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+---- Thread: burn slow, burning up the back wall; ryss. (/showthread.php?tid=8281)
burn slow, burning up the back wall; ryss. - Volcan - 04-29-2016
Volcan
Burn slow, burning up the back wall
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
She stood on the precipice of the very same sands now, eyes scouring the outwardly land - the beyond. Her growing hooves itched to delve into the solid earth just yonder, but mentally, she struggled. It was as though her way was barred by an unearthly force, albeit one she felt almost comfortable dwelling near. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, teeth barred much as Scorch’s were all throughout her life.
As a bead of sweat dripped down the flat of her hammer-like head, Volcan drove herself to concentrate on the magical barrier that stood before her; the telekinetic reached out with a fierce determination she was only just discovering, and with an audible growl low in her throat, she ripped apart the force field particle by particle which bound her to the Deserts. When the unnamable resistance she felt dispersed, the girl wasted no time in slipping through, and out.
Somewhere, a magician smiled.
Breathing wildly and persperating despite her Desert-accustomed physique, Volcan glared from one end of the horizon to another. She was free, for a day. Free to wander.
She quickly found that she did not much like that fact. Like her mother before her, Volcan felt intimately bound to her supposed birth-place, felt as though that was home, and no other truth could possibly exist, and that if it did, searching for it would be a grand waste of time.
Her head turned, and she gazed once more into the kingdom from which she had just managed to escape. Recalling the immense mental prowess it took to manage such a feat, Volcan straightened and began cantering mechanically into the Exterior. She had not expensed such a vast amount of energy for nothing.
With her head tucked into her ever widening neck, the baroque filly thundered through the land, the grass left to whisper of a ghost in her wake. She grinned with each powerful stride, memorized the way her muscles rippled beneath her smokey coat. As she explored the Exterior, more and more of her mother’s characteristic awoke - but to the girl, these awakenings were only self-revelations.
A forest blossoms into existence before the telekinetic, and she cuts into a walk, jade eyes refocusing in the newfound gloom. The heady scent of pine bombarded her nostrils, and the flapping of wings drew her ears in every direction. Her tail snapped around her haunches for her want of knowledge - never had she smelled these smells, seen these sights, or heard these sounds. Her teeth gritted within her mouth - she did not like being at a disadvantage.
Whirling around at the inexplicably sudden scent of another equine (or was she really that distracted by her new surroundings?), Volcan stared into the abyss of shadows, ears twisting to kiss the top of her skull.
“Show yourself, apparitionist.”
This is not the end, this is just the world
Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
lava texture © Mavrosh-Stock
RE: burn slow, burning up the back wall; ryss. - Daeryssa - 05-01-2016
Just stay away from the white light. I'd say your worst side's your best side. Just when you think that you're alright, I'm crawling out from the inside.
RE: burn slow, burning up the back wall; ryss. - Volcan - 05-08-2016
Luckily, the being on the other side of the shadows is only a very colourful, and extremely pregnant woman.
As the stranger ducks under a last branch, Volcan’s ears gently extricate themselves from their laid back positions. The young woman figures that she has little to fear of this rotund pixie; the judgemental little shit takes her to be harmless. But that’s how things go when you’re raised among by a king and born from the Deserts themselves; nothing truly seems dangerous.
She will learn, one day.
“Hello,” She breathes duskily, eyes intensifying, “Is much too predictable.” Noticing the boldness of the stranger’s roving eyes, Volcan invites herself to the same privilege, and gives this Ryss a thorough once over. Lovely blue fur, lovely star upon her forehead, lovely little quipping tongue she has - and a lovely baby bump, on top of it all. A rogue smirk materializes on the girl’s ‘tarnishes silver’ lips; it seems this one prefers the company of men.
A pity.
She straightens - the position - of her gaze at Ryss’ final question. The shadows around them seem far less intimidating now, and the foreign sounds begin to normalize for her. In the spirit of making new friends - among other things -, Volcan figures that revealing her name shan’t be much of a danger.
“I am Volcan, daughter of Vanquish.” She announces herself with certainty, but in fact, she is utterly incorrect in her deliverance of heritage. Poor darling; so oblivious. “What is a doll like you doing in shadows like these?” Oblivious, but a rascal, too. A foxy smirk decorates her lips as she leans into her hip, enjoying this new rhythm of conversation; perhaps she should venture from the Desert’s depths more often.
RE: burn slow, burning up the back wall; ryss. - Daeryssa - 05-01-2016
Well. So much for not being able to tell I'm pregnant. Though given I should be popping any damn day now, I look pretty good. My belly's only just a little rounded out, still nothing compared to my mother when she was halfway through carrying the twins. Maybe the little demon's on the small side or something. Or maybe because it's my first? Only, dammit, if I have any say in the matter. Though who'm I kidding? I'm not going to turn down a repeat performance from Pazuzu, heat or no heat. God, maybe I should cave and talk to Mom and—no. Fuck that. I'd pop out a dozen more little monsters before crawling back to her and begging her to find a way to shut off my ovaries.
I wonder if that's even an option.
Anyhow, the kid's kicking something fierce again, and the only way I've found to shut it up is to walk. I think it likes the rhythmic motion. Soothing or some shit, right? What do I know about babies? But it works well enough usually. Little bastard's big enough that it can't wallop me good in the ribs anymore, doesn't have the room too work up that kind of momentum I guess? But it's still a squirmy little fucker, and I swear I can feel it testing the boundaries of my uterus and seeing just how hard it can push, practicing for when the big day finally comes and it's out.
Oh god that's soon. I'm going to have to shove this thing out. I'm going to have to push something the size of a baby hippo out of my damn—and there it goes again. Nudging away, probably because my heart's racing at the thought of impending labor. So soon, and I'm not even a little ready. Ready for it to be over, absolutely. Ready for the actual hard scary expelling a child from my body part? Not even a little bit.
Nudge. I'm going to pretend that was a 'you got this,' and not a 'dammit, mother, calm the fuck down so I can sleep.' Ugh, mother. Not even a little bit ready for it. Unfortunately, it's a bit too late for that. So the best I can do is walk to trick the kid into sleeping. Which is exactly how I find myself wandering the forest, ambling slowly from one end to the other. Occasionally I walk past a stranger, but no one that reaches out and grabs my attention. And really no one who reaches out and grabs mine.
“Show yourself, apparitionist.” Or that'll do. I pause, listening for a moment rather than just charging right in. Oh, not because I'm shooting for mommy of the year being protective or anything. Just because I'm not batshit crazy. The voice was a little off to the side. I can't really see her, just heard her calling out from beyond the shadow of some trees in between us. But what the hell, could be fun.
Kick. I'm going, I'm going, calm the fuck down, beastie.
“You know,” I say, angling toward her through the gap between a few big trees, “I find 'hello' works better.” I catch sight of her as I duck under one last branch, and give her a thorough once-over, my gaze lingering on the all too familiar color of her coat. Tarnished silver, that's one mom called the other. Her tarnished silver girl. I don't have a clue why, there's nothing silver about the brown that roans out to a soft pastel, or the intermingled strands of dark and light in her mane and tail. God, I really don't need that reminder right now. But it's not the girl's fault she's the same color as my dead mother. I can play nice.
At least she doesn't have yellow eyes.
“I'm Ryss. You got a name?”
I wonder if that's even an option.
Anyhow, the kid's kicking something fierce again, and the only way I've found to shut it up is to walk. I think it likes the rhythmic motion. Soothing or some shit, right? What do I know about babies? But it works well enough usually. Little bastard's big enough that it can't wallop me good in the ribs anymore, doesn't have the room too work up that kind of momentum I guess? But it's still a squirmy little fucker, and I swear I can feel it testing the boundaries of my uterus and seeing just how hard it can push, practicing for when the big day finally comes and it's out.
Oh god that's soon. I'm going to have to shove this thing out. I'm going to have to push something the size of a baby hippo out of my damn—and there it goes again. Nudging away, probably because my heart's racing at the thought of impending labor. So soon, and I'm not even a little ready. Ready for it to be over, absolutely. Ready for the actual hard scary expelling a child from my body part? Not even a little bit.
Nudge. I'm going to pretend that was a 'you got this,' and not a 'dammit, mother, calm the fuck down so I can sleep.' Ugh, mother. Not even a little bit ready for it. Unfortunately, it's a bit too late for that. So the best I can do is walk to trick the kid into sleeping. Which is exactly how I find myself wandering the forest, ambling slowly from one end to the other. Occasionally I walk past a stranger, but no one that reaches out and grabs my attention. And really no one who reaches out and grabs mine.
“Show yourself, apparitionist.” Or that'll do. I pause, listening for a moment rather than just charging right in. Oh, not because I'm shooting for mommy of the year being protective or anything. Just because I'm not batshit crazy. The voice was a little off to the side. I can't really see her, just heard her calling out from beyond the shadow of some trees in between us. But what the hell, could be fun.
Kick. I'm going, I'm going, calm the fuck down, beastie.
“You know,” I say, angling toward her through the gap between a few big trees, “I find 'hello' works better.” I catch sight of her as I duck under one last branch, and give her a thorough once-over, my gaze lingering on the all too familiar color of her coat. Tarnished silver, that's one mom called the other. Her tarnished silver girl. I don't have a clue why, there's nothing silver about the brown that roans out to a soft pastel, or the intermingled strands of dark and light in her mane and tail. God, I really don't need that reminder right now. But it's not the girl's fault she's the same color as my dead mother. I can play nice.
At least she doesn't have yellow eyes.
“I'm Ryss. You got a name?”
Daeryssa
of the restless heart
RE: burn slow, burning up the back wall; ryss. - Volcan - 05-08-2016
Volcan
Burn slow, burning up the back wall
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Luckily, the being on the other side of the shadows is only a very colourful, and extremely pregnant woman.
As the stranger ducks under a last branch, Volcan’s ears gently extricate themselves from their laid back positions. The young woman figures that she has little to fear of this rotund pixie; the judgemental little shit takes her to be harmless. But that’s how things go when you’re raised among by a king and born from the Deserts themselves; nothing truly seems dangerous.
She will learn, one day.
“Hello,” She breathes duskily, eyes intensifying, “Is much too predictable.” Noticing the boldness of the stranger’s roving eyes, Volcan invites herself to the same privilege, and gives this Ryss a thorough once over. Lovely blue fur, lovely star upon her forehead, lovely little quipping tongue she has - and a lovely baby bump, on top of it all. A rogue smirk materializes on the girl’s ‘tarnishes silver’ lips; it seems this one prefers the company of men.
A pity.
She straightens - the position - of her gaze at Ryss’ final question. The shadows around them seem far less intimidating now, and the foreign sounds begin to normalize for her. In the spirit of making new friends - among other things -, Volcan figures that revealing her name shan’t be much of a danger.
“I am Volcan, daughter of Vanquish.” She announces herself with certainty, but in fact, she is utterly incorrect in her deliverance of heritage. Poor darling; so oblivious. “What is a doll like you doing in shadows like these?” Oblivious, but a rascal, too. A foxy smirk decorates her lips as she leans into her hip, enjoying this new rhythm of conversation; perhaps she should venture from the Desert’s depths more often.
This is not the end, this is just the world
Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl