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+----- Thread: [private] the river coursing through us is dirty and deep (/showthread.php?tid=21947)
the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - North - 12-02-2018
She's grown to dislike mornings.
It reminds her of how old she's getting. In the warm light of sunrise her curves grow sharp, her air of mystery grows small and solid and real. There is grey flecked on her muzzle and across her withers, there is a weary hardness in her eyes that can only be explained by time. If she is beautiful, it is in a subtle way.
It is clear she has been traveling by the mud that cakes her legs and underbelly, and the brambles in her long silver tail. It is impossible to tell if she is tired. She wears an expression that suggests she is used to always being tired, the sort of look that should be reserved for grandmothers and lawyers-- although she falls in neither of those categories.
Handsome men were never high on her list of priorities, so when the world began to end she had forgotten about the golden buckskin and the way he made her feel a bit like a field a wheat when the wind makes it dance.
She does not recognize him at first. When he approaches, volcanic steam billows between them in waves. Sometimes he is just a dark shape barely visible through the haze, like a dream or a ghost, and other times he is so very real. And then he stops a few lengths from her and the curtain of steam between them is thin now but she can still see all the details of his face that she had either forgotten or not noticed to begin with.
She had forgotten how he made looking good seem so easy. (It is vaguely infuriating.)
She had not forgotten his name.
"Hello Magnus." After hours, maybe even days, of silence, her voice sounds unfamiliar to her own ears. She hears it as he might-- defensive, surprised, pleased.
"It's North," she politely reminds him, with a teasing smile that suggests "but you didn't forget, did you?" She gestures to the black cat curled in a tight little ball on the small of her back. "This is Arty. He found me after I died. Maybe because I died." The circumstances are a little fuzzy (death will do that to you) and the cat had not been very forthcoming with the details. Arty groans at the mention of his name but does not stir. It is unclear if he is asleep or busy ignoring them.
She peers at him, looking for signs of the contagion-- bloody nose, ragged breathing, the hangdog look of a man waiting to die. He appears healthy, but she needs to be sure. She had always been a straight shooter, time and even death had done nothing to change that. "Are you infected?"
Her voice is carefully neutral, but between the two of us, she's hoping his answer is no.
N O R T H
"In her the earth was silent, as it is silent at sunrise,
and the earth in her was profound, like the sunrise."
It reminds her of how old she's getting. In the warm light of sunrise her curves grow sharp, her air of mystery grows small and solid and real. There is grey flecked on her muzzle and across her withers, there is a weary hardness in her eyes that can only be explained by time. If she is beautiful, it is in a subtle way.
It is clear she has been traveling by the mud that cakes her legs and underbelly, and the brambles in her long silver tail. It is impossible to tell if she is tired. She wears an expression that suggests she is used to always being tired, the sort of look that should be reserved for grandmothers and lawyers-- although she falls in neither of those categories.
Handsome men were never high on her list of priorities, so when the world began to end she had forgotten about the golden buckskin and the way he made her feel a bit like a field a wheat when the wind makes it dance.
She does not recognize him at first. When he approaches, volcanic steam billows between them in waves. Sometimes he is just a dark shape barely visible through the haze, like a dream or a ghost, and other times he is so very real. And then he stops a few lengths from her and the curtain of steam between them is thin now but she can still see all the details of his face that she had either forgotten or not noticed to begin with.
She had forgotten how he made looking good seem so easy. (It is vaguely infuriating.)
She had not forgotten his name.
"Hello Magnus." After hours, maybe even days, of silence, her voice sounds unfamiliar to her own ears. She hears it as he might-- defensive, surprised, pleased.
"It's North," she politely reminds him, with a teasing smile that suggests "but you didn't forget, did you?" She gestures to the black cat curled in a tight little ball on the small of her back. "This is Arty. He found me after I died. Maybe because I died." The circumstances are a little fuzzy (death will do that to you) and the cat had not been very forthcoming with the details. Arty groans at the mention of his name but does not stir. It is unclear if he is asleep or busy ignoring them.
She peers at him, looking for signs of the contagion-- bloody nose, ragged breathing, the hangdog look of a man waiting to die. He appears healthy, but she needs to be sure. She had always been a straight shooter, time and even death had done nothing to change that. "Are you infected?"
Her voice is carefully neutral, but between the two of us, she's hoping his answer is no.
"In her the earth was silent, as it is silent at sunrise,
and the earth in her was profound, like the sunrise."
@[magnus] <3
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - magnus - 12-02-2018
desire consumes me like a fire consumes me
good shouldn’t need to tempt us above
@[North]
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - North - 12-15-2018
He shouldn't look so pleased to see her, and she shouldn't feel so flattered.
(whatever they say about old dogs and new tricks-- she could learn to bend over backwards, tie myself in a pretty little knot for that crooked smile. She hates that she would do it, but she would still do it.)
