There’s a siren song of home and it has never stopped calling to Ori. She has heard the sound of the waves against the black sand beaches all her life. No matter how far she ran, no matter how hard she tried not to listen, Silver Cove called to her. Why? She doesn’t know. There are no good memories there, just pain around every corner. And yet…and yet it was home. Or, at least, as much of a home as Oriash had ever known.
She cannot say what brings her to be brave this morning, but before the day begins to dawn and the skies begin to warm, Ori takes flight. She makes her way across Beqanna, flying a familiar path. There are many days that she finds herself on this flight if only to glide over the beaches of her childhood before continuing on to somewhere else. Today is different though. She does not continue her flight but slows as the black sand comes into view.
Today, she lands.
She has no business being here, and certainly no business skipping right past the boundary of the territory. Ori knows how this works. If she wants to visit, she ought to stand at the edge of the land and wait to be greeted. She does no such thing, and it feels so out of character but it doesn’t necessarily feel bad. No, it feels exhilarating, and she wonders if this is a taste of what living is actually like. Maybe.
Her feet touch down on the beaches and she folds her wings to her side, making her way to the place where the waters lap at the sand. There was no other plan today but this. No other plan but to stand in this place where she’d spent so much of her early years and watch the sunrise. And then? And then she does not know, but for now, this is enough.
A little cardinal flutters in an odd pattern down the beach, twisting and turning as he flies, his body changing shape mid-soar. Each part of the little bird changes so slowly as he soars that it almost seems like an optical illusion ̶ and of course to some degree, it is. His red feathers blacken, his body enlarges, wingspan spreading further until he is a big fat raven gliding on the wind just as gracefully as when it was just a small red bird.
He watched the mare land from afar, ever the watchmen he has become, isolated from the rest of the world (intentionally), and living only to haunt the empty beaches of the Cove. He does not chase anyone off, he doesn’t lord over the place any more than anyone else, not nowadays. Not since he was stripped of any real leadership dignity, being whooped and robbed by a gangly little pony with big-boy magic. The ability to shapeshift in any sort of cryptid is a step better, but with the loss, went Chem’s desire for redemption or revenge. Why bother? Maybe that is realism, maybe that’s depression. Either way it probably is not going to get addressed, much like the rest of his emotional issues.
The teal eyed raven shifts to his natural form, jogging as his hooves shape and hit the soft black sands. He’s fit lately, living well and moving all the time, his coat sleek and his weight ideal for his athletic yet thick structure. When he’s healthy, his immortal blood allows him to appear in his physical prime. This summer he looks good, much better than the past few years, even if his mental status is not exactly sparkling.
His white face is swept over by a long dark forelock, tipping to one side to reveal the same bright teal eyes as when he was a raven. He stops at a polite distance, his tail tossing, his nose up to smell gently toward the mare. “Welcome to Silver Cove,” his smile is a bit devious, but a smile nonetheless.
She is not left alone long, though there is enough time for her to breathe in the salty ocean air, to dig her obsidian hooves into the matching sand and to simply be for a moment. Ori had forgotten how much she loved this view, and despite the pain that lingers in so many memories here, she finds that in this moment it has no power over her. Maybe there has been enough time between then and now that the pain has finally left her, or at least, faded to a distant thing. Certainly it had left its scars, invisible though they may be, but maybe it no longer controlled her.
Her ears flick in the direction of the descending bird as the sound turns into hooves on sand. She cannot say she was expecting a stallion to emerge from the raven that had soared overhead, but here he was. His white face and teal eyes are sharp and beautiful (a thing she cannot help noticing, for she sees beauty in most everything). He stops an appropriate distance from her and she sees nothing in him to suggest that he’s disgruntled at her trespassing, but still, she finds her small bit of bravery fleeing from her in that moment.
When he speaks, he simply welcomes her, and she forces herself to keep her eyes on him and offers a polite nod in return. In reality, she wants to drop her eyes to the ground and shuffle her feet in the sand and mumble an apology before flying away, but the water laps at her feet and encourages her. ”I’m sorry for the intrusion,” she says, her voice polite but strong as she forces herself to be brave. She was here, and oh, how she wanted to stay. There was no turning back now. ”I grew up here and I admit, I missed the beaches. That is no excuse for trespassing though, I know.” She gives him a sheepish smile but keeps her eyes on those beautiful teal ones of his, refusing to give in to her usual nature.
