Lazy Gun [Thorny]

[Snowflake Smoky]

Nebeast

There's a significant difference between being evil and seeming evil. The white brute thought he could create the grand canyon between what he was and what he seemed to be. Things were not necessarily going to plan, and even as flexible as he was, there was only so far that adaptation could be stretched. He had no mares, and though he didn't necessarily desire company of any sort, there was a certain power in possessing a herd that he wanted to claim the right to. That wasn't the important part though, the important part was where his priorities were. There was too much to be figured, too much to be juggled. He could use some assistance more than anything, someone worthwhile. He didn't want to run into his brother anytime soon, because that would only get in the way of better things he had to do. Really, Keanu wasn't worth much of his time, though he seemed to spend far too much of his time thinking about his twin anyway. It was a habit, one he was desperate to break. He'd only seen his brother once since they'd both stumbled upon this place, he didn't really need to go out and about finding him again. They'd never have to run into one another again if they didn't want to. Enough. He didn't question the thought, simply obeyed and got back to putting one foot in front of another. His pale body weaved through the land, making friends with the dreary winter weather that disguised his shape best. He was headed towards mountains, because more than anything he wanted to climb. It was considered stupid in the minds of many to attempt to conquer the peaks of the island, but in his it was the most sensible thing in the world. What more were they than a pile of rocks, though admittedly a large one. He wouldn't be conquered by dirt, even if he had to be beaten senseless to achieve victory. At the moment, he was a dog with a bone, and he wasn't letting go. If anyone was out there, anyone who wanted to intercept him, to divert him, to distract him, they'd have to find him first. He reveled in this weather, while others cowered under cover and waited again for spring. His dastardly demeanor got a thrill from blending in to the surrounding landscape, and his coat was more than thick enough to stand the fluff that threatened to take over the world. Rather like the oh so notable Lord.

His opinion on that matter were more guarded, though they had to change depending on the temperament he was choosing to cultivate that day. His art lacked a brush, but he was proud of the creation nonetheless. He was on his own time today though, not running errands or attempting to break into the courts of other kings. He could be whomever he chose, though he wasn't exactly feeling the polite and curious attitude he coped when he didn't want to be Nahele. Nahale, the most hidden of secret identities, didn't belong on this land any more than Lord Ramaskith really belonged on the land of all the warm-bellied alphas. So, for the moment he was Nahele, bitter, cold, and as sharp as glass. There were times when he wondered if he only persisted with things like he did, a bloodhound on a trail that couldn't be left, because of the power trip it gave him. Was he really that addicted to the feeling, the swell of feeling that came with knowing you were in control of the situation? Probably. Leave it be though, it's hardly important. It's just part of who you are. That at least was true. There was little to be done about changing who he was. He was every inch set in stone, crafty, sarcastic, and ready to kill if he had to. That last one was a bit of a double-edged sword, but he could live with it. He was living better on this side of the railroad track than he would've been with the flowers growing on the other side. Weeds were tough, survivors. Even if most of what Ramaskith had didn't really have much training or hope of surviving, they were bodies willing to fight. The odds of this war were tipped in the favor of his liege, and he was certainly more approving of that than if it had been going the other direction. Nahele liked winning, even if it wasn't always due to his own triumphs. He was usually pretty good at masterminding something, so it didn't matter if credit was given where it was due. As long as we know, there's absolutely nothing wrong with the situation. Breathe the air in and know that it's yours. Make the cold your sustenance. Make the hard life your opium. Make the beauty of peace hide away in the back of your mind where you won't think of it until it's too late. Have no regrets, and nothing will strike you as done wrong.

