"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
peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one
Her nerves surrounding the birth have been growing all winter.
She’d begged her father desperately to find her a stallion worthy of carrying on the family line. After the birth of Potion’s gifted daughter Ecco, Kirke’s jealousy of her favoured sister had grown exponentially. She’d wanted the chance to prove her worthiness too, she’d wanted to have her own chance at producing her own heir to Khaos.
But now that the date is approaching, she’s full of questions and anxieties. She knows about birth, she’s seen her mother give birth twice after all. But she’s never done this herself before … what if something goes wrong?
And what if the child turns out to be completely normal? Or even worse, defected …
Her fears toy with her right up until the moment that the child slips out of her and onto the damp grass. But the moment she sees the foal, everything is right.
A handsome little colt lies before her, tinted light purple with a magenta ombre on his nose, legs, and the tips of his mane and tail - a clear sign of Kirin’s genes living on in the boy. And, most wonderfully of all, his purple shoulders are topped by a set of lovely feathered purple wings. He’s perfect.
Kirke rushes to clean off the muck and nudges at the boy to try and urge him to his feet. She can see no defects as of yet, but his attempts to walk will be the real test. That and whether or not he responds to being named (she still remembers when father had discovered Arkane’s deafness, she does not want that for her own son). She reaches down to him again, a soft smile covering her face. “Your name is Chaol.” Her eyes watch his ears closely to see if they react. It would be the worst thing possible for her to have a defected child.
05-02-2016, 10:36 AM (This post was last modified: 05-03-2016, 08:08 PM by Chaol.)
When a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend
It was dark and warm. He was unconsciously the happiest he would probably ever be. His little wing nubs are wrapped tightly against his body and he is happy. Until he wants to stretch, but cannot. His legs are trapped and he is curled into a position that is entirely too uncomfortable now. Then the contractions begin and he does not know fear nor hunger nor any emotion other than displeasure at being interrupted.
Too soon he is cold and wet. He bleats as he rolls up, eyes staring at the purple blob before him. His eyes clear, making out the face before him. She nudges him, cleaning him and making him warm again. His eyes blink shut before a particularly rough nudge makes him grunt and he stares up at her again.
He wants up.
He stretches his legs out before him, lurching onto them like a drunkard. He staggers and stumbles, falls and flops many times before he finally gets steady enough to be still (for the most part). He leans against her warmth, enjoying the heat and then the rumble of her voice as her chest vibrates against his body. A smile curls his lips as well, ears flickering when she speaks. "Chaaaayyyooool." He rumbles in response.
He looks up at her, twisting his head awkwardly before he moves, shoulder bumping against her side until he finds what his stomach was telling him to get. After he takes his fill, his eyes are heavy but instead of going back to the ground he settles his weight against his mother's shoulder, his eyes blinking heavily.
05-09-2016, 12:22 AM (This post was last modified: 05-09-2016, 12:23 AM by Kirke.)
peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one
Her heart leaps as he responds, and she steps back, giving the little purple boy more room to stand. She watches, breathless, as he forces himself to his feet, falling once, twice … until eventually he manages to stay up. He wobbles over to her, leaning into her body to suck up some warmth. Then he repeats his name back at her and she feels like singing. He’s alright! He’s normal! He’s utterly perfect in every way! A massive grin breaks out across her face and she leans down to nuzzle nuzzle him. She can’t wait for her father to meet him - little Chaol is a perfect testament to the superiority of their family line.
He wobbles around, bumping against her, little nose questing through her purple coat. It takes her only a moment for her to realize what he’s looking for and she angles her body to give him easy access. As he latches on, her eyes travel back to the little feathered winged nubs sticking out of his shoulders. They’re perhaps not as impressive as Potion’s daughter’s ability - rot inducement - but she is ever so pleased to see them. She’s already looking forward to the day when she can teach him to fly.
When he’s finally full he stumbles away, then leans in against Kirke’s side, little purple lids blinking. He’s tired out, poor thing. Being born is probably tiring for anyone. “It’s alright sweetie. You can rest.” She gives him a little nudge. The grass here in the hills is nice and soft - perfect for napping in. It would be good for him to recharge before her father arrives. She can’t wait for Kirin to meet his latest grandchild.
you're metophorical gin and juice so come on give me a taste of what its like to be next to you
If they vy for his attention he pretends not to notice, but notice he does- Kirin notices a great many things. Things about himself he notices a lot but he does a fair job of shielding his attention to detail when he wants to, surprised?
It took longer than he expected to track down a suitable mate for Kirke's first child, not because the girl was unworthy surely but quite the opposite. Kirin was a picky Father, wanting only the best for his best girls and if Potion had a King then Kirke would need something just as brilliant, if not more so.
The twisted magician was a shoe in, the moment the lavender leviathan spotted him he knew he was the one. All that was needed now was for Kirke to up the ante so to speak, to draw the fellow in and he suspected it wasn't difficult once the smell of the season settled on her haunches. In her success he was immensely proud, the months to follow were spent keeping track of the days, noting the size of his daughter's expanding belly. Any time now she would pop and he could not wait to see what she had made, stalking the purpled girl shamelessly.
On one such occasion he finds himself late to her side, spotting her bright hues in the hills and landing beside a damp colt. "A boy? You didn't call for me?" The first words to leave his lips are harsh perhaps, but maybe for their family this was normal behavior or even expected. For Kirin the tone was known and his hazel eyes boring holes in the child as he inspected him was far less concerning. She had done it, made something in the image of Khaos and his family and surely the iron God would be pleased.
"No matter, he is sound and the wings...those are my favorite you know? What is it you call him?" The inquiry is less demand now, his edgy tone leaving as he discovers his grandson is whole and not only whole but he is special, just like he hoped.
When a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend
"It's alright sweetie. You can rest." The little purple and magenta colt didn't want to rest. He wanted to stay up but he couldn't get his damn eyes to stay open. His mother nudged him gently encouraging him to rest but he shakes his head stubbornly and then moves away from her warmth to test out his legs some more. They were weak and awkward but he would figure it out if it killed him. His purple wings were tucked at his sides until they weren't and he would extend them out for balance.
The first time he did that he stopped and turned his head to look at them. He touched the feathers with his lips feeling the softness and delicacy in them. He could feel the extra muscles moving under his purple fur and experimentally flapped them up and down. Tilting his head he flapped harder until his muscles started to ache. He looked over his shoulder at his mom, tucking them back into his sides like she did before he moved steadily on in a small circle.
Excitement and fear clashed in his chest as he heard the sudden whistling and whooshing of something in the air above. He cranes his head, looking for the sound until that something was almost landing. He turns his body around, facing this new person backing up until his butt was touching his mother's chest.
His little eyes narrow. His ears flicker backwards into his scruffy mane as the harsh tone erupts from the male before him. He is quiet until he asks his name and then the little rascal pipes up. "Chaol!" He says it as a statement almost defiant in his tone as he eyes this stallion before him.
His attention is pulled away after a moment of silence when a tiny hummingbird flits around them. Chaol is fascinated watching as it's tiny wings move so fast. With his thoughts the wings on his back change from the color of his coat to the color of the hummingbird wings and then they begin to shrink and shrink until they were the exact size. Humming comes from his back as they move and he looks over his shoulder in surprise. "Momma...Did I break them?" He says, almost in a small panic over the wings that he used to have compared to the wings he had now, but even before his eyes they were changing back to his purple wings and he breathes a sigh of relief.
peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one
And then all of a sudden he’s there. He lands beside the boy, eyeing Chaol briefly before looking to Kirke. “I’m sorry Father, I was just about to!” Then she falls silent, heart in her throat, as Kirin inspects the boy a little more.
She lets out a small, happy, sigh as he comments on the wings - she knows he’s always been fond of wings. They might not be as impressive as Ecco’s ability, but they are something that Kirin has himself, that Kirke has herself. A sign of the boy’s heritage.
Kirin asks after the boy’s name and Kirke pauses. She remembers Kirin’s anger after her mother had named the twins … but surely with his own daughter it’s different right? Especially since she’d chosen such a strong name (well, in her opinion). She’s about to respond when Chaol himself pipes up, almost defiantly. She smiles proudly at him - surely Kirin will like the boy’s attitude.
She doesn’t notice the hummingbird that flits past, but she does notice the change in his wings. Kirke can’t help but gasp as Chaol’s beautiful feathered wings suddenly begin to shrink and shrink and shrink until they are the size of hummingbird wings. She’s frozen for a moment, stunned, until the wings begin to grow again, and turn back into their normal colour and size. What on earth?
Chaol seems a little concerned, so she reaches forward to nuzzle at him. “Oh no sweetie, you didn’t break them. You just did something wonderful. Do you think you could do it again?” Something in her genes had clearly combined with something in his father’s genes to create something wonderful. She wonders if there’s anything else he can do.
you're metophorical gin and juice so come on give me a taste of what its like to be next to you
Good ol’ Grandpa Kirin but best he never hear them call him that, he was far too young and beautiful to be called such a thing. He had his whole life ahead of him still and there is nothing on this earth to make Kirin wish for an early grave. Still, when it came down to technicalities he was indeed the boy’s Grandfather, the thought made him prickle a bit but he supposed it was an unavoidable part of life, especially when he encouraged his own lines so freely.
