( @fablesborn ) asked : "Wha-What happened? Are you hurt??" — Sognare & Phobos
Phobos blinked in confusion at Sognare's words, her countenance almost startling him out of the daze he'd been in. It's a little jarring, but just a slight motion is enough to feel the slick between his fingers and the heaviness of his clothes. A soft dripping sound seems to be following and his eyes are alight with the realisation he's left a trail. He honestly doesn't even remember walking al the way back home.
Yet her he is, the dark entrance beckoning him even as his sweet little dream stands in the opening, so clearly worried yet too fearful to truly step outside and meet him. Ah, she must think all this is his.
His eyes are shining with internal light as he raises a brow at her, a hand raising, slowly, ever so slowly, until soaked digits brush his lips. He isn't steady, and it leaves a trail of red over his jaw even as his tongue peeks out between parted lips, and he sucks on his fingers to clean them off a little.
The taste of copper hits his tongue and almost immediately all he can see is the clearing in the forest, the wasteland nobody really dared cross, where the poor fool had thought he could scare Phobos, the son of fear himself! The idiot had learned the error of his ways as his ribcage had given way to Phobos' forceful handling, cracking open like an egg and positively gushing for him. That was why his shirt is soaked through. He almost moaned at the memory alone.
He must make quite the sight, drenched in blood and looking almost euphoric from it all. No wonder he'd gotten back without being accosted so much as once. One only had to follow the trail back to its source, and the Isle would realise it had one less inhabitant, one less mouth to feed. The children ought to be grateful, if nothing else.
A shadow seemed to fall over them, and the haze in Phobos' eyes focussed abruptly on the threat, the one thing he considered more powerful than himself.
The young man relaxed as he registered the amusement in the man's voice, and he inclined his head in deference. "He had it coming, father. Won't be doing it again." Ah, poor Sognare must be scared, he sounds relaxed and ever so proud of himself, after all. Pitch may not be able to touch anyone under normal circumstances, but Phobos most certainly can. It's only rare that the body is one of his own making, rather than one predetermined by his father.
That dark laugh echoed again in the space between them. "Go get cleaned up. You've earned it."
With that approval singing in his veins, Phobos finally approached the rest of the way, briefly taking the time to trap Sognare bodily against the wall and kiss her soundly, knowing full well his clothes would leave blood stains on her own.
He's gone as quickly as he appeared, vanishing towards the baths with only a trail of blood droplets to mark his passage. The blood felt good on his skin, but he knew he had to wash up, lest he stained whatever salvageable furniture they had left.
He can hear the soft click of heeled shoes against the stone floor even as he drops his blood soaked clothing in a bucket filled with water. Even naked it looks as though the blood is coating him, like a particularly skin tight garment. He doesn't need to turn to know who's there.
"Hello princess, come to join me?"