where it stood, rigid and stiff, but the clean slices across its neck continued to cry tears of red. Beads of coagulation staining the green life below, and the only sign of movement.
Emery's work was admirable, and the male slunk a few steps back into the shadows to observe his newest creation. Molten silver gaze harsh and judging despite it having taking him mere seconds to cram its soul back into its little body. A milestone if it weren't for the blood continuing to seep from its wounds; a reoccurring problem he'd have to one day work out. "Rather unfortunate." There was a lilt of surmise trapped within the edge of his voice, a sharpness to his otherwise gentle tone. "But I guess it can't be helped. Resurrection of the dead is a sacrificial pursuit, and there are amends to-" The words died in his throat, a choked sound that surprised even him as he watched his creation slump to the side; thrown off its legs and into the thick foliage he had found it in.
An outside force.
The male's head jerked to the side, casting quicksilver eyes on the fallen creature; mind snapping together at the sight of a shaft sticking up from its thin ribs. A bowman. A human. Emery hastily regarded the situation, desperate to keep himself level-headed as he twisted and unceremoniously dumped himself into the tangle of jungle growth opposite of the kill site. Whether it be a clansman from the Moon or Sun, he was about to find out, and make them heed his demands for compensation.
The hunter would arrive to retrieve his 'kill', and Emery would be there to ensure ends were met.
Lying in wait, and the stained hilt of Peace Keeper gripped tight within his hand.
A soft thunk, although barely audible to the hunter if it weren't for his ranged scout. But the shot had landed, and the prey was no longer in movement. Seeing his success, Quinn swiftly rose from his position and slung the weapon over the shoulder. Once feeling the coolness of his staff back in his hands, picking the item up from beside him, steps forward were in motion.
His green gaze was trained on the corpse, making sure that his kill had remained in place with no other thiefs or predators stealing away his efforts. Pushing aside overgrown ferns and leaping over stray roots, Quinn was quickly closing the distance for a better look see at the slain animal. There was little to no movement from what he could see, reassuring his mind that the capybara may have suffered little.
With each stride that passed, however, and each inch of the limp body that was slowly revealed, something seemed off about the scene. The rodent’s neck was severely injured, a wound that it shouldn't have survived, and a wound that his arrow could not inflict from the distance and position each party was in. The beige fur had also been matted with blood, a red that did not source from his own attack.
Upon arriving at the exhibition, Quinn knelt beside the body, confused hands hovering above the expressionless face and still chest. What was it that was going on with the creature? The sight was bewildering, and the blonde was frantically trying to wrap his head around some sort of explanation.
Was that… a handprint on the victim’s ribs?
Trickles of red slowly seeped onto his knee, a pool of blood that just slightly elongated into a type of trail leading elsewhere...
Emery's shallow breaths stilted within his lungs; the slope of his pale pink lips coming to rest at a tight-lipped frown. Shuttering off the air, and rendering him completely mute. His ears easily picked up the harking of bird call - flung far off and distant; the muffled cries of wind howling through the thick canopy, all but fractured by the shuffled sound of footsteps gliding through the overgrowth. Clunking of a quiver and arrows knocking his nerves apart and setting the frayed ends of his synapses buzzing in anticipation.
The hunter had arrived, the individual of Emery's unyielding gaze. Backlit by the low light, he could see them stoop to inspect the large rodent - a young man with hair the color of the sun, and an expression of bemusement furrowing his fair brow. Observant and keen, the other's hands seemed to map out the unnatural scene, and drew away with careful conclusion. Suspicion. What had he seen? Crouched stagnant in the tall foliage, Emery's bloody hand - the same palm that matched the mark on the Capybara - snaked to the sheath against his left hip; tugging the blade from its home with the jerk of a wrist.
As soon as the knife was free, the young male's attention darted back to the man perched over the kill, and he froze; quicksilver eyes gleaning off the other's position, the red staining the fabric against the point of a knee and the messy stretch into the overgrowth. At him - near him. Far too close to Emery's temporary hideaway. He was cornered.
The man, bright and eerily light, was doubtful of the situation. Curious, perhaps. If he found him, would he-? No. The dark thoughts rattling in the back of Emery's mind, fluttering like dying fireflies, jarred him into action. He was not going to take the risk and be slain by a child of the Sun, a golden child, without struggling to the bitter end; at least assuming the other's allegiance. Though clansmen of the opposite tribe were not inherently prejudiced to the Moon, there were stories about hatred; innocents slaughtered due to the sins of their ancestors, and though Emery was unsure where this one in particular stood, death was not someone he was ready to intimately know. Yet.