This particular grandchild had an astonishingly vivid coat, perhaps somehow from the radiant coloring of his Mother’s pelt mixed with the unique pattern of colors on her wings. Well that and he must of course give himself credit for the purple, he was happy to say that every single one of his lineage had so far inherited the trademark hue. Father had his brands, Kirin had something a bit more subtle and far more appealing. Along with that the boy had inherited wings, another chip off the old DNA strand but then again Kirke had always pleasantly pleased him with her own special set, even if her good for nothing Dam had shamed him so many other times. Shame is a strong word though isn’t it? Perhaps disappointed would be better but Kirin was not one to practice pleasantries if he didn’t have to.
“Very well Kirke,” he begins to say, turning his silvery gaze to his daughter before a high pitched voice squeaks from the sidelines. “Well then, there we have it, Chaol.” It appears the lavender stag thinks on the name for a moment, tossing the word around silently against his tongue as he furrowed his brow with considerment. “Chaol yes, that should do and what a fine looking young man he will be.” It’s decided, he likes this one a proud little thing that it is. Mostly it is the wings that earn him favor but Kirin had never been secretive about his own desire for traits, for the unordinary to grace his family name.
For a time he watches the child with a hard stare, taking in his first reactions to the world and is himself surprised at the sudden change in size and shape of the boy’s wings. How peculiar, he fails to remark out loud, instead working on a venomous chastisement that also doesn’t have time to leave his silky lips. What were once a complete waste of gift were now slowly molding themselves back to their original state, easing carefully into the fledged appendages they had began as. “Wonderful indeed, show us more child.”
When a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend
Do it again? Why he wasn't even sure how he did it the first time. So he thinks about it, thinks about what he had done and makes that newborn brain of his work. "Show us again, child." This male says before him. Who was he to make demands on them? Chaol's ears fall back into the scruffs of his mane at the words. They were not like his mother's soothing and gentle to his ears. They were rough and harsh. He did not like them.
But his momma had asked him to do it again, so he would try. His ears flicker back and forth and he shifts his weight side to side. For a few long moments there is nothing, but then they land on his mother's wings, so bright and vibrant that they make him smile. His own wings start to bleed with color, until they matched the colors of his momma's wings.
The purple turned to red and blue and yellow. He stretched the wings out awkwardly at his sides, moving around so he could touch them against his momma's. "I did it!" There's excitement in his words, in the way that he looks up to his mom with pride in his stance, and a shine in his eyes. "Just like yours momma."
And they fade to purple again before their eyes.
He smiles to himself, his dark eyes turning back to look at his grandfather, studying and waiting to see what they would both say.
05-28-2016, 07:10 PM (This post was last modified: 05-28-2016, 07:11 PM by Kirke.)
peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one
Her heart warms as Kirin praises the boy, and she dips her head in thanks. She rather agrees with her father’s judgement too - despite being only hours old, it’s clear that Chaol will grow up into a rather handsome young stallion. A testament to his grandfather’s blood, she thinks.
She doesn’t fail to notice the sneer that threatens to grow at the sight of Chaol’s changing wings, and her heart shrinks, only to be re-grown when the wings change and Kirin’s approval is clear.
Her brown eyes turn to look at the boy as he stares quizzically back at them. He probably doesn’t know how he’d done it, poor dear. But he’ll figure it out she’s sure - these kind of things tend to be very instinctual. At least, that’s how it’s seemed to her from previous experience.
Chaol certainly seems to be figuring out something anyway, because the colour of his wings suddenly begins to change. She watches, amazed, as colour begins to bleed through his purple wings - a veritable rainbow red, yellow, green and blue. Just like her own.
“Yes, yes! Just like mine sweetie!” She steps forward to reach out to the rainbow wings, but they fade back to purple before she reaches them. All the same, she wraps her neck around him, pulling him into a tight hug. What a wonderful, gifted son Pazuzu has given her. “You are a simply magnificent Chaol!" She nuzzles into the soft downy, baby fur. "Isn’t he wonderful Father?” Her head turns slightly, one brown eye fastening on her father, desperately seeking the approval she hopes is there.
![[Image: kirke.png]](http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y125/102938475611/kirke.png)
