Oh, it felt like heaven

Itachi Lykoi · 01-01-2012, 06:06 AM

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Itachi was not fond of change when it was enforced without his definite approval. Wild things did not bow to mortal wills, however, and therefore there would never be a spoken word of complaint from the man of spun gold and pale, clean ivory. This change in his monotone life was a rather pleasant one, he would insist, though no one had stepped up to ask such a specific question. A pack wolf, Itachi might be, but his habits seemed slightly similar to those who wandered the lands in solitude. It was likely that he would one day pack up his few possessions and walk away from everything and everyone, one day. But that day seemed far from today, and so his mind was far away from distant lands and the possibilities they could offer him. He considered himself a relatively free spirit, but as long as he found enough contentment in Salsola, he saw no reason to ruffle feathers and reach for more. As every creature, he was driven by greed, but he had enough insight to know the right amounts to digest at a time.

The day today was dwindling, falling into slumber that soon would be draped with the darkness of the night. Eyes of similar hues would watch the explosion of colours as the day met its end and died. The harmonic yet chaotic display of blood and toxic wasn’t beautiful to him as it was to those of more romantic views, but the flawed prince was able to appreciate the slightly varied display of colours. Pale, almost white palms rested against his knees as the dishonoured Protégé sat cross legged against one of the many crumbling stone walls making up the larger ruin in the heart of the Kingdom of thistles. Around him, plants of dirty variations of green coiled into odd and hard shapes, adorned with sharp thorns that would promise to draw blood if one decided to physically interact. It was a long time since the fallen Prince of Inferni had seen his own, royal blood drip to the ground. It clouded his opinion of himself, and he could risk considering himself more than mere normal. But his pride would not be his downfall.

No man with the right sense of pride and self-importance would embrace a lesser being in the manner this one had. But there would never be regret in Itachi’s cracked stone heart. He didn’t have to search for reasons, only accepted reality for what it was. Was use was there to fight if it was a losing battle? To fight to one’s own very end was one thing, but no man was master of his own existence. Itachi had chosen to watch the sunset, but he was not in the position to decide the exact spray of colours that were on display, nor did he have the liberty to dictate the weather. But perhaps he was in luck. Only a few, vacant puffs of clouds drifted in the horizon, and so the blushing sky seemed pure tonight. Perhaps he wondered if his crippled silver bird would return to her cage. She might be chained to the earth as he, but she wasn’t his possession. Still, he had discovered—with a certain amount of strange wonder—that he was not completely comfortable with a prolonged absence. Twice, he had found her live skeleton form on the ground, on her way to the world beyond, and it made it easy to anticipate grave outcomes of her day.

But never would he chase after her, unless that was something she wished. But the songbird’s voice had been clipped at some point since the warmth abandoned these lands and she couldn’t tell him to follow her through fire and ice. She had once asked if he loved her, but his kind did not know this love that she spoke of. His perception of his environment was simple, and that was how he preferred his reality to be. Simplicity before complexity, and his mind would remain unclouded like a clear blue sky, still with the frost of the season. Perhaps today was the day when the girl of silver, red and powder blue would disappear from his life forever.

China Rose Lykoi · 01-01-2012, 07:15 AM

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She had wandered again, taken to foot to explore the forest that surrounded Itachi's dwelling. The forest welcomed China like a lover, caressing her with its wind and its trees, cradling her deep within its mysterious and healing silence. The folds of cold emerald and frosted brown spoke of the fullness of Winter, held back only by the breath of the mountains already capped by snow. Although a creature of the warm Summer and sweet Spring, the girl's pelt held some of the hues of winter - Sweet ivory on her vulnerable throat, her muzzle, her youthful body. Hands reached out to stroke the harsh bark of trees, claws lazily and delicately rasping over the roughness there, leaving small tracks like the ones across her throat.