On his hands and knees, he slunk through the vines and roots, maintaining a gaze that went unbroken even as he rounded the other side of the hunter. Positioning himself after his painfully slow crawl with care. In front of him resided the smooth plane of the young man's back, unwelcoming with the quiver strapped between his shoulder blades and the bow lurking just beside it's sharp significant other.
His chest felt tight - constricted - with each surge of air he inhaled. He needed to move, now.
With the reflexes of an unpracticed fighter desperate to take his victim off guard, Emery launched himself out of the tangled overgrowth in a flurry of white hair and robes, unsure stride bringing him closer and closer until he was close enough to reach out and touch him. His right shoulder, thrown into the force with the speed he could manage, smashing into the other man's back in an attempt to throw him to the ground.
Regardless of whether the other struggled or not, deterring him from his task, Emery hastily clambered on top of him and straddled his hips. Knees locking into place with a strength unfitting of the silver haired beauty. Anxiety consuming his brain, Emery slid one pale hand up the other's chest and to the curve of a throat; spreading the width of his palm to securely grasp the esophagus. His cold, bloodied thumb pressing against the young man's Adam's apple. "Don't move." He whispered quietly, lifting his head to gaze into eyes the color of pure jade; a translucent shade of green he could almost drown in. "I wouldn't want to kill you..."
The edge of the mortician's blade, gripped in the other hand, pressed beneath his chin. Sharp and unrelenting.
He couldn’t think up anything, not a single explanation for the gruesome sight before his eyes. With knowledge that this world of theirs involved certain magical components, was it another person’s bewitching? Or possible the animal itself was infected with a curse? Quinn wasn’t comfortable in staying for any longer anymore. Hands were hesitant, but after a few seconds of internal debate, they reached out to pull out the lodged projectile.
With a few twists and a forceful jerk, the stone head was returned from the depths of flesh. The tearing noise, however, was not only sourced from the corpse in front of him, but also came rustling behind him. The head of blonde twisted around to check what the source was, who the source was, for he was slowly returning to his senses and felt a significant essence of life coming at him quick.
He was just a moment too late however, for the second he caught sight of the charging form, the pale robed individual was already right beside him, and a brute force had knocked him over. The dead rodent was of little help to him, suddenly becoming an obstacle that pressed into his diaphragm as he fell over. Winded and without time to react, a heavy weight anchored itself onto his lower back and an arm invasively snaked around his torso, further threatening his respiration as it clamped around his neck.
A cold edge was pressed so delicately under his chin, and Quinn didn’t need to guess twice to know that a blade was taunting his skin. And still he was, not daring to move a muscle in his current predicament. Silvery eyes peered into his own, a pale and startling hue that momentarily distracted him from his fears, but the cautious and untrusting look was not to be ignored.
He had to get away, or at least out of the hold he was locked in. How? The only solution was to wait and listen, to see what the moon clanner had wanted, the affiliation apparent in the pearly white pigmentation. To be caught in a hustle with the enemy kind…
And of course the world wouldn't allow him to simple lie there and await the next decision. Quinn felt a part of his stress fly away, almost literally as the feelings had reached Julmunui and sent the cat dashing towards the point of conflict. Whether his opponent would be compliant or not, he wasn't ready to get into a scuffle with this man.
Fingers were tight around his throat, and it was hard to move without feeling a strong resistance, but the blonde flexed his jaw an slipped out a single word.
“Duck.”
Bonded to the creature by soul, he knew the exact location of his girl and prepared himself should he need to react depending how events unfolded.
Out from a low hanging branch leapt a muscular spotted pelt, claws protracted and flying at the head of silvery locks.
The movement under his palm startled him, but not enough for Emery to tighten his grip around the slender throat. His attention was drawn to the monosyllabic word slipping from the other's mouth, and the suggested advice that came with it. Emery's own lips moved to work out a sound, anything to resemble a phrase of inquiry, but it perished before full conception with the sharp clamp of his jaw shutting. Neck twisting, swiveling to catch a glimpse in his peripheral vision the terror the hunter warned him about. Spotted pelt and claws flashing in the evening sunlight.
He couldn't react fast enough.
In the moment he jerked his head to the side, the creature skidded by him, but not without catching the fair skin of his neck. Claws exposed and something tearing with the impact. Sharp pain laced up the side of his throat, and Emery could immediately feel something hot ooze against his skin. A steady rivulet crying into the front of his robes; down a bare collarbone and to the front of his shirt. He needed to gain an advantage over the situation.
Emery went limp, collapsing sideways into a mess of white hair and robes. Off of the Sun child he once held captive, he regained his grip on his knife and rolled to one side, pushing off the ground with an elbow to stand. His free hand drew up, pressing against the laceration on his neck for reference. A decent cut, thin yet deep enough to incite bleeding. Molten silver eyes tracked the creature that paced about his vision, an ocelot, he realized, that fit the description of the wound.
