siren's echo »

[varda»]

it's really good to hear your voice saying my name, it sounds so sweet.

zenith danced side to side, swaying to the movement of the three beat as pistons stride, flints barely striking the lithosphere. a some sort of ghostly dance as would one say. ice crystal peltage shimmered, a luminescence of spectacular site to see as one lord would pass on by. here a lowly dove danced upon the delicate pistons she had inherit, such elegant grace as the arabic boa curved into a content motion. yet contentment was not in the heart and soul of this dove, her need was great and oozed out of her ebon-stained visionaries, enlightening any strange creature to keep her company with just a glance of her sight. filament reached full height, streaming as like liquid strings attached to the platform of the lady. tresses followed the same pattern, yet gracefully shading the crying out spheres as gusts of winds picked up through the lithosphere. kissers of the dove departed, as the melodious musical perceived toward the open terrain, searching for even one soul to make their two towers twitch at the siren call. harken your doublets young and mighty lords, for the siren's echo wanders to you.

coming from the lips of an angel,
hearing those words it makes me weak.

[» r.andom]

Fallings for the s t a r s.




Carelessness is not in the nature of him, the powerful, dominant stallion that moves with the grace of snakes and remains hunter of the hunted through rain or shine. Evil is his nature, pure and deceitful and he will not and cares not to deny this although maybe he will to some mare where the contest is between lights and darks and she prefers light. He knows he is untouched, feral in his loathing that most stereotype evils (what stereotype evils? They have all gone and in their place there are the ones who are different, the ones who think it is wrong to be stereotype, although now they have formed a simple new type of such a thing, and have left the old stereotypes to be normal in their haste to be un-stereotypical) do for what they see as light, and he is pitiless and ruthless to them.

Passion is his, as is lust and other small feelings of curiosity and hate, desire and wonderment, and he watches this daily routine of life and limb, survival of the fittest with a dark eye and a sceptical mind, for he has no want to be what they do, he has no want to be labelled as different for he sees nought wrong with the typecast world. He has shaped the mould and they have come out of it and reformed themselves – and Arziki cares not for such strange talents and fetishes to be different. The white stallion is in no way elaborate in his manner – he is rough and unrushed in actions and words, and they will get used to it or simply hate him for it.

He watches her out of the shadows, out of the trees dehydrated and sorely water deprived, and he sees the black’s beauteous and exertions with some form of amusement although the white stallion remains aloof and uncaring as of yet as he observes her with cold, beetle-black eyes filled with no emotion save that lingering curiosity. The trees sway in time as he moves; a gliding step filled once more with malice and deceit as he breaks his cover and heads toward her, snorting quietly as he draws up near and nips her flanks once more. ”Hello poppet.” he pauses ”Your name…?” and he smirks, lips once more tracing the line of her back as he awaits a reply.

[varda»]

. See the [t w i n k l e] in her [e y e s].

rapid reply did not come easily for the dove in waiting.. not with an excuse for such silence to give as the dark twisted warrior strode his alabaster stained self into the sights of her. such pure oracles only could glance toward the on-coming darkness, a lethal enemy indeed she could state, not inquire in her wondering facilitates. delicate pillars curved in curiosity but in a few moments, the atmos surrounded flint of the essence greeted the terra firma with an angel kiss touch, nestling in the emerald blades, curling for warmth as the nip of changing seasons prolongs the coming season of crystal ice.

sensory of touch shivered through the dove, the prick of the sensation from the caesar strangled her with emotions of hate, envy, lust. just as his presence filled the atmos around her, the grip of death could be felt through with just one touch of one of his mighty obsidian. all was alien to varda, yet with a single tongue of fire, a spark could set a chain of forgotten fuel from the past, memories that could easily be resurfaced in her thoughts, screaming through the on coming days, but all seemed calm and cool through the full capacity of her skull. the petite figurine stood vertically upward against the encircling bulk of the mascu’; as like a majestic mountain, sturdy at the foundations and true, and as the howling winds, craving for the fall of the great mound, howling for the downfall of such strength.

visage reflected the sense of calmness as the calamity engulfed the surroundings; a flicka’s youth flickered through the twinkling souls of varda. let him set this game up, make his move first, and what he throws at her, she will return as if she is two steps in front of him. tresses rested, flowing down the center of the facade, revealing the hope and strength through her soul windows, hiding no such fear with this presence. kissers naturally departed, and as before, a tune that would envy even the birds replied, no falter that bent the solidness and harmony of her wordings.
For what care in the world would one such as yourself want the calling of one that follows a different path caesar? corrupt the soul in myself, then you will find no such pleasure from me, oh twisted one.

