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when a tornado meets a volcano - Castile - 03-30-2020 and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was He said he would find her. That, he can at least hold himself to. Uncertainty rises in his throat, a lump that nearly chokes him but doesn’t stop him. The engine controlling his legs doesn’t stop; he is a locomotive weaving among the pines with an unyielding determination settled across his face. There’s nothing scripted, no true plan to his actions as he pursues the familiar scent of her. A left here, a right farther north. She has been here, but certainly not alone. There is another scent that clings to her, but Castile focuses heavily on just her because that is all that matters now. Even as his blood rises to a boil when he distinguishes the male’s scent, he tries to shed away the badgering thoughts and scenarios that dig into his sides like thorns. This was his fault, after all. All of it. Everything. When he finds her, it is with his body reverted back to a horse. Last she saw him, he was gripped by his other self, spitting venomous words and threats that thickened the anger between them. He remembers, but wants so bad to forget. Drawing in a breath, he looks to her feet first, contemplating the undeniable urge to see her again. He warned her this would happen, that he would find her; but now that he is here, Castile hesitates. The rhythm of his heart quickens to a feverish tango, but he wills himself to meet her eyes and remembers how many nights he searched them before falling asleep. With a heavy breath, he finally speaks, but is able to only mutter her name, tasting it for the first time in a year. ”Sochi.” castile @[sochi] RE: when a tornado meets a volcano - sochi - 04-05-2020 SOCHI She is mid-hunt when she smells him coming, that thick, masculine scent of him weaving through the air. She pauses, losing track of the prey that she had but moments before been tracking and lifts her heavy head in the air, sniffing lightly. Risk and Spirit are away, for now. Being a mother has never stopped her from needing her alone time, after all, but she still contemplates running before Castile can find her. Slipping into the shadows and disappearing into the darkness—letting the rest fall away from her. she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed RE: when a tornado meets a volcano - Castile - 04-06-2020 and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
His heartbeat pounds in his ears. There’s nothing easy about this, nothing simple. Uncertainty dries his throat the second their eyes meet. Part of him didn’t expect her to stay, but a shadow of a grin twitches the corners of his mouth in obvious relief to see her here, standing in front of him with her unruly mane. It takes everything in him to not pull her close or to press a tender kiss to the curve of her jaw. A flinch of his shoulder is the only indication of his inward battle. It could be, perhaps, mistaken for a fly removal. But she knows him too well to think that. Despite everything, butterflies rise in the pit of his stomach instead of fire, but they fall when she asks about his new family. Impassively, he answers, ”Oceane is fine, as is Alcinder,” he doesn’t reiterate her term of a family. Although the diplomat has creeped higher into his regards, there is still a great hesitance. His heart isn’t in it, and isn’t that what’s supposed to guide that decision? ”And you? How are you and our children?” He almost says family now – because that’s what they were – but the conversation rides along a precarious edge that he fears tumbling from with such sensitive reminders and sentiments. Alas, there is nowhere else for their conversation to go except into what happened. They’ve run from it for a year now, if not longer, but it has caught up especially with his manic side suppressed, finally. Her comment went unanswered at first, but not at all ignored. It is the fulcrum at the base of his thoughts as they teeter back and forth. How does he trespass into this unchartered territory? How does he, for the first time, humble himself and admit all that he has done wrong? They both know he isn’t eloquent; he is brash, blunt, impulsive. Volatile. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he dives in by forcing his fears – since when has he been afraid? – aside. ”You told me to never to this, but listen,” perhaps not the best start by ordering a command, but his voice is far too gentle to indicate aggression or anger, or even dominance. ”I’m sorry for everything, but for mostly being an idiot when you’ve only been perfect.” Or should he say had? He told her then that he didn’t want to give up, and she claimed she wasn’t either, but he doesn’t know what has changed. It would be expected, maybe even easier, for him to ask about her own new family, but he eludes his norm and skirts his usual, self-sabotaging trap. He pushes the man’s scent to the back of his mind; it isn’t constructive right now. There’s so much more he wants to say, truths that exist deep within him, but he pauses in his attempt to quietly read her first while mustering the strength to continue. castile @[sochi] RE: when a tornado meets a volcano - sochi - 04-20-2020 SOCHI It feels staged—like a play where she is meant to fall in line and carry out the movements that no longer belong to her. It feels hollow and wooden and the emotions that rage in her chest nearly tumble to the ground in an empty clatter. Instead, she holds them close, tucks them into her further, and keeps her gaze steady on him. She would not be weak in this moment, she thinks. She would not crumble before him simply because it was difficult to face your demons. Because it was difficult to walk back into the fire. she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed @[Castile] RE: when a tornado meets a volcano - Castile - 04-21-2020 and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Like the fierce tigress she is, Sochi fights it. She stands her ground and refuses to crumble in front of him, unyieldingly holding his eyes like she was never hurt to begin with. It shows more in her elusion as well and how she only answers for their children rather than herself. A lopsided, boyish grin still traces the edges of his lips despite how the conversation teeters back and forth. ”I have no doubt about that,” a half chuckle follows as he gaze casts down to the leaves at their feet, ”I’m surprised Reia hasn’t killed anyone yet or burned down Taiga.” Last he knew, she was there with Pteron, but since he abdicated the throne, she has disappeared amongst the trees. Perhaps their relationship was just as short-lived as her parents. Castile’s eyes blink painfully hard at the prospect but then he looks back up to Sochi with a raised brow. ”I didn’t say you were a fairytale,” because she has her barbed