”I’m Oriash.” The name is out before she can even think about it, and it nearly startles her. Oriash. How long had it been since she’d even given her full name? Years and years. She’d long since given up on that girl, but here…oh, here she feels like maybe she can find herself again.
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too
@Chemdog yay! don't mind me, I'm extra excited over here
He forgets it is a bit shocking to be able to rearrange your molecules, breaking down or reassembling right in front of someone’s eyes like water where you were once solid, and then you are again solid ̶ he forgets that this isn’t an everyday thing for some folks. And even so, it isn’t often a raven turns into a horse, but in Beqanna it seems perfectly fitting. He studies her eyes taking him in, and notices she does not scowl, reading a bit of standard worry in the lines of her feminine face. His gaze moves along her antlers and over her body, each dip and bend of it, and then back to her pretty face. He doesn’t respond at first, letting her get all her words out in each honey-sweet interval. His ears twist and prick, indicating that he is listening carefully, and his nostrils flutter with his steady breaths.
He notices her courage, but to him it seems like a kitten arching its back, hissing. It would easily be her last stand, if he were like that, if he were to even bother to hurt someone for no reason. He is not like that, and he would not, not these days anyway. Without cause, what use is violence? His coat bears the map of his historical run ins with violence, and each time very much had its purpose ̶ most of which was life and death.
“No intrusion, Oriash.” he looks to the ocean, waves lapping toward their feet as the tide begins to rise. The skies turning grayer and darker, the rain not far away; warm summer rain. His teal eyes settle back to her, “I am Chemdog, and I haunt this place, but I do not chase anyone away.” his voice rumbles just above the gentle crashing of the seawater over the black sands. “So what makes you return to these shores then? Just a bit of nostalgia?” He is genuinely curious what about this place has a small, yet strong tether to her spirit to have brought her here. Maybe it is the same thing that anchors him to these hallowed onyx beaches.
He does not kick her out, does not attack. He seems to be studying her, seeing things in her she probably doesn’t even see herself. This too unerves her, but then again, just about everything does. There’s some part of her that’s tired of cowering though, of fearing some repercussion that never comes. What is it exactly that she’s afraid of? Death? Unlikely, for there seems to be something sweet in the release that would bring. No, not death. Death is not the worst thing. Rejection though, which is a feeling she’s known all too well since she was a child. Rejection is her true fear, and it has crippled her for far too long.
No rejection comes though. What sort of rejection could it even be from someone she does not know? Hardly anything at all, but still…this is why she just avoids everything, but it is not proving to be any way to live. He tells her that it’s no intrusion, and she relaxes slightly, letting her eyes drift back out to the ocean as he does the same. It is gray and growing grayer still, but she doesn't mind the coming storm. Maybe rain could wash her clean. Maybe all she needed was to start again.
”Thank you, Chemdog,” she says simply, head turning to him with a nod. His next question gives her pause, not because it’s a bad question, it’s simply one that requires thought. So she gives it a moment, listening to the waves crash gently against the shore, noting how his voice and the sea sound so similar. ”I don’t know that I can find words for the what, not exactly.” She says thoughtfully. What brings her back to a place of pain and memories? What brings her back to a place where she laid on this beach waiting for death to claim her?
It wasn’t the pain that brought her back. She wasn’t seeking more of it. No, there was something else about these shores that made her long for them. ”I have lived in many places, and yet none have ever felt like home the way this place does.” It’s not exactly what he asked, but it’s as close as she can come to an answer. Perhaps he’ll understand anyway.
It’s been such a long time since he’s held a conversation with the living, he is not as smooth as he once was. But still, an old familiar grin finds its way onto his black muzzle as he tips an ear to her porcelain voice. The waves lap faithfully on beat while the pair breathe together for a few drawn out moments, and then his rumbling voice slowly bubbles from his chest once again, carving from his whiskered lips. “It is the same for me.” He looks down to the waves reaching farther and farther each time they come in, swallowing their ankles. The thick feathering on his twirling and dancing like ink dropped into the water, his teal eyes cast down while he drifts away in thought.
The cold twinge of rain across his sensitive skin brings him back to the present, only gone for a second (in thought). He takes in a deep breath, as if to clear himself of something, and his gaze finds the painted mare again, washing his eyes over her wings and the string of raindrops gathered across like glass pearls. “So will it be home then? For now?” Faintly glowing smoke rises from his spine, starting between his ears and down to his tail tip. Irisaen slithering between his legs and out into the choppy sea. The rain is starting harder now, dripping off of them both in streams, and Chem’s rather muddy looking as it gathers the dirt and dust along the way.
“A swim?.. or shelter in the caverns?” his grin playful now, and the glowing smoke rising from his skin getting brighter and thicker as the clouds blot out the day’s light.
CHEMDOG
I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN 1000 EONS
shits been crazy in the real!
pls accept this poorly written post ❤❤ me love you!
She is used to going long periods of time without talking to anyone, and so silence has become her best friend. Ori is prone to drawing in on herself, living in fantasy worlds or simply in solitude. It’s probably not the healthiest lifestyle, and yet, she finds herself coming back to it often anyway. It works for her, at least in some regard, and for now, that’s enough. Though she has enjoyed coming back to the real world, to real conversations with horses made of flesh and blood and not of imagination and magic.
He is silent for a few moments, the waves keeping the time for them. She doesn’t mind the long pause, enjoying the view of the sea and the waves that lap at their hooves and the rolling dark clouds. When he does speak, she turns her attention back to him and offers a soft smile at his words. There’s something reassuring in the realization that she’s not the only one who feels this way, not the only one who simply longs for a place for no discernable reason. For all its bad memories, Silver Cove is home.
The rain finds them then, cold and shocking, though she doesn’t mind it. His next question takes her by surprise, though why exactly, she isn’t sure. ”Could…” she begins, tentative and shy. All traces of her bravery have fled, leaving in its wake the girl she really is: timid and scared and lonely. ”Could I stay? I would love to come home.” She practically breathes the last bit and it’s entirely possible the sea breeze will whip it away before it ever reaches Chemdog’s ears.
Maybe home was what she’d been searching for all along.
His grin turns playful now, and she notes the smoke that rises from him, the serpent that slithers around his legs. Her smile widens as well and her eyes turn to the sea, rough and choppy with the growing storm. But for all her timidity, Oriash has never been afraid. Not of the sea, not of the sky, not of the things that might hurt. ”A swim,” she says with that playful grin, and before he can answer she canters forward into the choppy surf.
For all his dullness, Chemdog has quite the imagination, and if he could read her thoughts as they bubble around in her mind he would smirk to himself delighted upon realizing they’re very similar. He’s gone through long periods, years even, where he does not talk to anyone ̶ no one alive, anyway. He’s no mind reader though, and so he can only read the outside of her, porcelain and steel twisted together with a silky voice. His teal eyes tip up to the tips of her antlers, admiring them, and then back to her face.
The waves drown any silences between them, but still their voices cut clearly through the gentle crashing. The rain begins to come down harder now. The enormous stones standing upright in the fog and surf, off the shore and looking like sentinels guarding the entrance to the black beaches of Silver Cove.
Her question draws a grin on his black lips, his teal eyes sliding away from her and out to the horizon he cannot see. “I feel as though my position as caretaker here is only a figment, the Cove does as she pleases,” he breathes slow, blinking with a thoughtful squint before bringing his eyes back to hers, “It is your home,” his gaze goes back out to the misty waves crashing at at their feet. “So, welcome home, Oriash.” he snorts, ending the declaration. He needs not to give permission, that’s never been his role here (even if he wanted it that way), but if she were looking for the old shape-shifter’s blessing then she clearly has it.
A swim, her silky voice chimes next to him and in that moment he hopes her living here will mean this is a routine occurrence ̶ her next to him, that is, her voice speaking just for him; these things he finds, in this moment, he finds that he wants these things. A bit of his greed is boiling through, trying to intrude, but he lets it fly away for now. She is so beautiful though, and her presence is warm to his cold ghostly feel. The euphoric feeling is dripping into him without his knowledge, he proceeds as if this is normal, something that he does all the time ̶ but it is not. It’s been years, what feels like centuries, since a connection has sparked between him and anyone else. Anyone living, anyway.
“Good.” he tosses his head and picks his heavy feet up to a canter into the waves, his sleek fur morphing to smooth glassy scales of the same deep black. His body is swallowed by the grays, dark blues, and lace-white of the waves and he turns back to look over his shoulder to see if she is coming. He offers a toothy, delighted grin, showing big kelpie teeth that glisten ominously. He’s only half-shifted, most of his regular horse body intact, but with scales and a bigger mouth with sketchier teeth than he normally has. The sea storm is brewing a little louder now, the waves crashing harder, and he waits for her to be a bit closer and leans his lips nearer to her ear, “Something about the sea under a storm, the waters feel alive.”
