[SE] [Training] Lost Little Lamb

The wooden chest in her arms clinked suggestively as Thal slowly shuffled her way into the tunnel system. Without glancing up, she hung a right at the fork and then a left along a hidden slit in the wall, the muscle memory leaving her little need to think. It wasn't too long ago that she'd been unable to navigate the winding caverns carved away by the current, however, a particularly heated encounter within had inspired her to learn the way. After many hours of learning the codes and scouring each dead-end passageway, Thal had become an expert of Rae's Fingers, and it had proven invaluable for her pirating business. Burying treasure was become obsolete, especially as the lands continued to shift and the Void rendered different areas unavailable. She'd lost multiple sites to the overtaking of the Greatwood. So she'd gotten smarter, using the protected land of Torchline and its convenient smuggling ring as a means to store her own goods. 

It didn't take her long to arrive inside the small crevice that was her claimed cavern, her thoughts becoming muddied by the incessant bloodlust crowding into her mind. Kneeling, she placed the chest amongst the other treasures, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her blue-black horn when it fell into her face. A sheen of sweat had formed on her brow, indicative of the efforts to push away her carnal desires. She'd gone too long without feeding, her mind distracted by her missing friend and captain tasks. However, neither were enough to disguise the growing savagery anymore. 

Growling quietly, she stood from the damp floor, only one thought in her mind.

Blood.

Her movements were both hurried and slow as she drifted back through the tunnels, the trickling of water and rippling reflections along the walls barely registering. Unless it was alive, she immediately dismissed it. The blaze of her blue eyes flickered in the dark, hungry predators looking for their target. A calculated stream of thoughts analyzed where she may find a fresh kill. It needed to be close, and it needed to be big enough to dampen the urges. A rat scurried past her feet, yet when it didn't meet her requirements, Thal lost interest in the information. A cloud wyrm might be enough, but they were elusive and small. A fish might be her best option, perhaps a starknight swordfish? 

As she continued to spin around her options, a strange sound filtered through the passageway to her left, causing her head to whip around. The cry wasn't immediately recognizable in the warping echo of the stone and water, but Thal crept forward on practiced feet, silent as an imminent storm with her black cloak falling behind her, promising death. A few seconds later, the cry sounded again, a lonely call of distress and desperation. It was like music to the hungry Ancient's ears. 

A vicious grin had her fangs flashing as Thal stepped cautiously closer. It didn't take her long to spot the obnoxiously colorful creature wandering through the tunnels, attempting to relocate its herd. Unfortunately, it wouldn't have the chance. 

She sprang into action, leaping forward like a quick ocean breeze, ripping into the lost ramphire without a second thought of consideration or remorse. Blades weren't even necessary, an extra step between her and the kill. Her sharp fangs sank into its jugular, the lifeblood pumping into her mouth and down her neck in a stream of delicious ecstasy. Thal's eyes fluttered closed as she enjoyed the moment, the sharp edge of her desires only starting to dissipate.

Lust's passion will be served; .
it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes

Thalassa

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

The ramphire's panicked bleating - cut off though it might be by the sudden jaws around its throat - sounds... off, almost. If Thal listens closely enough she might realise it's because the sound is overlaid with a deep and guttural snarl, one that still seems to be echoing along the cavern walls after she's torn into the creature's jugular. It's the sort of noise that shouldn't belong to a man, and yet it's a man who comes barrelling into both ramphire and Ancient from the other end of the tunnel.

A man wearing nothing more than swimming shorts decorated with little angry sharks.

Fangs bared and horns glinting in the dim light, Danta scrabbles to try and steal his kill back from the stranger, teeth snapping at her face and also trying to tear into the ramphire, as if he might still stand a chance at sating his bloodlust on it. (Which, y'know, team effort? So maybe?)

Except in his opinion this other Ancient hasn't done anything to deserve going for its throat; the Maverick had done all the work, after all. Separating it from the herd, chasing it into Rae's fingers, corralling it into being uselessly, beautifully lost? That's all been him. It isn't like Danta isn't willing to share, but it's a matter of principle, no?

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

As enamored as she is with the kill between her teeth, Thal doesn't realize the error in principle. All she sees is a greedy Ancient trying to steal her kill. After all, even if he has done all the prework, it's his fault for waiting so long to make the killing blow. You don't get rewarded for starting a job and not finishing it. 

So as the bare-chested man comes barreling into her, she returns the growl in full force but refuses to release the ramphire from her clutches. Even as his teeth come snapping uncomfortable close to her eyes, she rolls with the impact, her back splashing into the shallow waters. Her hand is on her dagger in an instant, ready to eliminate the threat with a bloodlust haze of glee. A wicked grin peeks out from around the colorful feathers. The weakening body between them is the only barrier as she tries to flip the larger figure onto his back. As she twists their wrestling forms in the dark, she looks for an opening before wrapping her arm around in a blind stabbing motion.