He wasn't overeager to get his hooves bloodied with Ramaskith's war either. He would assist in all the ways he could, but he didn't want to take more lives than he had a claim to. His brothers for example, if it was going to be taken, he wanted to do it. He wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to kill his brother though, or that he wanted his brother dead at all. He's really too much fun when he's in the flesh. Didn't we agree that talking about him was over? His parents wouldn't be proud, not of how things had ended up. Scarred, depressed, lonely Keanu was living the kind of life that Nahele was supposed to have. Nahele had become the kind of thing that his father would spit at, and certainly his grandfather would have attempted to eradicate. Though he could half-grasp at a story that reminded him of how his grandfather had behaved during youth. Nahele wasn't really any worse, though better could be in debate as well. His mother would probably cry over the entire situation, and he'd never met family beyond her on her side. Frankly, he would be absolutely ecstatic to run into anyone he was related to, besides the unmentionable brother, just to have something to cling to. Even if they shied away from who he'd become, he could take some liberties and practice private investigation on them. He doubted that his parents would have had any more children after that though, and his grandfather had far too many children, though Nahele's father had been the one that was closest. Perhaps then, it was best to avoid that. It didn't matter, he'd reached the bottom of a hill. It wasn't quite a mountain, but it was tall enough to warm up on. He had the feeling that going to far would take him over a border, but he wasn't afraid of being hauled off either. He was a ghost, and he wouldn't be touched by someone from another side of this war. He gave his mind over to climbing above the meadow he'd come from, and he moved lithely and quickly even for a warmup. The top though proved unfruitful, because the mountains just moved further and further away. Too far to be within Lord Ramaskith's jurisdiction then, which was agitating if anything. They'd need to make a stand in that direction then, so that he might have something against which to test himself. Perhaps there was something more than just a madness to the war then, something more than a cry for second-chance and revenge. Somehow, he still doubted it.

He gave up though, and started to pick his way back through the rocks down towards the meadow. He didn't even feel like moving quickly, especially because something was making the hair on his back stand up. Something was going to happen, he just had that feeling. He stopped moving, feet planted between rocks, ready to bolt. His muscles were tensed, and he could feel the energy latched up inside him. There were endless possibilities for what might attack him in this region. Pumas were a questionable item, though he wouldn't doubt it. He'd said that he wanted to test himself, certainly, but there was just something that told him battling a fully grown mountain lion just wasn't worth it. That would probably cause a fair bit of pain and even more problems for survival. Even the weeds fall in the face of the lawnmower, even if they do sprout back up later. Let's not test it. I haven't mastered coming back from the grave yet





Words: 1459

[Black Thorns]

Every moment she spent on this earth was a moment certainly wasted. Nothing but pain and loss was brought to those who crossed her path- and nothing but destruction lived on her part. She sent those who met her into a spiraling chasm of darkness and despair- and she stood at the top, laughing as they fell. It was a sin, a curse, most certainly- and yet she couldn't help but pleasure in it. She was far from an angel, a sweet innocent thing that she pretended to be, that they thought she was and told her she was. It was most certainly a fun game, that way- let them think her sweet and kind, fair, and turn around to stab them in the back as she pulled at their heartstrings. It was even more of a joy when they tried to hurt her as well- when they lashed out with words, with flying hooves. Her perfection- as she saw it, anyways, the vain creature she was- was marred only by the littering of scars. She couldn't help but thank each and every one of the scars- the stallions she met rather liked to ask about them. When they did... When they did, she had hundred of options. A bruised, broken mare helped many times- to make them think her abused, unwanted, scarred from a horrific past tended to pull them closer.

Yet with the season, it was not needed to have those scars- simply let her tail swish as she moved, and they were entranced well enough. Stallions- a mare in heat could do anything to them and they wouldn't care as long as they got to attempt to make little ones. She snorted, swishing her tail in the air as she moved. If anyone was nearby- anyone she cared for, anyways- they would come upon scenting that sweet, delicious aroma. She kept her footsteps near silent as she moved, carefully picking her way through the lands. It was almost a plea for salvation, moving through here- Ramaskith was gone, along with any of the eastern horses. Nobody would go in his lands without utter fear. Of course, she counted herself out of that group. She didn't want to find anyone. She didn't want it. Yet it was a need, a craving that she indulged in- even when she swore she wouldn't. She spent her days in this dangerous dance- a wild tango of passion and death, a waltz of soft seduction and empty words. It was merely a matter of who would be her partner- a matter of who would fall for the trap. It was a sick, twisted game, she would admit, and she would only continue to play until the day that one of her playthings decided to turn the tables. It would remain that way until she was beaten into submission. It would remain that way until she died. It would remain that way until one day, someone... someone made her feel love.

Love. Love was most certainly a peculiar thing, though she kept herself from letting it wrap its ensnaring, tender, soft arms around her and pull her close into a soft trap that she wouldn't want to leave, nevertheless get out of. She'd try to have them explain it to her, when they grew close enough to her. Usually they had no words- and usually, if they did, it was stupid and short. Yet one day someone cared enough to explain it to her- and after that, she very nearly killed him. It frightened her so, the thought of love- and after learning what it does, she could only fear it enough to want to soil her pelt with the blood of another. Even now she can clearly remember and hear his words, though it had been seasons. She remembers every sing word from that stallion. Yet the stallion himself is very vague, hard to place, merging together with a dozen others until his face slips through her head until he doesn't exist.