Young, or else it would have been much more effective.
"I have no interest in fighting you, or your pet." Emery gritted between his clenched jaw, applying the pressure of his palm even harder to the claw mark. "But if I must, I won't hold back." The young man kept his piercing gaze locked onto the ocelot, darting to the other man ever so often to ensure he was kept in his line of sight, but things did not add up. He had warned him, hadn't he. Called out the impending force that was quick to arrive. Either the hunter of the Sun was not a prejudiced enemy, or he was toying with him.
Emery was unsure.
With Peace Keeper contained in his grasp, blade upright and held at the defense, he could easily dispatch the cat. A quick jab when it lunges, perhaps, but it was an unpredictable creature. Too fast; skittish. If he could just reach his bow - the infamous Valkyrie stashed within the bough of a thick jungle tree just a good hundred or so steps away - he wouldn't have to suffer another physical attack. It was a weapon he never left home without, and though it was not always used in the hunting of targets, the bow remained in close range of him. Concealed in hideouts only he could remember the locations of.
It was too far. Blood loss would eventually make him dizzy, and outrunning a wild cat was near impossible.
He'd just have to put his silver tongue to use, and talk his way out of trouble.
"Even from the Moon, I bear you no ill will. Only curiosity, if I may. A question." Emery struggled out quietly, keeping his distance from the other male and his spotted guard cat; an apprehensive lilt threatening to fracture through the softness of his level-headed tone. Guarded and incredulous. The palm of his left hand was stained with red, seeping in between his fingers and down the sleeve of his clothes. Both hands steeped in the death of life.
A shallow cut indeed, he surmised bitterly within his thoughts. It was a reoccurring realization he could still bleed the same as any other man. The same ruby red shade.
"It wasn't my intentions to come off as a threat." An almost inaudible whisper, dead against the backdrop of wind, stole his breath. "I simply cannot trust you. Your objective, dear golden child."
Release was given to his throat, and Quinn sharply inhaled to give his lungs a full and fresh replenishment. On his second breath, he did not hesitate to call out.
“Mulleonada!”
He could only hope that she listened, but he did not spend another second lying down depending on wishful thinking, pushing himself up with his palms and leaping upwards into a stand. His peripherals took note of how the other had distanced themselves from the threat, but the hunter's eyes only sought out the third party.
“She's not a pet, and I will not have you fighting her either.”
There was a displeased hiss, a tense stance with the long spine arched, and an obvious display of aggression from the cat, but Quinn was thankful that she did not continue the assault. A stern stare instructed the friend away, and with a slight jerk of his head, the predator hesitantly disappeared back into the camouflage of shrubbery and shadows.
Words seemed to be spilling out from the stranger, although the turning man did make sure to catch all of the details as he quickly analyzed the condition of his ‘enemy’. A moon civilian indeed, clothes decorated by their goddess and his hair, a fragile white that rested so gently. He had always secretly adored the seemingly delicate coloration of the moon people, brilliant silvers that could be stained at any moment.
And in this moment it was, a blaring red leaving streaks and blotches as it seeped into the pale cloth. A thin hand was attempting to hinder the bleeding, but Quinn knew more than enough from the shamans that proper care would be required.
They stated that there was no desire for hostility, and he believed him. Although he felt both of their emotions in chaos and turmoil, there was no distinct emittance of aggressive intentions. He saw a bit of himself in the other man, a mind that lacked the tunneled thoughts of war that others of their clans had. It was a general standard that the Moon’s children hated the Sun’s, and the Sun’s children hated the Moon’s. But it wasn't exactly so for him. Everyone had their own stories and reasons behind certain opinions.
But the stranger's voice was audibly growing weak, and Quinn left his listening trance.
It was a bit of an outrageous act, risky even, but with how the past few seconds had played out, it was easy enough to judge that he now had the upper hand, if he wasn't falling for any traps. Arms unslung both the bow and quiver from his back, returning the stray arrow back with its siblings before resting the whole kit alongside his staff still beside the dead capybara.
With cautious eyes and an unarmed body, Quinn slowly stepped towards the wounded man, brushing his hands off on his shirt before offering them forward. It was an odd gesture for those unknowing of what he was planning to do, but he lifted them up to the moon child's neck’s height and hoped he would be allowed to do his job.
“If it was unclear, my objective was to hunt for my community's meals.
"Pet, familiar, spirit animal, the terms are all the same to me." Emery whispered into the looming sunset, a backwash of reds and oranges painting what little sky he could see a fallout of color. How could the sun's descent from the sky be so painfully beautiful? The moon, his own Goddess, so bleak and pale? An alien beauty in her own right? His silent observation did not last long, the hissing of the ocelot tearing his silver eyes back to the situation at hand and onto the creature perched low; hunkered down into the overgrowth where it - she - soon trod off to. Retreating figure slinking away into the shadows, commanded by his rival clansman's gesture.
It was just the two of them, now, but he knew the cat was still lurking. Hidden within the brush, waiting for him to make the wrong move. But at least there would be no more claws aimed for his jugular.
With the tense ease falling over them like the hush of a curtain, Emery was finally able to garner a long look at the man who had indirectly bested him; the flourishing sweep of the vibrant blond hair, bright as the sun, paired with eyes the color of life. Pure life. Those bright colors - sunny hues, a garnish of vibrancy Emery was unused to witnessing - mocked him. Beaming back at him compared to his own withered, fragile silvers and blues; withdrawn.
A pretty face, even, but not enough for Emery to completely lower his guard.
The pain in his neck had resolved into a dull, warm ache, and he could feel the heartbeat hammering away against the skin of his palm; trickling at this point, and leaving the tracks down his wrist to dry in the gentle breeze. The mortician's light-eyed stare shifted to meet the hunter's gaze, ensnaring him in his line of sight. Refusing to budge, to look away, even when the bow and quiver were dispatched to the side and the other approached unencumbered by weaponry. There was no understanding this Sun child. To call for peace and throw away the grudges that have scoured their individual clans for years was one thing, but to waltz over unequipped was a different side of the spectrum.
He was undeterred from ascertaining the other's actions with complete conviction.
It was true there lingered not a glint of aggression within the eyes of jade, and the more Emery searched the clear reflective orbs, the less he gouged out; only managing to further the idea that a personality derived off of aid rested there peacefully.
But it did little to still the paranoia in his chest.
His back, ramrod straight, unyielding in it's posture, gave away the tense fluctuating nervousness. Pounding out a war cry in his ears as the blood rushed through his veins, loosening his muscles up for escape. Fight or flight. A shuddering of air escaped past his lips, heavy yet faint, and Emery watched with guarded care how the other's palms drew up to his neck, close to the laceration painting his throat red.
And he flinched back, a jerk of his head - like that of a startled animal - to indirectly evade the gentle unarmed hands moving to greet him. The quicksilver stare of Emery's eyes darted to the other male's face, holding an undisguised shadow of doubt. Pale coral pink line of his lips depressing to produce an expression of uncertainty.
He had listened to the Sun child's words, a direct straightforward answer he could easily digest in the synapses of his rampant mind. A hunter, just as he had assumed. But the next phrase, a plea for the fragile sense of trust, only managed to quicken the pulse of his heart and usher the blood to seep a little more quickly from its wound.
Trust. A heavy term. Emery was not well rehearsed with the aforementioned feeling, and took the context with a contemplative mind and a pessimism revolving around two courses of action. The man was either asking for permission, perhaps to tend to his injury in light of the distance of his fingers to his throat, or was using the word halfheartedly; a means to strangle him when the opportune moment reared its ugly head. The mortician's grip on the knife tightened, and the bloody palm pressed harder to ease the constant trickle. By the Goddess he wanted to believe the former and that it was only his frayed nerves getting the best of him. Persuasion, however, was not entirely there, and he kept the blade clasped within his right hand, outwards and down at his side. Pointed away, but clearly within striking distance if the need arose. A subtle threat.
"To put my faith in you..." Emery started after a few seconds of pause, eyes darting up to gaze unabashedly into the other man's, a terse mingle of silver and green. The sharp grit of his jaw giving way to allow the words to snake forward; fragile and quiet, ringing like a powerful but crumbling melody. "Swear to your Sun that, at the hands of your mercy, you are at a truce. In my position, it would not take much to dispatch me, and I would care for the reassurance." His phrase dropped off into oblivion, an exhaustion seeping deep into his bones; the already too white shade of skin anemic under the fading sunlight. But he desired his word. As a user of the dark arcane, shadows and blood magic steeped in the twisted and demented, words were powerful binding agreements. Things to hold to.
But whether the Sun child of blessed golden hair gave his allegiance, Emery was nearing the end of his focus, and shrugged off the weariness of his soul. His lips parting to utter out three damning words.
An eyebrow was raised at the comment before brushing it off and dismissing the inconsiderate categorization of his friend. Some people were like that, thinking their species all above the other animals. To Quinn, however, every living thing was valuable from the smallest of ants to the biggest of trees.
