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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


    the starry dynamo in the machinery of night (any)
    #1
    godbear



    And the universe swallowed him and then spit him back out -- a mistake, a hiccup, a rift in the galaxy expanding over the world.


    Though he does not know - his father was the universe, his mother an unwilling contender; he a mistake, a mistake, a mistake. And oh, does it show- Godbear’s right side is destroyed; worthless-- ruined -- wrought with the maledictions of when father loved mother and mother was sister to he. (Love, that word, may be a bit of a stretch). Maybe that is all just a bit of an expansion on the truth -- for all intents and purpose, he is fine. He was born with two eyes, four legs, a sifting of intelligence.


    But he is broken in a way; the universe washing him with disgrace - he cannot see, he cannot hear. Just on one side -- the side of masculinity, of logic, of the aspects of analytical life. There, it’s gone- all of it gone. He cannot see, cannot hear, he is adrift in the dark, save for that left hand side.


    And oh, it’s showed. He was here once, when he was small and bright -- a tiny star in the gaping sky of Beqanna. He had a mother, of sorts, Nera. Though she had warned him he would never quite be right, never be so whole. And then he was gone; after contending with the seasons (Nera, yes, by his side).


    Back to the sky, the stars, that vortex so vehement that he not be here. (Was this his father’s doing?  Why could he never stay still, cored so close to Beqanna, couldn’t his feet ever stay on the ground?) If his mind was adrift in the solar system; perhaps his body had to be, too.


    Back to the ground; the firm earth of Beqanna beneath his feet. The steady trickle of winter into spring; the only land (truly) he had ever seen of this place. The meadow, the slurry of horses that had nowhere and everywhere to go. Here, half broken (broken, bruised, battered, that’s what his mother said) - he will start anew.


    the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night
    Code by: Pride
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    #2
    Snow and stars, snow and stars. Bits of breezes that tease of balmier days and flowers. Trickles of snowmelt and mud underfoot, that slide and suck at small hooves. She does not pull her legs higher from the mire, but continues to slog through it. Shroud knows he’ll reprimand her later for the muck that mars her pelt even as he industriously picks through it. That is why she smiles, sly and secretive to herself - the stallion had become something more than just a father-figure, a master and mayhap later on, a paramour.

    Shroud is but a girl still, foolish but never sweet unless her curves are taken into consideration. Then her flesh is the sweetest coin she has to spend, but not yet! She has time left to ripen and round out, even behind the feathered growth of wings that wrap her up in mystery. They change from pure pegasus feather to draconic leather membrane, then to soft mossy curtains that trail and drift alongside her. She has gotten better at manipulating the organic matter of them into anything naturally found on this earth but there are consequences of it too, like the thin trickle of blood that leaks from a nostril and paints her smile red.

    Part of that is because of the plague that snakes around inside her. It eats itself and spawns itself all over again. She coughs, chokes, and recovers. Leaves sputum to mix with blood on her mouth. Has such a terrible smile as she comes, that most avoid her because they know. Just as she knows most of them are infected too, some just hide it better than others. Then she spots him - teal and starry, like a galaxy trapped in horseflesh. Shroud cannot help but to stop and stare at him, because he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen besides the arterial spray of blood on the earth. 

    @[GODBEAR] sorry it’s short and weird but i couldn’t resist! <3
    Reply
    #3
    my muse really took a poop today for some reason ; but so good to get some words in with you!! <3 <3 <3
    @[shroud]
    godbear

    Sunrise and sunset, sunset and sunrise; time passes too fast. The ohtoocold winters that fade into the season of new life, and then heat, and then the dying of everything, and then back to coldcoldcold. It all passes in a blur - a cosmic blink that is there, and then gone. Time is infinite; yet somehow comes in a torrent, not a trickle. It is the time of rebirth now - soon the mewls of new children and the heavy, wet panting of mothers will burst through the quiet air. The children will stand, spindled legs wavering, weaving, unstead on their legs and in their future. And the children from last year will (most likely) be forgotten and thrust into the recesses of the land. Time for mother and father to dote on someonesomething new.

