give me something to believe in; any, wallace - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Live (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=17) +--- Forum: Pangea (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=89) +--- Thread: give me something to believe in; any, wallace (/showthread.php?tid=14315) |
give me something to believe in; any, wallace - Sabrael - 04-09-2017 Anger is ugly. Sabrael RE: give me something to believe in; any, wallace - Pollock - 04-11-2017 Enter again the sweet forest Enter the hot dream Come with us Ahhhhh, yes. That beast, Anger. He knows it intimately. It never served him well. It is an unruly, wild, base thing that rumbles like a monster chained in his belly; that gnaws and gnaws but, he finds, can never be sated, really. It is untamed – an ancient pool in which everyone is baptized as a babe, unfurling itself like an instinct in all. Even in those who fancy themselves tempered souls. It’s in them, too. For so long, it had been the tide that pulled him; pushed through his veins like a drug he did not want by his mother, who would rather see him soothed by its company than to be in need of hers. (A funny thought, that – to be in need of her. For her to have been any use to him.) But the anger she had given to him had been his darkest passenger as he grew into a young man, seething. Seething with anger and with resentment; with the toxicity, like black smoke, that these things breath. Spoiled. He was spoiled by it. Ruined. Made to be a worm writhing in mud, senseless and overwhelmed. Made to be an ignoble bastard, shackled by his weaknesses and by the stories of her wrong doing painted on his skin with marks – lipstick and burns; tooth’s bite an hooves’ touch – that could not be seen, for they were his and hers alone. It never served him well, though he did not discard it entirely. (Cannot.) Fear, he finds, is a much better emotion to subsume to; a much better sword to die by. Besides, he had decided years past, to cast off (or bury deeply) the moorings of his mother’s influence. Anger, in its uncontrolled form; weakness, and the sensation of needing; the idea of home, for she had wrecked that, too. This, perhaps, is why he comes to the dragon-stallion like two alien organisms meeting on the moon’s surface. He feels too much, right now, this stranger. He is hot with it – laden with it. Pollock has shed it like a snake in the rocks of his waste, he comes to him bare-eyed and straight-lipped, spent empty by his labors over the oasis and by his searching for answers in the sea. He is wet up to his knees with holy water, fresh and clean; salt flakes off his horns from the northern ocean. His wing was momentarily cleansed by the pool in his scantum, but it is thick with a paste of dust and grime, now. “Can I help you?” he drawls, low and weary, and there is no sharpness on his tongue now, nor is there welcome in the words or an indication that his question is an earnest one. the gift-giver RE: give me something to believe in; any, wallace - Kerberos - 04-14-2017 Motherfucker. Like we don’t have enough to deal with. Some bitch thinks she’s clever, and now Lacey has to make an unnecessarily arduous trek to some fucking wasteland when she’s pregnant enough that she has to travel at a slow waddle. Fucking brilliant. Thanks, Pangea. Won’t forget this shit. Well I’m not about to let her go alone. So off we go, nice and easy pace, and I swear to fuck, if she goes into labor and has our kid in Pangea I’m gonna make them suffer. Even if it’s only by inflicting my presence on them. Loudly and boisterously. Until they regret even thinking about “inviting” my Lacey to visit. Because we’re a package deal, bitches. Especially when she’s all pregnant and (do not tell her I even so much as suggested this but) vulnerable and shit. Don’t get me wrong, Lacey can take care of herself. But fuck if I’m gonna make her go off into unknown enemy territory on her own just because some grabby-hands little shit says so. So I escort her, leaving our delightful twins in Reilly’s capable care. Poor bastard. He really is too nice, and I’ll find a way to make it up to him. Eventually. Maybe. Whatever, he’s my bro, I’m his, it’ll balance out. Besides, he loves the kids and they love him. Our weird, cozy little family. Which is once again temporarily split apart because of some bullshit fuckwad-ery. Let’s get this over with, shall we? With as shiny and brightly colored as I am, subtlety isn’t much in my nature. Loud and dramatic by nature, no sense fighting it, might as well draw the eyes, yeah? And if it keeps the attention from dwelling too hard on Lacey, or eyes from lingering a little too intently on her very pregnant belly, well all the better. So with a quick little brush of my lips to her shoulder and a wink, I stomp into the shithole that stole her, keeping half an eye on her while doing what I do best. “Sexy Beast!” I shout, delighted to see the oh so lickable dragon man is already here and looking right pissed off. “It’s been too long, you magnificent motherfucker. How’ve you been? Why don’t you introduce me to your…” I trail off and give the stranger a leering once over and grin. “...delicious-looking new friend?” RE: give me something to believe in; any, wallace - Kellyn - 04-14-2017 I wish I could feel it all for you, I wish I could do it all for you
She was only gone long enough to announce her success before heading back, but she had stopped to check on the girl when she first arrived, and so she is not the first to greet them. And she doesn’t bring Cleary with her when the now-familiar scent of Ischia reaches her, not when it is accompanied by the voice of her King. It would be stupid to think he does not already know of her daughter’s existence, but some part of Kellyn doesn’t want to draw attention to the girl. Perhaps it is the only part of her that might be maternal, the part that remembers how much her family had loved and cared for her and thinks occasionally about how she can’t be that for her children. Kellyn
the girl who walks in time and talks to ghosts daughter of cagney and elite RE: give me something to believe in; any, wallace - Wallace - 04-14-2017 Wallace God, she was so tired. Couldn't they have just stayed home? Damn. Ok, fine. Here she was. Lathered in a sheen of sweat, pregnant and huge and miserable as hell. Her legs ached, her back was killing her, and thank god Kirby hadn't tried to hold conversation with her the whole way here or maybe he wouldn't be breathing now to be, you know, her protector or whatever. |