With how the afternoon had played out, looking at his company was almost like looking at a small animal, cornered and defensive in the current situation. He was still a stranger to the other, having only known each other for a few short moments. There was no knowing what he could do, or what the sun child had in mind. Quinn knew himself that he meant no harm, and he also knew that he was giving the moon kid little to work with. Anyone had a reason to be suspicious of someone who was acting kind when they were being hunted just seconds ago.
There was an obvious expression of rejection, the ends of long white locks jerking away when hands neared them, but the healer remained patient, intriguingly watching silver irises analyze and judge his actions. As to what was going on in the other’s mind, Quinn was oh so curious but didn’t protrude.
Time ticked on, and he wondered if his decisions were really the best idea. He had unarmed himself, no response was given yet, and a knife was still glistening in the setting sun’s light, as if the passing glare was a warning from his god, a reminder of elderly advice to not be too friendly with everyone. But at the sight of open lips and the sound of returning words, the boy shoved his past lectures aside to focus on the present.
“I’ll swear to my god that I wont hurt you. Did I not just tell you that my objective was only to hunt game? I’m not sure how you Moon people feast, but children of the Sun don’t eat other children…”
He had to catch himself, keep his tongue from rambling on again in such dire situation. A heavy sigh as he though about the other’s stubbornness, whether it was underable or not. The pale complexion was only growing whiter, and Quinn knew that the man was growing weak. His head started plotting other tactics, to take the body by force if he needed to, but two steps into his procedure, a final confirmation came.
Hands were hasty in reaching forward towards the neck, fingers quickly making contact with the moon child’s cold skin and cradling the bloodied surface. If the victim tried retaliating, Quinn did his best to resist it. The distance between them was short, intimate, but he knew from experience that the closer he was connected, the faster the process was. He pressed his forehead against the stranger’s and immediately located the lacerations, feeling the pain almost as if it were his own. Emerald eyes hidden away behind closed lids, the shaman put all of his focus on sewing the wound together.
Layers of tissue and cells grew from his enchanted emotions, flesh sealing the cuts closed and returning the neck back into its former pristine wholeness. Blood was also replenished, plasma filling the veins again from a source that Quinn could not pinpoint from. What he named as his source was his god, the Sun, who had graciously blessed him with this power.
Any external disturbances, he had ignored completely until there were no more injuries detected in the patient’s body. Satisfied with the opportunity to heal the wounded and content with the completion, the blonde drew himself back, letting his now stained hands fall away from the cradle and rest at his sides. A backwards step was even given should the victim wish to retaliate or needed personal space again.
Emery did not care for the patronizing tone, the rather subtle rebuke that edged its way into the other boy's answer. Light but audible to his ear; intentional, perhaps. The immaculate arches of his silver eyebrows furrowed together in a show of discontent, and relayed his scathing expression. It was already categorized in the back of his mind, the nature of the Sun child's occupation, stuffed away with the fractures and slivers of information that was either important or disposable. Important, he related, for the sake that the other even went as far as to disrespect Emery's own clan in an off-handed way.
It tasted bitter on the back of his tongue, and the urge to correct the baseless phrase - to redirect him to well-worn facts - went unaccomplished. His breath hitched halfway up his throat. Careful hands, quick to reach, stilled his jaw; grasping the sides of his neck and subjecting him a victim to whatever was running rampant between the boy's skull. The warm palms pressed to skin, gentle but stubborn as if determined to hold him from escape. He had given his word, hadn't he? The young man from the Moon was unsure where the physical contact had come from.
Far too fast, and far too close for comfort.
The hand that held his knife shuddered slightly, and it took all of his will to force the instinct away; stamp down what threatened to run his blade through the boy's knee. Keep it pointed at the thick foliage of jungle and not at the hunter who pressed their forehead gently against his own. Medically practiced fingers drew close to the claw marks, and Emery could only focus at the ground that looked so far away, desperate to drown the white noise within his ears.
He probably could feel it, too. The pulse points of his throat thumping out a cadence of anxiety. It was almost funny in a morbid sense. Finding himself in the clutches of a Sun child, at a proximity where the lines blurred and every detail was easy to indulge in. The eyes were shut, but the mortician could still make out the luxurious line of lashes; a smooth face unfitting for a bow carrier, and framed by the edges of well maintained hair. Even the scent that clung to his skin was distinctively pleasant. Fresh earth; exotic flowers.
Unfamiliar.
Emery stood slack in his grip, finally snapping back to reality to acknowledge the itching sensation of flesh knitting back together. The heat of blood rushing through his veins. What had once been a numb ache ebbed into nothingness, the nerves that had been sliced and screaming in agony silenced for good. A sect of life magic, it seemed the boy in front of him was not just an ordinary hunter.
It took skill to wield such powerful healing.
