GOD KILLS INDISCRIMINATELY AND SO SHALL WE

He could always see this rival peak from the ledges of his home. Typically he was content that the Bluffs was higher and stronger. Today, however, he noticed that the peaks were particularly snow covered and the Bluffs were surrounded by a warm west wind that made them extra red and strong. So he decided to go on a jaunt to gloat about it.

The cold wind pressed his mane flat to his neck. He squint, shielding one eye better than the other due to his crossed forehead scars, and snapped at the air. This was not going as planned. The weather should yield before him just as it failed to nip at the Bluffs. He pressed his way toward the mountain side, eventually lingering along the base of a ridge steep enough to block the worst of the storm. His pawfalls, or fate, or Maua, but probably his own talent, led him down a strange looking path. It smelled different in here. Stale, but not like death. Like the dust of a distant monsoon swept up from a graveyard, like the thoughts of the deceased but not their tasty bodies. It felt like souls. Could he eat a soul? No. One ear twitched and he lifted his leg to pee against the wall. His cracked leathers crinkled a smirk. Snow was melting at the ends of his mane. Take that, souls. If he couldn't eat you, begone.

@Genya

even though she's back, she still feels like she must search and venture as far and as wide as possible. the months before had been turbulent, yet also full of nothing but long nights of solitude. the next place she would go to would be her old home in the oasis, where any remnants of a family ought to be left. genya is getting lonely; she's not a creature made to be on her own, despite her youth spending most days and nights by herself. she's best with family, with friends, and with a group. she understands the severity of her absence and she'll not fault any of her children or seneca for being mad. if they want to cut off relations for good with her then they can. genya will simply move on and hope the best for them.

straying from the comfortable shade, genya finds herself amongst a densely packed pathway cutting through the trees. the wind howls and pulls her from where she should be going, but genya's content to let it sweep her away. it's not until she sees a familiar lion that she pushes against the wind, before forcing herself to get closer to the former lagoon high sovereign. @Vermier she says, his name sounding half foreign and half endearing on her tongue.

she has wings under her armor

code by corvus

GOD KILLS INDISCRIMINATELY AND SO SHALL WE

The beautiful @Genya was tragically far from his mind. His life had ceased to be one of beauty, overtaken by dull duty under Amara's scrutinizing eye. There were still fun things to fuck with sometimes. Places to explore and spread his scent and message. He frowned and scratched down a rock wall. He hoped it would be shielded enough from the elements to endure. His thought were vacant and when they scattered he found he could not trace the trails where they had gone. When he looked to the dark striped female he was truly head empty no thoughts. The brute was much more scarred now. A half paralyzed face and a missing tail. His eyes were vacant embers, the soul of a clear sky.

She spoke his name. It was with fondness he neither expected or remembered. He squint and looked along her frame. Where was the allure of yesterday? And yet she was still the most beautiful woman there was. "Genya," he spoke loftier with one arched brow. Arrogance as ever flooded in where uncertainty threatened. "You old."

@Vermier changed, but whether or not for the better or for the worse was something genya wouldn't know. if she knew him well, then she suspected vermier wouldn't have cared - in particular if that change was physical. yet still, the moment genya properly set her eyes on him, she noticed the wear and tear. age had not been kind to either of them, but genya was pressed to admit it tore her down. she was still her, the dark-consumed woman who relentlessly tried to look for her first children. in doing so she had abandoned her second litter. she wasn't a good woman - never had she thought herself to be that. and you as well she cooed, slipping forward until she was a short distance away from the male. you smell horrible too.

image by amphispiza, code by koi

GOD KILLS INDISCRIMINATELY AND SO SHALL WE

His lips rippled. He cared little that she had returned the insult. He had never expected her to croon at his feet. He would not desire her if so. She was untouchable and unattainable. That had drawn him to her and she remained, if tarnished, still in possession of those qualities. She would be convenient to love; she was a convenient reason to love nobody else.

The scars on his lips were older than the others. They were creases that were only slightly discolored, reminisce of old thin leather. They shuddered as a grunt rolled through them. "Eez pity. Our romance ugly. What lion desire see ze old making love?" He subdued a snort as he noticed her entreating closer. Maybe she wanted to slit his throat. She moved like a viper - like an old viper, he noted - like a viper made of snakeskin heels. "Et now. You deserve one poem only."

@Genya

as always, the parisian spoke in words that were hard to pinpoint what he meant. it made her want to tell him to speak clearly, to be more blunt and more cruel. truly vermier dieudonne made her want to be the worst version of herself sometimes. romance? she paused, before a sudden chuckle slipped out of her mouth love? my dear vermier, i'm afraid your memory's souring. the casualness in her voice could not hide the coldness. she had known of vermier's infatuation for her during her time in scilla. it did not do anything to her but made her amused for a short period of time. but there was something about vermier which made genya stop from actively pursuing him back. perhaps it was his strange family, or it was simply him - but the infatuation was also part of the reason why genya became inactive in the lagoon. if she was a kinder woman, she would've felt sorry for this man, who still smelled like he had yet to bed a woman or man. but regret and guilt came hard for genya, who had only softened her heart for a few individuals. vermier was never one of them. genya paused then, stopping just short of a feet from where the dieudonne stood. her ears remained attentive and taut, whilst her silvery gaze lingered on the scars that littered @Vermier's face. she didn't have a response for him, instead she slid down onto her haunches and waited.

image by amphispiza, code by koi

GOD KILLS INDISCRIMINATELY AND SO SHALL WE

Her English accent horrifically mangled the word romance. It had such potential for French manipulation. The R should roll. The final aaaah should be just that. He skewered a look of gargoyle horror. A frown full and a brow wrinkled halfway, where the scars allowed. Her pithy laugh of dismissal could not offend him more than this. He only craned his skull as she came closer so that his gaze might follow her. Although there was some scorn in it, it wasn't the cheerful enthusiastic sheen he usually held. How could he be happy about either of them growing old? She was beautiful, and should not grow old. He was also beautiful and should have fallen in his youth, for old men to write war poems about and flowers to be planted in Flanders.

She said something about memory and then slipped beyond his vocabulary. He spoke on what he surmised she had meant. Or what he wanted to talk about anyway. That was usually what he did. He did what he wanted and seldom felt impeded. What he wanted was only what the Dieudonné deserved. "Non, eez.... mine liver sore." His heart was sore - but he had not learned the word for heart, confusing it with the convulsive bile organ. He placed a paw over his chest anyway and, seeing as she was attentive to him, decided she must want to hear his poem.

"@Genya et Vermier
in another life, in love
died young, buried deep"

genya wanted to laugh at his romantics, the poetry he was so known for back in the lagoon, but where no one but himself ever heard. she needed no poems waxed in her name to pull her into their embrace. and when there ought to be guilt, there was instead some kind of unveiling. in this moment, genya felt more relieved than she ever have been. vermier had given her an answer she wanted to hear. he was no longer intertwined with him like she was before. she had escaped the twisted love that vermier gave to her. genya was truly free from the remnants of the lagoon. there won't be another life for us, dear vermier genya said, her voice distant and nonchalant. she then looked towards vermier, keeping her unwavering gaze on his scarred face. genya no longer had a reason to stay longer than needed to. stumbling upon vermier was simply a twist of chance. one final encounter before they walk their own separate path. goodbye vermier dieudonne; i pray that you find someone who love you back. genya chose not to listen to his words as she rose from her perch. [exit genya]

image by amphispiza, code by koi

GOD KILLS INDISCRIMINATELY AND SO SHALL WE

Some illusions had fallen, but where else was he to live? Genya or someone like her was required. A partner in crime and deceit, to lie laugh mistrust. He did not like honesty. There was something barren about it. He crooked one ear. He had spoken his truth, gussied up, into the dark and remote air, and the grotto hollows would keep it. But there would be no other life. Autre vie. He said that word a lot lately. Others. Alternatives. To hear it echoed from someone else was... surreal.

By habit he kept his composure, cocky and slightly exaggerated. A clown in comparison to her, like a jester to the king's widow. She met his gaze. One something he would want. Now he was only uninterested... until it dragged on long enough to become nearly unnerving. Her eyes would be much better dead than on the zombie verge of life. "Pas autre vie," nostrils flared to frame a silent snort. The rest of his expression was dismissive enough. "Eef is après vie? Dieudonné take." Dethrone god but not necessarily abolish the position. He could gladly rant about the Dieudonne without thinking but he was arrested. The full use of his name. It pained him how familiar the family name was, and how insignificant his personal name was to pale. The rest of her invocation sounded, from tone, like an offhanded curse. Grammar too subtle for him to grasp. Therefore, like most ugly English, dismissed before he could memorize it to parse later. Which he suddenly wished he could do, as she was departing. His gaze lingered on the line of her back and the stripes that crossed her body from the fur and the departure from the shadow. He would never have lusted over her backside; that was not Vermier.

Killing her would have been fine and he contemplated his decision not to do so. It was better to let be. Not all the past need to be buried so long as it was quiet when it walked about. (This was an opinion from this life. In his next, he might want to hit himself with a shovel.)

-exit