Barrow Fields we look sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard. we are, but it’s almost effortless

@Firefly
vaugey vague

Some days after the catastrophe at the Barrows, Vonn’d returned to the scene of bloodshed to see how truly terrible things had been, since he’d done all but bore down on that Rusalkan — not in the way he’d wanted too, either.

After a mild reflection, when it came to those in darker shades, well... the Crow assumes it was just another of the many traits he shared with his sister-dear. His twin, who’d been up to the elbows in the blood of the father of her children; he’d not yet heard of the cheka’s current status, much less see him. Neither opkepa or skayona had even let anyone near Verx, unless you were to help. And even then...

It'd been quite some time since he’d had another; the last male who’d been beneath him had been quite commendable. Afterwards, it’d gone murky — they made love, endless, hedonistic love — and his vagrant had parted with him. And so, for the next few months, Vonn had wandered deprived, sexless, and ultimately alone.

Nosing through the great wealds of blood desecrating this now not-so-neutral terrain, he thought of the dark Rusalkan. The ripple of him, and the timbre beneath all the snarling — the one that the Crow liked to pluck at. He had arrived to the cliffs for his pregnant sister alone; and Verx, too, he fondly supposed.

All of this turmoil over Rusalka, over some Heda... he could do without, truthfully, and he let the air gush from him in a breathy croon into the evening air, arcing the tension from the past several days. How had his sister ever fallen for such fool?—One that she’d dressed time and time again, with a heartbeat of closed eyes being her slumber?

Then again, it had only been self-defense... Hm.

Also vaguey vague, hurrah!

Going back to the scene of the crime wasn't exactly what he'd meant to do, yet his path was clear. He had wished to cleanse the earth of any sign of struggle but the more he scratched away the further he'd been forced to move, until he was back at the Barrows. The earth was stained with rust red. Upon noticing the grim blooms of color across the soil and sand Firefly had, to some degree, given up. Maybe some of that red was from a natural collection of clay in the dirt - or maybe, as Caiaphas had said, the dragedan was fucked. The trail to Rusalka intersected with this patch of dull crimson-umber, then sloughed towards Drageda. For all that Caiaphas had lost it seemed as if her target had lost far more.

What a fuckin' idiot, he grumbled to himself as he thought of the crone. He understood why Rosalyn was reluctant to help her, feeling that rage second-hand when presented with the half dead woman. It was a rage he'd felt that day during the skirmish. As loyal as he was to Caiaphas, as attached to her son and invested as he'd become, even Firefly could admit that the woman's choice had been a really shitty thing to do. They might've killed that dragedan but they'd kicked a hornet's nest and it wasn't fair, not when Erzulie and Rosalyn were about to get all that they dreamed. That was at risk now, and Firefly couldn't forgive Caiaphas for pulling such a fucked up stunt.

He trailed along the bloodied path until he came to the spot he'd been pinned down, and -- shit, he wasn't alone. All he could smell was the brine of the sea but ahead of him, lingering further along the trail from where he'd paused for his investigation, was a pale shape. All Firefly wanted to do in that moment was lunge along the ridge and grab them, drop them to the dirt, prove himself powerful in this arena where he'd felt so damn powerless — but for all he knew it was just some rogue. From this distance he couldn't tell who they were, so he played it safe and slowly stalked closer instead. The further he went the clearer the image got, and he realized he recognized them. That asshole from the brawl — and he couldn't stop himself from rumbling a warning.

yay no more vague

The pale Drakru felt the rumble before he heard it, and halted a robust distance off while rounding about to face the source of whomever it was. The scowling, smoldering face was one he recognized instantaneously, and an ivory, shit-eating smirk clawed its way up Vonn’s one scarred cheeks. There wasn’t a face the Crow had yet to forget — of those conquered and almost-conquered, anyways.

Arcing argent brows at the darkened, ruby-sodden grasses about them, he lilted airily, ”Nice tapestry, no? I should get one for my lair.” His tone was at both moments amused and entirely, bitterly jesting. Vonn regarded the Rusalkan with flaring, impish eyes; his own stance cocksure and poised, whereas the coastal male before him inspected him with nothing short of withering. ”Perhaps I should ask to commission your lovely mistress for a rendition.”

He halted his approach when he heard the man speaking again; typically that would not have stopped him, but he was in a different headspace than when the brawl had been initiated. He was feeling invigorated, virile, powerful — even though one of his wolves had been so badly wounded. His wolves — when had he started thinking of the rusalkans as his?

Perhaps I should ask to commision your lovely mistress for a rendition, lanced the man's voice; was it an attack? Probably. It was well crafted, reminded him of the brown-coated smartass that had shared in the bloodletting. The stranger seemed to be in good spirits despite the chaos that had unfolded earlier, and Firefly had to think about that for a second. She's fine, he decided to remark. He took a bold step across the bloodied earth and cast his shrewd gaze upon the patch of blood as he drifted across it, as if the blood was still sticky and he didn't want to ruin his coat. Firefly was still looking at the patch as he continued, Most of this is from your side; it would've been different if — you hadn't been pinning me, he wanted to say, but found his tongue temporarily disobeying, forcing a silence.

He huffs and stops where he is — standing squarely in the center of the blooded mess, like there hadn't just been a skirmish on that exact spot — and commented, You could've helped me separate them, saved both sides from the war that's bound to come from all of this shit. He was talking about that moment of powerlessness but for some reason, his eyes traced across the stranger's scarred face with a vague sense of appreciation of it; Firefly saw a warrior standing before him, but seemed more invested than he ought to be.

A silver brow notched itself at those words. Vonn knew well what events such as this brought about — at least, perhaps a bit more-so than his sister. Still, ”War? Why must war come of this, when there is so much love to be had? To be made?” The pallid wanderer spoke with the vivaciously-unassuming tone one does when pride and reasoning is taken in what they do well. ”There is so much gloom on the coast! How do you corsairs ever bring about life at all?” He kept the fate of Verx to himself, though, but Vonn felt as if his words rang true; edged in simmering, soft appallment as they were.

To accentuate them, he crescented a thorned paw through the air between them; a wide arc to enforce his meaning. ”Separation sounds a fine thing, no? That did not seem to be the intent as you charged for my sister’s swain.” With an insolent quirk of lips, ”Feeling you beneath me was instinct, I’m afraid. I’ll have you know, mi amor — I don’t quite like the taste of blood when I’m atop.”

The stranger countered his argument with some ridiculous notion about making love not war, or that's what he gleaned from it. Firefly wasn't squeamish about his sex life - or sex in general - but he didn't know how to feel about the way the pale warrior spoke to him; he especially didn't know how to feel about the way he looked at him, because it was equal parts flattering and predatory.

Firefly would've continued to assert the notion that he was trying to divide the two during the skirmish, but as he opened his mouth his tongue felt tied; Feeling you beneath me was instinct, I'm afraid. — what?

This was making him uncomfortable; he wasn't an idiot, but he was sheltered from some concepts (and had been prior to his memory loss), so he wasn't sure how to take this, either. He felt a rumble start in his chest and he took a bold step towards the stranger - perhaps to test his own mettle - and he warned, You got lucky, took me by surprise. I'd sooner rip that smile off your face than let you get the upper hand again, dragedan.

But even if he was struggling to comprehend, to admit subtle truths to himself about himself, Firefly couldn't stop the flush of warmth to his face.

lmao im sorry im lazy af with this sleaze

A breathy, coarse laugh left the argent male, "Tell that dark-skulled valkyrie of yours that Vonnaruil says hello, would you?" He rose with languishing, tell-tale grace and the pretty, shit-eating grin he wore so well. Taking his leave, he  also wouldn't impart to the Rusalkan of the fact that Vercingetorix lived.

If his sister's lover deigned to exact revenge on the ink-tressed crone, then would it not be all the more sweeter to let the Sound think he'd passed? Vonn smiled to himself; he knew just how delectable it was, to see the astonishment upon one's face as living death came to haunt them.

"If I ever return to the coast, my dear corsair, I will let you rip my fur off. Luckily, I suppose, the cliffs are soon to be yours, if it please you. But try not to long for my presence too much." With a singular, parting smirk, he fixed Firefly with a lazy veneer from over a hefty shoulder. It was a while before he returned his gaze to the redwoods, but his gaze was just as jaunty as it'd ever been.