As soon as the male fell back, taking the warmth with him, Emery's free hand moved to map out the contours of his throat. The pads of his slender fingers meeting smooth flesh and not a scar as he had half-expected; only the dry remains of blood that hauntingly lingered. A stain to the white porcelain of his skin. He was indebted, silver eyes shifting to meet his gaze. Captured like a moth drawn to light by the sudden sound of words tumbling from poised lips.
The audacity.
"Perhaps not." Emery's quiet voice slithered out, and he drew his knife away, burying the blade deep into its bloodied leather home. "But with the sudden closeness," the lightest of smirks claimed his mouth, "I thought you were going to kiss me." It wasn't common for the mortician to attempt such unprofessional behavior, a first, to be truthful, but there were still unanswered questions, unanswered compensation, he desired from the child of the Sun - rattling to the forefront of his brain now that the more pressing issue was taken care of.
It was hidden in the matters of stalling him long enough in the darkening jungle to bring up the subject of his most recent experiment. The lost subject of the dreaded capybara that had been so hastily destroyed, and in turn, another fraction of his life spent to reanimate in vain. There was only so much he could shave off before side effects started catching up to him; one day, a permanent consequence.
But the mortician's quicksilver eyes hid their master's deeper intent, stamped and sealed with a look of unburdened curiosity. If he was attempting to keep him around a little longer, why not prod the inner workings of this Sun child's mind?
There was no telling if they'd ever cross paths again.
Some could believe it, some didn't even with the widespread presence of individual abilities. It was often fun to see the reactions of new patients, though, and Quinn did just so as excited eyes watched lanky fingers trace over the wound’s former gashes. Ugly lines of exposed flesh and trickling blood was no more, the remains being dried stains of red hiding patched up skin beneath it.
Healing often left him light hearted, re-energized with the thought that he was bringing life to the world. Judging that the atmosphere had loosened up enough in comparison to when they first met, Quinn clasped his arms behind his back, hiding the gruesome sight of red, and rocked on his heels a few times.
“Do you want a kiss? I can make it a healing one, if you haven't gotten enough of me~”
A crazy proposal, a jest even, but the blonde wasn't against. Some found him crazy with how open he was for first encounters, but the boy only thought about contributing more friendliness to the world. Warm hues of viridian around them highlighted with the warmer rays of his god, Quinn didn't know how the stranger was feeling, but he was at an amount of peace. Any apparent hostility were gone, and all weapons were back in their sheaths. The both of them were in good health, and only a distant rodent corpse and trails of blood dirtied the scene.
Thinking back on their short scuffle, was there not something that the moon clanner had mentioned about him, or needed from him?
The chuckle that escaped him, soft and melodious, was as close to a genuine laugh as the hunter was going to receive, and what Emery was most comfortable with presenting. He could not seem to help the short-lived snigger. The boy's words were entertaining, clear-headed and open, and he was surprisingly amused by the innocence of it all; the naivety. The new blood in his veins must have rushed to his brain to grant permission in the creation of laughter. He hadn't produced that sound in months.
Unbeknownst to untrained eyes, Emery was actually a rather friendly individual. But being somewhat of a bane to his village saw that part of his personality wither - fold in on itself like a dehydrated flower, slow its own nihilistic destruction. If he was to be treated as one, he'd act like one. Concealing his more conversational side behind stuffy robes and a general sense of detachment, he kept to himself and never held more than a passing glance. Professional at best.
It felt good to finally lean towards the light, even if he was just playing along.
"A kiss... well, if your offering." He surmised carefully, peering up into the dimming sky for just a moment to determine time. The sun's inevitable fall a curtain shuttering out the light; paving the way for the eventual arrival of his beloved Goddess. But the dwindling day was still upon them, and she was yet to haul her milky white eye overhead. "I'll be my first, however." Emery added offhandedly with a coy yet faint smile, willing his legs to slowly close the small distance that stretched between their parties.
A gentle pace that bore no malice, and saw no glint of a knife.
They were of similar heights, easy for him to peer into the friendly face; glean the eyes that stared back. He wondered if it would be a risk to reach out, brush a hand against the male's shoulder, but Emery was one for recklessness, and lifted his narrow appendage upwards without sign of permission. Long spider-like fingers shifting against fabric, latching on to rest against the protrusion of his collarbone. The other one followed suit, an attempt to further the fact he remained unarmed at such a close proximity, and gained residence on the opposite shoulder. Whether there was resistance or not, Emery leaned forwards, silver strands of hair spilling into the molten orbs of grey that glinted off a hesitant light.
It was like a recreation of their previous propinquity, but with a glaring contrast: no further contact was made. The mortician's pale pink mouth hovered a couple inches away from the Sun child's own lips, not daring to fracture the invisible wall between them. Translucent eyes downcast, fallen to a point below the chin.
