Wild Berry Meadow [m] some gin and juice

shhiiiitttt — a sudden thought cut the course of his stride mid-meadow, nearly resulting in him taking a tumble and eating dirt. the cracked grin along his lips twisted to an awkward tug of regret as he turned twice round to look over his figure as if he had pockets to misplace an item. 

did i forget my mead? 

nope, wasn't under that paw. a turn later and yup, definitely wasn't fastened to his hip. he went cross-eyed to peer down at his sniffer and yup, wasn't there either. 

damn, he really had forgotten the mead. he slumped to the floor with a thump, his boney behind reminding him that there was more fat on a rabbit than his rear end. 

it cut worse that he'd gone and left behind his fermenting shell three days ago when some punk raccoon decided to think it was a funny idea to go and take an alcoholic bath in his mead-bowl. 

a sigh slipped past smile-stuck lips as the yearling flumped to the ground and decided it was a good time to die now.

he slidles up to the dark, splayed figure. the stranger is arachnid and even lying prone he spies the length of his body, his impressive height.

what is not so impressive is the lack of flesh and muscle. his skeleton is easily imagined. he would not survive a week of winter in anaáski.

and what's more, he reeks of something, of rotting, broken-down sugars.

what beachcomber's decadence! the iceman smiles, despite himself. what degenerate cultural refuse has the cat dragged in today?

he nudges at the boy's head with a prying foot.

this was it — this was the end. 

he accepted his downfall from grace, his pitfall from drunkenness to sobriety. oh what a terrible shame it was! he stretched his spindly limbs as far as they would reach, joints echoing with an expected — POP — as he flayed himself to the open sun. 

the hooked grin tugged upwards on a corner of chapped lips as he squeezed shut his eyes for a final time. death! this was it! he could hear the footsteps of the reaper approaching, come to drag him to hell for his sinful affairs. 

a step closer, yes! he bared himself for the noose around his neck, smile stretching to unnatural lengths — did something just poke him? 

honeytrap eyes shot open to peer upwards at what he assumed to be the corporeal manifestation of the dark angel. gold links to silver, and his lips twist to reveal a toothy grin.

the dark smile grows wider, sheared at both ends. he marvels at the exposed teeth, which are interlocked like knuckles and surrounded by a fuzz of plaque.

at kainuts ax yat. dat yís sá?

he is not fond of speaking the common tongue; he thinks it ugly and decadent. his shattered voice strains from his throat as if forced through a very small aperture. despite everything, something about it -- about him -- is charming, lived-in, marked by time and life. he is a quaint picture of wind-blown marginalia.

anida.ei! he bellows into the other's face, but his grin is persistent, and there is an incandescent humor to him, an ease which suggests that his bark might be far worse than his bite.

the reaper grumbles something in tones akin to shattered glass. ears splayed, though the smile does not falter. he keeps his eyes interlocked with the mercury of the other man; he enjoyed this view of him. a tongue slips through the cage to give a lick over cracked lips, a hum to the bellow. 

and then a sickening laugh, followed by the coughs of a heavy smoker. 

he slumps to the side, ribs expanding in their effort to recover from their coughing fit. he lays there, eyes hollow like a fading sun as he glances to the foreigner once more. the smile slithers as a purr erupts between clenched fangs, eyes inviting the stranger to take a sip of the madness. 

"wanna dance?" because there was something beautiful in the sinister romance of dancing with the devil.

the man coughs and wheezes, as if to extricate the phlegm and lime that cakes the inside of his dilapidated body.

kaxwaan surges forward like electricity. he snaps at the softer skin behind the stranger's ears, but catches nothing but air. the noise is percussive, a salvo which hangs like a physical presence in the half-light and sends crows flying over their heads for refuge, or for a better vantage point -- because they too can scent violence before it occurs.

he lifts his head to watch these psychopomps with dead eyes.

then his attention returns to the matter at hand.

yes, they can dance.

GIDAAN!

his voice is joyous.

there is a moment of anticipation, of expectation for the rough kiss to his flesh. a shiver crawls it's way down his spine in expectancy of the joyous sting — of the love-bite that did not hit. and there is some measure of disappointment found in the yearling's stare, in his smile as it slinks. 

the flutter of wings does not draw his attention, his is fixated on the drug before him; the devil in a three piece suit. 

the man booms a joyous holler, and the boy leapt to his feet with the crackle of joints. he is taller now, though slouches to skulk closer, a breath taken to drink in the man as if he were the finest of red wines. and should he slip close enough, he would blow a teasing puff against the man's ear where he had missed his mark on the boy. 

and then with no hesitation in the next beat, he would frolic away like a doe in season, a glance cast to see if the big-bad-buck would follow.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: homophobic language

feel free to have worldeater dodge or incur a minor injury -- or feel free to injure kaxwaan instead!

he breathes into his ear!

ḵʼatx̱áan, he sneers and recoils, pupils dilating with his pulse.

he pictures biting into the face, to see the smile rendered into a rictus of blood and bone, gaping, like a lingcod's slack mouth,

pictures the desperate struggle, the pedaling of feet and upturned dirt,

understands that it has always been this way.

kaxwaan's eyes film over with the greasy, piscine sheen of rage, and he lunges after the libertine with his teeth bared, intending this time to make contact.

death bellows, but he was busy dancing. away he romped through the thistles and through the brush — the smile beckoning, laced like a fatal drug.

thorn caught to his skin as he gave a spin, the sight of teeth enveloping his gaze in a smearing of stained yolk. a yelp when fangs met the tender flesh of his ribcage, ears flat though the smile never waned. he stumbled a pace backwards before slouching to his hind in a belly-laugh rage. 

the molten gold in his gaze admired the sight of crimson blemished on the man's pale lips. he thought the grim reaper handsome — he thought how he'd like to lick him clean. 

but he made no pass at the man. the laugh simmered in his throat as he awaited the next strike to land, eyes drifting from foreign lips to steely eyes once more. 

"feels nice, doesn't it?" pain was enjoyable — he need only admit it aloud.

He's so interesting! Kaxwaan will be attempting to leave, but feel free to have Worldeater stop him

blood drips from his mouth. he sprays a mouthful at the boy, a red mist dissipating between them.

feels nice, doesn't it

kaxwaan responds through a cruel smile. that easy to tell?

his first full sentence in days, if not weeks.

still, this tenebrous creature draws it out of him, like moisture to salt.

he must kill him. he ought to break his neck, have the vultures finish the job. the iceman yearns to see grey matter exposed to the world. past the fur, the dermis, and the cranial sutures, past the creamy layer of meninges. how dare you make me feel this way.

we meet again, you're fucking dead.

thank you, i can say the same about kaxwaan! had a ton of fun with this thread <3 last from me unless he is stopped!

crimson turns to dew as it is spat upon his face, a beady drop landing atop his snout as if claiming a throne there. tongue slithers betwixt lips to take back what was once his; to taste the blood that had been stolen. 

and then — his eyes light ablaze at the familiarity of words he understood, the sting along his side turned a flushing warmth as he stared down the ghostly reaper. a hushed purr resonated within the depths of his chest as the man spoke again, the words no more a threat than a kiss upon his cheek. 

the boy stood once more, his tail swaying with the euphoria of a lovesick schoolgirl. 

he spun on his heels with the dramatic flare of a danseur before prancing off with teeth gleefully beaming. he paused abruptly, neck pivoting owl-like to steal a last glance at the man he would remember now as death.  

"you still owe me a dance."

and with that he turned back round once more to continue his parade through berries and brambles, slipping away to call upon the next reaper sent to claim him.