[» r.andom]

Don't be f o o l i s h it can get you in trouble.

Such wildness, such subtle hatred – he was a leech on them, clinging, sucking away the life of them, he lurked in shadows and in darkness, he lured them as they turned, fleeting, knife-like against the blackness of a world where evils were distinguished as weak – unworthy of attention of lights. He, he would prove them wrong, those foolish children who thought that they were always on the right side – that darkness could never take over them. Oh, poor, foolish children, doomed to live a life of disrespect, they were indeed – for they underestimated the power of he, the power of the dark side. They were wrong, they, children of the light, had never known such power as of those borne of spiders and tar-pits.

He, smirking, would stand, and watched her with eyes showing no emotion, a lack of such that was surely not meant to be. He, darkness clad in silver and finery, saw her gaze, saw the awe, the obsessive lust as he ran his muzzle down the crest of her neck, as she felt the supple firmness of his muzzle, the lust-bringing touch of the spine. And Arziki, emotionless once again, watched her as she became sadistic, gave into the lust he brought with him ”I care not about the path you follow, it means nothing to me.” and he meant this not about their imaginations but about himself, about her. He paused, before going on. ”And I must say twisted is the right word for one such as myself.”

[» r.andom]

[bumpy]

[varda»]

.for you cannot [h i d e] what lies .
.what under your .

give not into temptation, no matter how simple and careless the path before your feet may trod. for there are sorrows that will haunt your steps, decoys that will sting as you pass, coldness that will knock at your heart, knawing till it leaks into what cracks you may have left unattended to. give not into poisonous lyrics for they have after-effect, sickening you down, decompose the lyrics that pleased the heaven's gates. for there will be consequences for lyrics that speak without a halt, rambles of arrogance of who is pure of coldness, warnings of taking life, and yet, mabye the threat that pass your lips will carry you to your death bed, your one last final breath of the coldness, where no comfort of warmth will be near your bodice when needed the most. give not into others, for the twisted will consume you, crushing every goodness that matters within your heart, soul, and mind. changed and morphed you will become, crawling on your underside along with the twisted, showing no support of high statue.

focus, did the essence sought. words are words, actions are actions, stand and be counted, for this is what matters, a test of your ability, a smirk-ful time for the one that taunted her of such twisted actions, lyrics, and motives that they would possess. pedates locked firmly as foundation pillars of a magnefiant building did they hold the moonwash'd physique. no give in's, no crumbling at her base for what she possessed, is what she clung, and did not doubt. yet the sensations of the caress of her throw did shiver her outer thoughts. touch of death, wrapping around the breath of life, constricting til no life could possibly proceed. for you would have naught but emotions to feel such confusing messages, for what you would was life no more, deceased. lyrics of her did proceed, of yet another touch of his kisser did reach her sensations, shaken her words, yet not quite her heart.
Then I would mean nothing to you, for twisted is all that you know. Thoughts of mine do not dwell 'pon those, mogul.

OOC: muse...dead resurrect it I could not >.<

[» r.andom]

O o p p s. Your time is almost u p.

He was coiled and sculptured, trimmed and neat – a masterpiece of a stallion, a masterpiece of a creation that had been set upon this earth. Such danger was in his glance, such calm, haughty aloofness in his eyes – surely they were scared momentarily moments after simply meeting him, a snake in the grass, a tiger in the reeds, a heron standing still at the edge of a pond. Such is he. He is not delicate and not pristine, he is rough and ready, carved out of stone and moss and natural things such as this, and he survives living on instincts and instincts alone. Arziki is a stallion that fears little save fear itself, feels nought but pleasure and pain, and a glimpse of amusement, for the rest is stored within.

Lobes flicking to catch the tips of the wench's lyrics, a smirk lolls upon his maw. His own voicebox rumbling to life, "Well dearest.. You are smart. But my life, replys upon ones such as yourself. Now, I must ask a question one where there is simply a yes, or a no." he pauses, black pits staring back into the mirror that faced him now. "Would, you care to join my in my harem?"