"Love is a strange thing, dearest mine. Love is not only an emotion, it's a thing- a living, breathing thing. It's a soft temptation, pulling you close into it until the love surrounds you and swallows you whole. Yet it doesn't hurt, it simply feels warm and you feel suddenly like something that you didn't even know you were missing is now there. And it is the love of a mate that is the strongest, the love of a mother following close after. Each moment that is spent in this thing seems to tie you closer to it- and you don't want to leave. Suddenly you will do anything for that other one- even die for them. You'd do anything to spare your lover's suffering- I'd do anything to keep you, dearest, from feeling even the slightest sorrow. And when you find that the other doesn't feel that love- when you find that the love is stolen from you, it hurts more than anything. Sometimes you can get over it- and when you really, truly love them, losing that love feels like dying. And you don't. You don't die- but you want to. When you feel them slip away, it is the worst feeling in the world. THat is how I love you, my Nicaske, my one and only. I would die for you- and learning that you don't love me would kill me inside."

She shuddered, brushing away his words. She didn't want love, didn't need it- and by his description, she would ache for it if she even felt the slightest touch. She wouldn't let the love touch her, not even get near her. That was why she had fled from Rashidi- the threat of love. She paused suddenly, looking out at the lands. Why was this area so familiar? Why did it feel that she belonged here- and why did she suddenly want to stay? Fear rose in her throat, clawing at her and driving her out at a mad gallop from that area. Away. Away. I need out! She slowed gradually as she distanced herself from the land, breathing hard from fear and from exertion.

Suddenly she found herself at the land bordering the west- dangerously close to the battle. It was a sure thing that she would fight for Ramaskith if it came down to it- but she didn't want to soil herself with the blood of others if she didn't need to. She was one to destroy someone from the inside out- breaking someone's spirit took more than breaking their bones. Breaking a spirit was an art that she had not yet mastered- and it was then that her next victim would be her masterpiece. She had decided it. They would spend seasons together- and it would twist him apart when she broke him. Oh, yes; her next one would regret ever meeting her. She let out a trumpeting whinny, hoping to attract the attention of anyone nearby who would fall into her hands.She could feel it then, the soft pulse of temptation- the beginning of a long and fruitful game that she would always win. Oh, some tried to play as well- but she always won. Always.

A sudden movement- or, well, a sudden lack of movement she hadn't noticed before- stilled her. Time to play cat-and-mouse; he may think her the mouse, but she was the one controlling the game. She was the one who pressed the buttons. Deciding to fall back on a familiar routine, she quickly assumed a submissive stance and let out a trembling call.

"W-who's there?" she asked, stepping closer to wherever this stallion- as she could now smell, and see- partially, as her view was obscured by the edge of the trees and the beginning of the rocks- was. "Who's there?" she called out again, giving a failed attempt at a confident sounding question. Deciding acting hesitantly curious was the better option, she stepped out and suddenly saw him in his entirety. He was tall, and mostly a pale cremello color save for a deep brown over his eye. His body was muscular, strong, and he held the appearance of someone who shouldn't be messed with. Oh, yes. This one would be fun. He woudl be tough, hard to break, brushing her away before slowly warming up to her, before caressing her body and indulging in self pleasure- and she would let him, return the same affection without a drop of the feeling he felt for her. She would be utterly cold to him- but act as if she burned with passion and desire. Oh, he would simply be the best one yet. She would make it so. Eventually he would be putty in her hands- and she would thrust him away, shatter him, break him and bend him until he would no longer be a threat to her. She wouldn't let love touch her. Never.

Let the games begin.

//1505

[Snowflake Smoky]

