the salt of the sea

[Illinois]

Thrusting his pistons strongly through the air, slicing the tmosphere the points of his daggers. In his smooth almost dance like stride he glided almost without an ounce of effort. His magnificent streangth showed in the way his firm muscules ripppled beneath the thin coating of charred hide. His curvature half arched allowed his carved visage to be raised but still round. His russet cess pools searched the horizon until he found what he had searched for. His nares dilating quickly as he took the icy cold atmosphere through his nostrils and into his lungs. Only a mere burning sensation did he feel. With a snort he allowed the salty taste of the air exit his maw. But still the vile taste lingered within the confines of his mug. Sharp enamels knawed at something that only he could taste-the salt of the sea.

Floating, almost dancing over the soft glebe he three beated like a an eagle gliding across the sky down a slight incline until his nails were placed upon the soft, sun kissed crystals of the beach. He showed not fear nor happiness but a look of pure evilness. He was not here to here to flirt with the jezebelle nor was he here to pick up a young lass. He was simply here as his darkened soul wanted to be set free, his sprit's only lust was to roam with others of his kind. The one's who thought of nothing but evil.

Standing tall upon his four limbs he lifted a fore from their place and lightly brushed it against the glebes covering. Producing a tinch of green. With a snap his fangs had plucked the herbage from the sod. Placing his piller upon the ground once more he waited. Not patiently but not in the ways of the heaven seeker either. He just waited. Waited for a dark or an evil tytant to show their dial.

[Hypnotic]

Just not fair. Life slows down when you move on, you miss the very action that you thrived on. But I can't pick up where I left off, can't finish up the puzzle that I started. The hits just keep on comin'...right? That's exactly right. It's never the same. You can have a perfect friendship and you can easily ruin in with one hasty word, and things would never be the same. It'll change, and no matter how hard you try, you would never be able to get back to normal. Never. Believe me, I've tried. Shut up thoughts. Go away. No one needs you, and you don't need anyone either.

As usual, his thoughts had taken over him, engulfing him in a fog that smothered and swallowed him so that all that was heard were fading cries. Dear lord how he hated that. If thoughts could be turned off, he would be the first to try. Tired of embedded instincts, tired of that constant nagging that accompanied him whenever he was sucked into the world that was his brain. As soon as the salty air washed over him he paused, hesitating on what would seem to be the edge of the realm, or rather, when the extra humidity hit. Lip curled as the reeking made him want to retreat, but he quickly put on that calm mask once more. Sigh. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He sucked in the airs though it made his lungs burn, relishing the scent. He had missed the ocean and its constant play. He had missed the waters. He lurched into action, splashing through the frothing waves like it was nothing. He had spent a great deal of his life near or in waters, this was not just a desire. It was a lifestyle. Content and relaxed expressions flooded through him, interior and extirior.

His eyes swept over the horizon, taking in the plentiful sights. The sea looked like a broken piece of green glass, spraying and frothing like a shooken up coffee with foam. He wore a small smile, as much as possible with an equine mouth. Picking up his pace, limbs were drf*gged and pushed with the current and the force he had to use to get through the sloshing liquids. And then, amidst the weaving scents of the sea and all things accompanied, came a fellow equine. There were never equine on travels. Good. Meant he could settle down for awhile, with luck even longer. It occured to him that he probably shouldn't be seeking other life, becuase he had more than once made an enemy with a quick temper and a hot head. Being andalusian, he shouldn't have that temperment. But he did. A screeching call was let loose, unlike other lights. If there was a nuetral choice, he would be sure and quick to pick that alignment. He didn't prefer dark company, though he would still seek this one, no matter the side. After all, he carried both characteristics, light and dark, but favoured the loyalty of light mares more than the quick tongue and temper of the dark. Boo. Enough thoughts.

Seeing a stallion dressed in unnessacary amounts of ebony, he almost wished he hadn't rounded the bend to find what life could be found here. Like he had made a mistake, he stepped back and hesitated, swaying slightly with the tides. He continued anyway, plunging into the unknown, as his dam would say. A feeling of dread shot through him like an arrow when he thought of her, he had done so many things to ruin her life. And why? Coltish rebellion. Stepping into more shallow water with each movement, he was soon on the shore line. If he had been a dog, he would have shook until the pestering drops of liquid fell away. But he wasn't, so he was forced to stand until the pesky droplets rolled away. Surveying the brute he couldn't help but like what he saw, except for a few minor things. Other than that, he decided this ebon brujo would be quite the worthy opponent should tempers arise and arguments scale. Silence droned on and he was tempted to make himself known, if not already, but rather stayed silent so as not to disturb whatever was going through said man's head.

