#isrya

[goetiya]

leather adorned digits push toward closing eye just beneath their right, high on freckle dusted carved cheekbones. viciously voracious dither-like gnawing, threatening coherent thought. it had been days since they found a relic, or object of power enough to satiate the growing hunger wrenching foul at their stomach. the sensitivity to those around them grew more intense. & their ability to control heightened senses loosening. true starvation would begin on the next sunrise, they would lose the ability to maintain human shape. one could self-gorge for so long, until the minuscule amount of left over crumbs became negligible. thick scent of earthy woods fills their nostrils... it anchors them in a way that nothing else could. while dermis could not feel the moisture of the dewy serenity of sunset, they could relate it to prior experiences. ache. ( the need to peel off your skin and emerge a wolf-gorged. many-eyed, many-mouthed. ) ashen could not give in just yet. sharp ravenous canines rip into their own cheek to spike adrenalin. just a bit further, almost there.

( @isrya ) approaches, he seems frustrated. like he too, had been running from something. which was odd, considering how much they knew about the man. he did not run from a fight, and there were very few physical interactions he could not win. prosthetic is gripping at their abdomen as it threatens to gnash and coil with protest. ❛❛      you found me. ❜❜   dissonant raspy intonation comes like a wave of madness. they could not control the lashing aura that surrounded them at this stage of starvation. sanguine gaze offered him a wordless apology. ❛❛      hunters. they made it through to my safe place, wasn't sure what to do. ❜❜  

[warplanet]

a starter for @isrya, with garrus vakarian.

they're resting. together, their armored shoulders rise and fall with every deep, rejuvenating breath. tucked against each other's necks, hidden, sheltered, the two turians have found a suitable position for a brief nap. considering the depth of omega's greed, how much the hulled-out mining facility has taken from them over time, these brief moments of peace are often rare. neither garrus nor isra can take them for granted. instead, they bask in it when it comes — close proximity, muddled through mind-numbing tasks in order to be here, right now, in this safe harbor of a moment. in deeper breaths, garrus can feel his mandibles brush isra's. they sleep. time takes them as quietly as they can through meteor-like dreams, but soon the urge to shift and move overtakes them. garrus, despite not wanting to, starts to wake.

he yawns into isra's shoulder. a brief turn of his head almost dislodges the visor from his face, but he's quick to shift upwards against isra's face and avoid it. "sorry." if isra is awake, he'll hear the deep thrum of subvocals in garrus's throat and know the depth of the apology. "i'm still here."

instead of pressing back into isra's body, garrus turns. he watches the walls of the hideout around them — archangel's team has built up quite the space for themselves. everyone else appears to be wandering omega alone (or maybe going on unspecified recon — something the batarian in garrus's group seems to love performing), so isra and garrus are the only ones here. good. no one needs to see archangel softening up against his fellow turian's form. no one needs to see them sleeping like earth birds would, faces tucked together.

garrus yawns again as he sits beside isra now. there's the remnants of his drink from earlier sitting on a table nearby. he reaches for it, trying not to disturb the other turian, but ends up knocking into isra's arm. "sorry again." a little lighthearted now. he chuckles quietly. "damn. i'm really bad at this."

[warplanetarchived]

with @isrya / to garrus — careful. you don’t know what i’m about to ask.

"try me." garrus lifts his head with a low chuff and finds isra's gaze nestled alongside his clan markings. despite knowing the other turian quite well at this point (their alliance on omega has every blue sun running scared), he's still unsure of their origin — isra is from palaven itself, but does not claim the planet as his own, as far as he's aware. where do his clan markings hail from? they appear like a mix, a mottled combination of a few clans, but not simply distinguished from one origin. perhaps after isra makes his difficult request (and given his warning, it will, in fact, be complicated), garrus will toss out a question or two to weed out the truth. not to judge him, but to know him, to connect further to the rogue turian on omega — to further their friendship as deep as it will go. "you already know i like to solve problems," garrus goes on, and with his subvocals churning, he softens his remark into a loyal croon. i'm with you. trust me with this. "so what are we doing? who are we going after? i'm all ears, khavari."

[adamanteine-a]

there was a smothering hush that only ever came before they appeared. that brought with it something primaeval— perverse and cunning, that slithered through the acrid air of the city. she could almost taste it: hidden in the metallic twang on her tongue. the bloodlust,  the horror.  it came to her in flashes as it caused her flesh to prickle and pull itself taut as she pictured an axe through someone's head, the bit lodged clean between their eyes as their body crumples like a ragdoll. it's grotesque and inhumane and bestial  (and oh - so - relieving), but that was what it always did. corrupted then soothed. infected then lingered. in the back of her skull, the spaces between her fingers, the tip of her tongue. until she thickly swallows as she tries to force it down and render it inert. as always, she stores it where all the other ugly things hid.

this is what happened when one was able to have pure control over energy, after all. whatever negative energy they encounter, it has to be stored within them. by now they’ve coalesced with each other. formed a monstrous fusion of rotten flesh, weeping boils, black tar. but this …  this was much more potent. more restless. with jagged edges and serrated claws and a syrupy scent that quickly turned sour as she tried to force it down the velvety walls of her throat. it needed to be known, known, known— like an ill - tempered child that hadn’t gotten its way, pulling and tugging, beating its fists against her insides until she bleeds. she eyes adam as he now stands, mainly looking at his helmet with piqued interest. and as if it was second nature to her, she uses her energy to surpass what these beings might be inflicting on her and strikes with the blade that channels the same magic she does. there's a breath that leaves her before her attention is taken away once more as she listens to @isrya's words.

``     thank you.     `` it’s civil and polite enough. after all, he wasn’t raised to completely ignore the selfless move she just made—— but then he frowns because of just that under the helmet. the unexpected, unnecessary aid. he had it under control. ``     don't ever do that again.     ``

``     my apologies.     `` a pause as she tilts her head. ``     force of habit.     `` the reera takes a step back to wipe the liquid that she would simply describe as excessive negative energy off her body. she swallows again until she could feel the energy absorbed begin to burn like flames from a dragon’s maw: down her throat, warming her belly and scorching up her esophagus as it howled with its brethren. subdued, for the moment, but eager and clawing. ``     plus, this one's been on my radar for quite some time. it's nothing personal, really.     `` and here it comes: the smile that often graces her lips, gentle and patient. ``     don't mind me asking. what brings you here?     ``