"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
05-26-2016, 09:00 PM (This post was last modified: 05-26-2016, 09:48 PM by Kimber.)
The dip dye colonel is growing stir-crazy, between keeping herself withdrawn during breeding season and wanting to have social interaction. She usually was quite purposeful in her endeavors, though trouble always seemed to find her on its own accord. The blue mare had never really spent her time in the outside world - most had ventured to the meadow or forest but she had been quite content staying in her hole. The Chamber was always bubbling a cauldron of new recruits and more women for the men to fornicate with. Perhaps she had just grown bitter, neither of her sexual episodes had grown anything but animosity. Since the breeding season had come to pass for the year, she decided that now was as good as any time to explore the common lands of Beqanna under the facade that she needed the flight experience. She was not born with wings after all and it had taken quite some time to adjust.
Winter was closing in soon, she thinks quietly - not really having noticed before because the Chamber stays in a perpetual state of season or so it seems. Being accustomed to such weather has landed her trip short, it was much colder above the ground than below with the wind and other elements. The blue-jay winged mare makes a quick landing, just short of the meadows entrance as her hooves rustle up some dirt she sneezes, then groans. Dirt, pollen, ugh why couldn't everything just go away? She wonders now if she will stumble across Nymphetamine in the meadow, word was he had been quite busy this past season. Even at the thought her blood pressure rises and she feels on edge but it's none of her business, it's not her life. She folds her blue, black and teal adorned wings in and starts to familiarize herself with the meadow. Even in the winter it brims with small wildlife, a few horses here and there and a general sense of peace.
It feels strange - to be somewhere with no purpose at all.
Kimber
You don't know how hard I fought to survive, waking up alone when I was left to die
Withdrawn. Such had been Azael's nearly constant state of being since he had ventured into this place. A stranger in an even stranger land. Withdrawn. Watchful. Waiting. And so it was that another day dawned and the too-bright rays of the winter sun found the grey wraith once again ghosting through the common lands, obsidian hooves crisp upon the dead, brittle stalks underhoof, his breath mere vapor swirling through the air before him. And as he moved, so too did his eyes, his ears - those latter ebon-dusted appendages swiveling to and fro atop his regal, Andalusian crown to catch the faint wisps of words uttered by the others in his passing.
Polite words. Meaningless words. The scarred brute had never seen the sense in them. Such words were mere wind without any weight to them. And what weight could polite observations about the weather truly carry?
Dull was the gaze he cast upon those others, his eyes so like twin shards of mahogany ice in their cool dismissal of mare and stallion alike. Though his outward demeanor was no doubt a frigid facade of sheer indifference, in truth, the stud was simply... bored. Perhaps even a touch disappointed. As of yet, there had been no one to catch his interest on this day.
Yet being the key word, of course.
And then, there she was. A flash of blue splashed against an otherwise colorless sky. The stud was immediately drawn to the color, the prick of his ears marking the sudden spark of his curiosity. With an arc of that elegant Andalusian neck, Azael lifted his head toward the heavens so that he could better observe that creature flying overhead. And in that observation, he felt his powerful legs slow, his frame draw to a pause. Frozen in that moment, as much of the world had already been frozen - too weak to resist the chill of that most unforgiving season.
Winter was indeed the cruelest of mistresses.
In silence did the stallion observe the mare's descent, her landing, the shimmer of a midnight-kissed sea upon her feathers as she folded those great wings along the supple curve of her back. Lovely. The word came unbidden to the stud's mind, a mere prick of thought on the very edges of his consciousness. A thought easily dismissed. Ignored. Shunned back into the recesses from which it had bloomed.
But not even the male carved from smoke and ice could fully deny the truth of such a silent declaration.
Inhale. Azael drank in deep of the crisp air, letting it bite at his nostrils, letting it burn his lungs. Exhale. More mist curled from the brute's ebon muzzle to dance in the space before him, like dragon smoke, yet far more insubstantial.
And far less deadly.
Only then did he push himself into motion once more, his steps light, his stride purposeful. Slowly did he make that approach, each sweep of his long legs devouring more of the ground beneath him until he was but a few lengths away from the mare painted in such celestial shades of black and blue. And there he slowed. And there he halted, dark eyes hooked upon the form of the winged creature even as his head lifted once more, even as his nares flared so that he could catch the female's scent, so that he could lavish in it, so that he could study it. But as for words, there were none. For what could possibly be said in such a moment?
Hello? No, no. What is your name? Never. Such niceties were useless. Such questions did not need to be pressed. And so it was that the one called Azael simply embraced the easy silence between them, letting it fall upon his broad shoulders like a mantle he always wore with such ease.
05-26-2016, 11:05 PM (This post was last modified: 05-26-2016, 11:07 PM by Kimber.)
It was hit or miss on what type of mood she would be in but it was never sweet. Kimber had only been in the meadow a short few minutes before she drew attention, albeit odd, to herself. In her experience, typically people approached her to the point of conversation or at least, within a reasonable distance but this was different. Out of her peripheral vision she saw the tall dapple grey propel himself in her direction but she doesn't take much heed until he stops, he doesn't advance past her or closer. She overthinks it, naturally, if this is a tactic to get her to approach him - what type of psychological mind game was he playing.
It worked.
The dip-dyed mare took a few steps forward, warily, studying the Andalusian stallion - as a colonel of an army it was her job to size up her competition regardless of time and place. She snorts loudly at him, feeling him out somewhat and hoping that maybe he was simply in a daydream and needing an awakening. Although she would deny being a withdrawn individual on the outside, she very well understood how detached you can be to the outside world. When he didn't carry onward, she moved her black tipped ears forward and her amber eyes wide looking for a reaction. The silence made her somewhat uncomfortable, to be watched and not spoken to was something that she hadn't known; at least openly. She, too, inhales his scent and it's unmatched to any she knows - it is not like Nymph, there is no smell of ash or the Chamber; it is not bitter with the smell of desperation, she cannot place it. It is new, she is all too curious to find out now. She does not give him the same courtesy of space, of a silent introduction, she approaches far beyond the typical. Her wings span out and the bluejay feathers brush lightly against the dappled skin from the shoulder to the hindquarters.
"It's rude to stare at a lady," she says, circling up to the other side and to face across from him, tucking her wings back away as her amber eyes stare back towards him, "but most wouldn't consider me such, so no harm no foul." She puts her weight on her right side, cocking her left leg back as she gives a crooked smile. "I'm Kimber, where ya from and what are you looking for?" she doesn't hesitate to ask questions, she just typically doesn't truly care to know. Something seemed different about him, not much piqued the interest of the ombre mare these days so he had accomplished a feat without knowing it. Kimber was not great at being a woman, she was too buried in work and too busy worrying about if she fulfilled her potential when she should have spent more time becoming acquainted with the power she could hold simply owning her sex.
Kimber
But let me tell you something baby,
You love me for everything you hate me for
And thus began their dance, that delicate exchange of glances, of mingled scents, of unvoiced curiosity and questioned motives. Warily did the mare approach and stoicly did the stud hold his ground, his frame quite motionless save for the expansion and contraction of his ribcage with each inhale and subsequent exhale, save for the misted stir of his breath in that space between them - a space which was swiftly closing with each passing second until the female was close, so close, too close, close enough to touch.
And touch she did. A simple caress, but a caress nonetheless. A brushing of her feather-tips from the point of his muscled shoulder down to the curve of his powerful hindquarters, the touch to his sensitive flank along the way drawing a faint twitch from the stallion's dappled pelt. Like the kiss of a gentle breeze, that touch came and then it left just as suddenly. And then the mare was circling him. With each step about the circumference of his form, Azael tracked the female's movements with his ears, with his eyes - the former flicking to and fro to catch the crunch of her hooves upon the earth, the latter watching her from his peripherals until she was before him once more, until he could study her in full.
And study her he did. Openly. Shamelessly. It's rude to stare at a lady, the mare had said, her words as brazen as her actions. Perhaps such an opening statement would have drawn a smile from another stud, mayhaps even a snort of amusement. But Azael was not one such stud. Silent as ever, he merely listened to the winged creature, his mahogany gaze fixed upon her amber, unwavering, unrelenting. Kimber. That was her name, the mare woven from midnight. Kimber. A curious name, but no more curious than any others he had heard in his lifetime, he supposed.
A pause, then. A moment taken for consideration. For reflection. But then it was the grey wraith's turn to move, to speak. And move he did, his tall frame lurching into motion, obsidian hooves sinking into the ground with decided steps to draw him even closer to the mare, to encroach upon her space just as she had encroached upon his. And speak he did, the smooth tones of his velvet baritone ringing out in the chillness of the season with such an utterance. "You must forgive me, then," came the stallion's first decree, his shoulder brushing hers in passing as he moved about her, as he circled her form in imitation of her own advance. "It is not every day one sees such a lady."
From the lips of another, such words surely would have been meant in flirtation. A blatant attempt at seduction. But from the ebon muzzle of the Andalusian, such words were simply matter-of-fact, a sheer declaration of the truth of the situation. Beyond that, the mare could interpret them as she pleased.
Around her rump the brute circled, close enough to kiss her with the stirring of air in his passing yet nothing more. But then he slowed, those purposeful strides halting as he came alongside her, as he arced his neck, as he allowed his muzzle to hover over her withers. Brazen. Unapologetic. Indeed he was close, yes, but not so close as to touch, to nip, to feel. No, nothing like that.
Instead, the stud simply breathed in, a deep inhalation, a shameless gulp of her scent. And in that scent, he searched, he searched for the acrid hint of... another. For such was the way of things from whence Azael had come. He had no experience with kingdoms, with mares holding ranks of their own accord, unattached to any male. Where he was from, there were simply herds and the various politics that inevitably came from such an arrangement. Where mares were possessions to be owned, to be protected, to be bred.
And so it was that the dappled wraith found himself trying to ascertain just who possessed this particular female with that inhalation, with that study of her unique aroma.
Assuming such a brazen act didn't leave the Andalusian castrated and bleeding on the ground, he would then move again, finally pulling himself away from the form of the mare to return to her front. "Azael," came his belated introduction, those three syllables ringing out with all the clearness of a chiming bell. The name of one of the fallen. A fitting name for the only son by his sire who dared to be born without the gift of wings. An angel never fit to fly.
"Where I come from is hardly important. As for what I am looking for," the male continued as his steps stilled, as his gaze leveled upon Kimber's countenance. "Perhaps it is the same as what you yourself are looking for."
let me tell you something baby,
you love me for everything you hate me for
Perhaps the ombre mare had grown so accustomed to her Chambermates being intimidated (or irritated) by her that it comes as a surprise that he reciprocates her actions. Although she had only been with two men, the situation placed her in quite a harlot vision - two men in the same night. Two children, twins born with separate fathers. It had all been so complicated but what occurs in the early hours of the morning and beneath sweat barren skin always is. She feels somewhat uneasy at his approach, mostly because of natural instinct but she does not flinch and certainly doesn't run. The feeling of hot breath even tickling her skin sends chills up her legs and across her back, she shakes beneath it with an faint gasp. Such a beautiful woman left untouched, unscathed year after year.
She was good at disappearing, too good.
Kimber wasn't typically a fan of small talk, she felt as though it was really just a waste of time which is why she always directed things head on - at least within first meeting someone. He ignores her request of where he came from, she realizes he likely doesn't care where she is from either. She stews on his comment about being such a lady, it is in her nature to overanalyze everyone else so she isn't spared. She wants to mention that no one found her to be a lady, much less a desirable one but how wrong she would be. The celestial mare was quite nice on the eyes after all, if only she was as easy to like. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting, Azael," she says with a tight lip, "I'm not entirely sure of my purpose here, perhaps boredom or if we're really stretching it we could say I'm here on some overly philosophical mission." A gust of wind blows through the meadow just as a few blackbirds swoop to a nearby tree, cawing at her. She wonders if it's Straia, secretly, watching her or perhaps even Warship's raven. Anytime she meets a man she thinks of him and Nymphetamine, her two past time lovers. There would be no detectable claim on her skin, she had only been bathed in another sweat several years ago; none sense. Perhaps he could smell the ash of her home, her Magma King's molten clinging to her but nothing more.
"If we're being honest, I need a distraction," she offers now, her amber eyes glinting towards the dapple as she watches her breath roll up into the air and disappear. She wonders in that very moment if this would be simply another opportunity for trouble or one of benefit.