[Illinois]

What is it I think, is it answers, is it followers, is it fun. What is it I am really searching for. Like a dead spirit roaming around in between heaven and hell, never knowing when a descision will be made. What si like, why am I here, what is it I really want.

Crisp and slightly warm a steady breeze swept over the sun kissed region. The cool aqua gently laping against the shore of the beach. Not roaring nor wimpering, just clawing with like a small cat. Nothing but the slight musical voice of the wild sea could be heard upon the breeze. Mabey the distant druming of a brutes limb upon the sod, or prehaps one's duos picked up a rumbling from a faes throat. But other then the few necessary noises, silence was all around.

Raising his carved crown to slightly above the squalls level he widened his nares, a strong stench of a brujo entered the caverns. Snorting with distaste he arched his nape ever slightly and stood proudly, but not in a light way and allowed the new brute to see his muscular chassis. Was it his ballet like movements or was it the way he carried himself but it was obvious this stag was light. Although his figure was petite and coated in charcol he looked like he had potential.

Without moving his limbs he lowered his pose to one less defensive and lowered his tiara slightly. Without parting his maw he motioned to the other beast to come over. Silently he stood almost motionless, only his matted dreads danced wildly upon the breeze and his midnight banner twitched ever slightly. He waited for the heaven seeker to step out of its comfort zone and join him in conversation.

[Hypnotic]

Virile had a definite oomph to him, ad to admit. Coated in nothing but the darkest of hues, nigrescent to give it a name, he would be quite an enemy, and a worthy one to keep at least a shaky peace. Not that peace was something to seek from everyone, but he was at least one that wouldn't be a complete waste of time. First impressions count, and so the show begins. Noticing the less defensive and aggresive stance he swept over the soil, taking in the sahib's scent like a sour wine that no one wanted. The death hewn pelt that covered the more prodigious hessian matched his own, and for that little interest could be generated here. Visage rose slightly, audits flickering and visionaries dancing. Hock kisser played with the little wind that was there, and the droning silence that kept on bothered him. He couldn't help but shuffle svelte limbs. Instinctively pulling maw towards chest, his eyes momentarily dropped to the scarce verdure.

Extended greetings to you. Care to spill your name?

They weren't normal words, but they were his. Not polite, for manners weren't offered to other brutes until they deserved it, but they weren't rude. Such a simple blurb, but one that can hold such meaning. Depending one which side you heard you could pick up a lighter tone, or a dark tone. It depends how it's interepted. He personally heard too much of a mixture, and did not like it. When you heard a mixture, it was easy to be critisized becuase no one knows where to place you, you don't have a "clique" to belong to. And apartently others don't like that. Peace is not supposed to be existing. Poppy. Silence returned, until you listened closely. There was the breathing of the two, slow and relaxed. A gentle lapping of waves against shore, the distant cry of a scavenging gull. It was peaceful, in a way, just hearing sounds natural to the world. He wouldn't give it up for anything else in the world.

Finished but out of muse.

[Illinois]

A temper not from heaven. A personality true to his evil side. Hellish looks greet the eye. A stench of death subetly lingers. Is it it you that trigers his dislie or was it something that caught his eye. If it was you that made him flare, just remember beware. Evil his is way.

Russet coated cess pools glared around the bright horizon. Taking in the things that surrounded him. The settled upon the charred figure of the brute. Gradually the ground between them ceased but ven as the equine came forward the hellish one knew by is movements, although h may be paintd like hell he was nothing but a simle peasent, a light, a heaven seeker. But still although the he seemed wortless to a dark. Tuning also proved to be oe of is unique talents. Yes, the, teasing, the taunting would defeat the weeklings plans and reveal the deamon within to his fellow followers. He would lead those who follow his hoofprints to victory, to leadeship to control.

As the opposite brujo paced closer until he stood only a short meter away. With not much meaning the hellish on raised his crown igher then the less imporant and allowed his pinnicles to be flattened onto hs skull. This pose was just one that came naturally, always there when he met somethin new. Weather it was deliberate or just normal it always came and nothing ever changed. Without a snort, grunt or whinny he simply stood there. As the almost soft, not raspy but musical. Smooth flowing vocals. A curse must be known well then, a curse he must tell but frst a little taunting must be underway.