[o o c: sorry no muse. ]

[varda»]

.yet [o n e] can alter the [f u t u r e].

did the audits of the angel hark-en unclearly, or yet a trick of the mind did this twisted mogul did send to her, giving her what her heart's most desire, a harem. yet was it the harem of her dreams, or was it a slave's place, a nightmare that was waiting to strangle the good images of her mind. was there hope for her and this twisted one, or was it doom that would befall 'pon her and strengthen him. another prisoner of uncertainty on what the future has in stored for them. prophecy to her, give her a choice of acceptance, will she find him, or will she lose herself. what she saw was her own downfall, giving into one such as him, wanting her to crawl to him as the twisted mogul did set her up with what she wanted, yet hiding the doves true purpose. a mask; a mask of his did this Twisted One showed, a sick game to trick the fool's mind, ones with all attentions on first options and leaving the rest of all failure, yet this could be seen as a failure to Varda's true self, what she breathed for, what she acted for, and what she lived for.

pools of ebon sweet did attach to the gaze of ebon bitterness, a bittersweet remark did display on the dove's visage as if tasting those two emotions together physically. her decision was made, the board was set, and she just cast her next move, whether her opponent's fall, or her owns, yet her true instincts will guide her if she was the one to fall. oxygenators did heave in the nip of atmos, keeping her breath's tempo, a sense of chill did she taste as nares flared with fire of her soul and warm heart as her kissers would depart. pools did fix 'pon those voids of his, true and steadfast, as lyrics did deliver her tone of mocking ring as a layed back smirk did sweep across, probably igniting the twisted one's coaled heart ablaze with anger and hatred.
I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request, Twisted One

OOC: excuse the quote from PotC, but I watched it -shrugs- had to do it...even though it doesn't give a complete answer to him lol ;D

[» r.andom]

T i c k-T o c k time's up.

There is something in him, quicksilver, elite, that made him Arziki –something cruel and twisted and sick that turned him unbiased in volatile and evil ways. He walked with a light step, even and smooth and icy in compassionless menace, and his breath is warm and dangerous. He watches her in an eerie way, quiet, yet malicious, and his intent remains unseen and mysterious. She provokes him in her way, although he is not sure on her intent in doing so – she could simply do this as a way to be masochistic, or simply to gain pleasure from annoying him, but whatever way, he’ll win, for he does not care for mares that treat him like the earth beneath their hooves.

'Pon hearing the vix's lyrics, he think a few moments trying to collect her words properly. His own voicebox rumbling to life, "So you accept." he pauses as his mind sweaps over the previous converstation. "Oh, and by the way I am Arziki." [/b

[o o c : the muse will return!]]

[varda»]

.its [f a r] from [o v e r].

defeat did not glare back into the talcum soft souls of the dove; this twisted creature won't give up this up will he, just let her be so her path could be set straight for her again. not darkness clouding her view, coils springing at her feet, aiming to take her fortress down into hell's depths. nay, she would too not call defeat, wave the white flag for surrender, for stubborn he shows, stubborn he shall receive from the dove. all is a brutal battlefield, challenger against defender, tis a sad fact yet true in the age of varda's world, so much chaos and calamity was this all, nothing would piece together the bits and pieces of peace between heaven and hell. here she will defend, defend her ways, as the strike would come from the demon, tempted to take her down, spoils of war she would become.

.it has just .

thoughts did rush through the capacited skull of the femmora fatale, no sense came out of the actions of the demon. mixed emotions did set side from malic and lust as he first had shown his presense, and now serenity and lowly wordings did come from his posioned lips and forked tongue, speech of one to follow in the heart of light. what all this could mean? a mask, a mask he had, and fairly useful for femmoras that would not seek out this flaw as one would change. for she had her path, and none could keep her feet from falling. her wish was on a solid star, not one who would fall from the heavens, something forgotten and lost. ebon souls did stare at the demon, not harden and bitter, a gaze of elegance she possessed, a natural visage did display as kissers did depart, tunes of old did sound with one lyrics, just one.
No

[» r.andom]

time the make the clock strike twelve

Oh, the lust, power, elegance – fatality. All of these lingered in his menacing slither of a stride, all of these occurred as he slipped like a knife through shadows and dreams, cutting them like a thorn of a rose. Deception (such a powerful, strong word – as much so as hate was) was part of him, darkness pure in his veins, supremacy something taken for granted in his aura. For yes, he was truly arrogance and lies, a blend of shredded dreams and broken hearts, and this made him fatal, made him true to whom and what he was. Satan could keep his cloak black, for Arziki was his white counterpart, the white devil.

