"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
God she can get so tired of her sister some times.
Lexa storms into the meadow, muttering to herself in obvious frustration. She’d walked in on Larken practicing with her abilities this morning, only to discover that her sister had managed to tear down a good chunk of the Jungle by calling a vicious storms. The resulting fight between the two of them had been rather less than pleasant.
She still thinks she’d had the right of it. Larken is infinitely lucky that it had been a remote part of the Jungle she’d been practicing in, and that she’d been able to keep control of the storm despite her inexperience with her weather related abilities. She could have hurt someone by accident, or worse. If Larken had lost control of the storm …
Ugh. She doesn’t even want to think about how badly it could have gone.
For now though, she’s escaped to the meadow in search of a little distraction. She and Larken clearly need a little space from each other for the moment. Later, when they’ve both calmed down, Lexa can try and have another conversation with her … and hopefully help her sister see reason.
Easier said then done.
Sighing to herself, Lexa makes her way over to the edge of the lake that borders the meadow. The frigid winter temperatures have made it freeze over, creating the perfect picture of a little winter wonderland. Of course, she’s not at all used to the cold being from the Jungle, but she grits her teeth and bears it for the moment. Better than facing Larken’s temper tantrum anyway.
Just stay away from the white light. I'd say your worst side's your best side.
Kick. Kick kick kick. Wriggle. Nudge. Kick! Dammit, that was my ribs! I gently bump the side of my belly against the tree I've been resting under. Watch it in there, you. Kick. I may not have been able to wrap my head around the idea of being pregnant for a good long while, but I'm having a hard time forgetting now that the kid's decided to be acrobatic. It's weird, though, the thing will be still long enough that I wonder if it's still alive, and then it will suddenly be trying to wrestle its way out, or at least squirming around testing the bounds of its squishy dark prison cell.
Don't worry, I want you out just as badly as you do, kid. I'm not even showing yet, which feels bizarre after watching Mom carry the twins. She was already at the awkward, uncomfortable waddle stage at this point, and I don't see a damn bit of difference in the size of my belly, even if the little monster's already big enough to wallop me in the ribs now and then. Maybe because it was twins? Thank the gods for small favors, if that means at least I've only got one. With more than one set of twins among my siblings, I wouldn't have been surprised. Horrified, sure, but surprised?
Kick. Well, you've got enough legs for two. I bump against the tree trunk again, and the kid kicks back. Mouthy little imp. Bump. Kick. Bump. Kick. The corner of my mouth twitches, a flicker of rebellion against my efforts to keep a straight face. You're a little weirdo, you know that? Kick. Alright, kid, time to let up. There's only so much of your acrobatics my insides can take at once. Moving usually works when it's getting a little too enthusiastic, so I leave the shelter of the willow I've grown rather fond of and set off on a good wander. Kid'll calm down soon enough.
Kick. Hush, you.
Once again, I've spent a little too much time alone with my thoughts. Or, alone with my thoughts and the tiny beast taking over my body. Far better to find some company and a bit of entertainment, and isn't it just so handy when a pretty young thing presents herself for just that. She's tall too, black blanketed in snowfall and soot, with the traditional jungle tattoo climbing up her leg. I don't see her individual tattoo, but they can be sneaky sometimes. Mom's is. I like a girl with a sense of subtlety.
Not that I'd turn up my nose at a girl with a flair for the dramatic. Not with coloring like mine, violet mane spilling down my powder blue neck, covering the steely blue shoulder markings. Still, there's something very classic and classy about pulling off black and white, and she does it well. Though I do like the flash of gold on her ankle. That's a nice touch.
“It's a little cold out for a jungle girl, isn't it?” I ask, and the smile on my face is friendly even as interest creeps into my eyes. “Whatever your reason, I'm glad you braved the weather. Name's Ryss and it's a pleasure to meet you.” Or at least a girl can hope.
Just when you think that you're alright, I'm crawling out from the inside.
She can’t help but wonder what Lyris would think of the two of them, fighting and nearly taking out the southern half of the jungle. Well, she doesn’t really have to wonder. Their mother had been a predictable sort. Lyris would have likely just rolled her eyes and blown the both of them over on their asses. Their mother had never really had patience for, as she would’ve called it, ‘silliness.’
She probably should head back to the jungle to make up with Larken, but a small vengeful piece of her keeps her feet planted in the snow. She’ll go back … eventually. It won’t hurt Larken to stew a little bit.
Sighing, she pulls a little carbon from the earth and sends it skittering across the icy lake, eyes widening at the odd sound that it makes. She hadn’t expected that. She’s about to pull out another piece of carbon from the ground when the sound of hooves crunching over the snow catches her attention. Lexa’s ears prick and her head swings about to see who’s approaching.
