I can feel the fire in my veins, burning fast and taking up the reigns

[quarrelsomecat]

There are still blood stains drying on Tybalt's shirt when they get back from the battle. Remnants of the fight visible in a contrast to the invisible lingering touch of the battlefield that always left his blood racing, his reflexes quick and his adrenaline coursing. Whenever the battle ended he was left with the same feeling. Edgy and riled up, like he could keep going for days. His sword was clean now. He never left the battle field without wiping the blood off her blade, but the handle was still warm against his hand, even after he had tucked her away back into the sheath at his side.

He did not enjoy the killing. It was a  side effect to the battle, but the fighting itself was a rush like no other and sometimes he thought he lived for it. It certainly seemed to be one of the only things he did well. Put a sword in his hands, or a pair of fists against his own, and you would not find a happier cat. He had followed Bran after the battle, like he nearly always did, an extra something to his step that wasn't a spring so much as an at-the-ready. the edge of the battle leaving him ready to spin and fight at the slightest potential, well after the battle was dead and done.

Comments

[faeconman]

Bran was one of the more frightening things out on the field, burning like ice as he picked off his opponents with precise efficiency and deadly silence. Every single one of them were paying for the death of his family. For the death of his woman.

If that was unfair of him... well, he didn't really care, and neither did they once they were hustled along to the next realm by the quick flashing of his blades. They didn't care about anything at all anymore.

His blood ran cold like the northern seas in his veins, and once the battle rage coiled itself up inside that place he could always feel nudging at the back of his mind it made him feel slow and sluggish.

You couldn't tell by his movements as he rapidly walked about half a step in front of Tybalt at an almost rushed pace - still with that eerie fae grace - but that did not make the feeling of walking under water any more pleasant.

That was why the first thing he did as soon as they got somewhere private enough was to swivel around in a blurr of movement to slam Tybalt up against a wall, despite both of them still being covered in sweat and dirt and blood. Despite armor still resting heavily on both their shoulders.

He just needed to connect to the world of the living again. Needed to pull himself back from the wintry realm of death and feel heat and passion and life.

So he kissed Tybalt. Bit his lip until it bled and lapped up the coppery taste of victory with his tongue before sliding it back into his friend's mouth so that they could both taste it.