blue sunday. @blvesunday - Tumblr Blog

He slowly brings out his pack of cigarettes, placing one between his lips and flicking his forefinger. It lights and he inhales deeply, offering one to the stressing Omijacha. He finds it endearing, how much the younger man plagues himself. He misses the little subtle hints because of this, and it makes Sitron a little sad, even. Something cools down inside him and he realizes it’s his heart... Something in the way puppydog Omijacha slumps like that makes him react. He leans forwards, into their conversation. “Tell me, Omijacha. Did you cook for me out of your own volition?”

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"You cook right," Om assumes,in that rare moment those lips press together tentatively and he pushes the handle of the paper bag toward the other. " Well, I burnt it. Un- burn it or somethin' " he rolls the palm of his hand as if it were normal to ask for a re-do on a chicken. "It's also kinda raw in the middle, so yeah, that's a thing-- do you even eat meat-- you look like the type that thoroughly enjoys organic tofu with your tea. "

“Do you know how absurd you sound?” He stares at the man for a long time, looking with his dark eyes over the rim of said teacup. The air between them is both flat and electric, wavelengths dancing invisibly... but oh, Sitron can feel them. It both irritates and intrigues him, with his hair tugged back into a loose ponytail and cascading black over his shoulders and back.

“Once one burns something, it cannot be undone. I should know that better than anyone.” And he sips his tea, weighing the possibilities about this unheard-of food. “Personally, I have never come across it. Tofu sounds unpleasant. I hope I never need to try it, especially in the context you’ve just said it.” But he feels like Omijacha is trying to compliment him, suspiciously, and so he offers him the very faintest of mouth-twitches.

yeah, all these personals can unfollow me cause you’re all blocked

#ooc.

mm, hot buns.

Mm, get out.

deletinghaha-deactivated2016101

"And if I say yes?"

Send one for my muse’s reaction.

One of the perks of being a supernatural creature included being able to track down and take notice of others around–for vampires, in special, considering the acute smell they had, each one guarding one special scent. Tonight, the vampire had pretty fingers curled around a pale neck as his victim was pressed up against the wall of an alley–the hunger was rushing through hot veins, the crave for the one thing he needed to keep going growing as the seconds went by. The whole thing would’ve been done in a few seconds if it wasn’t for the fact that his nose caught a different scent, something not … human. Tea–why did this guy smell like tea? It was then that his grip tightened around the pale flesh, the request of a full explanation echoing in the air. Knowledge was never enough, especially when weaknesses to take down the opponent were shared.

”Then I might just spare your life.”

#[ I like it even though a mere touch to Sitron's bare skin ensures combustion.#[ Because he literally is fire but well written ~

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[ bailincha ]

Cracking and sparks of fire shaped into mocking voice –soothing destruction of fireplace, tongues of dragon coming from that one considered human-shaped dragon himself. His name and voice is legend and a legend well know within the realms –Sitron of Yujacha the Warbringer, destroyer of soils and Creator of all Pyres, one of the many faces the Sacred Princess of Zheng He herself knew she may have had to associate to his consort.

And it was enough to cause her to let a gasp leak away from her lips and a shiver running down her spine as she turned to confirm her instinctive suspect –uncomfortable with the tendrils of shadows and approaching night in stranger environment around her, uncomfortable with the clothing she had to wear in order not to raise suspect within the even more bizarre population of that world so different and yer so similar to hers.

« … We are all out of place in such a world, my prince, are you a-aware of that? »

Sitron of Yujacha, acclaimed human dragon, knows.

Perhaps the term dragon does not suit him as it should. He believes that a dragon can control his fire, and thus not let it turn on himself. In the King’s case, well, Prince-- this fire of his had become the ultimate fear. It tore him from the family he might have had, and it stripped him of the throne. Yujacha held nothing but ashes for him, nothing to return to but charred ruins. It is this that holds him from the positive legacy he once deserved, but he is a mere shadow.