The day grew dark, and China found herself returning to the place that smelt like the fur over her shoulders, smelt of her golden Lucifer. She had the silent grace of a doe, the ivory feathers of a dove, the wide blue eyes of warm watery depths. She was beautiful, but not fully, not yet - Her pelt had not the shine to it, her bones still hard and fragile angles. She was not fixed, not yet. But a misplaced faith deep within her spoke seductive words; He could fix her. Maybe, maybe he would.

The dying sun bled familiar hues across the crisp, cold sky, and filled with a longing for the warmth of fire of body, she emerged from the wilderness and found him. He was seated against one of the skeletal, crumbling walls which laced the land here like old wounds. Uncertain if he had yet seen her, the girl approached hesitantly. Much as her heart swelled to see the man, interaction with him had been few, and stilted. They were not the careless pair they had been, and there was always a fear within her, now. Eyes of bleeding ruby had hurt her too deeply to be forgiven so readily, so easily, and the scars were not just physical - The marked the way she moved, the way she thought, the way she acted.

Itachi was no longer a boy. Her pretty, dark-lashed eyes observed his angles, his hard muscles, in silence. Adulthood suited him - The youth had blemished from handsomeness to true allure. He was beautiful, spectacular, brooding and yet donned with a pelt so rare and gilded that it seemed to truly be flawed gold, spun of the metal formed deep within the earth. Her pelt, gossamer silver and warm blush, complemented these hues in the way of polar things.

He had touched her very little since that first day, when he had lifted her broken body and taken it back to the warm safe place where he slept. She wondered if the lack of contact was because of disgust - Worried that it was. Worried that he knew, knew what turgid thoughts had claimed her, what sinister results there had been. She was filthy, wretched, vile. Maybe he knew it - Maybe that was why he didn't touch her.

China wasn't sure if she wanted him to. Once, she had ached for his touch - His alone. Monogamy had not suited her, but it had been pressed upon her by adoration, regardless. Now, she felt she didn't deserve it; And even if she had, the nightmares and the face that haunted her beneath the darkness of her eyelids chased away most physical tenderness. However, as her body began to take on some semblance of health once more, her mind instinctively sought to correct itself, to rid itself of the internal illness that plagued her. Perhaps that was why her mind sought to remind her, almost nightly, of that terrible event, refreshing the pain, the terror, the revulsion. Perhaps, through that, it sought some manner to dull the sharpness of the event, to turn it into a scar rather than a bleeding wound.

She approached him carefully, crouching to the ground beside him. Gaze lingered on the regal cheekbones, the golden bangs that danced over eyes that had captured the gruesome sunset. Once, her blushing fingers would have reached to stroke back those waylaid tresses; Now, they clenched and kneaded at the heavy deer fur she had pulled as a shawl about her bony shoulders. Her pointed stare dropped to the earth, and the girl sidled closer before lowering herself to sit on the cold ground, mimicking his posture as she too leant against the cobbled stone wall. It was cold at her back, and she shivered, but did not yet seek the warmth of his inviting pelt.

Itachi Lykoi · 01-01-2012, 08:33 AM

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Hesitantly, the wary form of something that should be prey approached his lonesomeness. As the loner felines wandering the vast and harsh areas of mountains, so desired he to hold on to his blessed solitude. He had not created for his species’ purpose; to roam with a full pack, giving his life to a greater purpose in the form of a group’s well-being. Salsola was his shield, though he would naturally not hesitate to draw forth the sword of dawn if the need was to rise. The moment had yet to arrive, and so perhaps his loyalty had yet to be put to the test, truly. But Itachi liked to think that he knew himself, to some degree at least, and knew that as long as he knew safety here, he would rise meet the greater cause, was it required. But his existence was a quiet one, presently, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to know change yet. He faced change of a much softer nature, and it was unknown if he would be able to cherish and appreciate it.

But as the sky-eyed dove with her silvery shine drew to his form like the hesitant moth to the flame, the thought of exterminating his light was non-existent. With her presence approached mystery and the unknown, and whenever she came to him, he couldn’t bear the thought of sending her off and away to a certain death. Her presence was not appreciated in these lands, but he had been unwilling to banish her once he had carried her living skeleton beyond the pack’s threshold. Rank was relative, and he could care more about his King’s feelings.

