01-15-2017, 06:54 PM
The heart says be nice.
The brain snaps back with a forceful no; all the niceness bled out of him long ago.
He has misplaced his manners in a forgotten corner of lands as feral as he is. The land and the laws of it said manners had no business there, or feelings. Only instinct and perseverance could rule and he gave his head and his heart over to them. Lawlessness is all that he has known in what feels like forever until he came back to this godforsaken realm, not sure why he even bothered to be here.
(Each time he came back, it was like dying all over again - only he never died, just kept living and living, and losing.)
Baring his teeth does not scare her in the least bit; some animal part of him finds that admirable that she does not quail in the face of his meanness but bears it stoically and earns his begrudging respect in the process. His black gaze takes in her frowning face and the jade eyes (a green not at all similar to his daughter, but it is a green all the same that makes him think of Ceremony and her dark green skin) even as she steps away from him and the cold air comes rushing in to take her place. The cold he can tolerate, it is the heat of her tucked up against him that makes the memories loom large in his mind - a lover, pink hair, and a line of sons and daughters afterwards to take her place.
He thinks of his son, but only because of the way her wings express her agitation. It almost pulls a chuckle from his laughless gut but he squashes it back down as the feathers dissolve to membrane and gold. Mandan eyes the talons at the ends, and in a fit of desperation, misses the horns that once graced the top of his head. The spiraling black threat of them are gone and instead of the freedom he should feel at the lack of their heaviness, he feels only an innate sorrow that feels a lot like a thorn in his side. He’s not sure why her talons are reminiscent of his addax horns, and puzzlement lifts the shadow from his face for a brief moment - he almost looks handsome, but haggard, made old before his time.
She disturbs him; in ways he cares not to explore.
His eyes track her pace, every shift towards and away from him and the sneer almost returns to his mouth. It is the sour offering of his name that brings her back to his side, to perch there like a nervous glaring dragon - it’s the apricot and jade of her, he tells himself, and not the fact that he finds her mesmerizing, if for all the things she reminds him of that he was never meant to have.
You are, (wrong that is) the brain says in response to her.
Maybe, says the heart, more than a little desperate to taste more small kindnesses from her - he’s starved it for so long, it is dry like a desert, and cracked.
He sighs; it seems he cannot shake her - she is worse than fleas in the summer, but he almost smiles again. Soft, but stubborn, so alike to his daughters… he almost softens towards her but she is too pigheaded, too curious, to naive to think she can fix it all. He’s been broken for so long that he knows nothing else, cannot conduct himself in any manner other than than in abject meanness. But he remembers that baring his teeth did nothing to scare her, if only he head his horns! His face is pinched and sour in its expression, like he has tasted something overripe and rotten. Pah!
“I had no destination in mind, here is the same as anywhere else.” it is the most he’s said to her; none of the lands he could have gone to still exist besides the meadow and the field, and he has no business in either - not any more. He has no business here; no horns, no sons or daughters, no lover - just a terrible engulfing emptiness that somehow makes his heart heavy with sick sad life still. He looks down at her, small and determined against his side and just sighs, what else was he going to do with her?
(Kick maybe, chase her off. Hurt her, like he’s been hurt. He can’t, a dim forgotten part of him that is still nice makes him tolerate her.)
The brain snaps back with a forceful no; all the niceness bled out of him long ago.
He has misplaced his manners in a forgotten corner of lands as feral as he is. The land and the laws of it said manners had no business there, or feelings. Only instinct and perseverance could rule and he gave his head and his heart over to them. Lawlessness is all that he has known in what feels like forever until he came back to this godforsaken realm, not sure why he even bothered to be here.
(Each time he came back, it was like dying all over again - only he never died, just kept living and living, and losing.)
Baring his teeth does not scare her in the least bit; some animal part of him finds that admirable that she does not quail in the face of his meanness but bears it stoically and earns his begrudging respect in the process. His black gaze takes in her frowning face and the jade eyes (a green not at all similar to his daughter, but it is a green all the same that makes him think of Ceremony and her dark green skin) even as she steps away from him and the cold air comes rushing in to take her place. The cold he can tolerate, it is the heat of her tucked up against him that makes the memories loom large in his mind - a lover, pink hair, and a line of sons and daughters afterwards to take her place.
He thinks of his son, but only because of the way her wings express her agitation. It almost pulls a chuckle from his laughless gut but he squashes it back down as the feathers dissolve to membrane and gold. Mandan eyes the talons at the ends, and in a fit of desperation, misses the horns that once graced the top of his head. The spiraling black threat of them are gone and instead of the freedom he should feel at the lack of their heaviness, he feels only an innate sorrow that feels a lot like a thorn in his side. He’s not sure why her talons are reminiscent of his addax horns, and puzzlement lifts the shadow from his face for a brief moment - he almost looks handsome, but haggard, made old before his time.
She disturbs him; in ways he cares not to explore.
His eyes track her pace, every shift towards and away from him and the sneer almost returns to his mouth. It is the sour offering of his name that brings her back to his side, to perch there like a nervous glaring dragon - it’s the apricot and jade of her, he tells himself, and not the fact that he finds her mesmerizing, if for all the things she reminds him of that he was never meant to have.
You are, (wrong that is) the brain says in response to her.
Maybe, says the heart, more than a little desperate to taste more small kindnesses from her - he’s starved it for so long, it is dry like a desert, and cracked.
He sighs; it seems he cannot shake her - she is worse than fleas in the summer, but he almost smiles again. Soft, but stubborn, so alike to his daughters… he almost softens towards her but she is too pigheaded, too curious, to naive to think she can fix it all. He’s been broken for so long that he knows nothing else, cannot conduct himself in any manner other than than in abject meanness. But he remembers that baring his teeth did nothing to scare her, if only he head his horns! His face is pinched and sour in its expression, like he has tasted something overripe and rotten. Pah!
“I had no destination in mind, here is the same as anywhere else.” it is the most he’s said to her; none of the lands he could have gone to still exist besides the meadow and the field, and he has no business in either - not any more. He has no business here; no horns, no sons or daughters, no lover - just a terrible engulfing emptiness that somehow makes his heart heavy with sick sad life still. He looks down at her, small and determined against his side and just sighs, what else was he going to do with her?
(Kick maybe, chase her off. Hurt her, like he’s been hurt. He can’t, a dim forgotten part of him that is still nice makes him tolerate her.)