But we are who we are, and the show goes on.
"Good," North says, and her lips curl in a little catlike smile. "You don't belong in quarantine." A cage is a cage no matter its size or purpose, and no wild animal deserves that. She steps closer, bumps her nose to his shoulder as though they were old friends and not slightly-more-than-strangers. He smells like a word she's forgotten. (we know each other, like the river knows the sea even before it gets there) From here the flecks of gold in his eyes look sharp enough to cut, and she realizes with a sinking feeling that his bones are full of stories she could never dream of.
(no, we don't know each other at all)
"How did you die?" Her heart feels uncertain, like she isn't sure she wants to know, but that's never stopped her before. She breathes Magnus in and it centers her, for some reason we don't know.
North should feel small and weak next to him, brittle, but she doesn't. She feels nimble and light, moonlight made flesh. How has she fared? Well, "I'm not sick, and I have at least one friend in the world." The black cat, sensing he is the subject of conversation, opens a single green eye. This eye stares at Magnus for several seconds without any apparent emotion, and then closes once more with a quiet sigh. "I should be good, but... I'm bored. It's just always more of the same, you know? Even when the world's falling apart, it's not really." Not if you don't fear death. Not if you don't have anyone to lose anymore.
She had not intended to say these things but out they come. Blame that stupid smile of his and the way it sidles in right next to her bones.
N O R T H
"In her the earth was silent, as it is silent at sunrise,
and the earth in her was profound, like the sunrise."
(whatever they say about old dogs and new tricks-- she could learn to bend over backwards, tie myself in a pretty little knot for that crooked smile. She hates that she would do it, but she would still do it.)
But we are who we are, and the show goes on.
"Good," North says, and her lips curl in a little catlike smile. "You don't belong in quarantine." A cage is a cage no matter its size or purpose, and no wild animal deserves that. She steps closer, bumps her nose to his shoulder as though they were old friends and not slightly-more-than-strangers. He smells like a word she's forgotten. (we know each other, like the river knows the sea even before it gets there) From here the flecks of gold in his eyes look sharp enough to cut, and she realizes with a sinking feeling that his bones are full of stories she could never dream of.
(no, we don't know each other at all)
"How did you die?" Her heart feels uncertain, like she isn't sure she wants to know, but that's never stopped her before. She breathes Magnus in and it centers her, for some reason we don't know.
North should feel small and weak next to him, brittle, but she doesn't. She feels nimble and light, moonlight made flesh. How has she fared? Well, "I'm not sick, and I have at least one friend in the world." The black cat, sensing he is the subject of conversation, opens a single green eye. This eye stares at Magnus for several seconds without any apparent emotion, and then closes once more with a quiet sigh. "I should be good, but... I'm bored. It's just always more of the same, you know? Even when the world's falling apart, it's not really." Not if you don't fear death. Not if you don't have anyone to lose anymore.
She had not intended to say these things but out they come. Blame that stupid smile of his and the way it sidles in right next to her bones.
"In her the earth was silent, as it is silent at sunrise,
and the earth in her was profound, like the sunrise."
@[magnus] so sorry for the wait my dear!
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - magnus - 12-16-2018
desire consumes me like a fire consumes me
good shouldn’t need to tempt us above
@[North] i'd wait forever for your words! <3
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - North - 01-03-2019
They say the past is in the past, but they don't know--
( She was born by the sea and raised wild, whipped by the wind and cradled by cold salt water.
Later she died in that cradle, and even when she was reborn,
a part of her stayed behind.
She can feel it still out there in the ocean, that sharp-toothed ghost of hers.)
They say the past is in the past, but they don't know. So when Magnus speaks of the Amazons, and then of how he died, North can only guess at what scars he carries in his heart, and if they're anything at all like hers. Technically she was murdered too, but really... she only has herself to blame. North signed her stupid self up for a stupid game without having a clue what the stupid stakes were. (In her defense, who goes trick or treating and expects to die??)
"But you didn’t come to listen to such morbid stories from a stallion as old as me"
She narrows her eyes at him a bit and almost snorts "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to hear the answer," but she grudgingly lets his words be what they are-- a change of subject-- and nods her head. (She doesn't know why she holds back-- didn't she warn him that she fights with words instead of tooth and hoof? Maybe it has to do with the fact that she's relieved he didn't ask about her own death.)
North loves a secret, and she thinks anyone who doesn't is a terrible bore. She believes secrets should be kept that way-- secret-- and so she is not in the practice of sharing secrets, but she gladly listens to them. So she leans in toward Magnus with an eager gleam in her hazel eyes, and for all the years between them they still could be just teenagers hunched over a conspiracy.