Sunset orbs turned from the rays of colours to peer at a much more spectacular phenomenon, and China’s eyes glanced back; adorned hues of blue peering through dark, feminine lashes that had melted the younger him without even trying. But their roles had changed much since their first meeting. She had seemed the strong one—had so easily guided him into this strange act that she had named sin. In his experience, good things could not be branded sin. But perhaps he lacked proper understanding of the word, as well as the act they so carelessly had committed when they had been mere children. They were not memories he wished gone from his mind. She had corrupted him in a way, indeed, but the taste had been, and forever would be, so sweet.

Perhaps, if he had taken the time to linger on past memories, he would have ached for the singing voice carrying incoherent, foolish sentences. Alas, he did not. This was not the China Lykoi the boy knew, but it was her soul he hungered for, not the words she spoke or even the body she inhabited. Her silence was beautiful as well, and it filled his without strain. Co-existence was not a complicated thing, between these two lovers, if they could even be called by such a romantic name anymore. It didn’t matter. There was no burning desire in the grown man to take what he knew he knew her body could give him, even through force. It wasn’t what he most desired from this petite being. It pleased him enough to see that such a pure creature could bear settling to close to his sinful frame without crumbling to ashes, only to be carried away on the wind.

Perhaps the unique shades of his eyes detected the slight tremble as she settled beside him, but as so often, his face did not reflect thought and reaction to what he absorbed from his environment. His face turned to her form though, along with his gaze. There was no need for foolish sunsets when there was astonished beauty to be seen elsewhere.

China Rose Lykoi · 01-01-2012, 09:15 AM

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If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky,
You can hide underneath me and come out at night~
Wordcount: + 766

Her approach was noticed, and the intensity of that sunset gaze scorched her, warmed her in a way no other physical or mortal thing could. There was a darkness within Itachi - Occasionally she could see it in the deep nothing of his pupils, the vacancy where emotion should have been. But never when he was looking at her; Always, then, there was nothing but the magnetic pull, the intangible silver strings she had woven into a cocoon about them, once upon a time. Did he remember that? When they meshed limbs and bodies and thoughts and became a butterfly?

It was difficult not to look at him, and once, when she'd known how to play a game, she might have remembered to use her gaze sparingly and secretively, seductively, alluringly. But now she could merely gaze with no remorse back at those burning optics, those achingly familiar and yet hauntingly similar hues. How could they have branded him a murderer? A villain? Did they not know that he was just different? China knew. She craved his difference, as though all others were grey when he was an explosion of color, unique to everything she had and would ever know. Could he possibly know how much the color of his eyes excited and terrified her, at the same time? No, he couldn't - And she couldn't explain.

Self-consciously, in a gesture that had become as much habit as the fluttering of her eyelashes or the way she fidgeted when she was thinking, China rose one hand to cover the pale crosses at her throat. They were only deep enough to remain faintly in the thin, short fur there; Not deep enough to have truly severed her vocal chords. But the effect was the same. Her silence remained, since the day she had spoken to Halo Lykoi, since the day she had tried to cure herself on the soft body of that girl, since the day she had left Inferni. Although comfortable in her silence with Itachi, she sometimes despaired it; Fretted that he would find it monotonous, that he would have no use for the pretty bird without her darling song. She wanted, desperately, to sing for him. But every time the thought came, the burst of inspiration to swell forth in voice, she found the passage from heart to tongue blocked; A barrier of memories, of distinct pain, like a swelling in her throat that would not go down, long after the redness around the scars there had.

The lump was there now, preventing sound, preventing speech. The thought of permanency terrified her, so she dismissed it. Fearing to gaze directly at his splendid hues, her own eyes dropped to his hands, the wicked claws on his fingers. His hands provoked memories, warm ones. Would they ever be lovers again? Starcrossed, maybe, but tragic. A small jealous part of her wondered who had been sating his adult desires when she had not. Although the dove had deviated from her own monogamy, it had been a forced, and then a desperate, act. The idea that he might have stayed faithful to her was hardly worthwhile clinging to. She suffered her jealousy in silence, perhaps as she should have all along.