And he knew of her knowledge of him, had seen it in the twinkle of her eye, the grace of her step. She was curious, an anomaly the opposite of Arziki himself and as his sleek white form slid up beside her own (black against white, their colors lacing and twining and being leeched upon by the grey of the world about them) he felt the disgust with pleasure, felt the ignoring of his own actions and took this as a compliment (as his own had appeared to be to her, although she may not have noticed and he took no action to follow her yet but simply watched, eagle-sharp eyes eager and cold.

Yet with one grunt and a fraction of a moment he is by her side, nipping her neck in a firm embrace of teeth and the soft, delicate skin where the mane and the neck meet, although he did not pressure the bite enough as to make it hurt or bleed, but simply let it lack in harshness of mares he was claiming, and as she spoke (such a sweet, dove-like voice she had, it entranced him so) he pulled almost delicately at a strand of mane, although no monster as he could be delicate in such volatile actions. And once again, in a murmur of a purr, he says ”And why is that?” and in a moment of indefinable thought, he states softly afterwards ”because if you truely do not, I have no time for foolishness…” and it is the second time, now, that he has favored a mare enough to become lamb-like in her sight, but this will not remain, and she should feel honored that he does not abuse her now, for he is unstable and dangerous enough.

A r z i k i, the wicked.
[letting the clock]
[hit two, four, and twelve]
[letting your breath get caught up]

[varda»]

.crumble [d o w n] with a strong [f a l l] at her feet.

so much deception, so many lies, so many cautions of this day did chase through the pair souls of the damsel. a sense that was an audible scream through her skull. what lies, traitor, murder did this one spew, or does he? was this all just a flick of imagination, a real sense of such strong emotions that oozed out of the soul of the demon? it seemed such a bounteous curse as he slithers on mother earth, such weight for one to carry, yet could this one even harbor such chaos and use it to the full extent on her self? that would just not make any sense, no sense using such craft on one such as her. what does she possess that this demon envies? no emotion of love does flow through his veins, if such a drop does, then she shall never see it, only the lamb-like mask that he has performed on her. just possession of the damsel? all would she be would be a slave in her own refuge, nothing more for others to ridicule and torture. what could he possibly want?

questions, answers, conclusions, even more doubts on what this demon wanted with her. it rose so many questions with answers, open ended conclusions that did not suffice to the need of the damsel. and what of this future, was this surely the end of the line for varda, would she not get such a chance to plunder in goodness with a lord that would love her, provide her needs, and show what he felt in return. she desired that, not some slavedriver to wisp her feet away to barren lands of cursed words and actions. no, she longed for what she waited, yet doubts did arise. would it be horrible as she thinks it is? who knows, only the future can fold that path before her flints. now, she did only see two paths to lead. stick to what she thought was right, what was her dream; the road of petite linings to trod,or to travel to the wide open road that seems pleasant enough up ahead, lighten by what seem to be lies, lust, and hope that this was the way to go. oh all was too mind-rattling for this simple damsel, a true damsel in distress.

oh give her some sort of sign to confirm this lamb-like goodness in your heart Twisted One, did the damsel harken to herself as her request did ooze out of her ebon windows to the soul. senses felt such tender tug of her liquid tresses did echo through her physique, such elegant form for one so twisted. yet this could be the sheep-skinned wolf that preys on her as it readies for such a weakness such as this touch did presume. mass of petite figurine did shift away in opposite of his mass, wanting to escape such pleasurable accompaniment that hardens the heart and weakens the soul. audreys slid downward as that known uneasiness did prick up such displeasure at that time. those two emotions did collide pleasure and such displeasure, not knowing where to turn, yet not anything like this happened before, something that had come to be here at this exact moment. now it was her time to speak her lyrics, yet now it was all so uncertain to conjure such perfect wordings, if there were such wordings that could be used to sooth these ramming emotions.

I am no mere trophy to display for your pleasure. I am no mere slave to conjure acts at your bidding. I am no mere lost soul wanting what is poison to her heart and taking it gratefully for the agony and sheer emotions that it prolongs for. You call it foolishness, I call it wisdom, for one to listen to your heart than to ones that would corrupt it is greater than any strength that you possess Twisted One.

halting with her lyrics did the damsel decide as her kissers did meet together in place, wishing she did bite her tongue in stealth to shield such words that sung crisply at the demon, hoping not such words did spark destruction of her downfall.

OOC: uhhh, I was on a role lol excuse the ramblings of spaceless words, wow, I'm done lol

[varda»]

bumpeh