Beqanna
if you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch; WYRM - Printable Version

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if you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch; WYRM - Kudu - 02-09-2017

Beqanna has a - a pull to it. Kudu can't explain it - only knows that he hates Her for it. The goddess that stripped the magic from the land and shook it to pieces, remade it, gave it new shapes and new lands. He knows he should be grateful that he's been reduced to something so toothless. Humbled. Knows that She knows what he did with the gift he was given, and that he's meant to be laid low by the loss he's been handed. Instead, he is bitter, because he just can't - fucking - LEAVE.

Thrice, now, he's fled the place, and thrice he has returned. The first time, he was a gangly two-year-old, and his mother had chased him, driven him beyond the borders with flared wings and a wolf's snapping teeth while he'd slunk sullenly ahead of her. They'd parted ways eventually - a wildfire in the dry season wasn't so uncommon, and he'd known she would escape unharmed, she with her strong wings and quick wits - and curiosity had tugged at him until he returned, too keen to discover what had happened to the rest of his family. And then he'd met the girl - the little one, Lily, the fire-lover - and the guilt had stirred in his chest, and he'd stolen away in the night without ever bothering to reach out to Wyrm or Lupei, wherever they were. 
And then - the third time. 
Beqanna was not as he'd remembered it, that last time - and when he crossed over the borders, drawn as if called to witness the way She'd swept everything aside to remake Her creation, the ever-present heat thrumming under his skin had simply vanished. For the first time, Kudu was cold. 
He should have been glad for it, he knew, but the only thought that crossed his mind when he heard the news was whether or not She'd laughed as She turned the land inside-out. So he'd left, already missing the flames and all that came with them, only to stumble back into the land not even a week later; at some point, his path had doubled back on itself, and he could do nothing but curse silently as the warmth ebbed away once again. 

And so it has been this, for a frigid year and a half: Kudu wanders, skirting the edges of newly-established territories and haunting the fringes of the Meadow. He exists, if quietly. Much of his time is spent contemplating the Mountain's distant blue shadow and wondering when - if ever - the goddess will tire of Her punishment, and if he'll be happy for the fire's return or not. He doesn't often think about his family these days. Surely the upheaval has scattered them in all directions - his mother, certainly, has been making a concentrated effort to avoid Beqanna since the changes, assuming she's even aware of them at all. No - it's rare that his family is ever on his mind. 

Naturally, this is when he would bump into one of them. 

The heat of the summer sun is uncomfortable in a way that his absent skin of flames is not, and it is just enough to drive him out of the near-shelterless Meadow and into the treeline that encircles it. The Forest is blessedly cool by comparison, all deep green shadows and muted hooves on pine needles where the Meadow is stifling sunshine and the constant drone of bees. Kudu spends a few minutes lazing under a tall pine, basking in the shade, the quiet, the--

One of those aforementioned green shadows is moving.

The blue stallion stands up a little straighter, eyes narrowing as the shape - indistinct in the dappled gloom of the trees - draws nearer and resolves itself into something more horselike. Someone sturdier. Greener. Fuck. Is he looking at him? Kudu stands very still for a moment, as if his vibrantly blue and green self is somehow going to fade into the trees like their mother used to do. Perhaps, he thinks, if he turns and starts toward the Meadow this instant, Wyrm will think he's got somewhere to be and won't follow.

Only in his wildest dreams. Kudu remains rooted to the spot, cobalt ears pricked resignedly as his twin steps through the trees. He manages a weak smile, which is better than none at all; he'd probably be glad to see his brother if it weren't for the years that stretch between them. 

"Let me guess," he says at last, tilting his head a little in a gesture that is, unwittingly, reminiscent of their mother. "Where've I been, right?"

RE: if you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch; WYRM - Wyrm - 02-13-2017

:WYRM:

Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

He’s finished with the Mountain and her tricks now. Reveling in the renewal of his long-lost powers, Wyrm had leapt boldly from the edge of the top of the world and sprouted glorious golden-brown wings to help him drift earthwards. The flight, the wind in his ears, the sharpness of his vision as it turned from prey to predator all contributed to filling his very essence with purpose again and it was as if he had never been that strangely weak green stallion. He was the descendant of greatness, and he was himself in every sense of the word. Pliantly, his hooves had split into great claws and he’d wrung himself tightly around the trunk of a tree, inhaling the overwhelming sensations all around him before winding his way eerily downward again.

He could laugh from the aching joy of it all.

It was only with quiet reserve that he molded back to his original shape, picking his way with bold steps through the thinning woodland while the bent shafts of summer light dappled his verdant hide. He had places to be now, things to accomplish, which is why he doesn’t see the flash of familiar blue hues until he’s nearly on top of the horse. Even then it takes him a moment to puzzle it all out, because it simply couldn’t be who he thought it was, could it? There was no way - his twin had been gone before Wyrm had even reached maturity, the two of them respectively choosing to follow opposite parents. He can only stare with narrowed eyes while the horse who looks like his brother mimics their dam, taunting him with a tart form of “hello”.

“You slimy bastard.” Wyrm replies, but there’s no hiding the devious grin that splits his mouth in two to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. Without a thought, his skin ripples and the two of them are mirror images, peering at one another in an annoying fashion Wyrm has always enjoyed. They’d played roughly as foals, and irritating Kudu had been the first thing to bring him something close to happiness. “Can’t believe you’re not dead yet.” He laughs, easing into a comfortable position while the memories flood back. “Is mom … ?” He begins, but the word dead won’t form in his mouth.

It is the only question he needs answered for now.

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ooc: *cries tears of familial joy*

RE: if you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch; WYRM - Kudu - 02-13-2017

It's the teeth that really get to him, first and foremost - the mouthful of railroad spikes that his brother presents to him in lieu of a nice, normal smile - and for a fleeting instant Kudu rather wonders if Zojja's already beaten him here and relayed his sordid goings-on to the rest of the family. The fires, and all that. In any case, it certainly isn't a trick he recalls Wyrm having mastered before their untimely separation. All the same, he knows that even if their dam has somehow sequestered herself in some quiet corner of the land, she'd sooner convey her displeasure herself, rather than set his own brother on him. Heaven knows she's no stranger to throwing her weight around. 

So Kudu smiles back, faltering only a little, and in nearly the same instant his brother - still grinning smugly at him - mirrors him, right down to the slim build and the blaze, and the younger twin lets out an exasperated breath and tips up a hind hoof. Well, there go any doubts about this not being his brother. It was a game to him, once - one Kudu used to put an end to by casually bursting into flame. Now he merely watches his mirror image with a wry smile. "Nice to see someone's been on the faeries' good side," he remarks, and then in almost the same breath Wyrm is commenting on his survival, and the blue stallion scoffs.

"Likewise. Figured you'd get snapped by by a hawk or something while you were out doing your sparrow-thing. Glad to see you're still looking lively." Kudu snorts. "I guess there've been some near misses, but what can I say... we come from stubborn stock, yeah? Besides, Mom probably would have just - busted through the veil and dragged me out again so she could take me out herself. For worrying her. You know what she's like." On second thought, he muses, eyes lingering on his twin, not so well as Kudu knows her. It's a weird thought, and one he decides he doesn't want to mull over right now. "Dead?" he supplies, when Wyrm doesn't finish his sentence. "No." He doesn't actually know this for a fact - he didn't see Zojja flee the fire that had separated them, after all - but he can't quite fathom that she could be dead. Might be dead. Because of - 

No, he won't entertain that thought, either. 

"Probably off stomping around out there, mad as hell, but she's alive. We lost track of each other awhile back. I'm-" Surprised she isn't back yet, he wants to say, but perhaps he shouldn't tempt fate: no sooner will he say this than Zojja will come swooping in to smack him across the head with her wing. "- Yeah. What about Dad, is he still about?" 

He wonders, for a moment, how long Wyrm has been here - long enough, he supposes, if he has his shifting back. So he'd been around for those last few visits. Then again, it wasn't as if Kudu had gone looking for him. The younger twin's brow furrows a little. "So - you've been keeping busy, then, I take it? I mean, I assume you got hit with that... temper tantrum, same as everyone else, but clearly that's old news for you." Kudu gestures to his mirrored twin, indicating. "How'd you...?"

You know, he isn't really sure if he's jealous or not.

RE: if you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch; WYRM - Wyrm - 02-14-2017

:WYRM:

Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Ahh, there it is. Wyrm had almost forgotten what it felt like to be this much at ease with another living being. From smile to scoff to hesitation, Kudu tells his tale and Wyrm faintly but wholly fades back to his proper self. Unfortunately, the longer the minutes tick by, He’s reminded of exactly how much time the two of them had spent apart. When the blue stallion mentions their mother, Wyrm isn’t long in following his description of her with a rumbling scoff, remembering all too well just how aptly their shared dam had been able to manage them without the help of their wraith-like sire. The shape-changer can see the day that Lupei had slunk between the bushes in his mind like it was yesterday, knowing wordlessly it had been one of the few, last days he’d spent with his fire-wielding brother.

Had it really been so long? But Kudu is talking about their mother again and Wyrm returns to the present, shoulders rolling in a passive shrug. “Lupei disappeared every now and then, and then one day he mentioned something about a half-sister with elemental powers and never came back.” He told him with a flat tone. Let him make whatever he wanted to out of that. His father had lost his interest long ago. There’s a moment of quiet between them and Wyrm can sense that somehow they’re headed into a territory that he’s much more familiar with, one where Kudu’s questions become suddenly so very … pointed.

“How’d I what, brother?” The green stallion feigns, brow rising subtly. The leaves overhead rustle with the help of a soft wind, displacing the patterns of light above them and for a minute the shadows cover his eyes, making it hard to tell if they turn into bright slits. “How’d I get my powers back?” He murmurs, slinking forward in an unnerving fashion. “Their power wore off, after a while.” He offers, making lame mention of the faeries. “Then I climbed the mountain and it was like …  a switch,”

His face smooths and he laughs briefly “Off.” He tells him, “And then on again.” He can’t really give him much more than that, but what he can offer is peace of mind - enough to hopefully take the edge out of his sibling’s sharp words. “If you stick around long enough, It’ll happen to you too.” Wyrm says, certain of himself in the way that only the elder twin could be.

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