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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


    Anyone;
    #1
    Apparently, the mother was in fact necessary.

    She provided nutrients to fuel Skaide in her venture from the corpse-littered beach to the river. What remains of mother is on the newborn’s lips, stained red and caked on her skin like a harlot’s lipstick. In death, there is also life. Immune to her own venom, the child easily enough broke through the mother’s skin and replenished herself. A parting gift, she mused.

    Even in her first breaths, in her first moments seeing the mother figure towering above her, Skaide held no emotional attachment. With vacant eyes, she watched the heart beat and the blood pulse. Nothing would have happened had the mother simply abandoned her, but she wanted to lay harm. A solitary kiss was pressed to her head, a solemn farewell, but the tables easily enough turned in the child’s favor. Her abandonment of the shore, alone, is a tale of her desperation to survive.

    ”Skaide,” she idly echoes her name once in a while as her hollow gaze stares ahead, trance-like, continuing to burn it into memory to replace the looming image of mother’s face. She – mother, her first meal – has proven her usefulness and is no longer relevant, no longer worth remembering. ”I’m not a fool,” her voice is monotone and as empty as her stare. ”I’m not a fool,” she repeats again, playing with what the mother had said before Skaide’s venom uncontrollably poured into her body and congealed her blood and melted the muscle’s fibers. Life’s first lesson was handed to her on a platter. It clings desperately to her memory as she watches that of her mother wash away with the blood on her lips when she dips her head to the river for a drink.

    She can only trust herself.
    She must protect herself.

    i swear i'll become your only desire. i swear i'll rip you apart.
    Skaide
    Reply
    #2
    @[Skaide]

    no matter what they say, I am still the king


    The world can be a lonely place -- if you let it.
    Mother’s can be such empty carcasses, if that’s what you desire. Things are only necessary if you make them -- life is yours for the taking. (And take, you shall.)

    Your voice is a sing-song on the breeze, carried hot with the summer sun, a rivulet of noise flowing across the baking plains of the river. It is a cooling welcome, a soft lullaby to caress away the heat of the afternoon. You are not a fool, you are not a fool, you are not a fool. (Isn’t it that we repeat things to ourselves to ensure that they are not true?) Is your song a gift from your mother? Did you create it yourself, planted into your head to ensure you are strong, you are true, you are whole? Or was it a gift from your mother; a whispered thing before her life was yours?
    You look innocent enough to Him, a small and gentle thing washing the red from her face (a mistake lost and gone forever). Your mind, however, is an open casket, a corpse to pick through, as if He were a vulture. The murder of mother, the hum of your song, your life so new and bright. You are ripe for the picking (although, no doubt, you will attempt to put up a fight). You are not a fool, (no, you do not have to be), but only time would tell. Would you be just like your mother? Your mother, your mother, your mother - her face washes across His mind like the waves rocking onto the shore. Shiya; how was she still here? She was from so long ago, eons ago, ages ago. And she is gone forever now. At the death toll of your crimson lips.
    He approaches, the river licking at his legs, the wake of his body rollingrolling the water into your bright red mouth. “Skaide.” Would you be startled at your name on His mouth? (He assumes not - but perhaps He is wrong). Would you have questions, like Mother? Or would you accept this to be your fate? Would you welcome Him as Death? Or would you writhe to escape a future so bright with him?
    “If you are not a fool, you shall come with me.” He does not question; does not reach a rotting hand in invitation - he simply states. “Shiya - though her words, I assure, mean little to you - would assure you.”




    (now, the storm is coming in)

    Reply
    #3
    He arrives with the current, materializing as she takes another swallow of water. Her eyes – slit pupils, viridian, vibrant – stare downstream to observe how the blood dissipates. With it, the mother fades from her mind and she briefly alone. He – this titan, this beast of the river lands – presents himself, but she doesn’t regard him until her name sits pointedly on his tongue. Lifting her head, she peers up at him. ”Skaide,” she echoes, but her voice is high and immature. It drips as easily from her lips as the water while she stares at him with a hauntingly flat affect. Of course, she listens to him. Even as her ears indecisively swivel – there’s idle chat behind her, a fish jumping out of water to her left, and the beast to her right – Skaide considers his offer.

