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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


    take apart your head -- cosmos
    #1

    no matter what they say, I am still the king

    Time fades like a bruise - some thick and sickly thing that was once stretched across your skin. It is smaller now, things hurt a little less, you think. You have accepted Him (though, that word may be a stretch). You have resolved to let Him stay, you have decided He is not worth a pinch of salt of your problem. The queen’s will see to him, you think. He too, will fade like the purple blossom on your pink skin. She will come back, your true Archon, your lighthouse, your anchor, your lashed mast in a storm. She will come back, she always does.
    And so you wait it out - because she always returns, her clattering voice calling, her sticky sweet tentacles reaching out to you. She brought you here - she would never abandon you, abandon this place that she so sacrificed to make. You know she will come back for you.
    Time passes - a low and slow stretch, where the magician king weaves his tricky play. He brings in his foundlings; lost souls who follow his aching voice, hoping to find something different. Pangea flourishes - the bloated corpses fading away, the canyons echoing with voices once more. Things change.
    As time passes, you see that you were right - the queens do not agree with him. His actions are foul and fierce, and they bring nothing but chaos. A morbidly fascinating unfolding of events; but none that make the queens happy. And so the hushed tones come; the rippling of unease that you can see from the corner of your eyes. Something is changing. The queens grow wary of His power; of the magic pulsing through his body, of the way he so freely swings his sword and might. Something must be done. And you watch - as the forces gather, as the might is behind them, as the land and its people prepare.
    You wait - because that is all there is to do. You have been here, you know how these things go. You have no say in the throne of Pangea, you only ache for your Archon. You look to the sea each day, your lone figure staring at that stretch of murky wave; waiting for time to pass.

    ---
    The clicking. You awake with a start; that long-gone sound of rocks clipping up onto the shore fading into your ears. Cosmos; her wet voice drags you from slumber, tugging at your heart. Come, my Cosmos. And your body jerks up with a start, the sand splaying from your body (because yes, of course you sleep near that shoreline). Your eyes flit quickly from heretothere; seeking that ghost in the dark horizon. And there! There she is! (Could it really be her? After so many aching years?). Her tentacles are reaching towards you, as her body pulls from the sea, the salt soaked to her skin, she is a sight to see, a salve for your sore eyes. Cosmos, I have returned, and we will fight this beast back., her murky and muddled voice soothing your worries, no matter how diluted with water it sounds.
    Closer she comes, leaving behind the ways of water, and you lift yourself up to meet her - your Archon, your leader, your mistress. Come and greet your Archon. And closer and closer to come, excitement broiling inside you as you close the sandy gap between you. And then --

    “What other power do I possess, my Cosmos?” His head tilts, tentacles writhing as they retract and shrink inward, as your paces stop just a few feet away. It is not her mottled skin any longer, but his black canvas, his gleaming eyes, his tenor voice. “The universe is my plaything.”




    (now, the storm is coming in)

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    #2
    She does fall for Eight’s little game.

    The worry that had been slowly burrowing into her chest suddenly bursts forth into excitement - sends cool wave after cool wave of adrenaline through her veins. Of course Cosmos comes to Yidhra’s familiar call, though this time the bitter hope that she will stay lingers like acid on her tongue. Joy is an overriding emotion but a conversation that needs to be had is almost as present in her mind. The pit of her stomach stirs uneasily at the thought.

    Her Archon had abandoned Pangea too many times.

    When the magician slips into his original form, the pegasus stops short and rears her head. Second long emotions flash across her face like a clicking presentation: indignation, resignation, then irritation - not with the trickster but with herself for thinking that is how Yidhra would return to her. The typical fascinated gaze she possesses returns, mismatched eyes warming significantly.

    “Do you really believe I find you to be a beast?” is her initial response, mouth tilting into a quiet smile. Cosmos considers no living being a beast - at least in her two years she has not been convinced. Pebbles crunch beneath her hooves as she shifts to one side, eyes casting to the oceans Yidhra rests beneath.

    “Show me your power,” she whispers, a suggestive twinkle in her look she is sure she will not regret offering Eight.


    @[Eight]
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