Nebeast

The white one was of course, let down. There would be no fight, saddening as it was. There was nothing out there to be faced except a mare. From what he could hear, because he refused to break his pose and let himself look, there was an attempt at strength and a vicious whining that he just wanted to stomp all over. It was familiar, a memory buried deep back in his memory where he refused to allow its existence. He didn’t have to look at sound to know who it was. Nicaske. Nothing good came associated with that name- he knew that much. He didn’t have to look to know he’d find the blue roan staring at him with batted eyelashes. She didn’t need to know that though, since she’d obviously not recognized him. His body remained ridged, tensed. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent that whisked through the clearing. She was of course, playing her stupid little game while she was in heat. He wouldn’t just walk away, even though he should. The little prig princess could use taste of her own. He just had to figure out what his own role would be here. He was after all, the game maker in this land. She had no right to be here, cluttering his lord’s land with such madness as her pixie attempts to be someone lovable. Blindness then, so that even should her own memory be piqued, he wouldn’t resemble anything she’d seen before. It wasn’t that hard to skip souls into the mindset of someone else. He only wished he could slither through skins that easily. It wasn’t hard to become flawed either, to pretend that he was lost in the world. He roughened up his voice too, making it raspy and aged. This was the part he loathed, getting rid of the honey smooth flowing from his tongue that naturally came to him. He needed to be undetectable. “What would it matter to one so perfect who another is?” He let his mismatched eyes roll skyward, feigning disgust with the world. “Don’t even bother to ask how I know you’re perfect. I can’t see you, but the very fact that you have the ability to see me means that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. I don’t care who you are, before you even start. You’re perfect and I know it.”

The white one wasn’t content though, not yet. This might drag on forever, but at the very least it could be a fantastic game of cat and mouse. “But for argument’s sake, because of course you’ll argue. That’s what stubborn young fools do. My name is Keanu. You’re probably named for some exotic flower or something, but you might as well tell me what it is so that I don’t end up just calling you something derogatory the whole time. Speaking of, exactly how long do you intend to linger around? I’m not very fond of company, and neither is the Lord I serve. He’s actually rather fond of mauling it and eating it. Absolutely disgusting for a horse to do, but if it pleasures him. ” There was no answering the question of where the name had come from. Even if he’d drawn from a hat, he wouldn’t have expected to pull his brother’s name. His brother was everything he wasn’t, making the personality especially hard to cop. A bitter smile almost split his lips though. It would be fun to pretend to be someone else for a while, and all the better if he could make an impression as Keanu that would last. A deed preformed like Keanu that Keanu didn’t do. It would be just lovely to have Nicaske go chasing the wind in search of the real Keanu when they parted ways. After all, if she was looking long term again he could vanish and arrange for his brother to show up. Regardless, the white one was not amused with the creature he was enacting. His own self would be much more fun, however the white one didn’t have much patience for revealing who he was to any but his lord. He wasn’t much amused with Nicaske showing up either. It spiraled him back down a memory lane to a time when he had been Nahele all the time, and he’d been a better person. She’d helped to turn him bitter, something that he wouldn’t dare to let himself think if he’d been acting like himself. He seemed to take on chunks of personality from whoever he played to be. It was probably a mental disorder of some sort, but that didn’t really bother the white one.

Memories though ,they disturbed him deeply. It had been a beautiful time before she’d crushed him. How wonderful it would be to let her know, at the end of this game, that she was responsible for creating a monster. She’d probably be proud. The sad thing was, the real Nahele and the real Nicaske would probably get along notoriously if they were willing to get to know one another. They’d be an equine Bonnie and Clyde, causing all kinds of havoc. The white one wasn’t willing to let his guard down though, not after what’d happened the last time. There it went, memory lane. The white one did not approve. He’d been just a child, nothing more than perhaps three. He’d been trying so hard to be a good person, to make his parents proud. He’d left them some time ago, with his father consoling his mother as she lost yet another part of her family. It didn’t matter. What he was setting out to accomplish was so much more! He would find his own love, someone in whom he could believe. Exactly how he’d ended up being so repulsed by the thought of mating anymore. Nicaske was truly a master of her art. She’d been the very first thing the white one had met after he left his parents. Amazing how a transformation can take place. She’d been young too, but already knew the power she held over stallions. Nahele had been no different. He’d thought he was in love, and that she felt the same. She was so good to him, showing him the soft touch that a mare could add to his life. He would’ve done near anything for her, though he still couldn’t answer her master question. He didn’t really know what love was. She’d enticed him though, never letting him get close enough for his liking, and playing with him until he was endlessly frustrated. Then she’d told him the truth one day, crushed him and left him. That was where the bitterness began. He hadn’t been that close to anyone since. He never would be that close to anyone again.

He swished his tail in an attempt to dispel her smell, which was a powerful perfume even if he was severely disinterested. He wanted to clear the air, be rid of it. Not that Keanu would behave in such a way. At least, Keanu as he was recreating him, because his perfect brother would never treat someone so. “Not exactly the smartest time to be wandering around is it now… Iris? Petunia? Wait… I said exotic didn’t I? How about Rafflesia? That’s a very fantastic exotic flower.” The white one was rather proud of the craftiness that name implied. The stinking rainforest flower was an excellent thing to dub Nicaske. At least a disgusting stench might warn off anyone in the vicinity. “Well, I’m not the type to bother you over it, though would you please stand down wind for heaven’s sake? I really don’t want to puke. My stomach’s lurching as it is, and I’m afraid if anything comes up from my belly I’ll asphyxiate. Dying isn’t in the cards today, and frankly that’s what happens thanks to equine anatomy.” The white one really loathed this creature, and for once in a lifetime, wanted to stop pretending. He’d really rather be Nehele right now, and rip this sorry mare into verbal shreds. There was a good reason that he was Nebeast, a dangerous creature. He’d hold out a tad longer though, bait himself into playing her game. “So tell me more about yourself Raffy. I know I may be blind to how you look, but at the very least I could deal with someone else’s voice. Just try and be eloquent. For the love of Ramaskith, try to be eloquent. I just loathe dealing with illiterate dimwits, and to be truthful I fear you might just be one.” Oh how the white one loathed this. But it was game, and he would play. Bring on the pain.

Words: 1452
Notes: I'm beyond disappointed with this. I don't think it's very good quality. :/ It doesn't embody Nebeast very well, but I hope that you can get something out of it.

[Black Thorns]

Sometimes it is the most elaborate lies that are the easiest to decipher. His was complex, and so was hers- yet his was clear as glass. He was nothing but a liar; she couldn't stand those who decided that they didn't need to tell her the truth. She pinned her audits against her head, snorting at him. He wasn't worth this, wan't worth an ounce of her time, but she was held to her place anyways. Oh, she had promised herself- and she could hear it, in the back of her head, powerful, violent music pounding against her skull as she felt the game begin to take up place. Oh, he hated her- that much was obvious. Hating her only made her want this more- it only fueled her fire, so to speak. She would succeed. He would suffer endlessly for hating her- though his suffering may be only loving her. She hated love, that beautiful monster who seduces her victim with promises of comfort and fulfillment- and yet no-one else seemed to. They sought her out, looking over the earth for her and never finding her. Love found you, not the other way around. Hell, love was near a slave to ger, a pet dog that grabbed those who she wished and later ripped them apart for her pleasure. His first words set her off into a fury.

"You're a filthy thing, did you know? You're soiled with untruths. I know a blind horse when I see one, and you most certainly aren't. Your eyes focus, and they aren't milky or clouded over," Her voice was sharp, slicing the air in a controlled rage. How dare he lie to her! How dare he!

"Nicaske, as you should know already- and your name is not Keanu, by the way; I'm not an idiot." Each word he said brought her closer to the connection. He wasn't Keanu, for sure- his name started with an N. Ne... Ne....beast? Yes. Nebeast. That was his name. She was certain of it. Damn. If she remembered him, he definitely remembered her. It certainly would foil her plans- unless... Unless he would be stupid enough to fall back into her hands. Oh, she'd done it before- a few soft touches, whispered words and they came running back and begging for her love again. However this one didn't appear so stupid- and much, much more bitter. Nebeast. She let the word roll off of her tongue unknowingly, muttering it to herself- hardly audible, but loud enough that he heard it. Oh he had heard it... and she was sure to be dead for it. Fear ceased to touch her at this- it was almost welcome. Yet he tried again to intimidate her, only causing her to roll her eyes at him.

"And as you can tell, I'm so very terrified of that. Cannibalism ceases to suit you well, Nebeast," she spat, the word a curse spewing from her lips. It was a warning: yes, she remembered, and she wasn't going to put up with his shit. Oh, he would try and break her- they did when she broke them- but ultimately he would fail. "And why should I fear your so-called Lord? Like he would hurt me. Like he would get the chance. It's best that you remember who's in charge here, my once-lover, before I have to remind you."

She couldn't help but wonder what his original intention was when calling himself Keanu. Was he going to substitute his brother in for himself? Did he honestly think she was that easy to fool? Nicaske wasn't stupid in the least. It took wit, intelligence to be able to twist someone so completely as she had- and she felt a swell of pride after meeting her dear Nebeast again. Who wouldn't feel it after creating such a perfect little monster as she had? Someone so bitter and cold was so much joy to think about making- especially after how he had once been. It took hardly a moment before she sank back into her memories- somehow memories that came up from the darkness of her brain, clearer than ever before.

