His eyes are the mirror to his soul.
One a light glassy green – the kind that draws you in. It made him seem bright, flirtatious, and flamboyant, with a hint of the sweet devilishness of a faerie.
The other a deep, brooding jet black – the kind that scares you away. It depicted the dark, hidden parts of him; the parts one should be wary of.
One blink, and he switches from one to the other, as quick as a fire ignites.
The Hunt was a brutal place. The sooner they learnt that, the better.
Drawing his short sword from its place at his side, Aspen circled the newcomer, licking his lips in delight and anticipation. He liked to play with the new recruits; they were always good for a bit of amusement after a long day.
Feigning a strike to the side, he laughed inwardly when the faerie cowered back, tightening his grip on the sword he'd recently been given. He wasn't a bad looking faerie – his brown hair curling around his pointed ears, and his eyes a startling blue, but he was much too cocky for his liking. Someone that new shouldn't be quite so full of themselves. So Aspen decided he should teach him a lesson, in style.
"Come on," he taunted, to get him to go on the offensive. "Are you going to run and hide, or are you going to fight? You're a Hunt faerie now, so you should choose wisely."
The faerie narrowed his eyes in a mixture of anger and determination, and charged at him, his sword aiming for Aspen's stomach. "I'll fight," he ground out, as he moved.
Aspen merely laughed mockingly – this time out loud – and stepped to the side, easily countering the strike and pushing the other sword to the side with his own.
"I thought Seelie faeries knew how to fight. It turns out I was wrong…" he drawled in mock regret, circling him once again.
The faerie's ebony coloured wings fluttered for a moment, the only sign before he charged once more, this time aiming for a different place.
Aspen blocked it yet again, and kicked the back of the faerie's kneecap, to knock him over. As he fell, the faerie grabbed Aspen's cloak, pulling him down to the ground too. Their swords lay discarded nearby, as they tumbled in the grass, hissing and scratching like animals.
His own translucent silvery black wings pressed against the ground uncomfortably as he rolled, and he could taste blood where he'd bitten his lip accidently when he'd hit the ground. However, he didn't mind, the metallic taste helped to sharpen his senses and keep him alert.
After a few moments of struggling, Aspen managed to gain the upper hand, and trapped the faerie underneath him. Pulling out a dagger concealed under his cloak, he held it to the newcomer's throat. "Too slow," he grinned, enjoying the wide eyed expression of the usually smug faerie. "But don't worry, you're too pretty to hurt too much," he said, before quickly removing the knife and leaning down to kiss him straight on the lips. It was a sneaky move, but he didn't mind much - spontaneous acts were always the most fun. Besides, someone like that newbie should feel honoured to get a kiss from someone as experienced and important as himself.
"Nice fight," Aspen said, satisfied, as he jumped up and offered a hand to the stunned faerie. "Nice fight, indeed."
He wraps his cloak of darkness around him, the way a mother wraps a blanket around a newborn.
The other faeries were never quite like him. They didn't understand him.
Aspen had never had much of a problem with this, until the days became longer, and the nights even more sleepless. He realised that if he was lonely, it would be for eternity, and that, he couldn't have. So he switched between different faeries, long enough to provide some entertainment, but short enough to not become dependent on them, or too attached.
There was another faerie there that was lonely, deep down. But he didn't mind – at least, he didn't seem to. Aspen had recruited Caspian himself. He used to be an Unseelie faerie. One of the worst of his kind, before he was thrown out, now wingless. Aspen supposed that was what made him so interesting. A heart breaking tale – as he saw it – was the most intriguing of stories. Caspian didn't like to talk about it though, and it was like pulling a splinter out of someone's foot, just to get him to say anything. He was dark, dangerously dark; but Aspen had never minded flirting with danger.
Aspen would tease him, and then jump far enough out of his reach to avoid getting into trouble. He was good at that – pushing people little by little, but not too far. Most of the time, anyway. They were an odd match as friends, the two of them. Aspen and his flirtatious, teasing ways, and Caspian with his brooding, mood swings. But somehow, Aspen found he was a member of the Hunt that he was drawn to, and not only because he was one of the only faeries who seemed able to put up with him.
It was an odd pairing, but somehow, it worked.
Sleep is like air; it slips through your fingers before you can grab a hold of it.
The Downworld Towns were always a bustling place late at night. Climbing along the rooftops, Aspen chewed on a sprig of peppermint, his cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and his sword in easy reach. There were certainly benefits involved with being one of the supervisors of the Hunt; one being that no one kept a close eye on his movements. He relished in the sense of freedom, and didn't mind taking advantage of it.
Looking down, the street lights illuminated the goings-on below – from the cheaters and drunks being thrown out of the taverns, to the harlots and groups of vampires roaming the streets for a meal. The night was still young in his eyes – it was rare that he bothered much about sleep.
He wandered around without a real goal in mind. Yes, if he happened along a faerie, he would try and recruit them, if they seemed useful enough. But sometimes, just sometimes, he let himself take a break, and explore. He couldn't work all day and night, and there were plenty of interesting characters he'd met on his explorations.
There was a sense of danger and allure to the Towns that no one could deny, and he certainly made the most of it.
He'd always found horses were loyal, while wolves were merely beasts.
The wolves growled and barked at him.
They bit at his sleeves, at the edges of his cloak, and he barked back. They never scared him, and he's always loathed them.
Why? He's never been sure.
Perhaps one reason was because a faerie he'd been fond of, Zander, had once picked a wolf over him. He'd defended the wolf with a degree of affection and protectiveness that Aspen couldn't understand. A wolf, of all things.
Besides, the wolves had never liked him anyway. When he'd first joined, and he'd tried to take one out to hunt for something, it hadn't cooperated. It growled at him when he pulled it along by a leash, and he'd regretted it for days afterwards when his hand ached from where the wolf had nipped at it in warning.
They were stupid creatures, the wolves.
He could smell a fight approaching in the air.
In the morning dew on the leaves, and the ashes of the fire. In the sweat and the dirt and the grass. A fight was always looming on the horizon. Coming closer, and closer until he could almost reach out and touch it.
The camp had become unsettled, restless, and they all wanted the same thing. A good battle.
It was what the Hunt lived and breathed – the fighting, the battlefield, the screams of the dying that came with it. There was something unrestrained and real about a full scale fight. The kind where you didn't have to hold back, or worry about politics or other useless things. It was just him, his sword, and his opponent. Live or die, it was up to him. Of course, the Hunt couldn't die - not like others could, anyway. Fighting was in his blood, in every vein in his body.
It wouldn't be long now until it was upon them.
A/N: So here's my chapter based on Aspen. Happy birthday, Scarlett! Hope you enjoyed this, and that you have a great day. :)
Also, I hope I've done Aspen justice, since he's such an amazing character, and I'm sorry if I haven't.
~ SilverJem5 (aka. Bri)