He didn't kiss him.
Pausing at the threshold to utter the words that tore the breath from his lungs. "I should ask you a question, first." Emery's voice, gentle and contained in a whisper, barely broke the hush that befell them. "Do you know what it's like to kiss death?"
He hoped the implicit and vague inquiry would spur some thought, let on that the civilian of the Moon was more than what he appeared to be. Retribution, in the form of answers, was what he desired most, and setting the young man off on a trail to guess his hidden nature would lead to what he lingered around for.
He was a hunter, correct? It shouldn't be too hard, then, to come to a proper conclusion.
After all, he had been told children of the Sun were smart.
A sound of amusement coming from the pastel lips, a sound that was a bit unbefitting of the colder impression that he had about the stranger, but Quinn welcomed it with a smile. As to what the laugh was even at, he cared less so long as the other was in high spirits.
To be someone's first, it was a bit burdening, but there was no going back on his word anymore. The blonde wasn't one to take back his own offers, especially if the other party had already accepted. His social confidence fleeted, however, for he was not prepared for what he had just brought upon himself.
A simple peck, a moment that wouldn't last longer than a second, that was what Quinn expected to situation to be. However, the moon's partisan strode forward and he was held too captive by the angelic beauty. Dismissing the bold streaks of blood, the sharp gaze of silver ore paralyzed his muscles, failing his body to give commands to move as he remained entranced by the nearing individual.
What he saw was a daring soul that floated in front of a visage of mystery, hiding a much deeper personality backstage. He wanted to draw the curtains back and take a peek at what strings were being drawn, what performance there was to see.
But he couldn't with the proximity of their bodies sending his thoughts all over the place. His senses became sensitive, feeling the heat radiating off the form before him and the direct warmth of hands on his shoulders. The strongest pull was from the life essence he could feel cycling within the being, the closeness and size overpowering the faded presence of distant trees and small shrubbery around them.
Pale lashes lined the downcast eyes, long feathers that might as well have been angels’ wings to him. He wanted to return the touch, pull themselves close, but his sun blessed hands only awkwardly hovered between them, wanting to reach out but too scared to all at once. It was the same with the kiss, or the setup of it. Quinn anticipated the fragile moment where lips would grace his own, but he himself did not dare to move under the moon clanner's hands.
He felt swooned. He didn't know why. It was a complete stranger who was standing before him, and their short history wasn't the most peaceful either. But the way they carried themselves, the rich aura that radiated off their posture...
The blonde was frantically trying to recollect his thoughts and found aid in the question that was directed towards him. It was a sound that was enough to shatter the silent hypnosis he fell in, a sound that allowed him to lean back from the confrontation and tear his gaze away temporarily to give his head a bit of breath. He was only sent down a different path of confusion, however, looking back at the inquirer with furrowed brows.
“Death? I can't imagine why anyone would want to kiss a corpse with their own lips…”
It was the first thought that came to his mind, but his pondering did not end there. Was he about to kiss something dead? But Quinn was for sure that there was no trickery on his enhanced senses, and that the man before him was very much alive.
“You're not dead, whether you want to think that or not…”
Another conclusion of his was that he was thinking too literally. To know what death itself was like, Quinn found himself lucky to not have experienced such a moment yet, successfully saving any patients he came upon. If this foreigner was plotting his murder, however…
“You were the first to share that you had no ill intentions. If you wanted to kill me, you had the chance to when you first tackled me down.”
It was his assortment of responses, a multitude of contemplations for the quiz given to him, but Quinn couldn't decide on a set answer. He didn't specifically want to choose one either, for he was always the one kissing life into people. To be asked about kissing death, it was the opposite of everything he grew up to be.
It was endearing, he had to admit, to watch the cycle of emotions that overcame the face of the Sun. Starting with the cheeks that bore the faint traces of flush, reddened ever so slightly by the intimate proximity, and then the luxurious green eyes a flutter. Unsure where to point their vibrant irises to attention. Everything about this hunter - this healer - was wrapped in a shroud of color. Open and utterly free.
Alive.
It was why Emery couldn't breach that remaining distance, cross the entryway into unknown territory. He was arrested into mutely gazing through those clear orbs of jade as the man leaned back; a momentary pause settling, and knitting the immaculate blond brows together in bemusement. Emery's pale hands hesitated on the points of his shoulders, drawing back nor pressing any further when the easy melody came rushing in. A whorl of air that shattered the silence and dragged out answers to a question the mortician left painfully unclear. The guessing game began.