They were both young- he hardly three, she hardly having begun her enticing dance though she was not yet of age. It didn't matter- he was easy enough to take anyways. He was soft then, weak-minded and willed, a lovesick fool chasing after a dream of a mare that adored him. It was far too simple to ensnare him- though certainly great practice. She was inexperienced, impractical, just barely patient enough- and yet their break-off was by far the worst. By the time that it came to her leaving, to her confession, he was like putty in her hands. He would do near anything for her; each soft touch, whispered promise tied him closer to her- whatever touches she let him have, anyways. Lady Love had ensnared him in her trap, and Nicaske gleefully fed the monster. It came so sudden, unexpected to Nahele that it almost stunned her- and she didn't wait too long for his reaction, hardly staying a moment after letting her words crush him. She was careful not to look behind her as she moved away, to keep from appearing like she cared, like she wanted him. He didn't matter to her. So why was it that she felt such deep spite for this stag? There was no reason, really; he had done exactly as she had hoped. Perhaps it was his angry words- no, that wasn't it. Maybe it was just this stag in general; she hadn't even mildly been interested in him. Yet she almost hung on his words., wanting nothing but to shout and scream at this stag- or perhaps to enrage him with cool, sarcastic words.Oh, how fun that would be- to get him all riled up, to make him want her dead, and then to always dance out of the way of his flailing hooves. Oh, what a wonderful thing that would be...

"Must you carry on with your pathetic attempt to offend me? I most definitely am aware of the war, and why yes- I fight for the winning side, that is if I have to fight. Which, at the moment, is becoming more and more attractive." She rolled her eyes at his new name for her- though, admittedly, it was clever. She forgot how he hated the stench of mares in heat- and, simply to spite him, she let more of her scent release into the air. Ha. I hope you die trying to puke, you detestful thing. she thought, a gleam of arrogance in her eye. It was less and less of a concern for her if he thought she should die- her facade was already ruined. What harm would ruining it further do? It would only let her practice for battle, anyways. The stag could do with a few more scars, anyways.

"Oh, I forgot how you can't be man enough to stand the scent of a mare. Too weak, even, when we were both so very young to even try anything- not that I would have let you. I will so kindly oblige- however, any real stallion will certainly inform you that you most certainly are lesser than the weakest one. What is the point of intelligence and strength if only to be wasted when the stallion dies? Oh! Right, you shouldn't care. You do hate mares, and foals subsequently I would believe. I must have done well, then, to make you such a creature. You know, I believe this is almost the same feeling a mother has for he successful foal. I've made you, do you know that? I made a monster! You can't understand the glee I feel." She shook her head at herself, "Never mind, though, I'm rambling."

She swayed downwind, mockingly sure to keep her tail as close to her body as possible. "You're rather pathetic, dear, don't you know that? What a knight you could have been! If only you wouldn't have stumbled across me. You were too easy, dear, I didn't even have to try- and look how you turned out!" she snorted, laughing at him, "You can't stand a mare and kill for pleasure; I rather believe that was your brother's job, no? The one who you so kindly stole the name from? How clever! Couldn't even make something up yourself. What a great job; really, I applaud your wit."

Nicaske very nearly went up to him and ripped his head off- but, unlike him, she wasn't a ruthless killer. It was the patient destruction of another that she mastered, the ability to destroy those who she pleased from the inside out that she was impressed by. She had heard of another who did so- her name started with an S, if she recalled correctly- who Nicaske had toyed with the idea of seeking out but soon decided against it. It would more than likely turn into a competition- and icahelske doesn't do well with competitors.

Nahele was competing for game.

She would win.

//1534 words

[Snowflake Smoky]

Nebeast

It was a very, very lucky thing for Nicaske that not all of her assumptions about her monster were true. The white one was an assassin, skilled, talented, and just as patient as she herself was, if not more. He stood there, as if encased in ice, not willing to let her break his self-discipline. She didn't even deserve to exist, and yet he couldn't bring himself to slaughter her. It wasn't on his master's orders, and he didn't need to go making a mess to clean up that was in his own name. He'd be doing his beautiful, bloody buisness soon enough. He suppressed irritation - emotion did absolutely nothing to help the situation - and also the urge to roll his eyes. Nicaske was over the top, pushing her luck against someone who made his survival out of killing. Not that it was horribly obvious on his currently very whitewashed coat. He could've been up to the knees in stained russet fur except for the part where he'd recieved no orders from Lord Ramaskith yet, therefore he couldn't go about preforming his day-to-day tasks as a Black Hand. He'd offered his assistance as a spy as well, for that would be a greater part of the job, but he'd kill when the time came. There was no reason to save his soul- there was a physical carbon copy of it going to heaven anyway. He might as well just have some fun with his personal being while he had the chance. After all, it would be a complication if the white one had to leave because he had upset the Lord. He wasn't about to go killing on the Lord's land. There was no need.

