sochi/laura pony;

[Castile]

The remorse and looming darkness have receded since losing himself to the beast within. The shift had been seamless and fueled by raw emotion that has engulfed him for weeks. Everything that he tried to keep pent up was unleashed in that flurrying moment of fire and dragon scale. Heartbreak battled with anger and frustration in one frightening display of immense power and strength when he rose high into the sky. Beqanna fell farther away underneath until he lost himself in the clouds where water clung desperately to his sides. This was his release, but he didn’t realize how desperately he needed it. When he returns, his mind is lighter. The pain is slipping farther back, ebbing finally after having been eating him alive.
 
For a fleeting moment, he is free.
 
The first breath he takes in the meadow, once again as a horse, is crisp. Winter coats the trees in a thin layer of frost that glistens in the dappled sunlight. His own coat is damp – residue from his earlier flight – but an inner, unnatural heat keeps the chill at bay. His body seemingly steams as he stands secluded in the meadow with his eyes cast across in thoughtlessness. A haze suppresses his recent memories, forging a space for everything anew. He sees more clearly now that the curtain has lifted. There is beauty in the world, but he acknowledges the sinful shadows with nothing more than an unfazed shrug. He is remembering who – what – he is.
 
A sweep of his eyes confirms his suspicions that he is alone – no one familiar – and somehow, he finds solace in this. A single plume of black smoke sighs from his nostrils as he settles into silence, savoring his mind’s brief liberation.

@[Sochi]

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

Recently, Sochi has found herself spending an increasing amount of time alone.

She has not minded the silence. She has not minded the isolation. It has been a time for her to sink into the own inner workings of her mind, navigating the tunnels of it in ways that allow her to unpack it, that allow her to truly understand get to know herself. She is young and therefore there is much of her that is still a stranger to herself—interests, dislikes, fears that all remain separated from her own consciousness.

It has been fascinating to find them out, fascinating to learn more of herself.

During this time, she has spent much of her time in her tigress form. Perhaps she feels freer when she can wander the meadow with the dirt between her paws, the shadows resting across her large, striped back. She feels safer, she thinks, when her lips can draw back and reveal the canines behind them, when she can smell the horses around her, when she can sense them in a way she just can’t as a horse.

Still, she never quite shakes the small voice of her mother. While the guilt has subsided, she knows that she is not welcome in this form. She is not invited in when she walks a predator among the prey.

(Although it can be argued that few within these lands are true prey.)

So she freezes when she sees him, tilting her feline head back to search his face. Without a word, she shifts, the orange and the black bleeding into a deep obsidian save the brilliant blue of her face. Her silver eyes peer out toward him, wondering at what lives beneath the surface, at what churns there.

Always so curious.

“Hello,” her voice is husky and deep, giving him a shadow of a smile but nothing else.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood

[Castile]

Blood is on his hands now.

When he looks down at his feet, it is with weighted concern. He can still taste it, so fresh and addictive. Castile thought he had won, that he would never be oppressed by the monster again. It had been years since the ferocity blinded him, but seeing Sabra’s crumpled body awakened something far more powerful. There was no stopping himself when he saw her raped and murdered. In a feverish rush, Castile was a killer.

(Embrace it)

The voice – slick with venom and spiked with everlasting hunger – has returned, hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him what he is. Everything he worked for, to be safe, has disintegrated into a pile of ash alongside Klaudius’ charred corpse.

Castile blinks, but the murder replays immediately and he opens his eyes again.

(Kill… kill…)

His stomach churns, wanting – needing – more, but he suppresses his appetite fitfully. His senses grope and find the scent of another predator, but when his eyes lift, he sees only a girl edging closer.

The voice in his mind settles, bewildered by the unfamiliar smell. Is she the predator? Castile’s gaze sweeps across her but finds a steadiness in her silver eyes that holds him. ”Hello,” he echoes with an idle shift of his wings. In the brief pause, his mind reels and clings to ideas and assumptions. The prior scent of a predator has diminished slightly, but there is something that lurks in her metallic eyes that tells him it is anything but gone. The corner of his mouth quirks. ”Have you killed?” It’s eerily casual how the question slips from him and hangs in the space between them.

Although Castile isn’t proud of his own (it was a break in his better judgment), somehow he tries to reassure himself that he isn’t alone, that his murder wasn’t the only senseless one.

@[Sochi]


So, because I sucked and disappeared, I made this a bit more of a recent timeline so we aren't so far behind with the time and seasons and recent events <3

[sochi]

there are wolves in my head and their howling
there was a garden of evil in the palm of my hand

The sickness has ebbed, it is not as powerful as it was the first day she had crawled from the beach, but it still flows through her. She can feel the blood at the edge of her mouth, the rattling in her lungs, the wounds that scrape at all the weakest parts of her. She can feel the way the tattoo on her chest still burns, the ragged claw marks crimson against the obsidian of her hide. She is stronger though, strong enough to stand and hold his gaze, her silver eyes not as dull as they once were, her limbs only barely trembling.

