if i only could [open]

[PTOLEMY ARGOS,]

THERE'S A THUNDER IN OUR HEARTS, BABY

• so much hate for the one's we love •
TELL ME: WE BOTH MATTER, DON'T WE?

Ptolemy's boots touched the sand. He stumbled slightly as the grainy substance shifted under his weight. Finding his balance, the man glared out over the sizzling floor of the desert. Nothing. "Hmph." He swept a final glance over the area he'd come from to back up the notion, already arrogant that they hadn't followed once he'd moved to a different climate. Long fingers sought out his hair, straightening the locks that had been blown astray from the pace he'd taken to escape the men that had chased him. He sniffed, nearly choking on the heat of the desert, and dropped his hands, looking around once more. At least Mursado was close by. He wasn't completely stranded. A smile found his lips as he contemplated what to do next.

Terakal was too easy. Ptolemy considered the country his own personal scapegoat, a train of thought a few other Oceuk he knew shared. He had no fear in announcing who it was he fought for, just for the delicious rile it got out of them. The smile faltered. "How embarrassing," he muttered to himself, recounting the events that put him in this very spot. He'd been a bit foolish this time. Miscalculating how many people were able to raise arms to him made for a poor change of events. There had to have been at least twenty of them, all hungry with rage. Ptolemy could have killed quite a few of them though he'd resisted and, while reluctantly, gave them a chase rather than a battle. The decision was made off the shear fact that he didn't want his pretty face posted up all around town. His wasn't one you often forgot, nor could it be easily mistaken for someone else. No. It's better to have his good natured fun for now. That way, when he needed to, he could still slip into Terkal for some real damage. But right now.

Right now.

Ptolemy let out a rather pathetic sound, rubbing his cheek. Right now, he really didn't have any motivation at all to follow the meaningless orders sent down from the commanders of Oceuk. Yes, he considered it the side he fought for, and yes, he would be severely punished if not killed if they found out how little he did when he "didn't feel like it," but Ptolemy didn't enjoy working for people like that. His alliance to Oceuk was made only because he had known nothing else, because they had made him what he was. They had given him purpose. But they'd cast him aside not long after, the men that had changed him, giving him to the army. An army packed full of men he found intolerable, men he wouldn't risk his life for. No. Ptolemy was above that. But in being so, he was on his own again, empty from the inside out. He really had very little to fight for, let alone live for. But Ptolemy wasn't the suicidal type, of course not. What a waste of pretty flesh.

He'd just have to look harder.

[» MEPHILES]

due to being born in the continent of suunarie, mephiles should’ve been used to heat. however, he was not.

an experiment created from various DNAs of various races, mephiles spent most of his time within the laboratory, or training on the isle of ventui, and those buildings were cool. he didn’t go outside much, and if he did it was often on cooler days or a night. he was never used to the true heat of suunarie, and definitely not of a desert.

he could put up with it, though.

he was gliding low on the desert sand, having found out the sand wasn’t very compact and it shifted when weight was put up it. he gently flapped his jet black wings, narrowing his eyes as a cool breeze swept up some grains of sand and into his face. project thirteen eventually flapped his wings hard, loose sable feathers dislodging from the rest, and lowered himself, carefully, to the sand, trying to keep his weight light and spread out. he reached up a gloved hand and rubbed an eye. he swore there were a few grains in his eye, but apparently not.

eventually mephiles cast his gaze over in the direction of mursado city. he could scent the people there, even from a large distance, and he felt an ache in his body. he wanted the blood but he decided to lie low, for a while at least, until the slight ruckus he had caused in piedral city by killing a young man, or rather, drinking him of his blood and being found by general nolan nox, an interesting man.

though not as interesting as himself. and that was no lie, seeing as people found him interesting.

suddenly feeling uninterested in training his scenting abilities mephistopheles started walking – slowly, at that. he wasn’t fond of walking on the grainy substance. it kept shifting ‘neath his weight, plus, he liked to fly, he liked to feel free, and not trapped in those laboratories.

his nose twitched at a peculiar scent near by, but he didn’t notice it, for he was somehow more intent on watching a desert snake slither in and out of the sand.

// //
WAKING UP BREAKING OUT this is what it's like to be free
RIP IT UP TEAR IT DOWN this is what it means to be free

[PTOLEMY ARGOS,]

THERE'S A THUNDER IN OUR HEARTS, BABY

• so much hate for the one's we love •
TELL ME: WE BOTH MATTER, DON'T WE?

Harder indeed.

Ptolemy judged constantly, his eyes always seeking out that difference, the one that stood out from the masses. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew he would know when he found it. It was something raw, instinctual. So much so that he could taste is evolving in those not quite at that point yet. It drove him mad, how close he could come, only to be set back. He didn't know what it was, but it's criteria was apparently quite high. The man touched the pads of his fingers together, leaning them against his lips. He tried to move past it, to something more important. Where to go next; should he go back and find orders from men unworthy of his dedication; was it too soon to go back into town; why was Mursado such a boring town; did he really no other options?

He was starting to notice the heat, now that his thoughts were being completely evaporated by it. His hands pulled apart, one pressing to his brow as he looked up to the sky. Not a cloud in sight. Oh, he really was stupid wasn't he? His skin was going to burn quick under this kind of heat and he'd have to spend days indoors waiting for the color to fade. He'd die before he went into public with skin the shade of tomatoes. Ptolemy bit his lip and lowered his head. "Hooray," he muttered, voice thick with sarcasm. To Mursado it was then. How fun. The sorcerer rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he fought against the more or less inevitable choice. He could feel sand in his shoes, on his skin, in his hair, and the rare breeze - nothing relieving, just a slap of heat - felt grimy and dirty on his skin. He needed a bath. That's what he needed. A bath, then another option off this godforsaken planet that had absolute no connections to sand.

Ptolemy began turning his body back toward Mursado when his eyes caught the figure of another person only a few yards from him. His head tilted, knowing full well he'd been in the presence of nothing but sand a few moments ago. What did they call this: seeing things in heat that weren't there. A mirror? "That's not right," Ptolemy scolded as though to a child. But the other seemed oblivious to Ptolemy, his head down, walking in quite a slow and strange fashion. It took Ptolemy a moment more to realize he was following a snake slithering through the sand. Wasn't that. Dangerous? He took a step, stumbled in his forgetfulness, then took to lifting his body a few inches off the sand from irritation. Conserving energy be damned.

He floated toward the other, his attention almost slowly on the snake. One leg bent slightly as he leaned forward, hand setting on hips far too effeminate for a man's figure. Still a few feet from the both of them, Ptolemy spoke through the heat, eyes set on the slimy-looking creature before the winged-boy. He knew little about snakes beyond their names. He did not know they were not wet despite how the sun shined off its scales, that not all of them were poisonous, that some lived in water and some in the desert, that they rarely ate people, especially not one this small. All of it, his ignorance, forced the curious words from his mouth, regardless of refute. And despite the question, his tone lingered on excitement, as if there was nothing that would make him happier that for the other to answer 'yes.'

"Won't it kill you~?"

[» MEPHILES]

eventually mephiles let out a quiet hiss, alerting the snake and stopping it in its tracks. he ran a tongue along his lips before crouching down, managing to keep balanced on the sand as he ran a bare finger along the scales of the snake. he mused for a moment. then picked up the snake, feeling it slithering around his hands through the material of his gloves. and then something caught his attention.

the scent of someone else, only a few feet from him. he blinked, scenting something that was almost familiar to him but of a different place. what would that be? he turned his head slowly just as they asked a question, in an almost sing-song tone. mephiles disregarded the question for the moment as he cast a look around the desert, making sure that this other person was alone and he was not going to be attacked by an army. who knows, this person could be part of the terakalish army.

... they did look quite extravagantly dressed too, and some captains of divisions dressed quite...

well, extravagantly.

”it’s not a poisonous snake,” he finally answered, looking down at the long, thin creature and running his finger down its scales again, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. the three year old then looked at the silver haired person, mouth open a bit in an almost childish expression as he studied the person. they didn’t really... clothe themselves much, considering the lower body in particular, a disadvantage in battle from what mephiles knew. however if you were quick enough you were able to avoid blows to bare flesh. that, and there was a possibility that the outfit the other person wore was just a casual outfit and not the clothes they would wear in battle.

// //
WAKING UP BREAKING OUT this is what it's like to be free
RIP IT UP TEAR IT DOWN this is what it means to be free

[PTOLEMY ARGOS,]

THERE'S A THUNDER IN OUR HEARTS, BABY

• so much hate for the one's we love •
TELL ME: WE BOTH MATTER, DON'T WE?

There was something noticeable dark about the other, nothing to do with the shade of his hair of the hue of his clothing. It was deeper, raw, and Ptolemy's eyes flickered up to the boy, dull interest on his face. Taking him in fully for the first time, Ptolemy had to admit he was surprised. Still excluding the little saturation to his appearance, the other didn't come across with the same dark entity that Ptolemy could feel pulsing from him. A mop of hair framed a face even paler than Ptolemy's, body more properly wrapped in loose clothing. He had always been fond of purple. The analysis was cut quite short as the silver-haired individual noticed the direction of the others eyes.

He smirked lazily. Pale fingers pushed down over his hips, sliding down marble thighs before finding his knees as though he'd meant nothing more. He leaned further forward, closing some of the careful distance between them. Big eyes moved back to the snake, watching as it threaded through the others fingers in search for an escape. Without asking, he reached out and grabbed it just under the jaw, easily avoiding as it shot out to bite him. He dangled it in front of him, amused by how it writhed in his grasp. "It's smooth," he purred, not realizing he'd done so aloud. Some part of him wondered what it would taste like. Ptolemy ran the tip of his tongue along the front of his teeth. Copying Mephiles, he stroked his fingers along the scales, fascinated by how soft it felt.

After a moment, his eyes slid around the reptile to find the winged boy. He didn't seem to harbor any desire to hurt him and yet Ptolemy could sense bloodlust, if weak. "Did you follow me from Piedral?" He asked, amused where he should be concerned. Hopefully not. It was too hot to engage him and Ptolemy was more interested in hearing him speak then seeing him fight. Fortunately, the boy hadn't seemed at all interested in him when he'd first saw him. And with wings like that - Ptolemy's eyes cast over them almost affectionately - he was sure he'd remember him. They were quite beautiful. "Are you a bird?" It seemed the safest question. 'Bird' sounded far more friendly than 'demon.' And asking him if he was an angel was a bit camp, and inquires as to whether he was good or bad was relative. He knew of very few stories where angels had wings so dark.

It felt a little strange to barrage the other with only questions. Not one to turn down a chance to show himself off, the sorcerer touched his free hand to his chest, just below the hem of the clothing that wasn't quite enough to be a shirt. "My name is Ptolemy."

[» MEPHILES]

space was closed. then the snake was snatched from his grasp. mephiles frowned, almost grabbing the serpent back from the other, but he restrained himself. if the other wanted to be bitten by the slithering creature then so be it.

... huh. he managed to avoid the bite.

”it’s smooth.”

the experiment merely blinked, noticing the purr to the man’s voice more than anything. was it just the man’s voice, or did he have some sort of feline blood in his body? he ‘felt’ their gaze on them. piedral? ”... i did come here from there but not following you,” he responded with a dull, almost bored tone to his voice. he continued watching the snake slithering around the other’s hands, feeling a sort of warmth from their eyes on his wings.

”are you a bird?”

why would he be a bird? his wings were not shaped nor structured like how a bird’s would be, however he could see why the word ‘bird’ was used. demon sounded far too hostile and angel would sound a little... eh. he didn’t answer just yet, only silently watching as the other’s hand touched his chest, ‘neath the... vest of sorts. before he answered, the experiment took the snake from ‘ptolemy’ and returned it to the sand.

”my name is mephistopheles prayr, though you may call me ‘mephiles’. i used to be known as project thirteen, until a name was put upon me,” he paused, almost straining to remember, ”i was still called project thirteen in reports.” mephiles shrugged almost carelessly.

// //
WAKING UP BREAKING OUT this is what it's like to be free
RIP IT UP TEAR IT DOWN this is what it means to be free

[PTOLEMY ARGOS,]

THERE'S A THUNDER IN OUR HEARTS, BABY

• so much hate for the one's we love •
TELL ME: WE BOTH MATTER, DON'T WE?

“Project?”

The look on his face was nothing short of strange.

There was no deceit in his face. Ptolemy stared at him for a long moment, putting the pieces of his startled mind back together. He knew of only one way to use the word 'project,' much like the same way he only understood snakes to be poisonous. Perhaps that wasn't the best example. He'd been wrong about that. But project. Being a project, being named one: was there any other way to take it? Ptolemy's head tilted, bangs whispering against his cheeks. His reply was on the tip of his tongue and, having analyzed it quite weakly, he found no harm in admitting what he was himself. “Téleios." He said, the Greek accent replicated well. "That is: the project I was a part of. Though,” his lips pursed, eyes moving over his wings again, “I think I like yours better, Mephiles.” His smile was a bit lopsided.

This all seemed quite coincidental. Ptolemy, however, found no fault in the other, his words, his appearance, or otherwise. The sorcerer did not radiate dark – at least he hoped not, but there was something else, something smaller, something that would have passed by unnoticed if Ptolemy did not share the same, shall we say, aura. With the confirmation that they were alike, the silver-haired man felt quite at ease (as if he wasn’t already). He licked his lips, pushing hair over his thin shoulders. “What are the odds, hm? I think this is called ‘fate.’”

He wondered, after it was out, if Mephiles would scoff at him. No matter. Fate was one of the few things Ptolemy clung to. He had to. Otherwise –. Otherwise . . .

[» MEPHILES]

JET SOUNDS A DISTANT ROAR BEHIND YOU, AS YOU TO CLEAR YOUR HEAD

YOU START TO LOOK AND ANSWERS FIND YOU; YOUR INNER PURPOSE LIES AHEAD!
waking up, breaking out; this is what it's like to be free. rip it up, tear it down, this is what it means to be free.

__________________________________________________x

was this person an experiment, too?

... well, it was one of the few thoughts mephiles had, however much he doubted it. he heard a word, one he repeated with the same perfect pronunciation, however the greek accent was dulled and replaced with mephiles’s own accent. that was a project name? it wasn’t a suunariean project, from what mephiles could remember from back when he was stuck in those cold laboratories. mostly physically cold.

”i think i quite like yours better, mephiles.”

complete with a lopsided smile. project thirteen could feel his own lips twitching a little into a smirk. he however prevented it from being seen by lifting a hand up and covering his mouth, masking it as wiping his mouth with his wrist. he looked away from ptolemy for a moment, preferring to stay quiet while the man did his talking.

”... perhaps,” he spoke quietly, then focused his purple gaze on the silver haired man again. ”i’m now bored.”

x__________________________________________________

[fail post is fail. D; sorry.]