She had always been a fickle being. The girl was flighty, crafted in the womb of the Earthmother with the hollow bones of birds and a heart of sweet silver. She had never been built to last, but to bless the world with her presence, like a brilliant star as it dashes across the empty black sky and out of sight. But Itachi was the blackness, and dash as she might, it seemed he would never allow her to disappear or be swallowed entirely - Always, at the last minute, appearing to pluck her from her own demise. The world sought to take the life of China Rose, but was always denied by the hand of her only keeper. Her cage had bars of gold.

There was a slight blush to her face, brought there by the consistency of his stare. In a rare bought of trust, the girl shuffled closer, till her arm bumped against his. Her gaze dared not lift again, but a small smile curved about her foxish maw. The contact felt strange, after being alone so long. She wondered if he would be repelled from her, although he hadn't yet - Wondered if he would find in that slight contact some further proof to justify their existence, together. She loved him; She just didn't know what love was. Neither of them did.

Itachi Lykoi · 01-01-2012, 10:23 AM

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sswm 662. ohi i r totally abandoning quality for quanity, soz! Smile

Perhaps the man should have known better than to scorch her so with the empty intensity of his gaze, but he didn’t know the silenced bird as well as he knew the memory of someone equally special bubbling over with a new-born’s eyes for things the older, indifferent souls choose to oversee once they had seen a wonder more than once. Itachi had no desire to rediscover small wonders of the world, but he had seen hers, and it pleased him to see even a whispered fragment of the beauty she had managed to see through her open eyes. Alas, that time had passed along with the season that had enabled him to craft the crown of flowers that he had never been able to give her. Now the flowers were dead, or dying at best, and there was nothing but the cold shell of a seemingly dying earth, wrapped in increasing frost and unkindness. He didn’t need the sun and its bright rays of warmth, but she did.

Eyes did not seek to wash over the invisible blush behind silver and blush, though he did wonder about this new nature of shyness she seemed to have put on in her long absence. He didn’t disapprove of her changed skin, but one could always wonder if it was more than mere frost that had forced itself into her brittle bones. But he would not dream to ask to soothe his own curiosity. Instead, the gilded prince settled for what he was given, and not more.

Ears adorned with the silky touch of finely spun gold stirred as she shuffled closer to his still form, and for a moment, he did nothing. Being who he was, he couldn’t guess what she wanted from him. As any predator, he was hesitant to make a move that could risk the wide-eyed dove to shy away and escape. The soul beside him was so fragile, so delicate that he found himself at a loss of action. He didn’t know wrong from right. But the warmth was real and soothing, though he hadn’t noticed that he was cold. Perhaps she held the unique ability to touch something beyond skin and bone. It was an unsettling, though beautiful thought.

Pupils were draw to the shyly curved smile that had appeared on her lips, though it didn’t inspire him to mimic it. While he was aware of his differences, he had never sought to fall into the common crowd by copying what he saw in others. Her smile was her own, not his. But his eyes appreciated what they saw, even if she couldn’t see the proof of this. This was his treasure; the precious curve of her lips and the hesitant, yet honest presence in her eyes of summer skies. It was her gifts to him, and with these, she would be able to pay every debt there was.

He didn’t know of the uncertainties within her; he knew only his own and would focus on that struggle. She would be right to fear him, and he couldn’t understand why she didn’t seem to. Her shyness was not the hostile fear he would have expected from someone like her. But pale fingers lifted, after what seemed an eternity, aiming to brush lightly against a bony cheek of split silver and softened maroon, if only she allowed such a bold move. She didn’t have to say anything, and neither did he, but he wished her to know safety in his presence. He didn’t think he could offer her much more than food and shelter, but he wanted to give more than that. But that all came down to greed, he supposed. Desperation had brought her arms to reach for him, more than once, but it wasn’t a given that she would wish for him to do the same.

China Rose Lykoi · 01-01-2012, 09:24 PM

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If you'll be my boat, I'll be your sea,
A depth of pure blue just to probe curiousity~
Wordcount: + 537

He was a solid thing at her side - Real in the way that her nightmares, and the figures who haunted them, were not. It melted something within her, unfroze some passage that had connected him to reality, that had made his warm flesh tangible, his golden pelt intrinsically welcoming. The touch, brief and small though it was, brought her a world of reassurance; It was the gentle touch that came when she awoke in terror, writhing in his chamber in the horrible paradox of her wounded mind. The touch that soothed her, warmed her icy bones; The touch that made her real again.

His fingers rose to caress one cheek, and unthinkingly, she flinched. But only for a moment - fearing that he would be spurned by the movement, her own nimble fingers darted up to hold the man's wrist, just delicately, just enough to show that she didn't want him to remove this fragile connection. Her digits were gentle on the golden fur of his arm; A light, delicate weight, uncertain in touching him so willingly. It would take time; She loathed that it would take time. It had taken far too much time already. All the silver songbird wanted was to take him into her arms, and to hold him there - To absorb him into her body once more. It was all she craved. But the darkness that polluted her did so insidiously, starving her of the ability to be so fresh, so willingly. Thus, he would have to be patient with the songbird, lest she spook like a doe and melt back into the forest forever.

Her throat was constricting, lips moving, brows drawing low in concentration. All sensed tried to bid sound forth, to conjure voice, and the grip on his wrist tightened till her knuckles were white beneath their downy blushing hue. Thick lashes fluttered low over those summer-sky eyes as despair crept in and festered beneath her skin. Please, let me speak; She chanted the words she wished to say to him, over and over in her head, as her body trembled with the effort of such an attempt, and the fear and the despair shook her quietly, deep inside. Like a broken wind-up toy, the girl seemed destined to be cast aside. She could not comprehend that he might keep her, silence and all; Could not comprehend that the golden monster might seek to cage her permanently, and make her irrefutably his own. Who would want a broken toy?

She pressed her cheek into his palm, lips moving to mimic the words she desired, over and over. Then she moved her head, pressing her mouth into the cusp of his palm, so that he might feel the words she begged of him. "Do you love me?" Again and again, her mouth made the shape, and all the while she leaned closer in to him. "Do you love me? Do you love me?" It was a question she had asked once, a long time ago, to a different boy much younger than this man. But he had the same ageless eyes of that other boy, so long ago, and she craved that his answer might still be the same.

Itachi Lykoi · 01-01-2012, 10:20 PM

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His move belonged to the fool, for as his reaching, well-meaning fingers connected with the silkiness of a hollowed cheek, electricity seemed to leap between them, causing her to flinch away from his attempt to show her affection. It had been a poor move and he immediately put all blame upon his shoulders. Fingers wished to withdraw immediately as he sought to reel back time, but his bird’s red gloved hand leaped to imprison his golden laced wrist with urgent fingers. The sudden movement, even if it was from her friendly form, caused short-lived currents to leap through his pelt. He, as she, overacted, but he too was quick to gather his wits once he realized that reflex had gotten the better of him. His frozen fingers stayed, melting against the loveliness of her blush streaked cheek. If his eyes had been alarmed for a brief moment, there was no trace of it now. The calm had returned, and he hoped she had it in her to forgive him. Her gesture spoke words she could not, but he was left uncertain.

Had he not been so cold-blooded, her attempt to speak would have crushed him. Scarlet orbs watched concentration gather in her facial expression. She willed it so, but the words simply wouldn’t come out. His gaze willed away as he saw her become more and more upset, but he forced it to remain still. It was wrong of her to force something that would not come. She tried—pressed her lips against his palm, whispering the words against his palm. But no whisper could carry its message without a voice. Itachi’s pale face did not reveal comprehension, though she tried so hard to make him understand. He didn’t need her message. Patience was something he could understand, and it was crucial that she did too. Whatever had happened to her had left her an open wound too grave for her to comprehend, and she had to allow time to help close that gaping hole of unspoken pain. The answer she had received so long ago had been a one word lie spoken by a young, fool of a boy, eager to satisfy his own carnal needs.