She doesn’t startle at his question, although her mind instantly goes back to the ocean floor. To the creature crawling toward her, the way the skin had sloughed off beneath her paws. To the way her mind had played it back—the monster’s face becoming that of a sweet mare, her throat bursting in her jaws.

“I have hunted,” she says simply at first, because that’s the truth. She’s felt the natural instinct rise in her, her body shedding and the tigress emerging. She’s hunted alone and together, taking on smaller prey and then challenging herself with big game. She’s felt the beauty and the power in it, thrashing about until the other body gave in, the life-force coating her tongue and slipping thick down her throat.

But there is more truth than that and although she hesitates, she doesn’t withhold it from him.

“I’ve also killed,” her smoky voice is steady, even though her heart shakes slightly at the memory. But his eyes are intense, smoldering, and she doesn’t have the strength to keep the truth from him. “At least I think I have.” She coughs, blood splattering the ground, staining the edges of her onyx mouth, but she doesn’t pay it much mind. The illness has been worse. She has felt worse. Blood will not undo her.

“I don’t remember.”

Her mind is a tricky thing, slippery and evasive, and in the throes of the sickness, she is not sure that she can trust what it tells her. Had she torn that body apart? Had it been a monster? She doesn’t know. She can’t recall. It turns to fog in her hands when she reaches for it and she can only shake her head slightly, frustrated by the way her own memories hide from her. Her blood-stained lips turn downward in the corners and she lifts her gaze to look past him, through him, before focusing again on his handsome face.

“I think some deserve to be killed.”

It’s harsh but she doesn’t shy from it, just finds his gaze and holds it.

“But I may not be the best judge of character. Not anymore.”

now I'm broken and bleeding, I’ll never find my way

S

OCHI

stranger in this land

@[Castile]

ohhh, i love it because now i get to incorporate the quest. <33

[Castile]

Their closeness opens the gateway to his curiosity. Her breath just barely feathers across his face as they look upon each other with predatory intensity. Castile notices now the gashes streaked across her chest, fairly new. The scarlet of her blood catches the sunlight and the coppery scent clings to the lining of his nostrils, teasing him.

(How easily would she break?)

The ferocity of her eyes is a telltale and enough to subdue the hunger deep in his core.

(She would fight)

And despite the thrill of difficult prey, Castile pushes away the thought and steps his own judgment forward and ahead of his hunger. He isn’t a cold-hearted killer, he muses, but the coiling of his gut protests. Blinking, he grips onto her admission, enjoying that he is not alone – not entirely. The sharp edges of his face soften, barely, but he sympathizes with her. Even as she looks up at him, then through him, Castile remains unyielding as he tries to read her face. He catches himself from losing his thoughts staring into the molten pools of silver that are her eyes. There are tales within them; they’ve seen a number of things. ”It’s surreal, no?” He asks, blinking slowly as he, too, tries to grope for the memory but it always remains just out of reach. Sabra was murdered and raped. That’s when everything blurred. When he came to, there was a corpse lying charred on the ground and split open. He grabbed Sabra and fled.

He doesn’t remember what happened, but he knew that he had committed the murder with spectators all around.

”I never thought myself capable. Did you?” The days of innocence have ended. They will see him as a monster, a killer.

(That’s what we are)

But this girl, whom remains without a name, applies a balm on his wounds with the thoughtfulness of her words. Castile didn’t realize he was holding his breath. It releases into the air between them, relaxing all the tension throughout his body. Everything melts. ”I’m not either,” he admits, his voice softer, a low murmur for only her to hear. The realization sobers him, but it isn’t enough to hide the feeble grin quivering across his lips. ”I suppose you’re right,” some deserve to be killed, he echoes to himself, trying to reassure himself. Klaudius certainly deserved it, right? The charred image flashes across the back of his eyelids when Castile blinks. He did that. But then he remembers what he witnessed and Sabra’s limp body. His heart was torn from his chest in that moment.

In spite of the heartache, Castile holds himself steadily, never giving her reason to question. The pain doesn’t reflect in his eyes or choke him; he won’t allow it to surface. With a deep breath that decimates the smoke in his lungs, he finally addresses what he’s most curious about. ”Your name, what is it?” He fumbles over himself slightly, but tries to recover by simply adding, ”I’m Castile.”

@[Sochi]

[sochi]

there are wolves in my head and their howling
there was a garden of evil in the palm of my hand

He is caught between the ferocity of the killer and something softer, something more understanding.

It intrigues her, the way he is somewhat of a reflection of her own worst and best natures, and she finds that part of her wants to peel back the layers, set his armor down to see what lies beneath. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t give any indication of such thoughts, just considers him with her silver eyes, molten and unreadable beneath the swath of wild forelock. At his question, she just laughs, the sound low and throaty and not at all amused. “You could say that.” Because it had been surreal. More surreal than she had ever experienced in her life. She can feel the water now, murky and thick. The blood floating up around her.

No —

Not now.

Now was not the time for nightmares.

