Beqanna
watch me close, erebor/any - Printable Version

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watch me close, erebor/any - Ea - 06-15-2015

It had always been difficult for Ea to connect with others. Being friendly was not one of the things her mother had taught her in her training – how to conduct oneself and hone her gifts, sure. But she was never told how to make friends. She did know that friends were important to a princess, especially important friends, but it was making them that had been the problem. As a young child she had met one young girl – Da – who piqued her interest. Ea and Da were alike in many ways and not at all in others. They were young and quiet, thoughtful and calculating. But where Ea was cold and reserved, Da was wild. She belonged to the wilderness, spoke to the trees. Ea found it silly, but found herself fond of Da nonetheless. She had met others, of course, in the Amazons and the Meadow, but they were merely acquaintances. Da was somewhere in between.

She is still young – only two years old. A child in body, though not an awkward one. She is small, still growing – a delicate child, short in stature and lean. The silver girl would be rather unremarkable if she didn’t carry herself the way she did – poised, dignified, strong. Like the princess she was and the queen she would be.

The summers in Beqanna were hot; unbearably so, though the Amazons arguably saw the worst of it. Ea was not a fan of the extreme, sticky heat of the Jungle, and often sought refuge in the Meadow though she was often forced to speak to others because of it. She was never one to hide on the outskirts of the busy meadow, however. Today she chooses to stand alone underneath a large tree near the center, finding shade where she can. She is rarely approached by others – perhaps her somewhat off-putting demeanor or odd, color-changing eyes are less than inviting – and while normally she would be the first to approach, she finds herself unmotivated to start in on a conversation with one of the many others in the meadow today. Instead, she stands amongst the high grass with a cool, relaxed confidence as she watches those around her.


RE: watch me close, erebor/any - Erebor - 06-15-2015

We are at war. There will be scars.

Erebor is no natural connector either. However, perhaps unlike Ea, he had willingly thrown himself into the social milieu and learned in a trial by fire of sorts. He'd recently visited every kingdom in Beqanna, including Ea's native Amazons. He'd grown by leaps and bounds during those travels, becoming exactly the right kind of charming, the sincere kind that feels authentic, the kind that makes you feel as though he speaks only truth and cares about you above all else. Perhaps it's his unique blend of handsome charm and rigid, military bearing. For a prince of the evils, he's terribly clean cut.

But at heart, he is not a charmer. He prefers brusqueness and efficiency, and more than anything he prefers things that are beneficial for the Chamber. He would walk through fire for her, risk his life for her – she will always come before any woman to him. He would kidnap, he would fight, he would do absolutely anything that was demanded of him.

And to that end, he often comes to the meadow. Not because he seeks company, but because he seeks strategic advantage. He seeks to learn things from the horses who gather here, to tease out something – anything – that could help put the Chamber on top. He's had middling success thus far, but he believes his strategy is sound, and he is tireless and dauntless when it comes to such matters.

He finds the meadow warm and sunny today, although he wouldn't care if it were dark and cold, or temperate, or anything. Like a true soldier, he is undaunted by complications to his mission. It's just his luck that this day happens to be an agreeable one.

The two year old pauses for just a moment, considering which horse to engage. There are many who are already in conversation, more clustered around the edges of the meadow than in its very heart, and that's to be expected: not all are as Spartan as he when it comes to their comfort. It's only natural to seek shade from the heat.

He is scanning when his eyes come to rest on a lone horse beneath a great tree near the center of the meadow. Her demeanor catches his attention immediately. Over time he's taught himself how to look beyond what seems to be obvious, to develop a warrior's sense of things like posture, and a diplomat's capacity to determine what it might mean. He's not precise enough to pinpoint what her different stance might mean, but he's astute enough to notice it, and to decide that it alone makes her worth talking to.

He approaches with long, easy strides. He is a handsome thing, even at two years old. He'd never been much of a child in either look or action, and that had suited his family and him just fine. He is entirely black, without markings, and his coat shines dully, like metal that is only vaguely polished. His muscles are firm and defined, the well-toned evidence of his frequent practice sessions. But his defining feature is his bearing. He moves and stands like a soldier, straight and proud of posture, projecting an almost military bearing. He developed the habit as any military-educated boy would tend to do, entirely unaware that it also makes him appear at best advantage, playing up all that is handsome about him.

