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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    yeah idk this is open for whoever :/
    #1
    The universe is bleeding.

    At least, that’s what she thinks with the seafoam tickling her toes and the smell of salt clinging to the inner linings of her nose. The sun is drowning itself in the ocean directly in front of her, and the final colors it sheds are so wild and pure that she can feel the songs of ancient ancestors singing in the marrow of her bones from their forgotten graves. The shades of brilliant red and hazy orange and melting purple dance across her smooth face, highlighting the hints of sun-kissed freckles against her cheeks and across her nose.

    A heavy sigh slips past her mouth, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. The sky is beginning to turn navy blue directly above her head, already moving on from the wreckage the sunset is leaving behind, and the faintest pinpricks of stars are starting to appear. The outlines of the constellations reminds her of her father, of the way he would swing her onto his shoulders and point out the Big Dipper and Orion and tell the dazzling stories of how they had been named so.

    It doesn’t take very long before the aching remnants of the sun slip into the jaws of the ocean and she finds herself turning toward the thin band of trees just behind her. Fireflies are beginning to dance between the shadows of the trunks, floating lazily among the tall sway of grass. She wades between them — both the fireflies and the trees and the grass — on silent feet before taking another swig of the bottle of wine held in one hand scattered in thin, faint scars.

    Her father always did love the stars… So much so that he flew up to touch them and never came back.

    The bustle of both grieving people and those who uplift them come from the ocean-side bungalow not far down the beachfront. No tears kiss her face, even as hundreds more of her father’s lovers dazzle the darkening sky above her head. There’s enough light to see into the clearing in the midst of the trees and she finds a comfortable spot to rest on her back among the slender, waving blades of grass and the content fireflies. After a moment of silence, the wine bottle is against her lips again.

    Well, shit.
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    #2
    Her friends tell her that she is too loud. Too loud, too abrasive, too stupid. Just too much. Well, they told her this earlier today. Right now they’re telling her to stop leaning out of the god damn window of the car and buckle her seat belt before she gets killed. But she doesn’t listen, she just leans a little further back until she’s not sure she’s even able to make it back into the car. Her milk-white stomach is exposed and her shirt is hardly covering her chest as it gets ruffled madly in the wind. Her ink black hair is tangling helplessly and they can’t slow down or they’ll be late for their curfew. Again. She’s laughing so hard her sides hurt even when she feels an angry hand yank her back into the car by her hips. Still, she’s laughing, laughing recklessly and there’s no way to tame her tonight.

    The driver pulls over and tells her to get out. They argue for a while but she never stops smiling, even when they pull away and leave her coughing in a cloud of dust and sand. She chuckles and combs her fingers through her hair as she watches the tail lights disappear into the distance without her. Her tongue runs across her chapped lips and she realizes her lip has gotten split at some point during the whole ordeal. The adrenaline is still coursing through her veins though so she doesn’t care one bit. Instead, she leans down to tighten her shoelaces and takes off toward the beach. She was always posting on Twitter and Instagram how only the ocean really “got her”, whatever that means.

    She keeps her head held high as she saunters through the tall grasses in search of the midnight black waves. The stars cast a faint glow over the pale skin of her shoulders and face but they don’t offer enough of their strength for her to see the girl laying in the grass. Instead, she discovers her by tripping on the poor stranger’s legs, sending her face first toward the ground with a wild screeching sort of yelp that could inspire roaring laughter from anyone watching nearby. God bless her, she’s got a sort of feral beauty, but not a bit of grace.

    The girl rolls on to her ass and looks at the culprit in confusion – sad eyes, wine bottle, alone in a field. This was not her scene at all but she supposes she could crash this party anyway.

    “Sorry if I hurt you, but also what the hell are you doing?” she says as she begins to smear the dirt on her knees in a poor attempt to wipe it off. The split in her lip is now worsened and a trickle of blood is edging down her chin, but she hasn’t begun to notice it just yet. She’s more focused on the girl with the wine bottle and a head full of worries for the time being.

    (this is human mordgeld. she's collected a lot of dust in the closet, so I am sorry.)
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    #3
    It’s dark and they’re still not gone.

    He sighs, and ruffles a hand through his copper wind-twisted tangles, walking away from the window. Grieving people and people pretending not to be; not his favourite bunch. He doesn’t join them, although he probably should. But he’s bought this place only recently, so he doesn’t know his neighbour well. Didn’t. Didn’t know him well.

    Tuan wants out though. He's standing there whining, and Leilan doesn't disagree with him - he'd hoped to avoid the bunch of people altogether while walking his blue merle Aussie, but apparently they both just have to deal. Picking up Tuan's leash, he notices the sad look in his buddy's eyes when he knows he is not going to run free towards the beach. But the redhaired man can't let his best friend mingle with people of that sorts.

    Well, okay fine - his sort. Living the easy and good life had consumed most of his existence, brought to him by his parents' (okay mother's) fame as an editor of who-knows-what-but-it-paid-well. He always feels glad she uses her maiden name still, so that he doesn't immediately get associated with her, as long as the people he meets don't know what she looks like of course. Or used to look like, anyway. All the surgeries' actually had made her more ugly, burn victim or no. But he doesn't linger on it too much. She's a good mother, in her own, slightly distant way, letting him connect with his father more over time. He'd guess with nine siblings and not much of a job (as a freelance journalist, but with a house full of kids and a wife more busy than you'll ever be) - well that sort of naturally happened.

    He walks straight towards the shoreline, leaving his shoes for what they are - useless in the sand, instead taking some easy-on sandals with him in hand. His blue chino's have been rolled up high enough for his feet to touch the water, exactly what he loves about this beach-place; his white blouse replaced by a t-shirt in the same colour. It's only by the waterside that he unclips Tuan's leash, but, the blueish dog doesn't run as far away as expected. Instead, he sort of bolts towards the treeline. Thinking the boy's just going to pee, he doesn't follow - but Tuan doesn't return after some time, and when he follows (after procrastinating, he puts on the sandals anyway), he sees why.

    Seems his dog has found to girls tumbling over, and is standing only a few feet away from the fallen girl, happily wagging his tail. The one she tripped over seems to be more interested in wine, though.

    Oh, great.
    Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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