PRP After the Battle (Vesira and Demos)

[Fatal Irony]

She had felt it. A shift. Something on the breeze that told her something was coming for her. When the rumors started among the mortals she paid more attention than she might have. She was not typically an attentive Goddess, so long as her people were doing their duty and thriving. They had been more than thriving lately. Vesira had been feeling especially giving and had been bringing more and more zamphirs into being and calling others from far away to her. The group from the mountains was a legend before it ever reached her temple. She'd spied on their caravan the whole way down, trying to learn what she might of the presence she had felt among them. He had remained elusive however, always out of sight of her bats. He was clever. He left just enough evidence of his presence for her bats to see that he existed but not enough to show her his face or give her any clue who he was.

When he burst into her temple demanding her attention she knew little more about him than that he smelled of vampire blood. She came to his call, surprising some perhaps but none more than Vesira herself. She was careful to keep her face neutral during the trial, lest an errant expression be interpreted as concern for either party as the fight went on. She wasn't sentimental. She cast aside one Angelique in disgrace once and hadn't looked back. She chose Dyre for his strength and skill in hunting. She had affection for him, which is why he remained welcome at the temple, but if another wished to rise to her side and could prove his worth, that was fine by her. She wanted to set the best example for her people, after all.

At the end of the contest he had asked her to choose. That surprised her a little. He cared about whether she chose him? He wasn't submitting to her like most angelics. He stood with pride and projected strength even with the exhaustion of battle wearing on his face. Interesting. She had stepped down and accepted him in front of all comers. She'd said words about and to Dyre, but so much of it all seemed a dream. The image of Dyre's silhouette leaving out of the temple door kept drifting to the front of her mind unbidden. What a day.

After Dyre had gone Vesira had reached out for the new angelic and in a blink they were gone, brought to some secret place where they could talk alone. Her kids could handle the mortals at the temple, who were probably at this moment overwhelming the place with questions. She was glad to have skipped that. Mortals tended to panic at every little thing. Her first divorce was quite the event in the mortal realm. Maybe this time they'll take it better. All she knew was that she was letting her kids deal with that.

So here they were. In this dark garden, large weeping willows and flowers and grasses all around, curtaining them in as if they were in a private room. The sky wasn't visible through the thick foliage overhead and there were no creatures stirring anywhere they could hear. Sound was muffled when they spoke. The entire place made it feel like a violation to speak loudly. There were benches for sitting and a fountain which offered one of the only sounds in this strange place. She sat on the edge of the fountain and looked at her ostensible new mate. He might notice none of their bats had made the journey and they were truly alone.

"So tell me," she said, cocking her head to the side curiosly. "What is your name"







 

[Uta]

He had done it.

His gamble had paid off and he had ousted Dyre from his position as Vesira's Angelique. Better still, Vesira had not spurned him nor punished him for his arrogance, nor struck him down for potential insult. She could have continued to support Dyre, even after the battle was over, and Demosthenes had known the risks he had taken, barging in and making potential blasphemous demands. But in the end, after a long and, admittedly, difficult battle, he had ousted Dyre and Vesira had chosen him.

Every bruise, every sore muscle, every scratch and scar was worth it. Of course, Demosthenes was not known to be sentimental, especially outwardly -- but his drive to be the best-of-the-best was not just a personal goal, but entirely for the great Vesira. Seeing her in all her state was enough to bring a man to his knees -- how many out there might have yearned to be by her side, to be her Angelique? To be granted such a title was a great honor... And while the position brought with it great power, it was not just a tactical move to better his position among the Zamphirs.

For Demosthenes, the work to impress Vesira was only just beginning -- and now that his gambit had paid off, the real test began. Ousting Dyre was the first step, and about as far ahead as he had planned. Things needed to change, and though he had ideas, he was no fool. He weas not here to use Vesira, nor was he here to be simply her tool. He needed to prove himself, time and again, to ensure Vesira knew that he was here for her, however she needed. He did not consider himself a foolish fae, but his quiet weakness had been, and always would be, her.

Standing before her amid the garden of flowers and trees, Demosthenes turned to regard Vesira and quietly drink in her beauty. He was careful to keep his expression schooled, but his green and purple regard did not falter. Everything Demosthenes did was with purpose, and though he did not know what might yet come, he would be ready for it. He would need to prove that she did not make a mistake in her choice. Ousting Dyre meant living with his memory, but Demosthenes would make his peace with that. Dyre had served her well ... but the ever competitive Zamphir wanted to do more, wanted to be more.

However, it was all up to Vesira. She was not some prize, after all -- but beautiful, and wicked, and powerful. She was more breathtaking and dazzling now that he was before her... and he knew, without a doubt, that he would give up his very breath for her. His devotion was all the more cemented. This was where he belonged -- now he had to ensure Vesira knew it, too. That they all knew it.

He had won the battle, but the war was far from won.

"Demosthenes," he finally spoke, wings beginning to slowly relax against his back. He was missing feathers, and a few tattered ones fell away from him like autumn leaves from the tree. If she expected him to say more, he held his tongue. He would not throw himself down at her feet. "You made the right choice," he spoke, boldly. "Now let me prove it." And all that went along with it.  

[Fatal Irony]

She studied him and the way he moved. Every muscle was under absolute control and he had the grace and dangerous allure of a jungle cat. This was a man who did not falter. Who did not make mistakes. He had the uncompromising confidence of a warrior who had seen many battles. His trophies glittered in the strange light as he moved, catching her eye. Fangs. So many of them. Without a word he spoke of his prowess and dedication to the cause in a way that brooked no argument or debate but stated plainly what he was about. They clacked together every now and again like a bell ringing in her heart. Or perhaps her loins.

His declaration brought an even wider grin to her face, her eyebrows cocked in amusement. She heard the earnest determination in his voice as he swore to prove his worthiness to her. She let her mind drift to the ways he might do just that, biting her lip.

"Demosthenes," she purred. "How do you wish to prove it?" She motioned for him to sit beside her before leaning back and splashing the water lightly.
 

[Uta]

Demosthenes' tail slowly curled behind him, as he gazed upon Vesira, and drank in her smile. Again, he kept his expression schooled, not wanting to give away his true feelings and intrigue, but the glow in his eyes brightened considerably. Surely, she was the very picture of beauty -- both deadly and alluring. He needed to be cautious, careful, as this was now a new playing field...

This was her world, and he suspected she might think him some pawn.

But he was more than that -- and he would make sure she came to understand it, with time. He was not here just for power... but for her.

The goddess had haunted his dreams since the moment he first laid eyes upon her. Years prior, he had been on the hunt, coming to the aid of a neighboring tribe of zamphirs, when he saw her. He'd been too late, and he thought he would witness the end of his kin -- but she had appeared, and wiped out the throng. And while all who may have witnessed her were moved, Demosthenes had been struck, well and truly.

She was his weakness, his obsession, and his greatest secret. For he was not and would not let it be known. Not yet. Perhaps she'd find out in time... but for now, he'd need be cautious. What was Vesira actually like and would she share her world with him? Or was he expected to be but arm candy? Whatever the case, he was bound and determined to do what he could to play the long game. He was the hunter, and she was the prey... whether she realized it or not.

At her words, and her gesture, Demosthenes moved forward to bridge the distance between them. He didn't hurry, but his eyes never left her gaze. "By slaughtering the enemy in your name," he rumbled, his words low as he took a slow, sauntering step forward. "By building up the tribes into a vast army and network the likes of which Faetasia has never seen," another promise, another step, "And worshiping you as you had ought to be." He purred back, settling down beside her, and boldly having his tail seek out of one of her own. He did not touch though... not yet... keeping his control -- but she could feel the heat pressed against her. She could pull away, if she wished-- but he would and could tease, as well.

He was in no rush. He was ready to savor this moment with her... this quiet time while they had it. Whether or not she would appreciate his approach remained to be seen.

Fatal Irony

 

[Fatal Irony]

His eyes sparkled, captivating her. He was a rather handsome angelic, she couldn't deny. The curve of his arms, the swagger in his step, the boldness in his face, the way he said worshipped... After the adrenaline from the battle she was certainly feeling something. The warmth of his tail near hers vibrated through her. She allowed one of her tails to touch his and met his gaze, listening to his plans for her people. She wondered how he was going to strengthen the tribes and turn them into an army. That would be quite the feat. Just imagining the possibility of standing over a victorious battlefield made her heart flutter with excitement. Big promises. She wasn't usually inclined to trust promises without actions to back them up, but Demonthenes had just deposed of Dyre before her very eyes. That was was no small thing. There was also his legend that preceded him before he ever arrived which she was more and more inclined to believe. Who was this angelic? Why had she never known of him before now?


"You've done a fair bit of slaughtering the enemy in my name," she purred as she traced a finger along the chain of his facial piercing, lightly brushing his lip in the process. "Why have I never seen your face before?" Her eyes burned with an intensity that was difficult to read. Was she challenging him or seducing him? She wasn't sure herself. "You've never come to my temple, nor have I laid eyes upon you before you dispatched my mate before my eyes." She let her hand trace his jaw and come to rest against his neck. She let the silence grow between them, amplified by this strange place. The air was heavy, oppressive suddenly. Her demeanor and voice remained casual. "Why do you want to raise this army and destroy the vampires?"





 

[Uta]

The touch of her tail against him sent a jolt up his spine, and the sudden touch of her fingers against his cheek had a shiver run through him. He tried valiantly not to show it, but even a man as strong and in control as Demosthenes couldn't hide his desire for the other. And why shouldn't he want her, lust for her, love her? She was strong, capable, and fierce... and Demosthenes had spent years working to become worthy of her time. Today, this moment, was a culmination of years dedication...

And even if he had failed, even if she had chosen Dyre, or another -- his devotion to her was and would remain true. He could well be patient when he needed to be.

Usually.

Which is why her touch, burning through his very being, had him feeling surprisingly impatient. Surely, they both knew what was to come... what he craved. Still, he would hold back... He would not give in, though weaker Fae might readily crumble. Anticipation was half the pleasure, after all.

Allowing his own tail to twine with hers, he turned his head so he might boldly attempt to press his lips against her hand, her wrist, her arm, as it moved down him. His burning, glowing gaze never left hers though. Her questions were not surprising....but he was unsure how to best answer. "I did not deem myself deserving of your time, or your sight," he explained, though there was no self-deprecation in it. There were very few who deserved to hold her her time, time which was ever so precious and sacred. "It was only recently I felt confident, certain, that I was worthy, that I had proof of my skills, and kill upon kill in honor of your name. I had little wish to waste your time," he stated, factually, and with ever confidence. He was not so arrogant as to think he had simply been born this way -- he had had to work for it, to prove his prowess and determination.

As for his reason for slaying, well... "It's high time the tribes unite in your name," he spoke, moving closer, and spreading a wing to see if she might wish to sit beneath it--or at least, allow him to wrap it around her. "Vampires are rarely alone, with their clans and covens... Our tribes are beneficial, but there's disorder among the ranks, and too many lack discipline. Each of my kills is a gift from me to you, and your enemies, will always be mine." He would hunt down Caine himself if he could... but though he could not give her the ultimate prize, he would slaughter to protect the Zamphirs, her children, her people, and his kith and kin.

Hunting was in their blood...
He didn't question it, wouldn't question it. Had not the vampires killed and slaughtered others? How many had been turned? How many more had wound up drained? He could not, would not, let them run rampant -- not on his watch. And if he could bring her pleasure in the slaughter, he would lay down the fangs of her enemies for the rest of his days. That was a guarantee.

Fatal Irony

 

[Fatal Irony]

She felt the sincerity in his words, but there was something else nagging at her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about this angelic was somehow familiar, safe. She felt at ease around him, the touch of him felt comfortable and right. She felt slightly guilty for enjoying the view of her attractive new mate, but not enough to deny her attraction. She allowed both of her tails to intertwine with his and looked at him seductively. "I have very deep reasons to hunt the vermin," she said quietly. There was no edge to her voice, only regret and pain. She had never mentioned her reasons before to anyone. Not the truth anyway. She was unused to opening up however. She didn't have to words to say more, though she felt like she wanted to.

"I want to do all of those things," she said instead, looking away. "I want to build up my people. There are changes happening and something is coming, and we need to be ready." She sounded determined but not excited. What was weighing on her must be heavy indeed. She looked back at him and felt her muscles relax. Something about him was calming like a balm. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes and simply feeling his closeness and breathing him in. He smelled nice.






 

[Uta]

Demosthenes shifted his position, so he could slip an arm about the goddess. Perhaps it was too bold, but how could one resist when she was so near? The twining of her tails about his own only served to embolden him, and he could not deny his attraction and intrigue. It wasn't just because she was the goddess of Zamphirs--he wanted to know all about her, and be there for her however she might need. His love for her was not shallow, nor was it insincere -- having her close only reaffirmed that he'd done the right thing.

When she rested her forehead against his, his grip tightened around her protectively. He might not be a god himself, but he knew that he would pull the sun from the sky for her if she wished it. His wings spread so he might wrap them loosely about her, shielding her from the world. If he could but shield her from the pain that he heard within her words, he would have.... As it was, he simply held her, letting her feel his strength, hoping she knew he would never falter in his devotion.

"Then I won't stop until the last of them are destroyed," he finally rumbled. It was a near impossible task, but as long as Demosthenes held breath, so would his loathing for the monsters. But he would not run them down foolishly. No, like everything Demosthenes did, he did so with calculation and caution. He'd been born a cautious being, and would remain so.

