23 degrees Celsius Posted July 25, 2016 Share Posted July 25, 2016 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Some things don't die easy. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Smut may include kinky, BDSM or non-consensual themes. Reader's discretion is advised. NAVIGATION The road to town is adjacent to a forest trail ... If you go to town, it looks like ... If you follow the forest trail and pass the greenery ... You'll see a secluded estate ... ?! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyncii Posted July 26, 2016 Share Posted July 26, 2016 As soon as eyes were opened, barely a crack, a rather lean young man laying in the back of a wagon could feel the rays of sunlight pierce through his cornea. It hurt. Maybe because he was sleeping? He blamed the sun, though it was his own damn fault for not properly adjusting to it. Groaning, he struggled to pull his knitted blue scarf over his eyes to block that blasted intruder. He desired to embrace sleep once more, but the rough feel of his scarf and the bumpy wagon weren't doing him any good. What was it that he was doing here, anyways? His mind was fuzzy from sleep, so he didn't really know - he'd have to piece the fragments in his mind. Goodness, was he glad that he at least remembered his name: Ambrose Hurst. But that would be an awkward one to forget that - who would ever forget their name? An amnesiac, he supposed. Ah, now Ambrose remembered. He was supposed to meet up with his cousin, wasn't he? Ambrose wished to live on his own, but considering he knew no one in this new town but the one family member, he felt obligated to live with them. Only until he were to adjust, that is. If he adjusted. He felt awkward in new places, new scenarios, and especially around new people. The man's family could tell anyone one thing - Ambrose willing to be pulled around by an absolute stranger for God knows how long at this point was a miracle. His thought on the matter was that, as long as he could bear with it for as long as the ride was, he'd be home-free. Besides, the man riding the wagon was nice but overall a quiet guy. Cass, he believed he wanted to be called. The older male was on his way to the town in question to transport not only Ambrose but some other goods (which he was ungracefully laying on). Ambrose jumped up at wagon halting, to which he suddenly sat up and caused the loosened scarf to fall down onto his lap. He gathered it up in his hands and turned his head towards the driver, wondering why in the world Cass would dare to disturb him. But then he knew why, and he blinked rapidly in awe in the sight before him. They had arrived at their destination, which Ambrose still had forgotten the name of it. The whole of the valley was breathtaking, with the massive hills appearing as towers at each of the town's sides. At that moment, Ambrose was glad he moved. "Hey kid, this is your stop. I need to get a move on," Cass spoke with a smile, to which Ambrose briskly gathered up his belongings - all within a large satchel - and hurried himself off the wagon. Ambrose thanked the older man for transporting him and gave him a brief wave goodbye, then watched as Cass rode off and out of sight. His cousin was supposed to meet him there, where the town started, but Ambrose assumed he was early and expected to wait for quite some time. That was fine, really, as Ambrose was a fairly patient young man. Humming softly, Ambrose veered off to the side of the road. He put the then-bundled up scarf over his shoulders and fidgeted with it for some time before finding solace under the shade of a large deciduous tree. The young man didn't sit down but leaned against the bark, taking in with his eyes and ears all that nature had to offer him here. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
23 degrees Celsius Posted July 26, 2016 Author Share Posted July 26, 2016 ? ? ? ? ? ■ ■ ■ "Just two buckets right?" He dangled the two empty wooden pails in a hand, his free hand scratching the side of his neck absentmindedly. His violet eyes were laced with muted boredom and impatience. Maybe it was his velvety voice, or his stature, but the young man had an air of royal indignation to him. Or maybe it was because of his white long sleeves and even whiter pants that made him look like he never spent a day outside a crisp clean chamber. Even his stark white tresses were out of place compared to most of the population in Amhearst town. A very misleading appearance indeed. "In the morning, yes," a short girl in dirty blonde pigtails snapped, hands on her hips. She looked at the tall male as if he said something impudent, glaring at him. "I need to know how you keep your clothes so clean." It earned her a snicker from the other person. "Sorcery. Magical water. You know, from the outlandish witch you guys warn me about all the time?" "I told you not to talk to him!" The little girl squawked. Her dainty features were marred with a wrinkle between her eyebrows, mouth agape with the corners downturned. The male felt an incoming torrent of lectures and wife tales, and was not having any of it. He turned away to make his exit. "He keeps my clothes clean," he waved without looking and walked out of the cottage. The noon sun was god awfully bright, and if not for the uncanny amount of sunscreen balm he smeared on his skin, he was absolutely sure that even his protective charm worn around his neck couldn't buffer that intensity of burning light. He squinted and trekked out of town, heading to the mouth of the river so he could fetch the unpolluted water for the girl from before. It was an ordinary day like any other, except he came to a sight that surprised him. A stranger? He didn't look like a merchant though ... He held up a hand to shield the sun rays from piercing his eyes, which he kept in a wide glare, and hissed at the stranger from a good thirty feet away. It couldn't be a hunter, right? But why else would he sense something unusual emanating from this male that was bundled up in a scarf, then? Maybe because it's a bloody hot day for a bloody scarf? He told his headvoice to shut up. Bloody, bloody, bloody ... I smell delicious blood. "Hey, dumbass. Who are you?" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyncii Posted August 10, 2016 Share Posted August 10, 2016 Ambrose stared out into the sky with wide, curious eyes, ears following the chirps and singing of birds flying past. In the past he would dream of taking off to the skies with them, but at the current time he was happy right where he was. That strengthened, of course, when Ambrose gradually learned more about himself. "Mm..?" the young man murmured, whipping his attention to the sound of feet crunching on grass. He thought it may have been his cousin, but all he saw was white, too much white to be him. This stranger was also too rude. Ambrose would've considered giving a decent response to the taller male if he weren't so impudent, so he thought of two responses: say nothing, or something along the lines of telling him to go away. So, he went down what could be the more risky path. "Why, you didn't have to be so nice, asking that," Ambrose muttered, lowering his gaze as he removed his scarf, stuffing it into his satchel. There, he uttered a small 'asshole' under his breath. "Unless you can show me to my cousin or tell him to hurry his ass up, I won't give my name," Ambrose continued, taking in a deep breath. "His name is Oren Hurst, if you were curious.. he keeps to himself, at least from the last time I talked to him, so I'm not sure you'd know him." He had convinced himself that, even if this man claimed to know his cousin, he wouldn't believe it for a second. However, he wasn't typically the one to turn down assistance, so there were fairly conflicting thoughts running through the young man's head. He'd figure it out, or at least he thought he would. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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