pink is the night; any - Printable Version

pink is the night; any - Printable Version

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pink is the night; any - litotes - 09-24-2018

A soft, determined smile spreads across the golden man’s face. Here, he is as he always was (deep, buried, a trauma-less being), free. Alone. He has been alone for so long; the shadows creep up his hide after weeks of only speaking to the birds. But tonight, he is released by the sun.

The sun, his bride, kisses his forehead and whispers the sweetest of good nights. Litotes watches with molten eyes as the sky changes from one vibrant color to the next. This is all the entertainment he needs: a beautiful sunset. His mood deepens with each new color: blue, orange, and pink swirl endlessly around him, warming him, consuming his every isolating insecurity. Here, in his perfect mindfulness, he is whole.

Litotes tosses his head into the air, impossibly long mane whipping from one side of his neck to the other. In, he thinks, as he breathes in the sultry sweetness of flowers that have long since bloomed (flowers that may be bidding their last farewells). They are almost rotten, too ripe remnants of a spring in this land Lie had nearly missed.

One slow, gentle drop of his nape, and Litotes is all closed-eyes and steady breathing. When he is at his most centered, he rips a mouthful of grass from the ground and chews thoughtfully, savoring what a gift his moment of clarity was. The damp smell of the soil brings yet another smile to his face - how he loves this earth that never fails him.

A twitch of his nearly dragging tail and several bites later, Lie is still studying the dying light, one faint and standing glimmer in the receding twilight.

---
i have not done this in so long & i feel soooo rusty, plz bear with me

RE: pink is the night; any - Kristin - 09-25-2018

Irys

She looks with dark eyes upon the sunset.

It was a beautiful spectacle. There was no denying that. No two were ever alike, she was sure of that. But finally the sun sank beneath the horizon, and the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding was let out.

Moonlight and moths suited her better. Gentle and welcoming. The shadows cool and dark against skin as dark as they were. Except for her face - pale and stark in its bald marking but then it only got stranger from there.

Part of her bald face was pure gold. Like from the earth, metallic and bright as it lay against her fur. The hairs didn’t feel any heavier though. Just unnatural. Because of it, sunlight was no friend to her as it highlighted the brightness of half her face and blinded the eye the gold encircled.

Moonlight was softer, kinder. Even more easily endured. But the light of day is taking a long time to die. It softens but lingers and that is enough for her to break from the wood at the meadow’s edge, the trees having been her sanctuary.

Irys is a small thing and soft in her nature, even a little unsure. She feels like a wild creature with no appreciation for the season and it’s ripe fast-fading flowers. Or the aroma of damp loam though she’d welcome a good rainstorm right then.

Instead there is a stallion (isn’t there always?) and he seems content enough with the way the wind runs its fingers through his hair and he just looks as if he belongs fully in the world. It’s a look that she doesn’t have and doesn’t quite envy but also has no clue as to how to belong to something (or someone). So she stops and she stares, tricking herself into believing that she’s just admiring him from afar.

and after all is said and done
it's you i've chosen to love

ooc: her account isn’t activated yet but couldn’t resist! welcome to bq! <3

RE: pink is the night; any - Rhaegor - 09-25-2018

I kept my hope just like i'd hoped to
then sang to the sea for feelings deep blue

He, too, likes the sunsets.

They speak volumes, without ever making a sound; lending its viewers an intense sense of knowing, perhaps one of security or maybe one of letting go and breathing in anew. It's what they all seem to do tonight, tucked away in their own corner's of the meadow, watching as the axis of the earth tilts just beyond the last straining fingers of the sun: breathe in anew.

He doesn't notice them until the first shards of moonlight illuminate their shared resting ground. The light, though faint, hits the leopard print markings on the colt's haunches, turning them a radiant blue. His eyes snag on this strange feature for a moment, but the other's are more interesting than genetically enabled colours and markings: his eyes go first to the girl (they always do) and he studies her, as she studies the other stallion. She seems content in the night time, swathe in its comforts and rich in her understanding of her place in the world, for tonight at least.

But the other begs consideration as well, and so the pale yellow stallion obliges, shifting his cool brown gaze to the other male currently decorating the fringes of the meadow. The grown stallion gleams spectacularly in the moonlight, a gold-pink-milk testament to Akhal-Teke blood - with the long, flowing mane of an Andalusian. Despite his usual keenness for beautiful girls, Rhaegor finds himself momentarily entranced by the stallion who seems so at peace with the moonrise, content to be as far away from the others as they are from him.

But he breaks his stare, not as of yet having met either of their eyes. Nostrils flaring, he attempts to catch their scents; but in the same moment, her lowers his head to the sheared grass, lipping absently there as his ears perk and listen for movement from the two other silent nightgoers.

Rhaegor

RE: pink is the night; any - litotes - 09-25-2018

As content as Litotes feels while listening to the dying call of daytime creatures, the shadow of night reminds him of his seemingly perpetual flaw: solitude brought on by his actions (and an inability - perhaps denial - to realize it is his fault). The silence of the dark brings a violent shiver across his hide - rejection of self, in its most visceral state, streaming angrily across his body.

Lie lifts his head, curved Akhal-Teke ears pricking to attention - how quickly and horribly he is made aware of his company. They are not his, complete strangers all watching time pass quietly, but their proximity forces a tingle down his spine. How did he not notice them before? The stallion kicks himself for his trance. Even now he is not sure how he noticed them (Was it their inquisitive eyes? Or was it the thrill of peace with the night coursing through them all?). Despite the anxiety of it all, he had a sense that they were all enjoying the same event. Lie ignores them, at least for the next few moments, and continues to chew what grass was left in his mouth.

The night is full of surprises. Litotes has no idea how to approach them. Should he? Perhaps they are all three left best on their own, needing nothing more than a quiet understanding of one another. This is intimacy at its gentlest, giving nothing to each other (asking nothing of each other). Or is he so damaged that he cannot make connections? Is he lying to himself, even now, in a mind he believes to be so clear?

Should he speak? The nervous whirring of his mind will not cease.

Finally, with a resigned roll of his shoulders, the ticking stallion turns his head enough to see the two with one glowing eye. He does not utter a word, but exudes a casual invitation to come closer.