"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Crossing the threshold of death is easy, he finds.
Before, time and gravity had pulled at his bones, compelling him along routes forcefully. He’d had no say in where he would end up. Once the edges of his hooves touched the wormholes, they propelled his body onwards to whatever fate (or their dark god) had in store. But even as he feels the hot remnants of his grandfather’s fire behind him – even as he fills the burned-out gap the man had created – he knows all has changed.
He melts his way back home.
Or at least he thinks he has. He thinks the flames had reached him at first as he watches his skin grey then go translucent. He ponders the irony for a moment – to get so far only to be accidentally crisped by his own dead grandfather – before he begins to understand. The cliff rock closes behind him, and for a moment, he is trapped within a tight, granite coffin. The striations on the walls will be the last thing he sees. But just as the panic sets in, the walls all around him become as transparent as his skin. Ramiel tests the boundaries of his quickly changing surroundings, gingerly nosing the walls and finding them surprisingly fluid. As fluid as he is, himself.
He is becoming a ghost, yes, but he isn’t trapped with the rest of them.
With a deep breath, the boy steps through the veil.
It tingles his skin to pass through the cliffs, but he emerges otherwise unscathed. He looks back one more time. The cliffs rise dizzyingly high but they are back to solid stone. Ramiel’s gold-flecked gaze travels down them and then to where his feet are half buried in the course sand. He’s shocked to find that he still looks like a ghost; he can see the individual grains of sand through his legs and feet. He thinks about trying to pass back into the Other Beach, to ask Erros and Adolpha if something was now wrong with him, if he belongs to the afterlife now, but he decides against it. Gail, he suddenly remembers, maybe she passed through somewhere else.
....
He tries the meadow first, then all the places around it. He retraces his steps to the beach, climbs new dunes and circles outward and away from it. But the black woman is an elusive creature. Unable to find her, for now, he heads home.
Possibly, he should have done so in the first place. As he sets off, the journey ahead seems almost insurmountable. Impossible, as exhausted as he is – but then, hasn’t he faced the impossible already? What is a few more miles when you’ve journeyed all the way to the end of the world? He thinks of his parents at the end of it (his own guiding light as Gail had been for Carnage). He wonders what he will tell them of what he’s been through – if he will tell them, yet. Everything around him has changed, but at his core, he feels the same.
Ramiel learns to control his shifting better as he runs (and at one point, he learns that he can run through things, such as the tree he hadn’t seen until it would have been too late). The going is tough, though, and the young stallion is forced to stop more than usual in order to rest. Eventually, he crests a hill and sees it: the rising peaks of his home in the near distance. The sun rises over them in the eastern sky, spilling warm, golden light down their jagged faces, softening them. He feels a desperate pride stirring in his chest at the sight, homesickness that he had tried to ignore during his faraway quest.
He passes across the border soon after, solid and real. The air is already humid despite the early hour as it presses against his skin, and combined with his total exhaustion, doesn’t allow Ramiel to make it very far into the Dale. He leans against an old oak tree and closes his eyes. At one point (a dark point in the journey, when a vicious monster held him in its jaws) he hadn’t thought he’d ever see the place of his birth again. Relief now washes over him, grounds him. Home. I’ve made it.
06-11-2015, 02:22 PM (This post was last modified: 06-22-2015, 05:35 PM by Joscelin.)
joscelin
She wonders if she will ever truly consider this home again. She watches the distant sunrise, gilding the hills in golden light, slowly warming the peaks and valleys, promising a beautiful day. The magnificent sight does not fill her with joy, or welcome, or warmth, or pride as it might another. As it does Ramiel. Instead a powerful apathy settles over her, chilling her heart, her very bones. What had happened to her, the happy, carefree girl who had once danced these hills?
Perhaps one day she would be happy again. Her moods are mercurial, as swift and changeable as a summer storm. In a single breath, the apathy changes to anger. A deep, encompassing anger that sweeps through her like a rolling tide. She doesn’t know why she is so angry. Why her moods won’t stabilize. Why she can’t hold herself in check as easily as she once did. She does not ask. For now, she does not even wonder. She lets the anger sweep over her, carrying her away like a gale force wind.
The shriek leaves her throat at the same moment a blinding burst of light explodes from her. Every crack delineated in her small body sends a shockwave of brilliant white light into the ether. When vision returns, the surrounding trees and rocks are pockmarked with small, pinprick sized holes where the light had broken against its surface. The outburst eases her anger, only to allow the apathy to return.
She closes her golden eyes, opening them again once several long moments have passed. It is then that she sees him there, leaning against an ancient oak. Her brother. Ramiel. He had probably just missed her violent outburst. She stares at him for several heartbeats, wondering what tokens the black magician had left with him. Nothing visible, like the cracks scoring her skin.
She does not approach him, some small part of her that could still feel wishing to protect him from the danger that she represented. The burst of rage and light had not been her first, and she had no doubt it would not be her last. Even now, light skitters along the cracks in her skin, sparking brightly against the her vivid red and white coloring. She does not move away either. She cannot seem to find the desire to. Instead, she speaks only two simple words to the black and gold stallion.
Go away.
there's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye
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The grooved bark presses uncomfortably against his skin. Summer’s heat is oppressive and heavy; the humidity almost fills his lungs. It’s an altogether inhospitable environment to rest one’s weary bones, and yet, despite all this, Ramiel feels himself being lulled to sleep. His eyes flutter and then seem to fasten closed. His breathing becomes deeper, more even with each passing moment. Even the raucous of the birds chirping their joyful noise becomes muted, before the sound is snuffed out entirely. The colt rests easily and quickly, knowing he is safe in the embrace of his home. Perhaps because sleep has come so hurriedly, it takes little interruption to pull him back out of it.