He dropped all pretense of being his brother though, released to covering voice and the obscure way of talking. He could be as naturally smooth and patiently honed as he liked. "I detest only the presence of distractions. Much like yourself, who would also be a hindrance if brought into battle. Whether or not your intentions are good, which your very personality guarantees that they aren't, Lord Ramaskith needs no tramps distracting his troops, nor does he need any more poorly trained fools with a death wish who only are fighting because they fear dieing at his hands anyway." He would not take the time to acknowledge her comments against his being, constitution, and manhood. She was trying to find age-old buttons that existed in near any stallion. However, the white one had never known a mare, something on which she was accurate, and he was little tempted to. He didn't need the distraction, the whines, and the absolutely detestable children. Leave it to his noble brother- wouldn't that pass on Nahele's identical DNA as well? He wouldn't let her go unscathed though, for she deserved to know that she was not welcome in his presence. "As for your current locale, you'd do well to be leaving. I have little interest in your antics, though I'm impressed you ever bothered to learn the names of all your lovers in the first place. Because certainly, I was not the first nor the last. Go play your game elsewhere Nicaske. I don't need a child to look after. Go seek out the susceptible, the weak and the saddened, and play your game with them. People here have responsibilities, and if you interfere with them, then I do have to kill you. And I absolutely detest disposing of someone I know. Then I have to fake feeling remorseful, and then there's that problem of retribution."

Lord she was infuriating too. He detested the idea of spending any more time in her presence than necessary, especially if her goal was to try and ensnare him in a trap again. The white one wasn't even slightly tempted, certainly much less than he had been as a colt. Thankfully chivalry was still in play then, so he'd only felt broken and morose when she'd left. If she even tried that game here and now she'd leave with a broken rib or two at the very least. He didn't care if she was female, she was a snake, and deserved the consequences of her actions. He was getting bored though. The meditation, he didn't mind, but the company ruined the entire experience. "Let's agree not to lie to one another then Nicaske. It's a waste of time, and if I'm not to play my game neither are you. I have patience, but it runs thin when people try to bribe me. Especially when it comes to ill-gotten goods or things not worth desiring in the first place. One day you'll realize it, but you're not desirable. Though to the unknown, it might prove otherwise. Perhaps then, we ought to talk buisness. It'd certainly prove more productive than murder. There will be enough of that in the days to come."

Words: 822
Notes: -_- short... frig. But it's done, and it at least progresses the situation a little bit.

[Abba]

*You will find 3 bone body piercings under some brush*

[Black Thorns]

Nahele was rather fortunate that Nicaske wasn't an unreasonable creature; she, unlike many, was patient. She would control herself, put up with his pathetic insults and retain the surges of utter rage that swelled deep within her at his despicable language. Oh, how he angered her- it would be only a few moments more of his passive-aggressive lashes before she tore his head from his shoulders and beat it to a bloody pulp. She did not fear. Fear was for the weak- nor was she, as he suggested, a "poorly trained fool with a death wish". It was with no welcome that Death would rouse from slumber within her. They were all dying anyways- and she, at this very moment, wanted nothing but for his to be swift. Not painless, not without suffering- she simply wanted him to die before her, be it at her hand or not. Perhaps not on this land, no; it would be somewhere where death would never be expected. Neutral lands, sacred, where even the most brutal and twisted of murderers would not dare soil. She would watch his blood spill- and wouldn't it be lucky for her if the ground was eternal crimson? Oh, what tremendous joy! Her Nahele- this Nahele- would not kill her if he didn't need to. Unlike her, he feared the Lord. Nicaske, a viper, would simply slither out of his grasp whenever he came for her. She was not much of a fighter- a long-standing whore, useless but for emotional destruction- truly was no use on the battlefield. The sexist that her Lord was, he wasn't thrilled with the warrior mares he had already- and, not wanting distracted soldiers, he likely would refuse her. She was no more moral, no kinder, worth no more than a common prostitute- though perhaps she was vainer than most.

