bad habits //thorny

[aPPY]

Ramaskith

Ramaskith carefully glided forward, moving with precise steps as his muscles moved under his skin. A lop sided smile was on his face, enjoying the quiet stroll. The spirit inside him hungered fro action though, making Rama restless. He hadn't encountered anyone lately, and he very much wanted someone to play with. Someone to move and bend until they broke. Someone to talk to for a short while before he took their life and added their essence to his private collection. Some would think that perhaps the spirit was the evil inside him, but if one would look closely they would see the darkness in Rama too. The spirit was just an added bonus, the bolder and braver part of him that did what he wished he could do.

See, Rama was certainly soft hearted. Sometimes feeling regretfully or empathetic to the strangers that he so often killed. Even though he wanted to do it, he hungered for it just as the spirit did, he still felt so guilty when he allowed himself to. The spirit was there to allow him to play out his secret desires, to tell him it was okay to feel this way; to act this way. The spirit gave him confidence. Sometimes he couldn't remember it the spirit really was another being, or just an extension of himself, solidified in his mind to make things easier on him. He snorted softly, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He didn't need a pull self evaluation right now. He just needed some fun.

// 260 words
written very fast for thorny. xD
like..ten minutes or less fast. rofl.

[Black Thorns]

Scathashoun trotted forwards, his body still splashed with the blood from his latest kill. He really did not care, not anymore- he lived only for the kill, only for the feel of others dying underneath his hooves. He cared not the age, the gender- they were the only thing that could give him emotion anymore- he was a machine. A ruthless, cold machine. He closed his eyes for a moment, the taste of blood still rolling on his tongue, the feel of splitting horseflesh almost coming back to him again. This last one was surely a mare, no older than five- she was, he remembered, rather affectionate. Let him pleasure himself before he killed her. Yes, she was a nice one, though she didn't fight all that well.
There was a time that Scathashoun lived with a conscious, a time when he had been loved by a golden mare... but that time was no longer, and he no longer was that stag. He was nothing but a machine... Nothing but a cold machine that killed only for the pleasure of killing...
However, he needed to wash this blood off of his coat. It did get rather troublesome after some time...
He picked up his pace again, his eyes catching sight of another stag. He slowed, moving towards the other stag- this one, he seemed to feel, would not be bothered by the blood on his coat...

[aPPY]

Ramaskith

Nostrils flared, the scent of blood reaching deep within him. The spirit stirred, interested. Ramaskith turned, spotting a dark figure nearby. Another sniff told him it was a stallion as the creature turned towards him. His eyes pulled together, what did this stranger want? His ears twisted, not in a particular position, but mostly forward as he stepped towards the stag as well. Might as well meet the curious creature half way, shouldn't he? He carefully stepped forward, moving with the same stiff grace as before. His skin pulled around his muscles, showing them off to the full effect and making sure the stallion saw him as a threat if he wished. He had really wished that he would come across another mare, ready for the taking, but a stallion would do. He hadn't played with one for a while. It was much trickier, manipulating that of his own gender. He didn't like them in the same way as he liked the mares and at times he was made uncomfortable. But, they bled just the same and fed his hunger no differently.

Rama smiled, the gentleman he really was deep inside, walking up to the black stallion. "Bonjour," he greeted him, "And who might you be, my bloodied friend, to have graced me with your presence on this fine day?" he asked, probably much more formal than he should have been, but those were the words that poured from his lips. He couldn't help but wonder where the blood came from. Was it the stallions? Broken open by someone else wandering within the trees? Or was it the others, this stallion taking it away as a souvenir? He would be quite interested in the story, giving him a reason to keep the creature talking and taking that chance to possibly befriend him. Of course, your friends are the ones least likely to hurt you correct? He would never see it coming! It would be perfect. Unless, on the slight chance that this stallion killed with as much joy and passion as himself, which was slim no matter how much he wished he would find someone; perhaps they would truly be friends. Or maybe he could mold this ones mind to feel what he felt. Convince him it was okay to hurt others, because they truly did want it. They only granted the wishes that everyone was so scared to ask for.

