paladin

          A limb that doesn’t favor his wound is seized, draped about a bridge of built hombres. With ease and gradual sense, she corrects their posture in a mutual stand. Her support of his frame is one of ease——as though this is no taxing task at all.

    Lead the way, partner.

          A pleasant day.

                     I know I’ve got my problems and it’s probably me,                                                                                   so hold on to me..                                                                                                        hold on to me.

          Alone are they, together as one. The way that the water beats down on the roof above like a merciless fury. The way that oceanus oculi rippled with each pitter and patter, the roar of surging waters that once caused the Mighty Flood. It’s calming, an ease, a welcoming embrace of the storm that still rages within her that shall never be conquered. There is lightning and there is thunder in those veins, fire and ice that edge in fringe. A maelstrom of hardened, warring perpetuity. But tonight.. tonight it is different in the midst of a welcoming, humbling storm. The way that silence has taken her as it usually does, but she is not alone.

          It’s all slowly melting away, falling into nothingness with masculine, calloused appendages that begin to slip over porcelain hombres that merely held up straps to a top that served concealed slumber’s purpose. Digits that push beneath those straps and enforce their collapse, their tumble down the curve of lightly scarred hombres. It causes a revering part to supple grooves. Rearward is her glance that is halted by the nudge of a crown.

          Considerable is their difference in height, but all the more accommodated with each passing moment. The way a broadened, chiseled mandible works its way from roseate magistrate’s crown’s peak, to the nape of alabaster flesh (large digits moving aside stray clusters of roseate), to the curve of her neck. She moves not, for her reluctance would be for naught. For she is human, she is a still as human as those impulses are from days long passed. Though her powers be in a domain of the gods, her body and mind and soul hold dock in a harbor of humanity. She’s fought him for so long, for even now she wants to yank away and deject him. For how many times has he left? This is not a forever chance. Forever means nothing to a soldier because nothing ever gets a chance at forever…                                                 but maybe she wants to try.

          So she doesn’t fight it. She lets it occur, lets it ensue. When will she ever see him again, anyway? And by this time, his hands have etched tiny circles down slender, porcelain-turned-steel obliques. Those familiar digits that slip beneath the fabric and begin to rise once more, scaling that flesh once more. And she can feel the rows of flawless ivory graze across her shoulder, causing electricity to surge through her. A crown of roseate magistrate teeters in reverse, a breath expelling in a sort of delight. Ebon lash flatters, oceanus oculi become concealed. And she loses herself to the breath that mars her flesh with a splotch of pink from the tease of teeth. But slender limbs rise and he takes the privilege given to him, slipping the tank from her frame.

          Tonight.. just for tonight. She would be his, and he would be hers.                                                                                             Toy soldiers.

          It was something new to her. The shambling of individuals, the desire to rip flesh from bone and to govern death to life. His words were like reassurance kissing upon alabaster countenance, helping her through. But did she truly need it? Was this really the worst occurrence to man? All of the things she had come across and all of the pain that she’s gone through—the people that have been slaughtered in cold blood before her very eyes. Seeing them turned into monsters ready to pounce and devour… it was almost fitting. As though karma took a shot and succeeded tenfold.

          Her blade had been drawn long before sighting humane degradation. Inward doth readied stride ensue, leathern appendages smoothing along the hilt in vertical exposure. Before her does this blade grant demeaning reckoning of its fang. But do these beasts care? No. They hold no care whatsoever. Only for the pulse in her neck, the rhythmic beating of her heart and the blood surging through her veins. How hungry are they, as this duo hangs in the balance of ignorance to their location. It was only bound to happen with this goddamned agent at her side. Those words rang in her mind over and over and over again.

          Stride hastens, acceleration inevitable as this blade dips inward—its apex kissing and grazing at the worn ground beneath her boots. This acceleration is met with the clockwise rotation and ascension of crimson fang. This blade was the length of her height, nearly, and as it drove through degrading flesh and sickening ammonia of death. However, within the midst of this rotational alignment wouldst a broadening of lateral bicep and hombre ensue. Muscular, systematic influence ripping the blade in declination. The hilt rolls in the curvature foundation of her palm, released by the liberal appendage just as bisection of a second being is etched into reality. A spring in reverse is taken place, minimal was it, as a shamble toward her to grasp upon her in a needy embrace is avoided.

          Firmed articulation sounds forth, following the shattering reverberation of a Jericho sounding off. The bullet slips through the practically hollow cranial cavity of the aforementioned.