She refocuses on him, trying to drown herself in this conversation, to shield herself from everything else that exists outside of it. “I don’t think I will ever forget it,” she confesses, thinking back to the memory of tearing apart the chest, of the way that sickly heart felt sliding down her throat. The fierce hunger that had consumed her until she was blind with the bloodlust, knowing nothing except the need to feed.

“I didn’t know I was capable of a lot of things.” At this, one corner of her mouth lifts into a wry smile. “But I don’t think I am who I thought I was before.” She had thought she was something more pure when she was growing up—something kind and simple and black and white. But now? Now she has blood on her hands and, worse, a roiling hunger in her belly. It lifts its head with her every morning, sharpening her senses, that need to slip into her feline form a constant hum in the back of her throat. It would be so easy to live that way. To ignore her mother’s warnings. Who cared if the others didn’t want her company? Who cared if the masses found her unappealing when her canines glimmered and claws sunk into the soil?

There is a defiant glint in her eye when she looks at him now, her chin raised just slightly.

He didn’t look like he’d run.

And she was tired of apologizing for what she was.

“I’m Sochi.”

now I'm broken and bleeding, I’ll never find my way

S

OCHI

stranger in this land

@[Castile]

[Castile]

”We always seem to be changing,” he murmurs, lost in thought as he reflects on Ilma and how she considered him upon seeing what a different man he became. Has he changed again so soon? Is this a turn in the right direction, or the wrong? Castile blinks and drops his head slightly, his unruly forelock sliding across his face as he weighs the choices he had versus the one he made.

It was too late now, however. He, like Sochi, has blood on his hands.

But when he looks up at her and searches the rippling silver pools of her eyes, he doesn’t see regret. There is not a feebleness in her gaze or a regret that weighs her down or blemishes the ferocity of her pretty face. She stands proudly, accepting who – and what – she is, and Castile feverishly feeds on her inner strength. Her wry smile is met with his own and his pulse quickens. ”I’m no longer who I was either,” his flaws forged pain into his heart and it weakened him. His emotions were shackles tugging on his every step, a hindrance and reminder. Quickly, Castile was disintegrating into a shadow of himself as he was forced to face his mistakes.

He became weak, but not anymore.

”Sochi,” he echoes in a husky voice, tasting it gingerly on his tongue as his mismatched eyes dance across her. Castile should run now and avoid what may come, but he is drawn to her vivaciousness and honesty, letting it slowly melt his armor shield. A single step inches him closer, and he drinks in her scent another time, noting how intimately it mingles with the tiger from earlier. A shadowed smirk smears across his lips as their eyes briefly lock. ”Tell me what you are,” he breathes, entranced by her. A killer? A mother? Or simply a girl lost in the mind of a tiger some days? Shuffling his wings idly, Castile considers her with piqued curiosity.

”I often told those around me not to get close because I’m dangerous,” the heaviness of his voice bears memories spanning since his childhood mixed with a tone of fascination, ”but something tells me you aren’t a fragile little bird.” He shouldn’t seek comfort in the company of another woman (Sabra, he thinks) but he is rooted and unable to walk away.

@[Sochi]

[sochi]

there are wolves in my head and their howling
there was a garden of evil in the palm of my hand

We always seem to be changing,

“Is that such a bad thing?” she muses, feeling the heat within her rise to meet the heat of him, something tangling in her throat at his mismatched eyes and the bruises beneath the depths. She wants to drown in them. She wants to find herself in them. She wants to know that there are others out there with predator hearts and that it’s okay—it’s okay to feed and hunt and feel no agony for it. It’s okay to be both jury and judge and executioner with the hint of fang and the splitting of flesh, the flood of life into your mouth.

“I don’t think I hate what I am becoming,” another thoughtful moment, despite the hunger that she feels beginning even now, the edges of it rippling on the outside of her consciousness. “Maybe I should.” She laughs a little here and it’s a husky sound, rare coming from her mouth. “The younger version of me would hate what I am becoming.” Something in control of her own destiny. Something that no longer felt the need to hide or apologize or regret her decisions. Something that could live on her own terms.

“But I don’t.”

He says her name and it sets her nerves on fire, racing up her spine and branching out through her veins. She has no womanly wiles here, no reason to play coy, and she doesn’t hide the animalistic hunger that begins to darken her eyes, combatting the weakness she feels from the sickness. She takes a step toward him, testing the distance between them, her lips parting to reveal her canines, the edges of them glistening in the dying light. “I am many things.” She slips easily into her tigress form, her fur going from onyx to sunset orange and cream and obsidian. She glances up at him, tipping her feline head back before prowling around him, the sound of her paws hitting earth the only noise at all for a moment.

When she gets back to the front of him, she shifts again, the iridescent blue of her face once again shining through, her silver eyes finding his own. “I am not afraid,” she says quietly, because she can feel the danger of him on the tip of her tongue. He is a predator, but he is something different. He is something otherworldly and the shrouded mystery of it is enough to cause her pulse to race just a little faster.

now I'm broken and bleeding, I’ll never find my way

S

OCHI

stranger in this land

@[Castile]