Zheng He. Sitron can confirm that he has never been there, never wants to go-- for he knows the moment his gloves are removed is the moment he loses control. That is why he has taken to wearing them in the first place. Only one woman did not show fear, only one woman allowed him to love; and she was stolen from him from the Broken Hearts, with the wolf-smile and his fast-beating heart.

And so comes the conclusion to their introduction, a hand raising up to pinch the brim of his hat, head inclining in a cowboy-like greeting. A dark laugh, low and husky, fills the air.

“And do tell me, Bai Lin Gong Fu... So far from possible help... Are you afraid?”

Are you lost? You seem to be, and I mean much more so than forgetting where you are.

"Lost? Not a word I associate with myself, Hearts." He dares to smirk softly, gloved fingers dancing in the wind. It's a gesture of dismissal, waving him off, insignificance, and he hopes that it will pierce Omijacha.

"Perhaps the wanderlust has grasped me, naive one. Perhaps I have come... To char your soul just as black as mine. I haven't forgotten what you did." He pictures her laying there, clothed in Omijacha's arms, his, his woman. She'd called him Ember, she'd led him to believe there was a chance in the world that somebody just might love him despite his danger.

He had been so wrong, so bitter, and even when she disappeared he did not seek her. He held a grudge to the young prince and would do so for the rest of his life-- beleaguered him, tried to bring him down.

Are you pregnant?

"... Classy."

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imstusutcliffe

Send me "Are you pregnant?" Or "I'm pregnant!" For my muse's reaction!

omjchx

" I am not slow,” Omijacha retorts folding his arms in front of his chest, the warm lining of his overcoat ( he won’t give it up, not yet and although it’s starting to grow worn in the last few days, he refuses,) is a comforting feeling as it hugs his skin. “Maybe I do understand, and I say maybe because you?-” There’s a difficulty in the way he wants to address the elder man, - the respect that he has for him is wire thin and cutting. ” You, are not a difficult man to understand,” he finishes, consonants hard on the edge of his tongue though his eyes do not reach the flickering embers trapped in the others with the fear of being burnt by them.

"Also, I don’t have to tell you anything. It’s my business where I walk —there is no-one that fears you enough here to give you whatever you ask," and Omijacha knows with the way his teeth pinch the inside of his cheek and he tastes iron under his tongue, that the people here are much different—borderline strange. "But-" he can’t give up the urge to draw stories, the lifting of his voice from it’s hiding. "If you must ask however— I am here simply to buy this world’s flesh— it’s land and it’s lovely daughters for my keep. ” Omijacha opens his palms out and bare, showing his bony fingers. “You’re too late, Egg.”

blvesunday

Not a difficult man to understand?

"If I ever tell you one thing, Omijacha, I will tell you this. You understand but a fraction of what you see, and to consider yourself close enough to understand the rest-- that is humorous. Remember your place. You do not know who I am besides my name and the reputation that ghosts along behind me wherever I walk." He is confident, as always, but so sinister in each and every deliverance of his sentences. As always, he is haughtily respectful, the kind that does not lash out but will sneak up behind you and get you when you least expect it.

"Furthermore," he begins, annoyance bubbling up from his burning centre and presenting itself on his otherwise stoic face, resting in his blazing dark eyes, "This land belongs to itself. This is not your playground, and these ladies are not your toys. Do not forget that these women are different. Perhaps the women back where you know are meek and softhearted, but these women are jaded and they bite, too."

Satisfied with his thoughts on the matter, Sitron brushes his hair from his face -- it is, after all, flowing in the breeze -- with a gloved hand, careful not to touch his own skin. It is when he's sure his words sink in that he addresses the horrible nickname.

"Lastly, about this-- Egg. That is not a term you may refer to me by." Firestarter, that is what he was called, and this name is new. He almost prefers the other.

#omjchx #re.

blvesunday

the prince of w a r and d e s o l a t i o n. the aftermath. the man in black. the d a r k s h a d o w s, maybe even the bump in the night. a crescendo. f o r t e. fortissimo.

