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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


    bottom of the deep blue sea; any
    #1
    bottom of the deep blue sea
    The mare stands quietly at the shores of the river. Gold slips between the splintered surface as it glides over sunken rocks  and tangled branches. She knows what lies beneath the depths of the warm current. Bones, scattered and broken, sleep between the jagged edges of crush boulders.

    Autumn blazed with orange and reds around her pied frame. The pretty mare pays the season no mind and as the grey and blues of the water capture the pewter of her own eyes. She seems to stare as though answers lay hidden in the river's belly. A low sigh splits her dark lips before she lifts her head away (not realizing she had walked knee deep in the beckoning waters). The curve of her jaw lifts away to look over her shoulder at a few equines that gather for either conversation or coitus and she regards them with a silent eye.

    The air is cooled but crisp and it shakes away the fog she was in. The obsidian and moonstone mare steps away from the chilly river to stand on the shore. It felt good to feel the sun on her scales, an embrace lulling her happily, as she shakes the excess water from her hair to enjoy the solitude of the river.
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    #2
    hell is empty
    and all the devils
    are here
    Whitter had been spending his time wandering aimlessly around the lands of Beqanna, but neither here nor there was his mind. He was swimming through an ocean of mind-fog, unable to find stable footing in his world of dissociation. Whitter seemed to disconnect even from the fact that he had buckled once more into a miscreation fueled only by primal desires and a dash of self-preservation. His dappled frame had recovered from Winter’s harshness and the found again strength had only exacerbated his desire to conquer anything that could fall beneath his sharp hooves. There was a large ego lying within Whitter, though he would be hard pressed to admit it.


    The spicy aroma of Autumn wafted around the aloof stallion, along with the humidity of the river that babbled ahead of him. All of the colors were brilliant - the oranges, the reds and the yellows spoke nothing but transcendence in physical form. Whitter waltzed through and over shrubbery and fallen tree, dancing lightly on poised hooves. One might call him graceful, though again, he would not want to be exposed to such uncomfortable words. He appeared out of the trees, dapples shimmering in glorious sunlight. He had arrived close to the river, as had others before him. Their idle ribbing would not satisfy him, so his attention redirected to a tobiano patterned female standing in the currents.


    Whitter watched her for a few moments with dulled eyes. They danced over her details; the curves of shoulders and haunches, her eyelashes and the smoothness of her lips. Immediately his mind began to churn, belching thoughts of blood dripping from the lips he had just observed and tears of pure rage. “Well, hello,” Whitter states, his rasped voice harsh against the peacefulness of the River. There is friendliness in his voice, though it is well feigned. “‘Suppose you won’t mind if I join you here?” Is this a true act at wanting to have a decent interaction with another, or is it boundary pushing within the first few seconds of stumbling upon someone? Whitter wouldn’t know the difference.


    He moves into the water with the two toned female, stopping perhaps a hair too close for a lone female’s liking. Whitter doesn’t attempt to touch her, however, but simply stops and observes here for a few more seconds before releasing his gaze and satiating his thirst with a hearty drink of cool river water.  

    Whitter


    ooc; oh man, i'm sorry he's such a crazy thing. he won't touch her without permission, but she will definitely question wtf he is lolol.
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    #3
    bottom of the deep blue sea
    The river's current splits and froths gentle around the joints of her legs. She seemed to be mesmerized by how the small, pale bubbles grow and fall in the gathering for foam. The autumn is peaceful and uninterrupted except for the occasional drift of voices over the surface of the water. Isobell does not notice the sounds as it is all nearly lost by the rapids that were just down river.

    A dappled man draped in mist and fog, drifts close, haunting the edge of the river with his lingering eyes and odd air. Isobell has hardly notices till he is close to the curve of her hip.  A silver eye flickers like liquid mercury over the sharp curve of a strong jawline and moving over the roll of a shoulder and following the mountains and valleys of his masculine make up. Isobell is quiet a moment as her gaze returns to the smokey man as her own stance has become rigid.

    Moments pass, a beat of their hearts then another, before Isobell smooths her features into the curl of a smirk. "Not at all." The word form and fall from her dark lips in a feminine pitch. If the stallion should prove malicious, Iso would drag him beneath the water till he moved no more (though that is not her ideal autumn afternoon). She observes how he slips into the still warm waters, easy and practiced. It would be nice to have some company.

    Pewter eyes watch how he drinks the river water greedily. He must have traveled far to reach the place he now stood. "I'm Isobell." She offers once he lifts his head. The kelpie mare, with her pretty moonstone and obsidian scales, once knew many faces in Beqanna but time has eluded her and now there are many strangers. She is blessed to remain an eternal beauty, due to the nature of her kelpie origin, and thus finds it easy to talk to strange men in rivers (at least now she can't be drowned...again).


    @Whitter
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