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+------ Thread: [mature] hello to high and dry - morty (/showthread.php?tid=19660)
hello to high and dry - morty - Lepis - 06-02-2018
The flight back from Ischia is not a long one, but I do my best to drag it out. Spiraling in the thermals, I look down at the world below me. From here, all of Beqanna is one large island, not so different from the tropical kingdom that I have just left. I cannot even see the horses; there is only green and brown and red. Sylva is impossible to miss, even from this impressive distance.
Never once does it occur to me to not return to my captivity.
To do so would be to break Arthas' word, and there is nothing worse I might ever do. It was his wish that I stay in Sylva, a gift to the ruby-nosed king. I do wonder if he knows how Modicum Mortem treats his presents, but surely he does. He is a man, my future-husband, and to doubt him is to betray him.
I won't betray him.
So I return to the autumnal forest, carried by a crisp spring wind. I spiral down neatly into the space that a small meadow has made in the canopy, preferring that to battle branches on my way down. I land at a canter and by the time I come to a halt I've reach the border of the meadow and the shadows of the forest close over me. I tuck my wings tightly to my slim figure, the hard silk feathers feel like protection.
I am grateful for them as I catch a flash of motion, and I feel the breath catch in my throat. There, in the shows. He is waiting. His uncanny ability to startle me is not my least favorite of Modicum Mortem's habits, but it is certainly a contender.
I've not seen him since my first encounter with Kwartz, I realize, and I wonder briefly if the gold and amethyst stallion has shared his actions with the king. Surely he had, I think. Even if he hadn't, there is no denying the fresh and healed marks that litter my pale yellow hide. They had not been there upon my arrival, and it is clear that in the months of my captivity that I have been used many of his male followers, and roughly used more often then not.
Still, I do not lower my head in shame. I am a once-queen and will be a queen again; I refuse to be ashamed.
"Your Majesty," I say with a dip of my blue-tipped head. "I've just returned from Ischia, but have nothing to report. No one was there to greet me but a boy named Grye." It occurs to me that he might find my information unsatisfactory (I'd said I'd smooth relations, after all, and I had done no such thing), and I feel the same knot of worry that catches in my throat at the sight of Kwartz being to tighten in my throat.
ooc: so i had a thought while writing her as flying and thought it might be mucho traumatic to her her wing(s) broken if that's something @[Modicum Mortem] would be down for
RE: hello to high and dry - morty - Modicum Mortem - 06-02-2018
Modicum Mortem
@[Lepis] He's down for it!
RE: hello to high and dry - morty - Lepis - 06-02-2018
I can see the displeasure on his face despite his dark features and the shadows around us. The knot of fear pulls tighter, and my muscles with it. My attempt at politeness seems to do nothing, for the rage still shimmers behind his eyes as he scoffs at my answer. I try to exhale but the breath feels locked in my throat as his ears pin back.
Leaning away seems safe but I cannot make my body react even when he advances on me. Only his shove moves me, and I stumble to catch my balance, only to be knocked aside again by another blow.
"I...I'm sorry," I manage to get out between rapid breaths. "I...I tried." And I had, really. What was there to do but wait? Any further intrusion might have been construed as aggression, and I had not dared risk it. Only half of Sylva is male; I shudder at the idea of what might become of me in a kingdom filled entirely with men.
That shudder is caught in another blow, and I begin to pull my wings up as a shield just as he rams against me a final time. I had not noticed the beech beside me, too focused on predicting the next blow. My breath is slammed out of me in an explosion of pain. There are a series of too loud cracks. I moan aloud, but make no move to defend myself. This is his right, I think as I struggle to pull in a breath. There is a sharp pain - a broken rib - and when I thoughtlessly pull my wings in, a searing ache shoots through the both. I glance back, to where they hang oddly and clearly broken.
The left metacarpus, just at the end of my wing, flips too easily. The right wing though, the one slammed against the tree, that one will not even fold properly, snapped cleanly through both the radius and ulna. I'd seen a bird with this break before, I remember suddenly. Uncle Castile had snapped its neck painlessly: 'it wouldn't recover from that, Lepis. Better a quick end than a drawn out one.' His words echo in my head, and my too-wide blue eyes look toward the King.
Does he mean to kill me too?
It's never occurred to me that I might not make it out of Sylva alive. I had placed my trust in Arthas to save me come fall, but there are many long months between spring and fall. How could I be saved if I were already dead? (In my panic I do not remember my true purpose here: broodmare, and that killing me would mean the end of my productivity before it had even begun.)
"Please don't hurt me," I plead. "I won't do it again, I promise. I promise. Please." I hadn't mean to let the secret of my gift slip, and it seems Kwartz information had allowed the stallion to put two and two together and realize why he'd been so agreeable about my visit to Ischia. There is no chance of that working again, I realize, and with my broken wings, there is surely no escape.
"Please. I'll do anything." Though the beech tree had broken me I still cower against it despite the pain in my ribs and wing. I want to be as far from Modicum Mortem as I can, but I am trapped between him and the tree with no means of escape.
RE: hello to high and dry - morty - Modicum Mortem - 06-02-2018
The satisfying crack he hears drives him wild. A solid snap of her wings and he can feel his adrenaline pulsing in his ears. It’s been too long since he’s killed, too long since he’s maimed.
He stops momentarily, drinking in her fear; the way her body cowers, the way her navy eyes grow wide and fearful. Through his anger, he flashes a wicked grin. “You think what Kwartz did to you was bad?” He asks, stepping closer to her terrified figure. “This will be much much worse...”
He lifts his front legs up, and with powerful force, pounds all his weight into her. Over and over, he will abuse her. He starts to chuckle, and it’s grows into endless laught runtil he finishes his work, leaving her to pick up the shattered pieces of her body (if she even survives the beating he gives her).
@[Lepis] Leaving this open-ended for you so you can choose how bad she gets beat up.
RE: hello to high and dry - morty - Lepis - 06-02-2018
There is a brightness in his eyes that I do not recognize, one that does not match the maniacal grin that he wears. It is all too clear that it is my brokenness that has caused this; he delight in my suffering. I press harder against the tree, oblivious to the sharp bite of my broken wing and rib as I attempt to get as far from him as possible.
'You think what Kwartz did to you was bad?' He asks me, and I can almost see the whites of my eyes reflected in his. My heartbeat sounds like thunder in my ears as he tells me this will be much worse, but I manage to bite off the whimper before it can emerge.
I will be strong, brave, and steadfast, I tell myself.
In the end, I am none of those things. The king keeps his promise: he is much worse than Kwartz. The tobiano stallion had been aggressive and violent, but he had been enraged, not manic. My pleas seem to fall on deaf ears until they are no longer pleas, just quiet sobs. Modicum Mortem is merciless and relentless, and the tears that I had refused to spill for Kwartz soak the forest floor at my feet.
Only the tree is holding me up when he finally finishes, and I slump down against it as his unwelcome weight finally leaves my yellow back. His hooves have left bleeding scrapes down my already scarred shoulders, and my inner legs are a mess of blood and fluid. I want to sink into the leaves and disappear, but despite my desperate wishing I remain present and Modicum Mortem does not leave.
'You asked for this,' I hear Kwartz's words echo in my mind "You careless little whore'. He had been right. I had asked for this in agreeing to come to Sylva, in being a mare in a world that belongs to stallions. This is my lot in life, from now until a stallion chooses to change it.
"I'm sorry," I repeat between my tears, though it is hard to make words around the chattering of my teeth. "I'm sorry."
@[Modicum Mortem] works for me :)