▲ ▲ ▲ ▲

krisanthemvm-archived-blog

"I am not here by choice, Tron." Anthem’s voice came out harsher than he meant it to, but the man standing behind him was older, wiser and if all the rumors were true, far deadlier than he wanted to be close to. "I was summoned by a man who wanted a wish I could not grant. He has died. You know what that means."

Speaking of how he was stranded made his blood boil. That damn, old fool. Magic has its limitations as well, Anthem thought everyone knew that, but apparently not. Now, Anthem certainly felt bad when he found out why he was summoned and he tried to ease the man’s pain, but in the end it was all for naught. He refused to seek medical help, instead allowing his illness to take over and consume him.

blvesunday

"You know the consequences of who you are." He says this brashly, brows knitting together with both thought and some unnecessary anger. Anthem was not a stupid Prince, no, and he was fair-- not physically, but he was careful and seemed to count the odds between both his people and himself. It did not change the fact that he sees anger in the younger's eyes, and that itself heightens Sitron's frustration.

Oh, these young Princes.

"And because that man died, did he ask for this misfortune to fall upon him? Had he not depended on the Tea Prince to save him from his miserable fate? Tell me, Krisanthemum, tell me-- who did not deliver in the end their promise?" He pauses, inclining his head and centering his gaze.

"It was you."

#krisanthemvm #[ wow sitron ur sass

You. { ` It's just a whisper on his tongue, but Om sneers, a bad taste gathering in his mouth simply by being in your presence. While there is a sort of fear settling on his shoulders, he doesn't allow his gaze to fall from your face-- won't allow himself to wilt under mere speculation [ he's never heard more than stories, and seen the char of grass when visiting other kingdoms, too young, too oblivious for his own good. ] }

"I." He expects more from the young man, but there's some little seething doubt on the back of his mind. It's unexplained unrest, some irrevocable sense of impending upset. Not that he cares-- for all its worth, what would the Heartbreaker do to him? How did he know who he was speaking to-- there was nothing that escaped Sitron. Nothing. He was fire. "Such a strange sight, a look of insinuated hatred on a face so young whilst it looks upon something it cannot understand." His hair flows long to his waist, as black as the gloves on his fingers, as black as the charcoal ruins from his past. "So tell me, you Prince of broken hearts. Why are you here?"

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krisanthemvm : Anthem stills, the voice nearby making the Prince stutter in his steps until he comes to a full stop. There aren’t many with a voice like this one. None with as much power and strength behind such a simple sentence. Another Prince from home, not the same land of Huangshan, but a kingdom nearby.

"Sitron?" Anthem didn’t even turn to face the elder, his shoulders tensing until he could figure out whether the man was here as a friend or possibly something else.

He's recognized so easily, and that brings him pride. With his pride comes a little smirk of satisfaction; the mysterious prince of Yujacha brings with him danger, and perhaps just a little anarchy. However, he's not here to take him out, Krisanthemum that is, and so he remains as neutral as he possibly can.

"There we are. So astounding, after all this time, you'd remember the sound of my voice alone." He allows himself a soft chuckle, head jaunting to the side and eyes staring at the back of the other man's head. That long hair of his drifts along the breeze, black as a starless night.

"You're so far from home, Krisanthemum. Thought I'd join you." This wasn't entirely true; he had not come with the intention of finding the other Prince. In fact, he'd just happened upon him. The other Prince didn't need to know that.

#krisanthemvm #re;

it is rain.

it makes mirror on the ground, disturbed only by feet and more droplets. ripples, those too. the chilly wind. it's late in the year, and it's just the way Sitron likes it. solitude. this place, it's different. perhaps the same landmass, but different. futuristic. he doesn't like that.

he can't refuse that magnetic pull, something linking him to the strange place and reminding of times back home.

kin.

it places a near-sultry little smile on his face, and he tips his wide-brimmed hat to conceal most of his features. drawing his cloak in tighter, he faces the wailing wind and treks onwards through the night, onwards to the brothers he knows await.

#intro.

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