Who

Sa'mael

What

A long way from home, running from the ultimate desire.

allusions to violence, addiction~

When

It is midmorning of the first day of the eleventh month of the eleventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Somewhere on Pern

OOC Date 31 Aug 2017 07:00

 

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"It's a deal."





Wind howls, winding through broken crags of a harsh landscape. It's deceiving, this landscape, making the mind believe its separated from the rest of humanity. A lie marked by the single grazing sheep that chances piled rocks for the simplest patch of scratchy grass. The land falls sharply, boulders breaking into rolling dunes flowing towards a distant hold.

At the edge of this cliff stands a man, hands jammed into his pockets. Without anchor, he's falling into a long and distant road rife with rivulets of blood from unfortunate choices. Cut from a friendship that bound, Sa'mael turns. A rictus grin stretches his lips, coldfire blue eyes glittering when calloused hand grips tight enough to creak the bones of the other man's hand.

"It's a deal."

"Good, good." Greed filters through the man's ruined visage, and he licks his lips nervously.

Sa'mael feels the anticipation building, winding through his blood vessels and through the thudding muscle of his heart. Making deals, delivering deals, failing deals: the thrill isn't in the marks made or the negotiations that take another man down. The thrill is in the doing. The taking. Only indulged by the shadow of his heart for the single-minded determination to battle against the shadow's ancient enemy.

Impossible to know the truth, but the future of this particular deal is ill-fated. A day, two days, a sevenday, perhaps even a month down the road and Sa'mael will find himself running once again from his choices.

Life exists — continues to exist — in the quasi-twilight of neither good nor bad, but mere existance. All the while demons chew at the soul.

Safe enough, though a long slice curves wicked across ridged ribs, Sa'mael leans against a long forgotten wall. That once alien meeting place nothing but dust in the memory. He holds a flask — copper bright, it catches the fading sun's light — and stares at it. Magnetic, the pull tugs at every cell in his body. His mouth dries. Desire blooms across his chest and into his belly, stirring the blood.

"Later," his voice drags ragged and broken across his long forgotten wall.

To avoid the pain, the desire, he throws himself into the next adventure.

Blood runs, forever into a river of memories.

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