// 409 words

[Black Thorns]

Ah, so it seemed, a stag who had been taught the Ancient's Tongue- though, he thought darkly, not in the same way that he had. Scathashoun picked it up over the course of murdering various horses who spoke the language of the ancients. The stag's greeting was formal, and- as he had guessed- impartial to the blood upon his coat. He was not in fear, or disgusted- let that be a sign.
"I bear the self-given title of Scathashoun, étranger cher, and what be the title of which you represent?" Scathashoun replied, his voice steel- no emotion. Cold. Cold- this stag was most definitely not cold, but perhaps... Perhaps Scathashoun had finally found someone like him, someone else with his lust for blood, with his passion for the kill, the fight. Though the chance was slim, Scathashoun could certainly use a partner for a while. Yes. A partner, though only for a little while- weeks, months, seasons- then, of course, he would have to be rid of. Growing attached was one thing Scathashoun had sworn never to do- and he was a man of his word.

[aPPY]

Ramaskith

Scathashoun. An odd name. And he spoke the ancient language as well? He nodded his head in greeting, introducing himself to the bloodied creature. "Je m'appelle Ramaskith." he said, the words flowing effortlessly along his throat and off his tongue. "Quelles sont les origines de la peinture qui recouvre votre corps?" he asked, stepping forward a stride and inhaling deeply. It was coppery and sharp but told him nothing else. "Comment de nombreux avez-vous tué?" he asked, adding to the on slaught of questions.

Ramaskith held his head high and waited for the stag's answers. He needed to decide whether to kill him now, or keep him around. He was getting restless and wanted something to do. Bringing down the strong appearing stallion that stood in front of him might prove to be interesting and enjoyable. It would certainly be a change from the weak mares he usually preyed on.

// 153 words
SHORT POST RETURNED WITH SHORT POST.
booyahh.
^{_{its so little. D:}}

[/right]

[Black Thorns]

How many have you killed?

How many have you killed?

These words rung in Scathshoun's head like an unending church bell. How many? How many? How many?
How many?
Dozens, yes, dozens... "Far too many for me to prefer to count, mon amour, and thus I shall not reveal that answer to that question," He replied. My love. Interesting name... Perhaps Scathashoun should add a bit of fun into the mix. He certainly knew how to charm his way to a mare before brutally killing her; why not a stallion, as well? He couldn't care either way. "And the origins... A lovely mare, I do say, rather affectionate. Should you chose, mon ange, the the mare is not a mile south- she should be fairly easy to spot with a snapped neck and smashed skull, you see." As he spoke, Scathshoun moved even closer to the stag- the stag had moved closer to him already, presumably to get the scent of the blood. As his muzzle was already coated with it, Scathashoun hesitated not in moving his head closer to the muzzle of the stag, their lips just barely bushing together as he spoke. "Do you not desire the scent of blood, my love, my angel Ramaskith; do you not desire the feel of the blood rushing down your skin?" he asked quietly, his voice thick with some type of alluring- some type of hidden desire (Tough, this desire was nearly entirely faked.). Scathshoun touched the pale, lustrous forelock on the tang, before pressing his forehead against Ramaskith's... "Do you not desire," he murmured, "Do you not desire the blood of another...?"

its so short. o.o
i'm still mad that it didn't post the post I had before. so i posted shortness.

[aPPY]

Ramaskith

Too many to count? He always kept a secret count in the back of his head, remembering each one specifically. The order they were killed in, the screams that they produced. He remembered it all. He prided himself in remembering them all. He didn't like to forget what he had done, only keep it close because he loved what he did so much. Was this stag guilty of what he had done? Was that why he didn't want to count? How absurd, to not want to know the number of lives you had taken. To not want to-- wait. Mon amour? Why..? The spirit sat forward in Rama's mind, interested in what the other horse, Scathashoun, wanted. Rama on the other hand, was a little confused and wanting to inch away. Although, he stayed where he was standing, not a bit of his uncomfortableness showing through his stony facade.