Lust's passion will be served; .
it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes

Thalassa

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Apparently you do get rewarded for stealing a job at the last hurdle, though, if Thal's enjoyment of his meal is anything to go by. Granted, Danta doesn't at all expect her to keep her teeth in the fucking thing whilst also trying to swipe at him with a knife; forced to dart! back a foot, giving up precious ground to the stranger eating his dinner, the Maverick reconsiders. He's also splattered with blood by now, the scent of it maddening, darkening his blue eyes to something altogether more sinister, and he juts his chin at her.

"You want it, you fight me for it," he grates out. And don't worry - if she thinks he's just going to stand there and talk about it, she's wrong. The tunnels might be narrow, but they're wide enough for them both to stand with the ramphire, and so they're wide enough for his new shift. Morphing into something repitilian and leathery and the size of a small bear, Danta parts a lyvern's jaws to screech at Thal, before barrelling for her once again.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

They finally separate, and the challenge in the man's eyes is obvious. His threatening words have her considering her options through the swarm of bloodlust thoughts. She can try to outrun him, taking the ramphire with her, and probably getting caught with the added weight. She can fight him off and possibly lose her tasty meal, while also gaining some entertainment. Or she can offer to share. The last thought almost has her laughing aloud. Pirates don't 'share' anything but scuttlebutt and scurvy. 

And by this point, the man is shifting into a large leathery beast, looking ready to trample her into the ground. Not left with many options, and quite content to shed more blood, she sets aside the limp carcass to even the odds. A scream of rage leaves her mouth as she pulls her second dagger from its sheath before sprinting forward to intercept his bulky form. "It's mine!" Sliding across the water slick cavern floor, Thal tries to twist beneath a wing, striking out with her daggers for any and all exposed surfaces.

Lust's passion will be served; .
it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes

Thalassa

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Danta might not be a pirate, but he's also not a big fan of sharing unless it's been discussed prior (or unless your name is Astaroth, and this woman most definitely doesn't look like the butcher). The lyvern's jaws part for a second screech - probably some variant of no it fucking isn't - before the two Ancients collide but don't. Forced forward by his momentum (he really does need to practice with the shift, he realises), Thal has a perfect shot at the membrane of his wing, slicing it expertly and dragging a more keening noise from the Maverick.

He turns, claws biting into the walls of the caverns for purchase to allow him to pivot in the small space, before he's snapping rows of sharp teeth towards the hand holding the knife. A bold move, some might argue, and Danta would be inclined to agree, but at the very least it might 'persuade' her to let the blade go, or at least keep it away from his face if she wants to keep her arm.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

A sick satisfaction enters her head as her dagger snags against the membranous wings. Fire erupts from the blade at the contact, although she's certain that it will be useless against the fellow Ancient. However, it does highlight the snapping jaw attempting to trap her hand. Although she pulls her hand back, a large tooth flays open the skin of her wrist. A scream of mixed pain and rage bursts from her mouth, combining with the roaring of the lyvern. Anyone inside or outside of the tunnels would surely be aware of the battle raging within, and if they were smart, they would run

Unlucky for her opponent, she refuses to release the weapon despite the injury. Even as blood flows freely down her arm, she whips her other arm out to attempt a stab at his pursuing head. Thal aims for any soft part of his reptilian form, possibly an eye or side of his neck, whatever her dagger can reach. Meanwhile she tries to take refuge against the lower edges of the walls, her smaller form makes it easier for her to maneuver in the cramped space and she assumes that he won't be able to reach the corners as freely.

Lust's passion will be served; .
it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes

Thalassa

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Pointedly not thinking about anyone else who might be wandering around Rae's Fingers at the moment, if Danta had given it an ounce of attention, he'd likely be inclined to agree with his fellow Ancient. If anything is likely to bring them together rather than squabbling and fighting like this, it's the introduction of a third contender. Alas, for now they remain very much alone and at odds, except for the ramphire that has recently expired (and they'll call it a draw on that one, ok).

Still, the smell of her blood in the air is delicious, and it's that siren song that has Danta oblivious to the fact that she's carrying two daggers. Snapping his teeth a second time towards her bloody wrist, she'll feel him flinch back as that second dagger slices at the scales of his neck, spraying dark blood across the walls.

Roaring this time - right in her face, because hey that hurt -  Danta at least backs away enough to reconsider. He apparently picks wrong, though, because with a shift of his body weight, he attempts to swing his reptilian tail into her body instead.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

Having now landed two blows against the Ancient, Thal is feeling much more confident than she should be. Despite the blood fleeing her forearm, it almost seems like she's winning against this giant lyvern. With each dodge and inflicted injury, her sharp smile grows, the fading bloodlust replaced with vicious excitement for the fight before her. 

However, youthful ignorance proves to hit harder than any throat punch. The beast's roar forces her eyes closed against the disgusting saliva that splatters across her face, and the moment is a near-fatal error. A whipping force of muscle and scales slams into her abdomen, flinging her like a limp fish against the stone wall of the cavern. Her head hits hard enough to make the tunnels look like the night sky and her entire backside feels like it's been seized by the death grip of gravity. 

Thal falls flat on the ground with a breathless groan. Her vision still sparkles as she takes a moment to consider her situation. In a stubbornness that she's often cursed for, she still clutches her daggers in her hands like a lifeline. Yet her body screams with a million warning lights, urging her to reconsider many of her life choices. How had she gone from 'winning' only moments ago to aching in every aspect of the word? The thought only makes her growl with what little breath she has. He might be bigger, but Thal isn't about to let a little bump keep her down. 

She tries to move quickly, knowing the lyvern won't hesitate, but it looks more like a horror film as she slowly makes her way to her feet, all bloody scrapes, creaking muscles, and groaning noises; but her eyes still gleam through the unfocused glaze. In spite of many logical thoughts that others might have, Thal screams a response of her own and charges forward, faster than expected. One arm throws her dagger at an exposed wing while the other reaches to slash for the tail, hoping to settle a score with the appendage.

Lust's passion will be served; .
it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes

Thalassa

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Danta thinks your saliva is disgusting too, thank you very much, but of course neither of them get to have that particular conversation, given that they are still in the middle of a fight. A fight that seems to get much more serious than anticipated, and maybe (maybe) through the shrinking haze of bloodlust, the Maverick starts to feel a little bad. Bad enough that as his opponent gets to her feet like some bloody stop-motion puppet, he's already shifting in anticipation of her barrelling into him.

And so Thal will collide with a man instead of lyvern, as it happens, and with a flailing of knives and limbs and shark-decorated swimming shorts, they both go down. "Hey, hey, fine," Danta is snarling, trying to pin her under him. "Fine, we'll fucking share. You don't have to die about it, fuck." As if he hasn't also just been guilty of fighting to the death over some ramphire meat. But listen, okay? He never said he wasn't a hypocrite.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

Instead of cold scales, Thal finds herself slamming into the warmth of exposed skin once again. Her mind is a little too foggy to try piecing together his words or strange attire, her arms continuing to thrash out, eager to inflict injury wherever she can. However, they're quickly back on the wet ground, and his larger stature is hard to combat in her battered state. Within a few embarrassingly short seconds, she finds herself pinned under his arm, her restricted movements making her pause. The darkness starts to clear enough to see the man looming over her. 

His words finally filter through, making her growl at the suggestion. She doesn't want to share, but her body feels very tired all of a sudden and she can't bring herself to fight anymore, not when her life is no longer on the line (that she knows of) and not when the ramphire doesn't seem as important as moments before. Without her permission, her body's already starting to release the adrenaline, highlighting the plethora of injuries she's gathered by loosening the tension of her muscles. That doesn't mean that her glare is any less blazing or her fanged sneer any less sharp, but at least she relaxes beneath his grasp. "Fine." The word is a biting and cold echo of his. A bitter acceptance of her situation. Too frustrated to say more, Thal waits for him to release her.

Lust's passion will be served; .
it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes

Thalassa

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Fine, she says, repeating his own words back to him, and it's enough for Danta to let out a scoff of dark laughter, the Maverick waiting another couple of seconds for good measure before releasing her and sitting himself back on his knees. "It'd always be a shame to have to kill a fellow Ancient, so I'm glad we could find a compromise," he drawls, though the honey in his words is roughened by pain and exertion, and he rakes bloody hair out of his face and behind his horns before reaching out to grab the still, feathered corpse of the ramphire.

"I'm Danta," he introduces, easy as you like, dragging the ramphire between them and gesturing for her to continue going for its throat, since that part has already been somewhat savaged by her teeth. The Maverick, for his part, tears into the creature's flank, and the iron tang of blood fills the air a second time.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

When the pressure releases, Thal is tempted to jump back into a fight, taking the man by surprise, but the heaviness of her body keeps her from doing more than prop up with painful slowness. To make up for her inability, she continues to glare up at him, undisguised malice at the lack of a victor. Perhaps they would settle it another day. Until then, she grunts at the word 'compromise' and watches him pull the ramphire closer, cautiously sitting up to share the food. 

"Thalassa." She says in response, too exhausted to give her full name and title. Maybe once her anger dies down, she'll feel more inclined to share. For now, despite the now sluggishly lukewarm blood, she devours the throat, letting it mix with the blood of her own injuries. Her hunger is dampened by the fight and her initial consumption, however, she determines to eat as much, if not more, than Danta. So Thal keeps a death grip on her portion of the meal, continuing to shoot glares his way as she gorges herself.

Lust's passion will be served; .
it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes

Thalassa

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

"A pleasure," Danta assures her, before the conversation dies away into the tearing of muscle and sinew and the cracking of bone. Once his initial hunger is sated, the Maverick slows his pace considerably in comparison to his fellow Ancient, and he has no qualms in letting her gorge herself until she's sick, if that's what suits her. Sitting back and stretching out his long legs, he picks his teeth with a white splinter of bone and watches through lazy eyes for her to finish.

"If I was going to take it away again, I'd have done it when I was a lyvern," he drawls - and had he been in the true throes of bloodlust, he might have done just that. For now, though, he's merely content with the fight, the kill, and what he'd managed to consume. "Take the rest with you, if you want it so much."

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //