[mature] In Hell I'll be in good company // Any

They were fools, every single one of them. Mama has at least come by her stupidity honestly, some fouling in the blood that had hit her harder than most. Like her own mother, you would learn, if you cared to listen to her ranting long enough. Raul was a sanctimonious bastard. I hate him a little more every day for what he's done. I came to him looking for help, for safety, and what did he do? Brought me right back to mommy dearest's side so we could all play happy families. Absolute bastard. 

Tana is the member of my family that I hate the least. He was dragged along for this godforsaken ride almost as much as I was, and he at least calls Raul out on his bullshit sometimes. We even have scales in common, even if mine come with different extras than his. Tana's problem is that he forgives too easily. I've learned better from him. 

So when he told me he was finally finished with Raul's charade, I couldn't help but be mad. "Oh you're finished? Thank the gods, you're finished. Now what, huh? You going to save the day?" I'd spat the words out, but he'd just shrugged, and said he had a plan. Then he vanished for days at a time, leaving me alone. Again. 

Well you know what? I'm sick of waiting for him to save me. Or for Mama, the crazy whore, to finally get around to killing me in my sleep. I'm pretty sure that's what happened to our other sister. The one she talks about sometimes when she thinks no one is listening. Miela. Mama will say that plague got her, but I'm sure the plague had a little help. Well I'm not waiting around for death to find me. That's all I've been allowed to do my whole life, and I'm through with it. 

So when Tana left again this last time, I wasn't far behind his shiny ass. Raul could stay behind with Mama. Maybe she might actually get better without me hanging around, this living reminder of all her failures. Failed Queen, failed wife, failed mother. It was a song we all knew by heart now. If nothing else, that's the one gift she's given me. I know that if nothing else in this life, I will not be as pathetic as my mother. 

I don't know when the last time was I was allowed to stretch my wings properly. The feeling is one I haven't known before, the feeling of breathing free air. It's intoxicating, and a little frightening, but too good to pass up. Tana can drag his feet, I don't care. I'm out of there, and now I'm here. The first place I saw that held a bit of beauty, and wasnt landlocked. Water had always been my escape, so routes to it were essential. It made this place that much better, even in the autumnal death that held sway now. If they wanted me back, they'd have to find me.

Edit: Added a mature tag for swearing

For the most part, Saint has no idea what is happening to her. She knows that her mother’s magic is powerful, and that it may do as it pleases; but she does not understand why her fur has disappeared and near impenetrable scales have appeared. On occasion, she whips her head around to brush her baby-smooth lips against her cool skin in awe, thinking she must be goddamn invincible. Her parents have imbued in her a confidence all children deserve, but perhaps Saint herself has nurtured that confidence into recklessness.

Tephra is a wonderful home, and the yearling can feel its magic as it strengthens her. She belongs there through and through; her blood runs as green as the jungle plants Leliana still heals. A wistful smile curls her lips as she travels further and further from the volcanic kingdom, wondering if today will be the day that her parents finally notice her wandering. A bit of naivety still toys with her as she exists beneath the guise of secrecy - it is far too easy to know a magician mother will know of her every move, but Saint does not think of that now (or ever). And perhaps Leliana allows her children such privacy.

Saint would shiver against the autumn breeze if her body did not run so naturally hot. She steps through the dying flowers, a weird vibration in her hooves (one that would tell her they are desperate to turn into claws if she knew anything about creature within her).

The brilliantly colored mare ahead of her is the last thing she expects to run into. Not that there is anything particularly terrible about Rebelle, just that the little sleuth has not made it her goal to meet others. She mostly wants to explore and observe when she wanders Beqanna, and the occasional questioning or small talk has become unwelcome; still, it will be rude of her to not address someone when they have seen each other, so she offers the mare a nod of her head and a murmured, “How are you?”

—Saint—

into the fray

Rebelle

I had just been standing there, minding my own business in a field of dying plants, when a little scaley... thing slunk out of the shadows to approach me. We made eye contact and now... Shit. She's coming over. The vibrant golden spines of my mane stand on end, a frilly warning that the weirdly colored kid ignores. 

So maybe it's not fair of me to call her weirdly colored. I mean, look at me, right? But even so, she's got a shiny colorfulness, like oily water. It's kind of like me and Sabra and Tana, actually. The same kind of sharp edged hues. Maybe she's another long lost sibling. Great. As if I didn't have enough of those. My teeth bare in what could only loosely be called a smile as the funny little creature speaks. 

"Who wants to know?" I ask, feeling no compunction to be polite. My head is slung low, looking the girl in the eyes. "Aren't you a little shrimpy to be wandering?" I say after a little pause, assessing her openly. The sharp angles of my face are unforgiving, a clear pathway into my thoughts. She's little and unimpressive and I'm not sure why she thought it would be a good idea to bother me. I could make her regret it, so easily. 

It wasn't hard, to make them leave me alone. Be prickly and rude, and most horses would leave you alone. If that failed, then outright violence usually did the trick. I hadn't met anyone yet that it didn't reliably drive off. 

saint

She is a proud thing, one of the most beautiful blood and high heads. Saint may consider those around her like a god peering down, but she finds herself no better or worse. All of flesh and bone, all made to break and bleed and rip: the opportunity to taste the torn skin of another is hard to pass by. That is precisely why she finds herself no better, such base desires drag at her soul - and she feeds them like precious pets.

The dragoness is not tart, nor sweet, but such a juicy chaotic neutral that even she is hardly aware of the dangerous spin of her earth.

Claws burst from the hooves that hold Saint, but she hardly notices the dirt tear beneath her irritation. Rebelle’s sour response births a tiny monster in her chest, one that screams and tears like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. She snorts and tilts her head to the side, green eyes slowly mirroring the furious grab of her talons. The sensation of feeling disrespected is so new that vibrates down her spine and consumes her mind: a cold smile crosses her lips.

“Shrimpy?” she questions, tearing a ball of grass and flower from the ground. Only then does she notice her hooves have disappeared; still, she does not hesitate, having grown accustomed to such powerful and inappropriate changes.

“You don’t scare me. I’ve never met anyone that scares me, and I don’t think I’ll start with some pink fish.” She is matter-of-fact in her delivery, though there is a certain little bite that tails her last sentence. “Do you fight like you talk, fish?” Exhilaration at this new discovery colors her question.

—Saint—

into the fray

Rebelle hiss

I've struck a nerve, it seems, and she has no problem showing it. Daggered talons morph from her forelegs, and I watch with mild interest as the gouge the mossy earth beneath us. When she starts her growling tirade, I find it difficult to repress the grin tugging the corners of my mouth. Oh, this was too easy! The little firecracker was all too ready to fight, and I found myself a little fonder of her because of it. Still, I found my eyes rolling backwards at her half assed insult. Pink fish? Really? That was... a description, at best. 

"Oh please don't be boring, baby vamp. Let's get a few things straight. One: You are, in fact, shrimpy. I doubt it's permanent, so get over it. Two: "Fish" doesn't even register on my list of insults. I've been called much worse by much worse, so save your breath. Speaking of, Three: if that's all it takes to get you riled, you're not only shrimpy, you're also an idiot. I don't care if I scare you or not, picking fights with children is a waste of mine and your time. Do better, or get out of my face." 

My brows arched as I observed her for reaction. It was a longer speech than I'd meant to make, but the kid needed to hear it. She wasn't getting far in life spinning into a rage at the least provocation. It was fun to antagonize, don't get me wrong. But it seemed like the shimmery little thing could do with some refinement to her rather uncontrolled techniques. Thank the gods I'd shown up to save her from herself.  

My head tossed, making the sail of my mane snap sharply through the air. Fractured colored rippled along my scales, and the lightning that throbbed on my neck crackled quietly. Every aspect of my appearance was flamboyant and bright. I drew the eye of every creature around me just out of sheer curiosity. I liked to think of it as a warning. Like the brilliant little butterflies who flashed their Technicolor wings, I myself was poison. It just took some people longer than other to figure that out. 

saint