A mare, ah? A snapped neck and broken skull. What a pity. Does he not play with them first? Just choosing to end them immediately without any pain or screaming? A snapped neck will usually kill them off instantly, and a pound skull will most definitely. He would rather break their legs, or the spine along their back. It caused great pain but not immediate death and they also couldn't get away. And then he would do as he pleased as they screamed for mercy. Such lovely sounds-- mon ange? The spirit giggled in his mind, slowly inching forward and into the limbs of the body. Scathashoun had moved closer, almost touching his nose to his. He spoke, "Do you not desire the scent of blood, my love, my angel Ramaskith; do you not desire the feel of the blood rushing down your skin?" he asked, his lips brushing his own with each word.

His voice was quiet but heavy, the words husky with some desire the stag had. The spirit opened his mouth, brushing his tongue along the stallion's lips quickly, tasting the blood that coated them. The stag touched his forehead and the hairs that lay there before tilting his head down and placing his own forehead against Rama's. "Do you not desire," he whispered, "Do you not desire the blood of another...?" Why yes of course he desired the blood on another. He desired the blood to be on the ground and running like a river. He desired the blood to flow from the body as the heart struggled to pump it, the actions useless and only causing the victim to die faster.

He breathed deeply, settling into the part that this stag seemed to want him to play. "Of course," he said, he voice low and cloaked with the accent, "For the blood of another is so much enjoyable to obtain that the blood of yourself." He smiled, wondering where the stallion's true intentions lay. Was he just trying to get closer to him, to attack as Rama was planning to? Or did he really feel this way, setting himself up for death? The spirit didn't particularly care, as long as Scathashoun's blood coated the ground when they were finished.

// 532 words

[Black Thorns]

Scathashoun smiled internally as the stallion- Ramaskith, that was his name- ran a warm, wet tongue over his muzzle, the slight amount of blood being wiped clean from it. Part of him wanted to shrink away from the touch- he really didn't care for stags in that way, this was rather... uncomfortable for him- but he knew that playing games with them made it just that much more... satisfying when they began to fight... The screams seemed just that much more musical, the blood tasted just that much sweeter. The fight seemed that much more... enjoyable, he guessed. It was good to add some fun into the mix. Besides, Ramaskith- perhaps he, after some time, should call him Rama; Ramaskith was, he mused, quite a mouthful- could prove a good partner for some time. Scathashoun could fight, murder with the stag until they moved through the deepest of the winter... and then, as Rama slept, Scathashoun could make his move. He could watch the dark crimson begin to coat the pure pelt of the stag, let it melt and seep down through the whitest snow, let it run down the hillside like the reddest of rivers... Yes, Scathashoun could wait. He could try a game like this, a long game, one that would keep him here for quite some time- as long as he didn't grow attached. Scathashoun wouldn't allow himself to grow attached; he knew exactly what would happen if he did. He would start warming up to the stag, start to feel some actual attraction to this stag, and then the stag with what slim chance the was of having the same murderous lust as he did would turn on him, would kill him before he had a chance to blink. That was why Scathashoun could never grow attached, not even as a comrade. He knew that, at some point, if this stag felt the same way about death, that Scathashoun should find himself trying to be killed on many occasions. Of course, Scathashoun was certain he would hardly get a mark- Ramaskith, however, would have one murder attempted on him... and Scathashoun knew it was sure to be successful. Yes, he could use a partner for a little while...
The stag let out a deep, shuddering breath. Yes. Scathashoun's plans were working- he was charming him, in some way. Or, at least, the stag was pretending to be charmed. There was a possibility with things, with beings like him that they would play along- thinking that they were playing the game that Scathashoun was... As the stag breathed, Scathashoun nuzzled at the face of the stag, lipping gently at Rama's dark circle around his eye as the stag spoke. "Of course," the stag replied, his voice low, quiet, thick with something he couldn't quite place, "For the blood of another is so much more enjoyable to obtain than the blood of yourself."
"Yes, yes it very well is, my love..." he replied quietly, pressing his teeth into the skin on Rama's forehead, licking away the blood welling up on it slowly, sure to let the stag feel the tongue on his forehead, the coppery taste tangy on Scathashoun's tongue. "Yours tastes so very delicious, your blood so very desireable; I should only hope," Scathashoun whispered; moving his head back and off the stag, he dark eyes matched Ramaskith's own, "That mine is the same, mon amour..."