    Godbear is no longer just a boy (is he?). He does not know his age, he does not know the time he has spent here (Beqanna is home, right?), and how much he has spent there (‘there’, he has quite no way to desrcibe). He is neither ripe, nor rotten -  a murky mix of adult and child, old enough to know something, but young enough to not know how anything really and truly has happened.

    What did Eight do to him? As if creating Godbear through incest was not awful enough (marking and marring one half of him as useless, gone, nogoodanymore). Then his father had to go and tear little Godbear’s universe in two - a rip across time, space, reality and the hazy hallucination. Flung so far from Beqanna, to be encased in stopped time - in the cosmos and galaxies, floating, waiting, for when Eight would release him again.

    He had nothing special - no wings that could be molded and mutated to desire and necessity, he had no sickness lulled in his throat, waiting to rear it’s uglyredhead. He had no magic in his bones, no might in his past - all he has is his ruined side; a spark of constellation on his hind, and his skin forever tinted the color of the galaxy he was banished to.

    He doesn’t know what happens now (he’s never stayed for long) - he doesn’t know how to firmly have all of his feet on the ground, how to exist without expecting to disappear at the whim of his father. He doesn’t know what there might be  for him - a ruined soul, a ruined past, a ruined face. He does know that she is there; a winged thing, like a seraphim, like something that belonged in the cosmos (that was his home, wasn’t it - not here, but up there).

    The first soul to step towards him - to pay him a mind like he mattered more than just a mote in the massive world. He moves his head, training his good eye on her speckled form, a mix of black and white (his world was so full of color - and here she is, mixing the known with the unknown; wings and greyscale - phantasmic and part of the earth. He twists his head, his good eye turned to her (drink it all in - the mix of the here and now and then
    “You are a nebula without color.” He says, the words dusy and dry in his mouth (there are no need for words when you are alone in the sky); manners gone; swallowed up by the galaxies he once lived in. He steps forward, his eyes intent (rife with confusion, interest, lured) - “When were you let go?” He refers to the magic binding, the thing that held him so tight and listless up in the galaxy (that must have held her, too. Of course it had to.)


    the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night
    Code by: Pride
    Reply
    #4
    The quiet consumes her; eats at her from the inside out as she swallows back a bevy of coughs that threaten to ruin it. She’ll no disturb the quiet like so, though she is every inch a disturbance - a defiance in the face of most things, like nature, but not her blue master and his manipulative touch that she craves with a sick sad hunger. Master though, sits in the back of her mind as she looks at him, teal and starry and too beautiful to behold with her pathetic fevered eyes. But behold him she does, as if he is something unique and he is! She has never seen his like before on this earth, or even in her dreams.

    Shroud can feel him look at her, even as her own punch-drunk gaze has never left the impressive sight of him. He talks through a mouth riddled with dust of a nebula and lack of color, and it makes her duck her head shyly in reply. She is not that beautiful - not her, but then, the last time she saw her face in the river, it was strained and sapped by sickness. Shroud had become a gaunt and girlish marvel that she was unaware of. His look now, suggested otherwise.

    “That might be the nicest thing anyone has said to me.” she admits; whatever malices and mischiefs in her sated like dogs given bones to crack open for the marrow inside. He continues to stare, taking an emboldened step towards her that she meets with the extension of her nose held out and aloft like an offering. It is uncertain just who is the god, the altar, and the worshipper given the way they look at one another with such keen fervid stares.

    “Let go?” for once, the girl is confused and rapidly losing control. She coughs once, delicate and small but it leaves a shiver in her skin in its horrid wake. It’s almost a fine tremor, like a familiar palsy that she’s become friends with. Her eyes beseech him for further explanation - further strange twists of conversation, and more looks like she is more than a marionette dancing to her master’s command. This one, he looks at her like she is something even if she really is nothing more than flesh and bone and plague.

    “I don’t understand.” which is another painful admission as she flares her nostrils to better breathe him in. The palsy-tremor of her sabino skin is still there, little ripples that extend out to even her pale birdlike appendages, shaking loose the smallest feathers that fall  to the earth just behind her feet. 

    @[GODBEAR] sorry this is way overdue! ❤️
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