"There is a great weight upon your shoulders-- I am here to ease that burden. I will make you the finest army, and ensure your people are prepared." He had plans, and he would do whatever he had to do to see them come to fruition. Everything he did, he'd do for her... strangers though they well might be.

Fatal Irony

 

[Fatal Irony]

A great weight was indeed on her shoulders. He offered to share the load, but what was coming was going to take all of them to weather. She pulled back her head slightly so she could look into his glowing eyes. There was something familiar in the way he looked at her and it made her feel... loved. She'd only felt this way once before, long ago... Before she knew what was happening her lips were crashing into his and she pulled him close to her, wrapping her arms around him. Something about this felt right in a strange way. She felt at home. Or would, if she hadn't brought them to this strange muffled place. She pulled away from him a bit, allowing his arms and wings to remain around her. It was warm.

"There are things you don't know," she said softly, gazing into his eyes. Everything felt so heavy now. She couldn't pretend the things weighing on her were nothing. "I've sensed things shifting, changing. There is something happening amongst the Gods." She stood up and started pacing as she spoke, her voice muffled by the power of the place but still powerful. "There has been a transfer of power. Caine seems to be gone for good and it appears his son has taken over." She hit her palm with her fist. "But that's not all. A new God has Arisen and I feel her coming. I don't know what it means, but her race is as vile as the Cainites." She blew out a breath. She paused in her pacing and looked at her new Angelique. Something within her felt emboldened by his presence. "We need to gather the family and prepare. A war may be coming. But beyond that, someone has been using the spear of destiny, which I suspect had something to do with the new Vampire God's rise to power. We need intelligence. We need warriors." She was back to pacing. She never would show this part of herself to anyone she didn't know well, but she felt connected to this new Angelique already and let herself fully be herself. She was pacing faster and punching the air and her palm, grumbling about all of the enemies that have presented themselves. "I must destroy them all" she growled.

 

[Uta]

Demosthenes was surprised at Vesira's sudden closeness, but he kissed her with ardent passion and need. The touch of her lips against his, the feel of her body against his had his blood boiling, and he wrapped his arms and wings tighter about her frame. Everything finally felt right. His own troubles melted away against her touch, and his passion burned all the brighter with that kiss. If he had his way, he wouldn't have let that kiss end... but holding her was enough. Knowing he was here with here, that would be enough -- he was her Angelique, and his love and loyalty were true, no matter how far they might be parted.

When Vesira spoke, he listened intently. Vesira pulled away to begin to pace, speaking of something shifting among the Gods. A new vampire had risen up, Caine's son... and now, a new god, and a new threat equally as vile The more she paced, the more resolved Demosthenes became. These threats would not be endured, if he had his way about it. They represented not just a threat to the Zamphir lineage, but to Vesira. So it was, the angelique remained quiet, allowing Vesira to pour out her worries, her concerns, her frustrations.

His tail twitched, and finally, he rose. He gave his wings a large, languid stretch -- and reached out a large hand to gently, tenderly, take hold of her own. "No, my heart's slayer--you need not hunt alone. We will wipe them out, together, no matter what it takes." His words were low, but ever confident, certain of a future success. He was, of course, no fool -- the Zamphirs struggled enough to fell their Cainite adversaries without a secondary threat closing in. However, they were born and bred to fight, to kill, to slay -- and Demosthenes was certain they would overcome.

The wheel of Fate forever turned, and they would rise up when the time was right. But there was still a long way to go.

"We must prepare immediately, and reinforce our numbers, as well as sharpen our skills. Too long, we have hunted alone -- perhaps it is time we stand united." At the very least, though Vesira had power he would never posses -- she was not alone. "Lay your worries down, and I will do what must be done," he promised. His words weren't hollow. He lived to serve her because he loved her, with all his soul, with all his being. He would do what had to be done in her name... no matter the cost.  

[Fatal Irony]

She was still flushed from their kissing and her blood was boiling with anger and passion and desire. He rose from him position, stretching out his wings and giving her a view of all of him. He took her hand and held her focus as he made promises to her that felt like he would make them happen or die trying. She believed every word he said. She believed in him. He called her by the same pet name her first love had called her and her heart leaped. "My heart's guardian" she breathed, crashing into his embrace. She suddenly felt weak for the first time since her first mate had died. She allowed Demosthenes to hold her up and hold her together as she fell apart. Tears she hadn't known she was holding cascaded down her cheeks as she buried her face in his chest. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and allowed herself to simply fall to pieces. It was strange to do so after so long and to someone she had basically just met. Yet it felt right. Comfortable. Familiar. And it was exactly what she needed right now. "Just hold me," she said, her voice trembling. She breathed in his scent and let his warmth wash over her. He felt like home.

Uta