A curse is what you ask for bronc tell me why should I. First what be your alias. Hurry my paitence runs short with those of your type.

[Hypnotic]

It seemed this other thrived on silence, for it took him quite awhile to respond. Or was he just mulling it over, slowly thinking and planning how each word was to sound? A simple procedure, really, to think. But not all bothered. Most of the time, you found one or two intellegent equine within thelands and the others couldn't be bothered to do any thinking of the sorts. Couldn't stop themselves from rambling on about absolutely nothing. Pain, really, to be talking to one of that matter of speaking. But nevermind that now, the brute has changed positions. Noting the higher skull and the pinned ears, natural instinct told him to do the same. Fight or flight? Rather fight. There is little honour in running away, and it should only be used when absolutely needed. His own diadem rose higher, still at a somewhat relaxed pose. Audi flickered back, and if he had not been seeking the ability to speak to someone they most certainly would have been laced. Noting the obsidian brute was speaking now, he shut his thoughts momentarily away, listening with portions of attention and interest. Little patience for his type, eh? Swearing that he was taunting, his own patience run thin and temperment swapped, fury raging higher to the surface.

Patience is something that has to be earned. Respect is something that has to be earned. Names, however, can be given freely.

His words held a somewhat snarky tone, though they were still calm. By patience needs to be earned he meant that patience cannot be given unless you practice at it first. By respect he was referring to the brute trying to show his rank by lifting his skull and pinning ears. He wasn't about to back down to someone who he did not respect. By names, he was pointing that the brute was being childish, taunting instead of speaking like a full grown. Which points him back to giving his own name. Great. Note the sarcasm, if you please.

Call me Hypnotic.

Not Hypno. Not Hypo. Not Hyptic. Those are just an example of the names he had been called when those who speak get too lazy to use proper vowels. They have a meaning, you know. It was sad to think that some could grow so lazy that they coudn't even give speech at a respectable rate. And that lowers peoples expectations of you, which doesn't give you as many oppertunities to show a serious side. Pity.

[Illinois]

Will you be the saviour of the broken, he said will you defeat them, the deamons and all the non-belivers. The plans that they have made. Cause oneday, i'll lave you a phantom to lead you. To join the black parade.

Ebon chassis stood still, his curvature rounded a little and the stance he had once used became less tight. Still the strong instincts he carried within his box sounded deep within his pinnicles, like a siren whirling around. Not relaxed he still stood tall but his muscles not as flexed. Although this other brujo straightned out his nape and held his visage slightly higher, his height did ot match the darks, his pride not as high as the stgs. His jacket matched the paint that splattered the bulk of the other. Almost identicle to each other he showed his heritage through the laid back stance of his towers.

As he opened his velvet covered kissers the smooth, almost rhythmatic chords were set free. Freedom a last, they twisted and turned spreading the lights outlook on the world to any that cared to listen. His vocals carried not mutch impact to the mighty steed, they hardly brushed his thorns bfore he had lost almost all respect for the light race. Their steady words stayed calm in almost all aspects of life, but they acted as though without them the whole world would fall apart.

Considering the equines last vocals, Hypnotic he chose to spread his own meanicing tones to the duos of the 'other'. Paring his labrums, the evil stench that lingered upon his breath was set free. He carried the prescence of a true dark.

I give you great pity, Hpnotic, for you obviously think highly of yourself. But do't let me be the breake of your dreams. For when the equines in my cadre shout the world Illinois well only then shall you no the true identity of my soul.

As he started his sentance he spat the beasts curse, if the light wanted to talk in such a childish way, he should expect to be taunted for his hopes and dreams. Who said a dark liked respect. It was much the other way. Why would one want patience, for patience was only used for an equine who waited. No, he would much rather follow in the footsteps of a leader. Not a follower. Oce more he allowed his rasy, evil chords to be free of his caverns.

Patience and respect may have to be earned, but that is not how I live my life. I do not take kindly to having others rule my life. he pause allowing the meaning of his vocals to set like concrete, only the did he continue. Life is short, you may choose to have ptience and keep your cool, but whats that going to do. Respect leaves alot to be desired in my opinoin. But then again you show you are highly opinonated.

He almost allowed a tinch of mocking laughther be released within hi tones, but his self control stopped him from doing so. Staring , almost glaring at the beasts strange ways of living he almost let laghter take control once again. He had only been placed upon thi world to be the surviver, the defeater of the deamons. The lights.

Lyrics by My Chemical Romance.