edges and ferocious bite, ”but you were nonetheless perfect in my eyes – teeth, attitude, and all.” His muscular shoulders roll in a haphazard shrug, almost in response to her own dismissiveness. It would be easier for both of them to turn away now and to forget everything, to move on and never see each other again, but for the first time, Castile isn’t keen on the idea. There’s still so much reeling in his thoughts, even if his sense of hope is minimal. Although she once said she wasn’t giving up so quickly, it seems as though she already has; she isn’t a forgiving woman and he cannot, truthfully, blame her. In his right mind, he understands his faults and mistake. Last they met, he was gaslighting and thrusting blame in every direction, his volatile anger in hot pursuit. The faeries, finally, humbled the brute. A low hum reverberates through him in initial response. ”Thanks for the confirmation,” his head bobs, deserving the reiteration, his name smeared with mud nowadays. But it’s her next statement that grabs him, rattling everything through his body straight to his core. Of course, he doesn’t show her this. Like her, he remains unyielding and stubborn with only small bouts of humor poking through. He expected this; it isn’t at all a surprise. Yet, it’s the finality of her confession that stirs something in him, like she would never want him back, like what they had meant nothing and was never worth fighting for. ”I know that,” he says, his voice quieting to hers, matching her perfectly, ”because I thought I could own you and I took advantage of that – of you.” He sighs then, in realization and regret rather than pity. ”But yes, I know,” a frown finally shadows his handsome face. There’s a long moment of silence as Castile listens to the rustling of leaves and the whispers of a gentle breeze. There’s an inner struggle of what to say, of how to say it. Ineloquent, Castile just talks, his voice still considerably gentle. ”But, much to your disappointment, I can’t just… stop. I love you, Sochi,” he cannot help to shrug again, not expecting to hear it returned. He has accepted it. ”But I have no intention or will to control your actions anymore. Do as you have been, continue with your nature, with whatever and whomever… I just miss having you near, at the very least, even if it’s just once in a while. I miss just talking. We’ve been through too much to just… stop.” Castile takes a single step back, his expression drawn and resigned to his inner confessions. ”I’m sorry, Sochi, but I just can’t let everything go as quickly as you want,” as you can, he doesn’t say, reluctant to turn any of this onto her. castile @[sochi] that unexpectedly turned into a novel as i watch austin play RDR2 RE: when a tornado meets a volcano - sochi - 04-27-2020 SOCHI He doesn’t make it easy on her. Doesn’t give her the out—doesn’t let her take what is admittedly the coward’s way out. Part of her is glad to know that this part of him is the same. Glad to know that whatever has transpired between them, this has remained the same. That he is just as stubborn as her and that he has not yet completely changed to where she could not recognize the reflection of him. she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed RE: when a tornado meets a volcano - Castile - 05-01-2020 and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Truthfully, Castile is surprised Sochi still stands before him. There are opportunities to run, pauses and hesitations in their conversation that grants the seconds she needs to recede into the shadows. That would be her painful goodbye, her knife to sever what remains between them. It flashes across his eyes, the image of her backside as she abandons him, and he is startled by the emotion that chokes him in the false reality. He would force himself to stay behind and to accept her decision no matter how many pieces his heart shattered into. If that’s what she wants – truly wants – then there’s nothing he can do to stop her. A sharp breath cuts the silence when Castile blinks and lifts his eyes to hers, reminding himself that she is here, still listening to him. The shadows have not yet reclaimed her, but it’s only a matter of time. It’s like standing on a precarious edge when she speaks, his skin prickling like needles even when her voice softens. Corded muscles tighten when he clenches his jaws expectantly. ”I imagined it would be easier for you if I let go of everything, if I gave up and never found you again,” but that isn’t the promise he made on that fateful day in Loess. Even as dark cruelties eclipsed his better judgment, Castile still recognized how dear she was – is – to him, how unwilling he is to lose her forever. This is a battle that he has never before faced and he is far too stubborn to lose this early. There’s a kindling in Sochi’s eyes, a mirroring stubbornness, that keeps her rooted in place. There’s a reason she is still standing here, talking to him, applying the lightest balm to his gaping wounds. There is still a piece of her that cares, but he wonders if it’s enough to ever accept him back. I just said that it can’t go back to what it was. The reiteration cuts him, but Castile merely nods, accepting it. Somehow, his breathing remains steadily controlled, his body like a statue except for the occasional flutter of his locks when a breeze passes through. Her voice echoes inside him, the words being scrutinized and mulled over. Eventually, when it almost seems as though he will not say anything at all, Castile shifts his gaze from a nearby oak tree back to her face. ”I’m listening,” it was a weakness that he is strengthening, a change that he verbalizes as their eyes hold each other. ”Tell me what it is you want, what expectations you have,” he pauses to lick his chapped lips and to keep everything within him composed and checked, ”Tell me what you want… from me…” She didn’t tell him to let go or to stop loving her. She didn’t tell him to leave (yet) but she also didn’t say she still loves him. Still standing – wobbling – on the cliff’s edge, Castile waits with bated breath whether he will fall or step safely away, whether his life will plunge into an abysmal hole forever. castile @[sochi] congrats on your baby! RE: when a tornado meets a volcano - sochi - 05-19-2020 SOCHI The conversation is tangled, thorny, and she knows that she won’t get out of it completely without at least some cuts and bruises. She knows that she won’t get out of it completely without tearing at the softest parts of her—that she won’t be able to shield herself forever. It’s a truth that is branded on the innermost pieces of her. This knowledge that there are some things that she will never get back. There are some things that she will never be able to completely regain. Some wounds that will never heal. she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed |