OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[avali]

OPEN RP POST

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-Deposit prompt and/ or character.         

-Receive some pretty bad RP in return??

-Threads leading to smut is fine, because hey, sometimes it happens. 




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Muselist

Open RP (smutty version)

 

Comments

[knighthound]

[Lucan is a predator if nothing else, and so he watches Galahad's reaction carefully for any hints of insincerity. Hundreds of years of prejudice did not change with a single question, after all.

But...he wants to believe almost as badly as he wants to be free.]

I can make it swift for you, brother.

[His hand slips down the bar just a bit. He watches again for a reaction -- Grayson's determination made it so he couldn't trust him to aid Lucan's cause in secret. And if he took Isabeau with him by some miracle...]

I owe you much, Grayson. I simply...cannot damn an entire people for one life.

[galadad]

[Snarling it in a growl to wound Lucan's pride is easier than coming face to face with the sincere offer of a clean kill. Times he would have done the same-- times that he has for those beyond the Order's ability to mend-- living dead incapable of going on. Mercy.

For a moment he's too silent there, laid out in bloodied, broken angles. Mulling over nothing but the brutality that will come the moment Alastair decides to leave, how slim his odds for escape no matter how he's told himself to bide his time: wounds weakening what passing days fail to, so that if the moment shows itself he might lack the strength to tear free.

But were roles swapped out, were Perceval the one to survive and find himself here, no amount of relief would sway him to latch onto an easy escape. No, if he dies in here, he dies fighting.]

No.

[knighthound]

I thought you might say that.

[Alastair sighs it out of his nose. At the end of the day, Grayson was finished. It was either the swift death or the slow one.]

Allow me to council you to reconsider, Galahad. I wouldn't wish Blackwater withdrawal upon my worst enemy, let alone you.

[The snarl does nothing to his pride. He simply continues to blink in a slow manner, watching and waiting for some other answer to come to him that never arrives. Maybe he wouldn't give him the option, if he was too short-sighted to see how much pain he would put himself in.

Even if Isi and Perceval would never admit it in his company, his pain would hurt them just as well. Possibly more, even in spite of his betrayal to their Order.]

[galadad]

How ironic that I am one and the same. [Worn and transparent, there's no real humor in it. Nothing but simple truth: Grayson represents everything in this world that Lucan fears - truth dragged to light with risk and contempt, love between brothers poisoned by knowledge and some stubborn insistence on principal above all else. The risk that it might be the same should anyone else discover the truth, his own father included.

His head tilts back, falling tiredly against stone, eyes shut.] You can do nothing from out there, regardless.

[knighthound]

[He's right in that regard, and he can't help the insult that prickles at his collar when Galahad opts to spit on his good will.

Lucan doesn't opt to answer him. A fight had the potential to coax the beast under his skin out from its tightly lidded container, and if that was the case, it couldn't happen where people had the potential to stumble on him.]

Your bite is blunt, Grayson. Your attempts to insult me are useless.

[He turns, seemingly to leave, but stops near the entrance to pick something off the guard's post. His back stays turned toward him as he examines it in the shadow he's chosen.]

[galadad]

If I insult you, it is not with enmity, but the truth. [Alastair is too close, too vivid to ignore, no matter how his mind works to weed out temptation-- the thought of peace rather than pain. Fleeting weakness, sunk down into the marrow of his bones. He must be steel, he must be iron, braced against mortality and the jeers of his miserable jailors.

But it hurts him no less to watch his former brother walk away. Catches his breath somewhere in his throat when he stops, red eyes only half-lidded as they wait, focused only on instinct alone; too broken to glance away in the moment.]