you are all rotten fruit

POSTED: Wed Mar 07, 2018 12:49 am

pump your veins with gushing gold

The soil was stiff, and clumped beneath his feet in the arena, still cold in those icy mornings that Winter had yet to relinquish to spring - frigid dew turned to thin sheets of frost and ice over the Kingdom and coated it in a washed out veil of frigid breath that thawed by late morning. Wind slithered through branches and whispered with it the telltale scent of earthy marsh - change was coming, and change was soon. Julius hadn't the ear, nor the heart to listen to secrets or divination, his night had dragged for far too long under Helena's watchful eye as she pulled forth the truth from him, extracted like a tooth, and stirred the ghosts in his heartbeats. She loved him, of this he knew; but something else tugged and gnawed ruthless at the knobs of his spine, the crest of his shoulders itched like there was more to it - it all was an act, wasn't it?

A whole family that didn't love him, a woman who wanted him culled, a father who willingly told him the very same, what was it that Helena had seen in him?

Did Salvia see that, too?

Hands scooped sand into that coarse linen sack, and he wrapped a cord tight at it's middle in a makeshift head. Sooty charcoal marked those hollow little eyes, and he tied off the bottom, lugging the heavy dummy out of that arena and into the woods where he could assume privacy. Mounting the sandbag onto a sturdy, fallen branch, Julius readied a seperate stick in hand, glowering his frustration at this faceless entity, and brought down a mighty swing against its side with a resounding thwack.

Cursed bloodlines - thwack - rejected - thwack - a bad son.

The rhythmic beating was broken in the way of heavy breath and the snapping, splintering sounds of wood and the soft sound of tearing seams and growls. Vapor from his breath clouded the boy's vision as another branch replaced the one broken, and he continued the bludgeoning with untrained swings and eyes seeing red at the soft hiss of sand piling on the ground from ripped fabric.

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POSTED: Mon Mar 12, 2018 4:49 pm

It became easier to tell himself that things were fine. He could accept being barred from riding horses because the alternative was alright, even if it was more complicated. He could accept that the way he felt towards the Others was part of what made his work unfulfilling. By letting himself overcome all the problems he saw standing in his way, O'Riley made himself better capable of preparing.

The urge to fall back on violence never left him. Ever since he was old enough to be aware of that option it had become one of the simplest to understand.

So when he felt like fighting but didn't think he would find anything to quickly sate his desires, O'Riley took his sword and went looking for a reason to use it. People came around the sandy arena often. It held pleasant memories for the wolfdog, who subconsciously thought of this each time he looked at the fading cut on his arm.

He thought to summon Igor as a last resort, but his cousin was more of a brawler and downright awful with any weapon. Sure, he could swing a club, but any idiot could swing a club. Igor liked to bite. This made tussling with him a gross experience that O'Riley avoided. Besides, he never got to use his sword when he was out spying – it was too bulky and too valuable of an item to take.

There was someone else at the training grounds. A boy with long dark hair was swinging a stick at a crude punching bag. When the branch snapped, O'Riley used this pause to finish his approach.

Hey buddy, he called, eyeing the sand as it finished spilling out. His eyes turned back to the boy's face and recalled this, though could not place a proper name. What are you doing?

if the thunder don't get you
then the lightning will
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POSTED: Mon Mar 12, 2018 5:12 pm

pump your veins with gushing gold

Breathing tore ragged through his youthful, pointy teeth, paired with the rise and shrink of that narrow chest, and his arms felt like lead. Pale fingers combed sharply through his long hair and tugged it back behind his ears and out of his features, his makeshift branch dug into the sand. His large gold ears swiveled somewhat on his head - long and loathe to realize that he was not alone as he had so expected in such crisp hours.

He had no refined sort of training, but the crass and violent feel of wood striking something solid felt inherently good and was a dreadfully excellent way to run out his frustration. This anger, unbridled and raw, was one thing he had inheritted from his father.

Blue eyes studied the figure who had caught him with broken branches and blistered palms, and he blinked slow; Julius could place no name, but knew inherently than this young man was important, as seen in company with figures of intrigue. Admittedly, he felt foolish, and dropped the branch off to the side, immediately flustered under ghostly pale eyes set in dark and masculine features that made his skin feel warm beneath the earthy tones of his coat, and he cleared his throat, turning those eyes away towards the tatters of what was his makeshift dummy.

He could not simply tell this man about whatever conflict he so felt - how to tell Helena that he was moving out, or even how to start looking for some place of his own, and so he cleared his throat and tried to compose himself with fingers taming his long hair.

"I... Don't have any actual training, but... It couldn't hurt to try hitting something, I figured, so I came here." It had seemed likely enough, and was in fact partial truth that slipped off his tongue. Eyes looked to study that sword, catching the shape at that hip. "Sorry if this is, ah, presumptuous, but would you perhaps give me some pointers?"

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POSTED: Tue Mar 27, 2018 4:46 pm

The sand fell until it emptied the bag, deflated as the fury he had seen in the boy. O'Riley could see his youth in the skinny build, but there was more to it than that. He was narrow and looked like a coyote. Whoever had sired him and brought the worst out of his mother's breeding.

This was the thought which O'Riley held onto and let settle into the recesses of his thoughts. Native-born children of all shapes and origin before this deserved as many rights as those Outsiders they allowed to come in and bolster their numbers. Salsola flourished because of this, and so even his hostility towards coyotes could be tempered.

His smile and slow, wagging tail suggested as much, in any case.

Sure, the Henchman answered. He made his way into the arena, though once inside made no move to draw his sword. What are you trying to do?

if the thunder don't get you
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POSTED: Fri Apr 20, 2018 11:14 pm

pump your veins with gushing gold

Ghostly purple eyes bored into the boy's sharp features, and those tall, gold ears twitched subtly under the scrutiny - was there something that this dark hybrid saw that his own eyes had not yet caught? Perhaps he was reading overly much into such - the Henchman yet smiled, yet wagged that thick tail, and the boy's mind was put at ease. Without missing a beat, Julius fell in step behind his guiding step, and pulled his hair back over his shoulders in a dark, sweeping sheet.

Blue sights fell onto the blade, and it almost made the boy feel antsy, giddy -

"Anything. Everything. I want to know how to use one of those," he replied, tongue clipped and certain. Julius hesitated a little at the sound of his pointedness, and licked over his lips as he slowly settled back onto the balls of his feet before folding his hands behind his back in a show of patience and, unwittingly, his expectation - "Please."

Baby steps, much as he was loathe to take them, were what lead to mastery, the Valentine considered, and he cleared his throat, glimpsing about for anything he could use as a makeshift sword in the meantime for his posture. "Could you show me how to draw it proper, first? Or the most effective hold -- That's where you start, after all, yes?"

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POSTED: Thu May 10, 2018 10:27 am

How hungry was he, this skinny boy, for something more practical than magic? O'Riley overlooked his youthful eagerness and smiled.

Depending on what you end up using, you might hold it differently – if you get a heavier sword, you might need two hands. But it's easy, really. Your arm will tell you what feels the best. He was not as skilled a teacher as his elders, but the Apprentice could recall his own lessons and repeat them. After all, his grandfather had made him repeat and repeat and repeat all those motions until now they were second-nature to his body.

Let's see what we have around here, O'Riley went on, and slid his blade back into its sheath. He made quick work of hopping the fence to prowl the nearby woods for a suitable branch, and finding one to his liking, returned with it momentarily. Here, he called, and tossed this to the boy.

What's your name anyway?

if the thunder don't get you
then the lightning will
Salsola
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Mel
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