She very suddenly feels like she’s been punched in the gut.
She’s frozen for a moment, staring at the mare, trying desperately to find her tongue again. Her eyes dart, trying to find something to anchor herself, but they can’t help but follow the flowing violet tresses that tumble gently across the mare’s pale blue coat. This mare is unlike anyone she’s ever seen.
Suddenly, inexplicably, her tongue begins working again. “Umm …” Oh fuck, how eloquent. She’s getting off to a wonderful start. “A bit. Still better than facing my sister’s temper though!” Damn Larken could start a snowstorm if she wanted, not that she’d be able to control it. “Nice to meet you Ryss, I’m Lexa.” Her eyes meet the mare’s own, and she suddenly feels lost. What on earth is this? She feels like she’s gone mad.
Just stay away from the white light. I'd say your worst side's your best side.
Oh my. How cute, she's speechless. A grin spreads slowly across my lips as she stares, her eyes lingering on my skin, my hair, not quite managing to meet my gaze. I snort and roll my eyes in sympathy at her mention of a sister with a temper. “I understand. I have siblings of my own, and they aren't all as delightful of temperament as I am.” Some tore themselves apart, others were too cowardly to show their damn faces, and still others set people on fire for getting a little carried away with a tall, dark, and sexy as hell stranger. My family has its share of darkness, and nowhere near all of it comes from the mother we once called the moon.
Ah, but now is not the time. Far better to let my eyes linger on the fall of black hair as it brushes against the curve of her neck. To trace the shape of her lips, to ponder the taste of her skin. She would be so tentative at first, touches light as a feather, hardly daring to close the last whisper of distance between our bodies. Or maybe she'd surprise me, and heat would kindle in her belly and spark daring into her touch. I don't feel lightning between us, no crackle of electricity dancing along my skin as her eyes roam my skin, just a gentle flicker of curiosity inviting me to play. Or at least to indulge in a little imagining.
“Lexa. What a lovely name.” And when they finally meet mine, I see she has lovely eyes to match that lovely name, eyes a rich brown a few shades lighter than mine. Light enough that the sunlight catches just so and highlights the brown, finding subtle notes of honey and amber in the flecks and swirls of her irises. “Strength, softened by a touch of femininity. I like it. It suits you, I think.” There is strength in the muscled lines of her body, strength the Jungle has always called out of its women and men alike. But that strength does nothing to detract from soft curves or the sweetness of her scent.
“Tell me, lovely Lexa,” I say with a hint of a purr, “where would my eyes need to linger on your skin to find the other tattoo? My mother's hid behind her ear, tucked away out of sight below her mane. I never wore them myself, never felt called to take the vows and declare myself a Sister. Too much of a wanderer even at such a young age, you know. But I was always curious what marks my skin would bear if I did. Something bold and garish, painted across my skin for all the world to see? Or something secret and subtle like yours, one that demands a quieter, more intimate attention before revealing itself?”
Just when you think that you're alright, I'm crawling out from the inside.
06-13-2016, 11:59 AM (This post was last modified: 06-13-2016, 11:59 AM by Lexa.)
the dead are gone
The mare is grinning at her with an expression that reminds Lexa all too much of one of the Jungle cats eyeing its next meal. She shifts awkwardly and her eyes drop to the dirt at her feet, unsure of exactly how to react. She lets out a short, forced laugh at the mare’s comment, which is probably just as awkward as she currently looks. “Doesn’t help either that she can call a thunderstorm when she’s pissed.”
She takes a breath, trying to steady herself, and looks back up into those dizzying dark brown eyes. “Thanks.” She’s actually never given her name too much thought (other than to recognize her family’s apparent propensity towards ‘L’ names), but the way this mare describes it somehow makes it feel all the more fitting. Like a good, well tailored glove. “What’s your name?” She’s suddenly overcome by the desire to reach out, to touch (what would that blue coat feel like against her muzzle?), but the moment the thought rears its head, she squirrels it away into a corner of her mind. What the hell is she doing? She doesn’t know this mare - the both of them are complete strangers to each other. And Lexa personally would not take kindly to some stranger she she just met deciding to get a little touchy feely.
What is wrong with her though? She’s never felt like this before. Never wanted to touch some random stranger she just met in the middle of the meadow. This sort of behaviour and desire is so unlike her. Is she going crazy?
