[p]hantasms.

[Samael Lykoi]

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private for lith. :]

The wind ripped through the city, howling like a lost soul as it swept between the buildings. Steel and concrete creaked and moaned as structures swayed, weakened by the passage of time and lack of regular maintenance. The snow had stopped, but what lay across the blacktop and rooftops was blown into the air, swirling and falling again and again in an endless rhythm.

Perched on the ornate ledge of some pseudo-Gothic building, Samael peered out across the city-scape, leaning back and allowing his gold and black streaked hair to whip repeatedly into his face. Voices intertwined with the ghostly sound of the wind, whispering things as he quietly listened, attention only half on them, and half on what actually existed around him.

He turned, reaching out and plucking a feather from the dark shape that lay prone and still on the ledge beside him. Dusted in snow, the crow hardly resembled the glorious creature it once was, but rather a dark mass discarded and forgotten here above the city. Turning the feather around and around between his fingers, he released it into the air, allowing it to slowly spiral down into nothingness, before being swept up into the wind.

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[Lith Ia]

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sorry for the wait, dear! short. blah. Without a sound. Lith snatched the turbulent feather from the air, observing it for a moment before releasing it again into the chaotic wind. The gray woman eased shut the door leading to the stairs, taking care not to produce a ruckus. She gazed at the boy for a few moments, her cold eyes narrowed against the icy gust. He was of Inferni, that was obvious by his scent. Stepping forward to the ledge, the stargazer peered down to the concrete, then at the boy. "Do you feel like a gargoyle?" asked the woman, half-mocking. She took a seat near him. From their high throne, they could see nearly the whole expanse of the city. It was quite a view indeed.

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[Samael Lykoi]

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Crimson gaze shifted toward the female, observing her as she moved from the door to the ledge. Her appearance was unique, abnormal for a coyote to have such a darkly hued coat. Yet while it suggested mixed blood to the boy, he also found such a coloration was far more lovely on the she-yote than any wolf he'd yet seen. "Why not?" he replied casually, almost apathetically as he turned away to peer again at the city-scape. Unlike his beautiful brother, Samael's true, monstrous nature was far more prevalent in his appearance -- like a gargoyle, who's features were contorted and hideous.

While he'd been born an elegant, angelic creature with delicate bones and a height uncommon in their species, the scars and wounds that twisted so darkly across his flesh marred that lovely appearance. And unlike the Prince of Lies, who's expression told nothing of what he was honestly thinking, there was only madness and chaos etched on the face beneath that long mass of golden hair, when there was anything expressed at all. His mind was fragmented, slowly cracking further with the passing of each day as insanity consumed him.

"Do you feel like a raven with that hair color?" he asked lightly, crimson gaze turning back to regard the female as she seated herself beside him.

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[Lith Ia]

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so sorry this took so long. :/ Without a sound. Lith, too, had been born a beautiful creature. While her features demanded coyote heritage, her color and uncommon build suggested a wolfish catalyst in her roots. This darkness of appearance ran rampant through her family, and they all wore it well. However, her visage now bore the telltale signs of war and tribulation. Her silvery left ear was missing a bit of tissue, a thin cut traveled over her right eye, and two white, parallel lines gleamed through the dark fur on her left hip. These scars, being the most dramatic, diminished her exceptional appearance somewhat, though her grace remained. Her hair, naturally darker than the rest of her, was the result of her secret vanity; Lith borrowed the 'faux-hawk' style from their human predecessors, and made an effort to keep it in the right condition. With her mouth curved in a blithe smile, the woman turned her gaze back to the gargoyle. "Why not?" she echoed, tossing her head and giving her fringe a bounce. Her eyes, smears of blue and green and yellow, wandered over the boy's frame, noting the scars, grotesque and numerous. To her, they spoke of belligerance, and she supposed he was a warrior. However, she pictured literal opponents with bodies of their own. She did not imagine demons and spectres lurking within his mind. But, perhaps an enemy is an enemy no matter what form it comes in.

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