He speaks and she is silent. He probably knows the effect his voice has, how she wants to swim in it. In case he doesn't, she is careful not to let her eyes meet his. "Maybe they're stronger than you realize. Look, I don't know who these loved ones are," and here she feels a strange sensation, like a helium balloon let go, like who does he love and what are they like, are they anything like silver, like me. "but they probably don't need your protection as much as you think."
Since we're talking secrets-- she hates the way his smell makes her feel reckless. She hates the thought that him or anyone could have that power over her. She breathes in deeply anyway, and it feels like somewhere a shotgun is fired.
"Let's walk."
N O R T H
"In her the earth was silent, as it is silent at sunrise,
and the earth in her was profound, like the sunrise."
( She was born by the sea and raised wild, whipped by the wind and cradled by cold salt water.
Later she died in that cradle, and even when she was reborn,
a part of her stayed behind.
She can feel it still out there in the ocean, that sharp-toothed ghost of hers.)
They say the past is in the past, but they don't know. So when Magnus speaks of the Amazons, and then of how he died, North can only guess at what scars he carries in his heart, and if they're anything at all like hers. Technically she was murdered too, but really... she only has herself to blame. North signed her stupid self up for a stupid game without having a clue what the stupid stakes were. (In her defense, who goes trick or treating and expects to die??)
"But you didn’t come to listen to such morbid stories from a stallion as old as me"
She narrows her eyes at him a bit and almost snorts "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to hear the answer," but she grudgingly lets his words be what they are-- a change of subject-- and nods her head. (She doesn't know why she holds back-- didn't she warn him that she fights with words instead of tooth and hoof? Maybe it has to do with the fact that she's relieved he didn't ask about her own death.)
North loves a secret, and she thinks anyone who doesn't is a terrible bore. She believes secrets should be kept that way-- secret-- and so she is not in the practice of sharing secrets, but she gladly listens to them. So she leans in toward Magnus with an eager gleam in her hazel eyes, and for all the years between them they still could be just teenagers hunched over a conspiracy.
He speaks and she is silent. He probably knows the effect his voice has, how she wants to swim in it. In case he doesn't, she is careful not to let her eyes meet his. "Maybe they're stronger than you realize. Look, I don't know who these loved ones are," and here she feels a strange sensation, like a helium balloon let go, like who does he love and what are they like, are they anything like silver, like me. "but they probably don't need your protection as much as you think."
Since we're talking secrets-- she hates the way his smell makes her feel reckless. She hates the thought that him or anyone could have that power over her. She breathes in deeply anyway, and it feels like somewhere a shotgun is fired.
"Let's walk."
"In her the earth was silent, as it is silent at sunrise,
and the earth in her was profound, like the sunrise."
@[magnus] <3 (sorry if you got notified twice! I edited)
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - magnus - 01-05-2019
although this world is made of fearsome beasts that bark and bite
we were born to put these creatures through one hell of a fight
magnus
@[North]
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - North - 01-24-2019
Every moment she wants to break and remake herself anew. She wants thunderstorms, and the sleep of oak trees. She wants to be touched like something holy, and she wants to roll in filth. This is what he might see as he looks at her, this wavering indecision that rages like a young god behind her eyes.
For a moment, she is a girl.
She laughs, delighted by his response. "You're smarter than you look, Magnus," she teases. They both know her words are hot air. "Lucky for you, your disease isn't fatal." Again she breathes him in. Again it feels like pulling a trigger.
For a moment, she is a monsoon.
As they walk in silence, she is thinking about how his shoulder is not hot. She had expected him to feel as though the life and the mystery inside of him was smoldering through the skin. She had, maybe, wanted to sizzle where their bodies touched-- instead of just slowly melting like she does now. But before she can ponder his delicious skin further, her thoughts are gently interrupted by his question-- "why did you come here."
She does not think the truth would offend him-- that she could just as easily be in Nerine today, or Ischia, or the meadow-- but a part of her realizes that's not the truth, not this time. She bites her lip, bides her time. It seems there's no rush with Magnus, in fact there's the opposite, and she considers her words very carefully before she says them out loud.
"You intrigued me, that day in the field." Her tone is casual, light-- it takes a good amount of self-control to keep it that way. But there is a subtle breathlessness, a sly betrayal of how quickly her heart beats, and it is embarrassing. It is a scramble to cover her shame with levity- "When the plague hit, and I had nothing to do anyway, I was curious if you were still alive." She grins suddenly, sly and toothy, but only looks at him from the corner of her eyes. All she can see that way is gold, gold, gold.
Her tail swats at his flanks and she continues before her nerve is lost. "Beqanna would be a far uglier place without you." It feels good to say something that's true, even if it makes her feel like hot glass.
n . o . r . t . h
what if I want to go devil instead? Bow
down to the madness that makes me
For a moment, she is a girl.
She laughs, delighted by his response. "You're smarter than you look, Magnus," she teases. They both know her words are hot air. "Lucky for you, your disease isn't fatal." Again she breathes him in. Again it feels like pulling a trigger.
For a moment, she is a monsoon.
As they walk in silence, she is thinking about how his shoulder is not hot. She had expected him to feel as though the life and the mystery inside of him was smoldering through the skin. She had, maybe, wanted to sizzle where their bodies touched-- instead of just slowly melting like she does now. But before she can ponder his delicious skin further, her thoughts are gently interrupted by his question-- "why did you come here."
She does not think the truth would offend him-- that she could just as easily be in Nerine today, or Ischia, or the meadow-- but a part of her realizes that's not the truth, not this time. She bites her lip, bides her time. It seems there's no rush with Magnus, in fact there's the opposite, and she considers her words very carefully before she says them out loud.
"You intrigued me, that day in the field." Her tone is casual, light-- it takes a good amount of self-control to keep it that way. But there is a subtle breathlessness, a sly betrayal of how quickly her heart beats, and it is embarrassing. It is a scramble to cover her shame with levity- "When the plague hit, and I had nothing to do anyway, I was curious if you were still alive." She grins suddenly, sly and toothy, but only looks at him from the corner of her eyes. All she can see that way is gold, gold, gold.
Her tail swats at his flanks and she continues before her nerve is lost. "Beqanna would be a far uglier place without you." It feels good to say something that's true, even if it makes her feel like hot glass.
what if I want to go devil instead? Bow
down to the madness that makes me
@[magnus]
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - magnus - 02-03-2019
although this world is made of fearsome beasts that bark and bite
we were born to put these creatures through one hell of a fight
magnus
@[North]
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - North - 02-25-2019
North doesn't do well as a kept woman. She needs space, and solitude, and a steady supply of secrets. But she might be inclined to stay here for at least a little while. The road gets lonely after a while, and too much loneliness weakens the mind. She needs her wits (they're her only strength) and so she tells herself that it might not be so bad to rest here a minute. It's safe from the plague, and calm enough, and Magnus keeps flashing that damn gunpowder smile that encourages her make bad decisions.
He tugs gently at her mane and she feels a thrill run down her spine. "I don’t intend to leave again though... at least not for a while." There's a certain grit to his voice that wasn't there before, and it sinks in her like a hook.
(She tells herself she's smarter than this, she's better than this, but she thinks the hard truth is that she might not be.)
North breaks eye contact to look up at a sky that's so blue it almost hurts. Annoyed by the tension in the air, Arty stands to stretch (casually digging his claws into her rump in the process) and then he gracefully hops to Magnus' back. He stands like a captain of a ship, looking out intently across a sea of grass. In search of field mice, no doubt... she almost laughs out loud at how serious he looks, but his choice of transportation offends her more than his comedy amuses. He must sense it because he mutters, in their private way of communicating- "No offense, love. He's taller than you." before he leaps off and disappears in a streak of black.
She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Magnus. "Excellent." she says finally, feeling a little like electricity, like danger. "Not much point in me staying here otherwise. For a little bit." Her voice is carefully casual. "Is this pretty much it, then? Steam and occasional rivers of lava?" She is playfully unimpressed. The truth is that although they've already walked a long stretch of Tephra, she hasn't been paying much attention to the scenery. She can't, really, with him standing so close, but she can at least appear to try.
n . o . r . t . h
what if I want to go devil instead? Bow
down to the madness that makes me
He tugs gently at her mane and she feels a thrill run down her spine. "I don’t intend to leave again though... at least not for a while." There's a certain grit to his voice that wasn't there before, and it sinks in her like a hook.
(She tells herself she's smarter than this, she's better than this, but she thinks the hard truth is that she might not be.)
North breaks eye contact to look up at a sky that's so blue it almost hurts. Annoyed by the tension in the air, Arty stands to stretch (casually digging his claws into her rump in the process) and then he gracefully hops to Magnus' back. He stands like a captain of a ship, looking out intently across a sea of grass. In search of field mice, no doubt... she almost laughs out loud at how serious he looks, but his choice of transportation offends her more than his comedy amuses. He must sense it because he mutters, in their private way of communicating- "No offense, love. He's taller than you." before he leaps off and disappears in a streak of black.
She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Magnus. "Excellent." she says finally, feeling a little like electricity, like danger. "Not much point in me staying here otherwise. For a little bit." Her voice is carefully casual. "Is this pretty much it, then? Steam and occasional rivers of lava?" She is playfully unimpressed. The truth is that although they've already walked a long stretch of Tephra, she hasn't been paying much attention to the scenery. She can't, really, with him standing so close, but she can at least appear to try.
what if I want to go devil instead? Bow
down to the madness that makes me
@[magnus] oooph girl got a crush x_x
RE: the river coursing through us is dirty and deep - magnus - 03-06-2019
MAGNUS | I don't belong to anyone, but everybody knows my name
@[North]