--behind the post--
578 words.
blooood. o.o

[aPPY]

Ramaskith

The stallion nuzzled his face, Ramaskith cringing at his touch. The spirit was enjoying it though, the oddness of it. Scathashoun replied to his statement, agreeing with him. The spirit smiled, just a small twitch of his lips. Yes, others blood was to much more fun. He felt teeth against his forehead, his ears rotating back as Scathashoun bit into him, a sharp sting coming from the wound. His leg immediately popped up, hitting the stag in the chest as a warning. He then quickly stepped up to him, sinking his teeth into Scath's neck. The blood burst into his mouth and he swallowed greedily, releasing him and licking the liquid that had run down his pelt.

The spirit moved against the other stag, his touch hard and pressing against Scathashoun's frame. He opened his mouth, sliding his teeth along Scath's shoulder and onto his withers, sharply nipping the bone and then sliding his tongue along his spine. He then twisted back, his lips sliding across Scath's neck and coming to his ears. He tugged at the cartilage before releasing it, the ear flopping back upright like rubber. He sniffed at the wound he had inflicted, inhaling the metallic scent and touching his nose to the exposed skin, his whiskers pricking the tender flesh. "Yes, I would say that yours is most enticing, mon petit chou-chou, mon prince charmant," he whispered.

// 236 words
my muse is dwindling here. D:
i had to push for even this much.
not happy at. all. :/

[Black Thorns]

They sleep with a gun
And keep an eye on you, son
So they can watch all the things you do

Scathashoun felt a leg connect with his chest, hardly strong enough to make much of a difference. Nothing more than a warning- a warning that Scathashoun loved. A fight was sure to ensue. He knew that nothing serious should come of this fight- this stag, he figured, wasn't going to kill him on the first occasion. Nothing more than a bit of a struggle- then they would both let eachother go... Or so he hoped. It would be a shame to lose a potential partner so early on. Scathashoun glanced back at the stag as he bit into his neck, the stag swallowing the blood running out of the fresh wound. Soon enough he felt the stag lick at the blood running from the fresh wound, sharp teeth moving along his shoulder. Scathashoun dropped his head, shuddering involuntarily. He didn't like these affections, but her would put up with them and return them. Scathashoun wasn't attracted to males, though he was attracted to the idea of killing this one. Playing with him... then killing him. A sharp sting brought his head back up, turning his head to watch the stag as he slid his tongue down his spine, the warmth sending half-repulsed tremours down his back. His head twisted back into its normal position, his body still as the stag lipped gently up his neck, tugging at his ear before sniffing at the wound. The whiskers pricked at the open flesh, Scathashoun kicking out at the stag in return as Ramaskith whispered, the Ancient Tongue mixed in with his words. Scathshoun opened his jaws ever so slightly, his hot breath moving down the wound on Ramaskith's face. Scathashoun bit gently into Ramaskith's ear, blood running down the outside and into his forelock as he whispered into his ear; nothing more than a simple question... "My Rama... Should you share the same bloodlust as I... Should you choose..." He brought his teeth into the skin of the stag again, this time on his poll,"Should you stay, my dark one?" he finished. Scathashoun bit again at the shoulder of the stag, deeper than either had done. The blood flew freely, running down the leg of the pale stag. Scathashoun watched, partially mesmerized. The liquid seemed that much redder the paler they were, that much more beautiful... Scathashoun couldn't help but to continue painting the stag with the colour of his favorite things... A bite on the neck followed, running down the contours of his muscles... Scathashoun brought his muzzle to the wound, the metallic scent making Scathshoun want to harm this stag even more- though he restrained himself, letting the other's blood stain his maw. He shan't harm him badly, not now... He should save that for when he could truely enjoy it, when he could surely see the beauty of shattered faith, the life fading from the stag. Yes. Scathashoun wanted nothing but death, in the end... Everything lead to death. He simply serviced as the transportation...

--behind the post--
Gah. Boredom. Short post. Meh.
506 words.