{{Blood is thicker}} then W.A.T.E.R -->Open

[scene]

The man's soft breath slipped past his lips like an unwinding tendril of mist, delicately curling in the air before him, but even as the sweet melodies of the birds sounded above, the murky sapphire pools of his eyes did not flicker upward -- for, instead, they were steadily fixed upon the silent ripples of water, tracing the glimmer of appearing stars that glowed against the bleached sunlight of the creeping afternoon. It was the time of dusk, in which the sky is not fully illuminated with vibrant hues of sparkling amber or clear-cut sapphires, nor drowned in the seeping darkness of shadowed midnight shades and twinkling presents of starlight.

The brilliance of it all failed to dazzle him, a first (he loved this time of day, more so than morning or night) for him and slowly, almost reluctantly, he lifted his eyes - briefly - to gaze at the cloudless atmosphere above. They were like candles ablaze, the lustrous flames of colour burning across the violet-streaked canvas of the sky and he finally smiled, round cheeks flushed with frost. He shivered (not from the cold) again as he hugged himself, slender arms wrapping around his knees and resting his chin upon them, he let out a shaky breath. It was sweet, but utterly thin, like a string of pinesap stretched to its breaking point. It wasn't that he was scared so much more than he was already.

The slight man let out a small cough, delicate palm pressed against his frosted lips in an attempt to repress it. Yes, yes; Indigo Blair had gotten sick, but he - nor anyone else- had no wish to try and diagnose his illness. Whether or not it was a deadly virus or simply the common cold didn't matter anyway. Sick was sick and healthy was healthy. If he couldn't get better soon... Honestly it didn't matter to him anymore. For all Indigo cared it could kill him, maybe that's what he wanted.


He sighed again, leaning back on his arms and he lifted his head, the fading sun reflecting in his harden- albeit peaceful - silvery blue pools. He might as well enjoy it before it passed and plus, being so depressing didn't bode well on his mentally nor physically well being. He curled his fingers, still shaking, and lifted his hand to marvel at the white sand, dazzled by the effect that made it shine. The ivory substance filtered through his fingers, his skin - with it's creamy hue - just a shade darker in comparison, and a quiet smile flickered across his face, wondering about the small particles of light that made it so mesmerizing. He loved coming here, especially during dusk or dawn. Perhaps it was due to the unusual, romantic quality of the ambient light, but he forgetting about his sickness now. Well, then, a freezing wind had to brush past, chilling the poor man to the bone.

Having rubbed his bare arms (he had arrived upon this blasted place with little more then simple jeans and a black T-shirt) all ready, the young man pressed his hands together as he tried to gather some friction and blew into them, his cold breath curling around the fragile bones of his hands (Which really didn't look all that fragile). If Indigo had the choice of turning into his animal form he wouldn't. It scared him. To be a wolf changed your mind set. Altered your behaviour and thoughts. Suddenly you become a predator and every human in sight becomes the prey. Indigo had retained from setting his fangs into any human(or so everyone thought) since his birth. The lust for it was already bubbling inside his core. Upsetting his body. Was this possibly the cause of his illness?


Silvery pools flickered, briefly, to a more potent blue. The sapphire flecks enlarging and tainting with the silverish hue that laid peacefully in his eyes. Before switching back again, the icy flames of his strange eyes smoldering. A small frown touched his lips and Indigo leaned forward to rest his chin on her knees again, arms folded across. His lids fluttered closed, hands trembling and he waited, listening to the blissful quiet of the area. His lids drooped, the steady beat of his breath becoming slower and slower...


A small frown touched his lips and Indigo leaned forward to rest his chin on her knees again, arms folded across. His lids fluttered closed, hands trembling and he waited, listening to the blissful quiet of the area. His lids drooped, the steady beat of his breath becoming slower and slower...



Da thump, da thump da thump thump thump.

[Irial Keenan Black]

Irial hated visiting the ruins. They always reminded him of his broken-up life that he had to put up with. They reminded him of his court, his old family. The faerie bit his lip so he wouldn't cry like he always did when he thought about his family. His boys. God, it hurt so much o think about. He bit his lip harder, shark-like teeth slicing into the skin of his bottom lip like razors. Crimson blood dribbled down his chin, and he reveled in the pain. It was pain that kept him on the ground, kept him sane. He lived only for seduction and torture. That was how most of the Unseelie court went about doing things, but Iri embraced it with a passion that was hard to find. Since he was no longer king of anything, he had to do something to keep him busy for eternity. He gently let his lip go and licked away the blood with a quick flash of his tongue, black in his true form. He was a knot of shadows on the inside.

As the dead king walked, leaves and rubble crunching under his sneakers, he could smell lycan in the air. The scent was hard to miss, and he couldn't help be drawn toward it. He couldn't help missing an opportunity to screw with one to the more emotionally unstable creatures. He loved to see them lash put at him, thinking that they could actually cause him some sort of harm. On the rarest of occasions, he let them take a bite out of him, but those ones never survived after he was through with them. Laughing, he tossed his head back, looking up at the darkening sky. Night was the only time that made him feel safe, when all the fey were out, wrecking their havoc and making their mischief. All of the horror they could cause sung through his veins. Irial's love for disaster was overpowering and he picked up his pace, heading for the smell of wolf and human mingling in one single body.

"Found you, my little morsel," Irial purred to himself, peeking over a half-destroyed wall at the gorgeous (and sick) blond boy. He had to have him. Needed to take him away to Fairyland and do whatever he wished. The boy would really have no choice on what was to be done to him, since he obviously was in no position to fight. The faerie, in all his eagerness, jumped over the low wall ans sneaked up behind the blond, his cool breath ruffling the boy's hair softly. Was he asleep? Irial put his glamour on just in case, making himself look as human as he could, aside from his frosted green eyes, which couldn't be helped. Irial leaned over and pressed his lips to the boy's ear. "Wake up, my sweet. I can't have my fun if you aren't conscious, can I?" He laughed, one filled with evil intentions and took a step back , walking around so he could get a good look at the boy's face. Breathtaking. He smirked. This was going to be too much fun.

[scene]

Now normally, the world wouldn’t be such a distant concept to Indigo. But it seemed that something more divine had captured his attention and successfully wrapped it in a vice like grip. Twisting his distorted mind into another dimension of time, while his memory stole him away onto a lovely walk down tragedy lane. Nothing could have prepared the werewolf for the following events. The sudden thundering of his heart, which shattered the blissful silence. Slowly, like a sedated animal, his eyes dizzily peered through his veil of blond hair. Blazing like a wintry inferno which glazed violently across the land. Really, who would disturb a resting Were of all things? Even Indigo’s eyes couldn’t compete with the sudden frosty breath which kissed his exposed skin, making his hair dance and scream when touched. / Wake up, my sweet. I can't have my fun if you aren't conscious, can I?/ What a stunning sound. Lips gapped open in a silent gesture of awe. Haunting as the oceans song and as memorizing as the blood of the heavens. Something made up of the very fabrics of mysticism. Something not of this world. Being a werewolf, Indigo’s ears are more sensitive to these things then humans. Perhaps a fairy’s glamour could foul the eyes, an illusion weaved to deserve the senses. Though can you deserve a master of deception? Not even turning his head to look at the speaker, that calmed demeanour curled proactively around his frame, embracing him in a deadly hug. And then the face of a youthful male filled his vision, nearly taking the werewolf’s breath away. Stealing back the air, which had been taken so kindly from him he inhaled sharply. Now, whom was this pretty little man?


Blinking, his eyes focused on the man’s face, taking in his features.


{{Not done, writer's block! }}