As he nears the girl beneath the tree, he catches her eye and offers a subtle dip of his head, a gentle acknowledgement that is polite but not deferential. He notes the way that her eyes seem to shift colors, and he makes a note that she may be more than she seems – but he is not one to be bothered by traits. He steps beneath the shade of the tree, closing easily to conversation distance.

"Good morning." he greets, his voice deep and resonant, older than it should be for his age. He notes the smell of the jungle on her, and files it away in his mind. "Mind if I join you?"

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia



why can't you be more... interesting - Smother - 06-18-2015

 

I don’t play well with others.
 
We can play the “deflect” game and shimmy the blame on something as little as a personality quick, you are just antisocial. You could pretend it’s just insecurity, you don’t feel comfortable, that’s okay. I love that shit. It is the reason I can get away with so much, and yet face reprecessions littler than a flea. You can say that I just struggle socially, am socially inept, not meant for treaties or promises—but I know the truth. I am just cruel. I enjoy watching others shrivel at my uncomfortable presence; I thrive off stutters and aggressive retaliations. Oh, darling, fight me back, bite me.
 
Feed me the satisfaction I so desperately seek.
 
I am the wasp that never dies, and continues to enjoy stinging the shit out of a three year old that hasn’t learnt to run away. The dumb ones, the uneducated, the young—they all serve a very big roll in my life. You see, the naïve ones are the easy ones to control. You give them a promise, teach them a thing or two, make them feel great—there you have it folks, the trick of manipulation. You feed false hope, and they return with real gratification. Almost sad, really, that insecurity has made it this easy to screw a child over.
 
So maybe that is why I am drawn to the meadow. The long emerald blades that tickle the very bottom of my belly is less than amusing, and the lack of shade is obviously unenviable, and therefore there isn’t much else that would draw me here other than the satisfaction of innocent souls.
 
I am Ursula in a slimmer body.
 
I see a mare, and at first I flag her off as unamusing and therefore another fly in a very heated campground. Too many mares are like her, confident, distant, a true stereotype of all that a young female should be. She will be as useless as a bone is to a herbivore. Maybe next time, kitten.
 
But what happens next is what keeps me grounded beneath one of the only trees in the meadow. I see him, so poised and elegant. Hell, if he wasn’t blood I might just screw him now, children after all will be my best minions—but he is a half brother, and unfortunately shared the most hated thing in my life, which made his looks plummet about six decimal points; so I stand, still, watching that pretty little female get approached by such a handsome young prince.
 
Do I help them?... Yes indeed.
 
I approach like a proper mare should: tall, elegant, graceful. My splashed tobiano body soaks in the sun (which it so hardly ever sees), and my mane sits in a tangle of wind knots on my neck. I ignore the unfathomable heat, I even ignore whatever looks are darting as I approach. One thing I have learnt, one thing alone—those who dare see you negatively before learning your name are those who are so insecure that the glance of a dominant source is enough to flag paranoia.
 
If you haven’t heard someone talk about you, you didn’t make it.
 
Now this isn’t to say I am assuming anything, for what I truly hope is my half brother (the power-house he pretends to be) has no care in the world of my intentions and therefore my approach. And I do pray to God that this mare has enough guts in her to not care either, that would be nice, to speak with horses closer to my own intellect.
 
I hear a good morning, and I smirk at the gesture. My, my, what a polite little bird he has turned out to be. How refreshing that someone in the line of family turned out normal. What a shame it is I didn’t live up to our father’s expectations. Perhaps Straia shouldn’t have screwed HIM first, maybe that would have made me nicer.
 
But, then again, maybe not.
 
“I am sure she doesn’t mind a prince accompanying her, and I hope she doesn’t mind my own company either,” I smirk and glance up at the petite little thing (of course I use little because in my head, everything is “littler” than myself). I run my eyes up and down her frame, sizing her up as all females do and taking in her appearance. It is so hard to keep my imagination from running, so hard to keep it still and focused. To not imagine blood dripping from her throat, eyes pierced with blood liquid, mouth dry and oozing with saliva from lack of air. To see her gasp and spew red droplets, to see her body quiver.
 