Her attempts were destined to fail. Slowly, though with some urgency, the blonde’s hand pulled away from her chanting lips. He had to disappoint her. ”Stop,” he demanded, though the command was carried by a voice interlaced with kindness. She was only hurting herself, and he couldn’t allow that. His idle hand now rose, and in unison, both hands leaped to imprison a rose coloured hand. ”You don't need to try for me,” He didn’t need her voice to hear her song, but China didn’t realize this. Would she still feel the need to try so hard if she only knew the answer to her voiceless question?

China Rose Lykoi · 01-20-2012, 11:55 PM

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Ebbing, and flowing, and pushed by a breeze,
I live to make you free~
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Her eyelids tightened, shutting out the light, shutting out the ruby and violet eyes that peered at her. Though his face was expressionless - A blank canvas, disturbingly empty - His eyes spoke of some sort of confusion. He couldn't understand what she was saying; What she so desperately wanted to ask him, and thus her futile attempts became urgent, unstable.

His hand pulled away, firmly but not roughly, and she was left whispering silent pleas to the nothingness of empty air. Eyes fluttered open in pained surprise; For a moment he had left her alone, in the darkness behind her eyelids where the monsters still lived. A one-word command was caught by large, satellite ears, and the girl stilled immediately; Something about the dominance yet gentleness to his tone reached past the quivering despair and pulled up an old obedience. Her rounded eyes watched him widely, hanging on that word. Stop. Two golden hands clasped her own, and engorged pupils lingered on the union, momentarily enthralled with how warm his palms were, with how well the soft blush of her own matched the pure gold of his.

The voice came again; Soft, as his voice had always been, yet undeniably strong nonetheless. Like a rift in deep water; His voice had the power to penetrate the silly panic of her mind, the flighty impulse within her to flee from this failure. Thick lashes fluttered in response, and all of a sudden she sighed, deflated. A calmness seemed to settle over the girl's doll-like features; her chipped and cracked porcelain receding into relaxation from the pain that had stolen over it previously.

It was not an answer, but a message. He would wait - He would teach her the value of patience. She would not lose him yet.

A familiar urge scooted her form toward him, and gingerly, the girl attempted to curl against his chest. The contact she craved was frightening, and yet subliminally, she needed it; Needed it to be able to move on. Once, she had enjoyed listening to his heartbeat without the cold fear curling in her stomach - Perhaps, one day, she would be able to do so again.

Itachi Lykoi · 01-27-2012, 02:01 AM

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How odd it was that he could adore the creature so full of qualities that he ought to find unsettling and distasteful. She was most definitely unnerving and intriguing, though she brought a simultaneous flow of something soft and beautiful, even to someone like him. Calm sunsets searched the blue, and as feathery lashes of soft ebony fluttered with wordless response, lids sank to hood his relaxed hues, for he had not lost her.

Arms instinctively expanded as she curled towards his warmth, slowly wrapping around her still-too-fragile form where he knew they belonged. The strange feeling of protectiveness was as foreign and unsettling as ever, but it gave a feeling of contentment that he scarcely ever had the pleasure of experiencing in the past. Although she was of a breed of poor survival, somehow she remained beautiful to him. Every moment in her presence, he had locked within his heart, forever cherishing the strange things she had shown him.

It mattered little anymore that she wasn’t suited for Canada’s winters, for he had warmth enough for both. Only for her, never anyone else. His blonde, black tipped snout brushed against the top of her dark grey locks, slow and careful, for he didn’t know her newfound limits. Once she had given herself to him so easily, but the frail bird had crept back into her shell, and flowered no more.

But he knew her, and although he didn’t understand the sensations she brought to life within his cold core, he knew he would never consciously choose to live without this anymore.

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