    She isn’t a fool. That’s what she has been repeating to herself since abandoning the mother’s remains. Skaide could nearly taste the sadness rolling off the mother’s words; she was smothered by her solemnity and regrets and tragedies. It nearly choked Skaide, but biting Shiya and filling her with poison evicted the problem. As her venom course through the mother, the overwhelming tide of emotions receded until the child was alone in an empty void.

    It has been freeing, surviving this world without a nearly tangible cloud of emotions following her. That had been the mother’s undoing, but it won’t be hers.

    That’s why her expression is so distant even as she considers his offer. ”Shiya,” that had been her dam’s name, right? Already the image of her has flickered away. ”Pangea,” now she tastes the name of his home, her voice hollow as it bounces off the water’s restless surface. ”What’s there?” The beach and the river is all she knows. Their landscapes are painted across her memory with tedious detail, but Pangea is outside of her grip, unchartered and foreign. Much as he expected, Skaide doesn’t nosedive and bend to his offer. It continues to hang between them, idle and patient. ”Why should I listen to someone who knew her?” She doesn’t say the mother’s name, not giving her that power in death. Licking the water from her lips, Skaide lifts her head but her eyes stare a hole through him, reading his placid heartbeat.

    i swear i'll become your only desire. i swear i'll rip you apart.
    Skaide


    @[Eight]
    Reply
    #4

    no matter what they say, I am still the king


    Skaide - a name so sharp, so sudden. Nothing like Shiya a sound that flows from the tongue like a rivulet of whispers. Skaide is something sharper -a drag across your lips, a startling stab to your tongue. Hardened like a knife, but curved so softly. Something you do not expect coming. Perhaps, He too, is similar to a sharp edge, similar to your erratic name - He is something you did not see coming, no matter how little of a fool you are.
    It is not uncommon for a child to care so little for its mother and father. In fact, in most cases, the words mother and father are merely an idea. Their bodies are just something to feed off of, to grow from. Spiders and scorpions often feast on the bodies of their mother (quite like you, Skaide). They bear and rip and bite until there is nothing left. Until mother is a scarred carcass to be left to rot. What a wonder - perhaps snakes too, now eat their dam.
    You are not a fool - no. For if you were, perhaps mother could have eaten you - a far more popular happenstance. Mother’s sick and tired of their offspring - mother’s culling the weak and disheartened - mother’s who are maybe just tired of being a womb.
    There are many ways to be free in this world - and perhaps matricide is one of them. Perhaps the blood flowing, the waning mewl of her voice, and the ever flowing iron in your mouth was a call to escape the prison of her body. Do you feel free now? You care for nothing and know no one - you are a brief moment in time, that no one will yet remember. Freedom is a dangerous thing if you do not move with it.
    You are stoic in your reserve - as if you do not care one way or another. As if you are content to stay here in the riverlands, a nothing with not a thing to your name nor a person to remember you by. Here, you are at peace; here, you are free. Your curiosity lacks everything - as if everything you care to know has already laid simply before you. You wants facts - something straight and tangible. Something for your serpentine mind to latch on to, constrict, digest, and move on.
    “There is disease in Pangea. And not much else.” He had no reason to lie, to flourish what the land was. It was empty and wasting, like Shiya’s now-rotting body. Shiya, Shiya. How long ago it had been that he danced with your mother. Eons, decades, ages. Back when -- when what? Where had he ruled then? Where had he lived? Where had they spoken - slippery words darting back and forth between one another. And here, the universe had given him another encounter, another snake-like girl to tangle in the grass. How funny life could be.
    “ You need not listen because I knew her.” ‘Knew’ was a stretch at best. He and the mother had encountered, conversed, even almost copulated - but did anyone quite know Shiya? “Death lives there. And Death seems to be something you enjoy well enough.” Your mouth was no longer brazen with the brassy taste of blood - but it is something that can never be fully washed out.

    (now, the storm is coming in)





    @[Skaide]
    Reply
    #5
    @[Skaide] has been infected by the plague (rolled a 1).
    He will not show symptoms (rolled a 6).
    He will not express a trait (rolled a 2).
    Reply




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