"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
She doesn’t stop exploring. It’s like that first taste of candy for a child, a perfect high. The sky is a beautiful thing, the perfect path to see the world, to leave her self-made prison and live. She doesn’t stop, but finds new land after new land and returns to Loess and paints other worlds around her. Trees so large she’d never before thought to create them, but oh, they are not simply illusions but reality too. Moss that glows, fish so tiny they can barely be seen.
The world is full of wonders she never dreamed of.
It’s full of her mother, too. Still she is Kagerus’ child. Still she is not herself, not Ori. The shadow of her mother is a thing she cannot paint away, and she finds it darkens her, changes her, shapes her in a way such an absent mother never should. Strange that it isn’t until she finally begins to crest into adulthood that her absent mother should bother her so. Both mothers have always followed her, their illusions brought to life by her power, by the need of a tiny child for a parent. It was enough, and their presence never bothered her, never upset her.
Their illusions don’t come know unless called, and yet, the absence is worse. Before, perhaps, at least she could pretend they were around. Now? Now she could find no way to lie to herself. Kagerus did not care about her, and yet the world cared so very much for Kagerus (some in good ways and others bad, but the reason did not matter). Ori didn’t want to be her mother’s daughters. She wanted to be herself.
Maybe she explores so eagerly now in order to turn herself into something new, to make a name for herself and not simply as the child of Kagerus. Maybe. Or maybe she’s just trying to outrun it all.
The why doesn’t matter, in the end. Getting out has to be a good thing, and so today she finds herself in the meadow. It is a simply enough place, a blank canvas. The day is sunny and warm, the flowers not yet in bloom but around her they bloom anyway. Some grow to be as large as she is, towering above her, creating shade. The shade is hard to get right. Light is tricky, and she finds herself standing there trying to get it exactly right. Not quite exploring, anymore, but it seems likely enough someone would catch sight of the unnatural flower and come to investigate, and so she doesn’t bother to find anyone else. Mastering the creation of shade seems more important.
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.
@[Erio]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
How funny it is to find solace in running, to find some sliver of comfort in abandoning the past in a cloud of dust.
That had been Erio’s solution, too. It didn’t seem right at first, to hide from mother and father then to grope desperately at the feet of his superiors. It was a distraction, however, much like how running away is. It was an escape that provided salve to his wounds. His mother’s disdain still stings him, but at least he can distract himself. At least the faerie reassured him that he can survive it.
But survival is meek when his days aren’t wholesome. He searches with bright eyes and flickering ears. His plumed tail curls around his paws, the tip flicking against the ground occasionally. His grand plans to explore have halted for now as his mind traces gingerly along the edges of what the faerie gifted him. It hasn’t been fruitful thus far, but small victories have at least planted seeds of encouragement.
Distraction. That’s all it is.
A quiet consideration to rest deviates his gaze from the open meadow to the distant trees until a flower – grand and beautiful – rises far beyond his reach. Ever fascinated and enraptured by nature, Erio finds himself immediately drawn to the source. He pauses briefly, before he can be seen, and sinks loose tendrils of magic into his own bones to elongate them. A deceitful way to present himself, but he is fearful of judgment that mirrors his mother’s.
With a deep breath, he closes the distance and steps within the reaching shade of the towering blossom. ”Hello,” his voice is fresh silk rippling from the edges of his tongue, his expression bright despite the jagged white of his teeth when the words slip past, ”I’m Erio.” It’s easy to introduce himself, but despite how level his voice is, his heart quakes with the effort of magic and the fear of disappointment. ”I’ve always loved flowers,” such a boyish thing to say, but Erio can only change his physicality, not the softness of his heart. ”You found the perfect place to rest.” A gentle breeze ruffles his coat and carries with it her scent of exotic places.
@[Oriash]
maybe one day i'll get him snazzy and cute html lol that day isn't today
That’s what it feels like, more often than not - survival, rather than life. She survived her childhood. She survived her quiet days. When she didn’t run, she painted the world, created escape after escape. Exploring now at least feels like living, feels like something more than complacency. In the end, she still doesn’t really know where she belongs. Loess is home, but it doesn’t feel like home any more than anywhere else does. Not outside of the familiarity she has with it from so many years spent within its borders.
Maybe in lacking a purpose she lacks any semblance of life. Ori just drifts from one place to the next, from one world to another. She exists outside of reality, outside of time it feels like, outside of the realm of others. Sometimes she feels invisible, like she doesn’t matter and never will. There must be a way to change that, but she didn’t know how.
It would be easier to blame the way she is on her mothers, to say that their abandonment changed her, set her up for failure, but she cannot bring herself to place the blame on them. It is her own fault and no one else’s.
A large sunflower blooms above her head, the largest she has managed to create. It’s yellow petals spread like the sun above her, stretching long fingers toward the bright sky. She is rather proud of the flower that blooms before her, wonder if this is what it feels like to be a mouse, when a voice cuts into her thoughts.
A boy approaches, a few years younger than her she thinks, made of dark blue and white. Not entirely unlike herself, she thinks, though Ori has brown thrown in there as well, plus the antlers on her head and the wings on her back. Coloring that she longs to be proud of and yet is proud of all at once. She is her mother’s daughter, but she wants to be more than just the daughter of Kagerus. No one ever sees Solace, and no one ever sees her. They see only Kag.
“Ori,” she offers with a soft smile, skipping the hello. Politeness isn’t something she lacks, but words often are. There are times when she finds them, when entire paragraphs come tumbling from her mouth, but more often than not she lives with as few words as possible. Why speak when she can paint, why try to do justice to something when she can just create it? More flowers spring up around his feet, white and yellow and pink covering the grass around him. The flower spread around them, filling up the meadow in the area, the sweet scent of them cloying and intoxicating. For added effect, she adds a couple of bees that buzz from one stamen to the next.
“Is there anything else you like?” she asks, willing to add it to the scenery around them. She may not be able to hold the illusion for much longer, but she’ll hold for a little while, will let him enjoy a world of his favorite things for a period. This is her brand of kindness, and it is also her brand of cruelty. She can give and she can take so very easily.
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.
@[Erio] oh look, i write posts sometimes..
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
