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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


    feel the moon hit the blacktop; any
    #11

    The embers rain down, alighting atop the downy fur between the peaks of her ears, but where there ought to be a lingering burn, she feels a cold sharpness in its stead.  Like snowflakes falling against the delicate skin of her nose, the sparks melt into her.

    Firen smiles, and she frowns.
    He talks, and she stays silent.
    She feels for him, and he has nothing for her.

    “Okay,” she whispers, the gray in her turbulent eyes churned - a contrary thing amidst the stoicism painted across her wolfish features.  The flames rose higher, washing the she wolf in a pale golden glow as the uplit shadows warped her features into something otherworldly and grotesque.

    When she finally reaches out to him, it is not with words or feeling.  It’s an understanding.
    Watch me burn, the yellow slitted eyes of the serpent commanded without speaking.

    Too slow, she thought, and where he let the fires push forward, she began to pull. With greed  she reeled the flames into her from her burning world.  The inferno began to swirl around where she sat motionless in the eye of the swelling firestorm, eerie in the calm of its scalding center.    Catcher considers stopping, and releasing them now that the world is no longer wilting in the untamed heat.  But the fire churning at her fingertips breathes, and sighs and crackles as though it were living and she fears that if given a reprieve he might allow the fires to flood again.

    And so she takes.  The unicorn calls to the elemental wings upon his back, and with the upturn of the wind, they are released from their binding to eagerly join the vortex.

    But there’s something she’d promised.  The flames beg and strain, and the weaver unleashes their tethers.  Wild and hungry, they consume their master until there’s nothing left of the silvery gray wolf that set at the epicenter.  Though in the canine’s stead, the reds and whites and golds of the fire bend and mold - their fluid, dancing bodies weaving and solidifying into something whole.  The last of the flames shift and sweep into a long bannered tail, and the large wings of the phoenix beat powerfully against the now quiet night where she rose from the soot and ash.

    The eyes of the raptor- cool and gray - are entirely Catcher’s, and they lower to find the hollow boy where he stood.  He cannot move, she’s unwilling to allow it, and she holds him in captive audience as if examining a specimen.  Something had been off, he’d admitted just as much, she had felt just as much, though she had mistaken it for misplacement and loneliness.  The images of pain and monsters and cold had swamped her mind just before the fires had scored their reckless path and the fervent hopeless dreamer in her can't help but wonders, if she still can help the fallen star that had found her.

    The phoenix screams, piercing and deafening, and the scorched world that holds both of them fractures and shatters.  The pieces cascade with an impossibly pleasant chime, falling beneath them into a void of pitch nothing.  Somehow, the depthless black holds them firmly in spite of the lack of footing, and the weaver offers one last downswing of her wings and rueful blink of her eyes before launching.  

    Her mark is obvious, and her aim true.

    When she collides with him, they are both lost, and the flames sigh as if to say, “I’m sorry.”
    ____________________________

    The fires are fed, and they slip away content.  They recede, and what remains is the gray painted mare, her head draped across the back of the stripped down, black brindled stallion in a makeshift embrace.  Where she his hornless, he is wingless, rendered down to their most basic slate.  Her dream still buoys them, but the world remains null and depthless, and her weightless head turns back tenderly, sliding across his back slowly as if in fear to wake a sleeping giant.

    “Firen?
     
    CATCHER
    caught in the afterglow



    @[Firen]  she didn't have it in her to hurt him for long DX she basically tried to do a hard reset on the both of them and tried to strip them of their traits - good and bad. temporarily ofc ;]
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    #12
    i don't eat i just devour,
    every one in every hour


    His indifference breaks her, and she shatters the world around them with a scream that rattles his bones.

    As it all begins to crumble, as the flames are eaten by the endless void, he is reminded painfully of the time when, as a boy, Tephra had been turned into a living hell around him. For the briefest of moments, he remembers, starkly, vividly, painfully, all the rage and terror he had felt in the days after a band of strangers had destroyed his birthplace.  When he had been helplessly tossed through a portal to the other side of Beqanna, with no idea what had become of his twin or mother. As she unmakes him, he remembers the satisfaction of the attackers' thoughts, the flickering out of others as their consciousness left their bodies for the afterlife.

    He had not forgotten their faces, he had not forgotten the unique way each of their minds moved.

    There is something close to satisfaction in his heartless chest as she tears their world to shreds, as she takes his fire and wields it with more fury than he ever could. But then the ground falls away from where he sits he tries to stand, summoning his wings to him again, only to find that she holds him with her magic. He had not flinched in the face of her shifting and belittling examination of him. But at this, red eyes narrow; this display of power is what finally causes his blood to boil.

    He is angry. He is powerless.

    How real this made-up world feels as it spins and burns out of his control, he is a motionless passenger until he is nothing. He is a vapor in the dull stillness that the chaos settles into. 

    In the silence, the ringing in his ears is deafening.

    He doesn't know how much time passes, but as he realizes he is whole again and how and where he stands, his ears pin and black lips pull back to reveal the glint of his dull, equine teeth.

    "Did it feel good,"  he asks as he steps away from the touch of her reparation. "To break something?"  

    His eyes find hers, for the first time burning instead of flat, as he waits for what response she may have. But he is too exhausted to fight anymore, made weak by the burning in his veins, and longing to was the bitter taste of magic off his tongue with muddy river-water.

    His eyes break from hers as his mouth lashes out to sinks his teeth into the scar-tissue across his chest, and his form begins to fade - his consciousness waking in the real world and leaving hers. He straddles the worlds for a moment, the Riverlands intruding on their dreamscape, and he slips back into the wolfish form of his sleeping body. But he looks to her one last time, with wet muzzle and steaming flanks, and his features grow empty and distance once again.

    "Stay out of my dreams, witch." 

    Firen
    [Image: Firen-insane.gif]
    Reply
    #13


    He steps away, and her eyes turn to witness the flare of anger illuminating his own.

    “More than you could ever dream,” she breathes, her features a mask of vacancy.

    He was hollow, and empty -- not much more than a golem born of ice on an isle during a frigid night.  Nothing like the boy whose memories she could seconds ago.

    This night’s endeavors had only bred rage and failure.  The anger at least, was something - a small thing -  compared to the bitter nothingness of before.

    The dreamweaver doesn’t flinch when teeth dig into their owner’s flesh, and she watches with indifference as he starts to fade.

    When he looks back one last time, the charcoal wolf stands in the unicorn’s place.
    “Sweetest dreams, vessel.”

    And with that she turned, walking back into the meadow where the fireflies waited loyally to dance again.

    She’d promised herself nothing would ruin it.

    And she’d save tonight yet.
     
    CATCHER
    caught in the afterglow



    @[Firen] just wrapping things up from her end!
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