If I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting, Azael. Such an accusation. The very idea. But perhaps he was. Perhaps. "Am I?" the stallion quipped in his smooth way, an almost dismissive note woven into the utterance of those twin words. And yet, there was no denying that subtle glint sparking from within the very depths of his dark gaze. A glint of amusement, perhaps? Perhaps.
More words. A gust of wind which sent the stallion's soot-touched tresses to licking at the cool air. A swoop of birds acknowledged only by a brief flick of the male's right ear. And then there was only Kimber once more, the mare of earth and sky alike, the mare who smelled of ash and heat and... nothing. Nothing. No one.
And finally, there. There was the truth. If we're being honest, I need a distraction. Soft was Azael's inhale. Immediate was his reply. "Oh, good," came that smooth baritone, as rich as honey, as cool as gold. "It would seem that we are, indeed, well-matched, then," the stallion went on to note, a single step drawing him close to the ombre mare once more so that he could bring his regal skull alongside hers, so that he could let his warm breath caress the very space next to her ear when he queried, "And how shall we distract one another?"
A pause. A moment given to allow such words to take root, to spark possibilities. And in that silent closeness, he lingered. Close enough to touch, to claim, to command. But, no. This creature was not his to touch, not his to claim, not his to command. And so he resisted, that momentary lapse in judgment from before dismissed. Forgotten.
Another moment spent in silence. And then the scarred brute was supplying his own suggestion, before the celestial mare could have an opportunity to truly consider his offer, to properly reply. "Race me, Kimber," he exhaled into that stillness between their two forms. An odd request, perhaps. A juvenile past-time reincarnated in this moment.
But there was more. Of course there was more. "No wings," Azael went on to specify, setting the first term for the match. "There." Without drawing away from her side, not yet, not yet, the dappled wraith tipped his head toward that nearby tree playing host to the trio of blackbirds. The second term. It would be a short run, a mere sprint to sharpen the senses, to heat the blood. But it would be enough.
And finally, the last of the terms. What was at stake. The prize.
"The last one there must answer a most personal question."
Such a line was delivered in a bare hiss of sound, a challenge released on the wings of a fleeting breath. Beyond that, there was nothing to do but wait. To watch.
The blood bay stallion stood clear as day, off to the side, wrapped in the cloak that was his kingdom gift of invisibility. He had promised himself that he would move on, get over Kimber and her to stubborn, too strong-willed ways. But as he traversed the meadow he saw her. and had to see what she was up to. It was like second nature to go to her to want to be around her. But he couldn't be known, which made the lovely perk of head diplomat especially helpful. He had vanished into thin air for all anyone else knew, he made his way to their conversation. There he stood, jealousy raged within him as he watched the dapple gray take her space, her air. It was all he could do to not act on his emotions. He instead told himself over and over that he didn't care, that he couldn't care.
The blood bay had tried to tell the blue mare he cared, in so many words. She had chewed his ear off about all the other circumstances, and that was that. When he needed the slightest indication of softness, and acceptance she had been harsh and chastising. It had turned him sour against her. He knew it was time to move on. He had tired, had hoped it would have been easier but nothing was ever easy with Kimber. Which again led his to where he was, off to the side of Kimber's conversation with the stallion, Azael.
Slowly, softly he moved to Kimber's side, well close enough where he could reach out his neck and whisper to her. She would smell him, surely, but she would have no proof he was there (she didn't know of his invisibility yet he believed). The necromancer stretched his neck and whispered ever so quietly to be sure Azael wouldn't hear, "He's not good enough for you." He snatched his neck back, out of her reach out of immediate harm as he was perpendicular to her. He moved out and away then, out of the way, and stood a moment longer, he hoped to gauge her reaction.
He never showed himself, never made it known he was there, at least to Azael. It pained him to stay, and it was counter productive to getting over Kimber. He had allowed the indulgence long enough, so he tore himself away, he moved further away, further along his journey, to check on alliances and handle Chamber's internal matters. He didn't dare unveil himself until he was well out of the Meadow.
Nymphetamine
cold was my soul, untold was the pain I faced when you left me: a rose in the rain