Her ears perk as the mare mentions tattoos, and her mother, and Lexa welcomes the mental distraction, trying to divorce her mind from how she feels (though somehow she still shivers slightly when the mare’s tongue seemingly caresses the word ‘intimate’). “Your mother was an Amazon? What was her name?” Not that she would know her - the way the mare speaks in the past tense makes Lexa think the mare’s mother is long gone from the kingdom. As for her own tattoo …
“My tattoo is hidden in my spots.” She turns to her left so that her right side is on display for the mare to see. The caiman is in the centre of her flank, curled around one of her spots. “I still have no idea why the Jungle chose a caiman.” The meaning behind her mother’s tattoo had been obvious, but her own? Who knows.
Just stay away from the white light. I'd say your worst side's your best side.
I can't help but grin in sympathy at her sister's ability to call storms. “Yeah, I have a brother who likes to start fires. That one's...” I trail off, my smile turning a little bitter, before continuing. “That one's not so fun in an argument either.” Or hitting out of nowhere, turning the sweet burn of newly-awakened passion into something dark and twisted, skin crisping, flesh burning, blood boiling as agony consumes nerve endings.
He broke something in me that day, my beloved brother. My favorite, the one I'd do anything for, the person I loved most in the world. He made me believe, whether he meant to or not, that I was a monster. And still I loved him, loved him so deeply and without question that I believed he was right, believed I'd done something to deserve to burn. Because why else would he do such a thing? So many years wasted, believing I was ruin. Believing I'd come so close to destroying our family, and in the wake of our greatest tragedy.
Ah, but there are more pleasant thing to think about right now, like the way shadows and light play across lovely Lexa's body, the gentle curve of her spine and how I could trail my lips along it just so. I can almost feel her skin brushing against my mouth, can almost breathe in the scent of the Jungle on her skin, and isn't that much more fun than remembering old misery? She asks my name again, and I grin. Am I that distracting, then? How delightful. “Ryss,” I purr again, meeting those gorgeous brown eyes through the veil of steel blue lashes. “My name is Ryss.”
I can see curiosity waking in those lovely eyes, and my skin tingles where her gaze lingers. Ah, but she latches onto the distraction I inadvertently provided and asks about my mother. Yes, well. So much for that. “Ah. Yes. Quark. She was queen a while back, the burning queen, appropriately enough. My brother isn't the only one in the family with a penchant for setting fires. Ah, but that was aes ago, really. I would guess she was a bit before your time, lovely Lexa.”
She indulges my curiosity and angles her body just so, inviting me to look at the caiman hidden on her flank. Well. Don't mind if I do. I step forward, closing the distance between our bodies, a half-smile on my lips as I lower my head to look get a closer look. “My mother would be better at hazarding a guess as to why a caiman,” I murmur, studying the reptile closely. “More familiar with the ways of the Jungle and the symbolism behind things like this. Hers is a little dart frog, who she says is a spirit guide of hers. I don't know much about that kind of magic, but I do know a beautiful tattoo when I see one.”
Just when you think that you're alright, I'm crawling out from the inside.
Her lips can’t help but quirk into a smile at the mare’s comment about her brother. Larken’s new weather abilities are frustrating enough when combined with her sister’s temper, but adding fire abilities to that temper instead? The damn girl would probably burn the whole Jungle down! “That sounds … potentially frustrating.” She catches the pain and bitterness in the mare’s own smile, but does not pry, though she’s suddenly fighting a strange desire to know as much as she can about this stranger. They’ve only just met after all, it wouldn’t be right of her to intrude into something that is obviously an unpleasant memory.
She states her name, with an odd quirk to the lips that makes Lexa think something is amiss. She thinks back, trying to recall … oh. OH.That’s embarrassing. “Oh … oh shit. You’ve already told me. I’m so sorry. Clearly I’m a bit out of sorts …” If she’d been human she would have flushed, but as it is, her brown eyes drop instantly to the ground, discovering a particularly interesting piece of dirt.
Ryss quickly offers a distraction from her embarrassment. “Quark …” Lexa raises her head as she thinks back (though her usually sharp mind is as slow as molasses), trying to remember her mother’s stories. On her less ornery days Lyris had loved regaling Lexa and Larken with tales of her earlier days in the Jungle, and Quark … a mare named Quark had featured in more than one of them. “I think I remember that name. One of the dragon queens, yes?” It had been a time of upheaval for the Jungle. Her mother had been young then, not yet a seasoned warrior, and she’d been full of admiration for the powerful queen. “My mother knew her, though not well I think.” Lyris had …
Oh, oh dear.
Lexa’s breath catches when she realizes the mare’s soft blue head is mere inches away from her side. An errant thought wonders what it would be like to have those lips kiss that tattoo and … Lexa twitches, and only just catches Ryss’ last comment. “Thank you.” Her eyes once again fall to the ground, trying to hide her embarrassment and the strange heat boiling beneath her surface. What’s wrong with her?