Something Nahele took advantage of, each sentence ending in an insult. She knew she was no more than the algae growing on a still lake, a creature that only fools even slightly cared for- but to call her a child was too much. She was not a child. What pushed her even closer to that murderous need what the suggestion that she cared. She did not care! After calling them by name for months she had to know their name! Each one of his words succeeded only in fueling her fire- something he, surely, had been aiming to do. Admitting it or not, this stallion enjoyed fighting with her. The desperate creature couldn't even gather enough courage to lash out at her, to make her blood pour over the snow; he refused to say it, but she knew. Yet he had the nerve to suggest business with her? The hell business could they do?

"Business. What, exactly, would you have in mind for business? Simply refuse to kill each other- a rather daunting task at both ends of this argument, may I add- or what? The only good I can see coming from that is that I would not have to get rid of your filthy carcass. Even in death I would feel rage for you." Her voice was short, clipped, forced calm. He was pushing her- something he obviously knew and was exploiting to its full extent. "You want me to act like a godforsaken child, Nahele? Damn it, I will! A common whore? I will! An assassin, a deadbeat, a warrior- The devil himself knows I can play whoever I want to! You- you're stuck in the same persona as ever. Mask it slightly with a name, with rougher words- you can't play anyone else. You're pathetic. See that, Nahele? That's my childish behaviour. What do you want next? Just ask, damn you! Ask!" She slammed her foot down into a small section of brush- and felt something against her foot. Her fury evaporated briefly as she investigated, finding piercings beneath the brush. Not altogether interested, she turned her attention back to the stallion before her.

"Well, Nahele," she spat, "What the hell do you have in mind for business?"

//684 words
I had no muse. and it is past 2 am. thus, nonsensical post. .O.
SHE WENT RAWR.

[Snowflake Smoky]

Nebeast

"Don't get too many ideas into your head mare. I don't want your presence hanging about all the time. That would just put a rain cloud over my parade. Business, however, is business and your little game seems quite effective. I need information, to feed to my Lord. And perhaps to other sources, but the point is I want you to gather it for me. You will be careful, you won't get attached, and you will only target those with a high probability of having information. You will be my black hand as I am Rama's, simply because it's a desirable position to be. Most of your job will be up to you, and you will report back to me only when you've gained something valuable. You can take it or leave it, because frankly wasting my time and boring me to death with your empty threats and pointless attempts to sway me back into your favor ticks me off. Getting ticked off comes dangerously near to breaking my constant state of pleasant nirvana too, so I'd really prefer to avoid it if at all possible. " All these threats were dead and empty in the white one's ears. He knew that they were just balloons, filling and floating off with the words that held no meaning. No one was going to murder today, but that didn't change that it was the most comfortable way to back a claim. Did anyone, including him, ever grow up? Maybe that perfect little prince of a brother of his, Keanu knew what it was like to be an adult, as opposed to just a child playing with finger guns in the toy box in the hopes of attracting attention. Now who sounds ridiculous. His brother though, why had he chosen to impersonate the very thing that he loathed? That was going to require mental resolution, but later. There were things at the moment demanding his attention even more. Namely, the stinky tropical flower flashing herself under his nose and pretending that she would have the gall to kill him. She was absolutely batty of course, and the white one could see that now. He wasn't complaining. The breaking away from ignorance was one of the most valuable transformations of his life.

There was something drawing her attention away from him though, causing insult more than anything really. Something under a bush, quite obviously more flattering to her vain and demanding personality than he was. Wouldn't really take much to get that. He hadn't broken pose yet, still the stiff white knight on a chessboard that was completely made up of opposing players. He wouldn't break his stance just to see what fascinated her so. It must have been physical objects, to attract so much of her attention. If she wanted it, then of course so did he. The white one had a simple way to ensure that whatever was under that bush became his without a fight as well. He'd simply have t otalk her into a little game, or rather mention playing it. The point would be her automatic refusal of such a ridiculous game. Nor did he really want to play it. It just seemed like a decent way to have her in position. "Perhaps another bargain then, before we make a threat to slit more throats. What ever lies under that bush, I'll play you for in a game. You lose the game, and you come work for me doing whatever I request that you do. You win, you take not only your newly coveted possessions but also your life and freedom from Rama's custody. After all, now that you're here, there's nothing that says I have to release you back out into the whole wild world like one of those tagged cougars. Hell, Ramaskith doesn't even have to know you're here. So what'll it be Nicaske? The pieces are on your side of the table, so you best get a move on with your play. As patient as I am, I don't have all day to waste on you." The white one didn't even realize that he was contradicting himself. It would've been rather amusing if he wasn't trying to be so intimidating. Hell, it might be amusing anyway.

Words: 709
Notes:Exhaaaaused, short, and the first post back from camp.... Not bad