There I go again.
 
What a gift it is to have a mind so imaginative and a face stone set—the poor dear won’t have a clue, and neither will he. 



OOC: Sorry, still rusty on writing Smother. 

RE: watch me close, erebor/any - Ea - 06-26-2015

The silver-girl sees him before he spots her: his posture is what catches her eye, straight and stiff. It looks uncomfortably rigid to her, but she had always walked with a cool, easy step, relaxed and unconcerned. Though he looks older, she suspects he is roughly the same age she is. Ea did look like a two-year-old, however, gangly and lean but not awkward. She was thankful that she had never gone through an ugly phase, as so many young ones did.

He is the first to speak, offering his company. “If you’d like,” she says, eyeing the young boy next to her. It isn’t long before another arrives, a bay painted mare with bright blue eyes. She fancies herself intimidating – yes, a grown mare hoping to intimidate two young children – but Ea is not so easily bullied. The mare is obviously more interested in the young boy than in Ea, but she does not mind.

As the mare speaks, Ea flicks her tail boredly, her interest only slightly piqued when she mentions that the boy is a prince. She should’ve known – his posture was too poised, his demeanor too confident to not be someone of importance. “Oh, a prince? I should be so honored,” she says coolly, her eyes moving from the mare to the boy. “Where from?” She asks casually. Ea could see no reason to reveal herself as a princess; though it may have been obvious to them, there were no benefits to her confirming their suspicions. Especially since she didn’t know where they were from – perhaps they were not friends of Scorch or the Jungle. She wouldn’t risk being stolen away simply because she wanted to brag in front of strangers.


OMG SORRY ITS SO SHORT AND LATE

RE: watch me close, erebor/any - Erebor - 06-27-2015

We are at war. There will be scars.

He recognizes the second mare to approach, although he doesn't know a thing about her. He doesn't know that she's his half-sister. He hasn't had the benefit of that particular education – and to be honest, even if he had, it wouldn't really bother him. He's not much of one to be concerned with the black sheep of his father's half of the family. Much as knowing of Warship's previous dalliances would no doubt change his opinion of his father, Erebor does not place the man on such a pedestal that his fall would bring down the both of them.

Erebor idolizes one thing, and one thing only: the Chamber.

Before Erebor himself can reply to the girl, the new mare speaks. The fact that she knows him is a little unnerving, but he's had this happen before and so that concern doesn't come through on his face. He thinks back to the conversation with the girl Da, who had known because the trees had told her. This one doesn't strike him as anything quite so out of the ordinary. She is clever, he doesn't doubt that, but there is no hum of the extraordinary to her.

He watches the painted mare as she speaks of something she shouldn't know, and he continues to watch her as she steps closer, declaring that all is well with her keeping company with them. He isn't sure what to make of her, but he is not one to be intimidated. As Ea speaks, Erebor's eyes move easily back to her. "The Chamber." His voice is rich, deep, and pleasant. "Straia, my mother, is queen there."

He looks back and forth between the two young mares, not because he is uneasy, but because he wishes to include them both in the conversation. "My name is Erebor. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting either of you before, although you – " he nods to Smother "-seem to know of me." he smiles, small and wry as his gaze turns back to Ea. "I would be flattered, but…I just don't think I'm actually notorious." He offers dryly, with a hint of a chuckle.

He can smell the jungle all over the first girl, and he can smell the scent of the borderlands on the other one. There is no hint of Chamber on her, nothing that would give the boy an indication that she would know his home. She doesn't even look like his father, so all his powers of observation cannot help him. "Now you both knows me. Tell me a little bit about you. What are your names, and where do you come from?"

He's very keenly interested in knowing how the paint girl had gotten his name, and how she'd known exactly who he was. It's not something he hides, but it's also not something he wears on his sleeve. For all his pride in his home, he's not proud in himself. He doesn't brag, especially not about his title as prince. He considers the title something that he must prove himself worthy of carrying every day, not something that he deserves. Blood earns you nothing as far as he is concerned; only things for which one has worked hard are worth bragging about.

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia



<3