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together we're a perfect storm; any - riva - 01-05-2016
It consumes her the way a wildfire consumes a forest - hot, bright, relentless. Her bitterness does this, burns away all else in the wake of its fierce flames until she is made anew, burnt and callous. She knows that she is forever changed because of it but then, she never stood a chance against being anything but bitter - it was all she had known, was the milk of her beginning and will be the dry dust of her death, and she needed no spiderwebs to tell her that like her mother whom she spares but a brief, cruel thought towards. Riva lays all her blame for what she has become at the feet of her mother like a fresh kill, foul and bleeding - that is her heart, laid bare, stripped and raw, but not aching - she doesn’t ache for what never was, has no dreams left of becoming something else, those too were burnt up in her short youth at Lea’s side and now, Riva has grown strong on the draught of her bitterness, tough as old leather. She has learned how to fill up on hate, on loathsome things like the bat that flies in the night and feasts on the insects that glow and bite; Riva is satisfied only with the night, black like her soul feels, which could very well be an exaggeration but if there is good left in her, it is small and easily spurned because she will not suffer the same pity she endured at her grandmother’s side, watching the happy family grow swell in numbers while she fell to the wayside. They were all sunshine and smiles, and she was not - she was shadows and hate, brimming with dark revelations that she was the interloper in their family, and in the end, it made sense to her - she was not welcome there, spurned by her own family. That was more her doing then theirs’ but her dark little mind twists it to fit her bitterest hate, making her think they abandoned her because they had, blood to them was nothing when it came to Riva.
She does not know why she is here of all places to be, or what she expects to come of standing amongst all the silly mares and sillier stallions. They make fools of themselves and she merely watches with a grim set of her lips, her eyes dark and unkind with thoughts of how foolish they are, and again she wonders, why here? Better here then there, the Dale and its history, and hate swells up in her breast ready to choke her until she tamps it back down with a sucked in breath and a flurry of footfalls that moves her off the brazen path so that she is less visible, more shadowed and off by herself, staring and worrying the knot of her own pain further until lay tangled and hopeless. Then again, much of this was hopeless - always had been, she just gave it chance after chance to get better in some way but it never did, but Riva is not the kind to just up and end things. No, she nurtures her long-lived hurts and feeds them the fat off her dreams of revenge.
One day, she tells herself, unaware that she has whispered it aloud. One day, and it becomes a mantra repeated in her head as she stares them down and away, left alone to the misery that sharpens the edges of her, makes them knife-bright and harsh - the shadows do not flatter her, though once she could have been pretty before the bitterness thinned her out. One day, she tells herself, one day..
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RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - Lagertha - 01-05-2016
I am iron and I forge myself
RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - riva - 01-08-2016
Riva has nothing but the bitterness to build her up and many reasons for the bitterness to swallow her up. It fans the flame of a tiny ember of hate that has wormed its way into her heart and for now, it smokes and smolders but the fact that it even exists is enough to sustain and motivate her. To what end, she is uncertain, but she rolls the bitterness across her tongue like a pebble and it works up a good amount of promise and planning - she will be their downfall, though the land hardly echoes now with the breadth of their family, a thing she does not share with them beyond the spurned blood in her veins. The paint is not sure why she has come here; even here, they pass her by and she begins to think they can smell the beginnings of hate on her. Every pair of eyes that looks her way and looks away just as quickly hardens her further until she is volcanic - a hard shell beneath which everything in her is magmic and burning. It is imagined of course, because she is not gifted beyond her capacity to scald them with a scathing look or her caustic tongue, but she feels hot and hard and hateful. Every happy mare and every happy stallion earns a glare from her until she shuts her eyes against all the happiness that sickens her, causing her stomach to roil. They do not deserve their happinesses, she thinks, those small and pitiful moments that make their smiles and their memories.
It is the few in the shadows, glum and shy, that make her stand up even more imperious - there is royal blood in her after all, and a dash of a pirate’s - and regal, but it looks odd on her thin angry body. Into the shadows she looks, and out of the shadows walk a mare more imperious and impressive than any she has thus far seen. Riva cannot help but stare but it is a hard stare, and she reflects on the way the lines and thorns thread themselves through the skin of the Amazon before her and Riva, smart as she is, knows this mare to be their queen. For a moment, her heart quickens its thump as she realizes that she has garnered the brief attention of a queen no less and maybe there is something to Riva after all instead of all this bitterness she harbors inside her, but the moment passes and she comes back to her self with a sharp start and a shake of her head as the Amazon remarks on her mutterings.
“I thought no one would hear me, no one ever hears me.” she says, brutally honest as her eyes meet the queen’s (she knows somewhat of who rules what, having fed herself on the scraps of their conversations and politics when they fed her nothing else - certainly none of their love or learning). “One day, they will regret having ignored me.” The vehemence is knife-sharp and blade-bright in her voice, and it glitters just as sharply and brightly in her eyes.
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RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - Phaedrus - 01-12-2016
Phaedrus
DEATH GIVES US SLEEP, ETERNAL YOUTH, AND IMMORTALITY
RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - riva - 01-19-2016
Riva remembers feeling cold once, but hate is a coal stoked carefully and it warms her until she is practically giddy from the heat of it. She promised to never feel cold and alone ever again, and her hatred is her best company - burning and strong. Her nostrils flare at the scent of a stallion; he joins them, naturally. The paint mare eyes him; sizes up his large draft-built body, the cobalt blue of his mane and tail (like almost-night, she thinks, not quite enchanted because Riva is beyond the age of enchantment but she likes the possibility of his nightswept color), and the wings that flutter carelessly at his side. She is intrigued as to why he simply walked amongst them rather than flew, thinking he would have caused a greater stir if he had landed mightily amongst them but she supposed he had his reasons and she hardly thought about it all that much - he had wings, so what? Half of the horses here did, it hardly surprised her though she could not say she had ever met one with wings. His humor is dry though but she bites back a laugh all the same, not much for giving satisfaction to others. “Riva,” she answers him, “Of nowhere yet.” a sly look to the Amazon queen because there is strong consideration for the mare there, even if she has not yet made an offer to the paint, Riva is still considering the benefits of joining the Amazons. Then again… she looks to Phaedrus and considers him again, his night-dark skin and evening mane make such a lovely pair but even she is not easily swayed by his coloring. More like she is thinking of the foals they’d make - lovely paint things with wings and dark thoughts, because Riva always considers her options for revenge and sometimes, it is a dish best served cold, like a little army of flying Amazon-trained babies that could undo her family’s superior lineage and history with their mischief and madness. Riva gives a shake of her head, sometimes, her thoughts are rather ridiculous and since when does she give a hoot about breeding?
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RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - Lagertha - 01-21-2016
Lagertha is a disdaining creature; she has no use for those who do not help themselves, or fail to contribute anything besides smug remarks and a pretty coat. The Khaleesi cannot use smart-assery. She already has a war hammer of a tongue, perfectly adept at quipping back and forth on its own. And as for looks - well if she'd wanted to be pretty, she might have followed down Imogin's path and asked Prague for something shiny and pink. But what use would she have for that? How many warrior queens can be taken seriously while wearing pink?
Lagertha's gaze studies the interrupting stallion with cool detachment. Normally she would do just he expects and ignore him, but since her companion is more polite than she is, Lagertha follows their introductions with her own. "Lagertha. Amazonian Queen." The gray mare doesn't throw around her title often, but when she does, it's to make a point.
Back to their conversation. "And who is they?" she asks Riva, ready to draw out the source of her bitter fount piece by piece if she has to. There is no other way to determine if she should offer the mare a home, or let someone else deal with an all-encompassing vendetta. Lagertha doesn't want a liability.
RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - Phaedrus - 01-23-2016
Phaedrus
DEATH GIVES US SLEEP, ETERNAL YOUTH, AND IMMORTALITY
RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - riva - 01-23-2016
Riva is a fire in need of careful stoking; she will burn hot and bright beneath the right hand that tends to her or she will fall cold and go out just as easily without guidance to aim her burning passions in the right direction. Her hatred has stripped her of any loveliness she might once have had, she is thin and cruel in her shape, but her tongue is a sharp stabbing sword of whatever brashness falls off it - she cannot help herself, she is a bit of a smart ass and whether the Amazon has need of that or not, it will be up to her to determine and if not, her loss. The queen seems to be quick to lose interest in all and seems as if there are other tasks at hand; Riva guesses at this just by the way the queen presents herself and throws around her title like a perfect weighty stone ready to be thrown at their heads. She will not be so cowed so easily by the Amazon’s cool detachment and increasing lack of interest, but she is rather blunt in her answer - “My family, or what should pass for family other than a pack of names for me to carry around.” What more can she say to that? She will not spill the dark secrets that each of those names are though if truth be told, Errant was only guilty by association because she no more than saw him fleetingly but Lea and Laiken would come to regret the fact that they simply let her fall to the wayside and raise herself because others were more important, more special and gifted than she was.
That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? That she possessed nothing as fanciful as wings or a horn, that she was plain-born and worse, a pirate’s bastard of a daughter, a stain on the bloodline so carefully kept pure and special.
“No, maybe…” she says slyly in response to his answer. His peculiar remark about the day makes her reconsider her previous thoughts about him - he had beauty but no brains apparently, and despite his questionable intelligence, she is still mildly intrigued by him and why he is there. “Why, what do you have to offer that she cannot?” Why else would a queen come forth but to invite her to the kingdom? Hence the particular line of questioning she has been enduring rather cryptically, but she knows the ultimate goal of Lagertha is to determine if she is a viable candidate for the Amazons or a waste of the queen’s precious time. Still, she garnered the queen’s attention and that is a feat for her since she could never garner much of Lea’s and she had been a queen too, just too busy in the affairs of her heart and kingdom to pay her granddaughter much mind. Is a wonder than that Riva is anything but bitter?
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RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - Phaedrus - 02-04-2016
Phaedrus
DEATH GIVES US SLEEP, ETERNAL YOUTH, AND IMMORTALITY
OOC: OOps sorry Sarah thought you uhad dropped the thread or something xD If this needs edited I can do that.
RE: together we're a perfect storm; any - Lagertha - 02-04-2016
I am iron and I forge myself