Emery almost considered it like a game, the pale line of his mouth folding into a complimentary expression to match the theme of unsure replies - ill-defined. Smeared between the unmarked lines. Keeping quiet, he merely graced the confused Sun clansman with a gentle shake of his head for every conclusion he uttered wrong; the silver strands of hair disturbed from their resting place, and his almost colorless eyes pinching into a look of fragile admonition.
"No, it's all wrong." He spoke up, tone of voice only audible within the curtain of space separating their bodies; a contrast of yellows and grays. "I am neither dead nor invested in your murder. Those are just hasty assumptions, dear Sun child..."
His head slipped to the side, the skin of his blood stained throat exposed as he withdrew into another temporary bout of silence. The last phrase uttered from the handsome hunter's mouth set him into a moment of contemplation, and his thick line of snowy white lashes descended to conceal. Effectively shuttering out the silver of his eyes from the world of green. 'You weren't this cryptic a few moments ago...' It rattled in the confines of his skull, a backlash of sound fracturing the shield of darkness behind his curtained sight. Out of the mixed-bag of answers, it was the closest he was going to get without proper aid, and Emery was determined to make that known.
Gingerly, the lids of his eyes drew back to reveal the soft glow of the moon, crease of his mouth sliding into a halfhearted smirk. "You're right. Imprudent of me, isn't it? But I suppose it would make do for me to prevent you from tainting your soul. Going any further," the smile involuntarily fell, "you'll be going as far as to consort with the destruction of life. A means to an end.
"Didn't you think it was odd the prey you shot was already maimed? Certainly not the work of nature. No." Emery's thumbs kneaded into the boy's shoulders, an implicit threat that he would tighten his grip, keep him from moving away least he suddenly decide to shatter the closeness. A twist of his head jerking towards the remains of the capybara instructed where the other's gaze should halt upon. "It was the work of a cataclysmic will. If you exhale the breath of life, who, my dear Sun, counters it? Rewrites the story of your efforts to tear asunder the nature of existence? Breathes decay back into the bodies of the deceased?"
A pause. Heavy and stressed.
"That would be death..."
His silver eyes darted back to meet orbs of green, and within the eerie depths of light there drew a shadow of quietus. Death and life. Such contrasting ideas suspended on two opposite sides of the spectrum. But Emery knew the hunter already understood his conclusion. Their ironic predicament.
The words drawled out, dead and lost on his pallid lips.
None of it was right, a 0 out of 3 for his final grade, indicated by the grader’s shaking gesture. A sliver of irritation was growing in him, a desire to move onto something else. Quinn didn't know what it was that the stranger had wanted, and didn't want to know what they had thought about the concept of death.
It was inevitable, however, for if he wished to get to know this man, he would have to endure the thought. It was either that or he left the moon angel’s presence. He knew that he was being impatient, he knew that he was simply ignoring and deeper unknown truth about the person.
His expression was pouting from his last lingering comment, wanting answers to make his own spoiled life easier. But when the answers came, his mind wasn’t any more relaxed. The tainting of his soul? The destruction of life? The last time he checked, kisses weren't exactly the most dangerous deed unless one made it to be…
Further elaboration came for his heart's desire, or at least what he thought he desired. Quinn wanted a straightforward explanation for this mystery he was given, just a simple few words that told him everything. But as events unfurled, he didn't want to listen anymore.
He tore his startled gaze away, looking downwards to try and hide the discomforted expression in his eyes. His breath quickened before becoming unsteady, chest irregularly heaving as he tried to calm his nervous pulse. Ears gingerly picked up the words, absorbing the details in one by one with slight disgust. They were dark words that contrasted the bright mindset he always held.
While the moon child’s speech was fresh, Quinn’s memory of the capybara’s appearance had already lived in the back of his mind for some time, a gorey sight that he wanted to forget and did not look at for a second time.
The pressure increased on his shoulder, and the blonde form stiffened up further, only silently listening with no response. It was the second time that he found himself in the jaws of his enemy clan, his personality too soft for conflict.
The man introduced himself as the epitome of death, the grim reaper who took life out from its hosts and left corpses cold. Yet, his prey’s body was not limp when he shot it…
A viridian gaze of disbelief turned back from the ground to the cool steely ones. Such an exquisite beauty, wasted on a soul so toxic. It was heartbreaking for him, that there would be life in the world who didn't appreciate it. A cold silence hung around them, a silence that Quinn wished to break but had nothing in mind to shatter it with.
What was there for him to say? His mind was both chaotic and blank at the same time, desperate to understand the scene but forcing the truth out from his dreams. The only response he could think of was denial, rejection, disagreement.
“You say that, but you're still living in this world. You're alive, I know it and you know it. You're more than just ‘death’, you're…”
A witch, bewitching the sun boy’s naive soul who no longer understood the scene around him nor himself.
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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