A bright light flashes, burning even through his eyelids (later, he shudders to think what might have happened had he not had them closed). It startles him from his sudden slumber. He becomes alert immediately, thinking reality had been the dream – that he is still on Carnage’s quest and might be forevermore. Where does he have to go now? What monsters would luck and little skill (in truth) allow him to escape? He looks around wildly, scouring the treeline and searching the meadow nestled within. His young body tenses in preparation for fight or flight (with growing experience for the first and an appreciation for the necessity of the second). When he locates the source of the light he is happily surprised, but he doesn’t relax.
It’s his sister. His impossibly, wholly-broken sister.
He had worried for her throughout the entire ordeal. They had been obvious and quick allies. She had responded to his cry for help, and together, they had ridden on the back of a space ray. They had reached the wormhole – he had seen its radiant light reflected in her eyes, eyes that were wide with wonder like his – but then she had disappeared. The wormhole spit him onto the flats of the apocalypse utterly alone. Ramiel knew she hadn’t died (she hadn’t been at that beach at least. Would he have stayed if she had been?) but he also didn’t know how she’d survived.
Seeing her now in their childhood home, he is immeasurably glad. The cracks splitting her skin everywhere clue him into the fact that she probably feels far less so. Had the wormhole done this to her? Had she missed the stop; had she been left behind in space? He is unmarked (save for the healing wound from the tentacle which had gripped his thigh) but also different, she just can’t see it. Not in the way he can see her changes, the light that dances under her skin and sets her aglow; a shattered lightbulb still flickering. He moves a few steps towards her, ready to console or counsel or whatever she wants. But she rejects him, and looking at their surroundings, at the wounded trees and rocks, he understands why. Not that it will stop him.
“Josc.” Ramiel steps to within feet of her but doesn’t close the distance. Not yet. His golden eyes find hers’ before he starts to access the rest of the damage. He thinks better of it immediately, however, and finds her gaze again. There’s an anger he’s never seen but also a spirit that he’s completely familiar with. A spirit that had broken curfew and boundaries alike, with him. He thinks if anything will pull her through it will be that. “I will never go away.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips because she probably knows it, and in this moment, she probably resents it, too. He wants to comment on how impressive her light was, but a dark thought sudden comes to him. “Does it…hurt? I think father can help you if it does.”
She felt drawn to them, though she was too young to understand why still. Ever since she was born strange things had been happening around her, to her. Flowers followed her where she walked, a pretty trail of bright white daisies and lush purple lupine trailing along behind her even as summer was fading into fall. Her mother said she was special, but even Katniss did not know the true extent of Isilya’s powers. It was a secret that the filly shared with her dream-friend, the dark fairy.
Sometimes, she would be walking along and nothing would happen - sometimes something would happen that scared her. She did not know how to control any of it yet - even when she tried to focus on the flowers that followed her, they usually ended up disappearing all together. So she just let them be, let the tendrils of magic that were snaking out of her touch the world as it would.
Today, though, something new happened. She had been running through the Dale on an adventure when she felt a tug on her so strong that it made her stumble to a stop. It was though her body (and indeed, it was her blood) was encouraging her in a direction, and not the direction she had been running in. Unable to fight the tug she followed the trail and at the end she found them, a boy and a girl. He was speaking as she approached cautiously, eyeing these older youths with her hazel eyes.
The wisteria growing out of the vines along her spine flopped as her head moved, looking between the pair. Why would the magic bring her here?
Whatever the reason, there was no need to stand here and be rude. “Hello there.” In her melodic voice she greeted them with a smile, neatly coming to a stand still as close to them as she dared - several feet away. The flowers, now with pale blue mingling with the white and the purple, continued to bloom around her hooves - but her attention was not on them. It was on this pair, for they were infinitely more fascinating. The girl looked fragile, so fragile that she had cracks all over her body. As though if Isilya were to touch her with the lightest of caresses she would completely shatter. “Are you hurt? My mama taught me some plants that can help with things that hurt.” Her voice was softer this time, recalling the words she had heard from the boy as she had approached. Did she need healing?
06-22-2015, 05:29 PM (This post was last modified: 06-22-2015, 05:35 PM by Joscelin.)
joscelin
He doesn’t leave when she tells him to. A part of her expected that, the part that remembers their youthful adventures. He isn’t afraid of her, even if he should be. That part of her is glad that he doesn’t go. The sadness and hurt long for a shoulder to cry on, an ear to spill her woes into. The other part, the dangerous one, is angered that he is so callous with his life. Furious that he will not let her stew in peace. Gladdened that her rage now has a target. In that moment the apathy gives way to those warring halves of her. The cracks etched into her skin begin to shimmer and glow, a sure sign of an oncoming storm.
By sheer dint of will, she brings the raging emotions inside of her under some semblance of control. Her golden eyes shine brightly as her gaze turns to lock onto Ramiel’s, a lifeline in the wild tempest that she has become. Slowly, so slowly that the battle is easily visible, that first part wins out. The sadness etches onto her features as her body sags ever so slightly. The light flickering along her broken edges begins to fade until it snuffs out, leaving only the blackness of the cracks scoring her skin.
She doesn’t answer his question for several long moments. When she finally does, her voice is small, quiet. He would have to strain to hear her.
No. Not anymore.
It’s true her body no longer hurt. It had though. Oh had it hurt. He could not possibly imagine what it had felt like to be overtaken by a chill so frigid that her body could not move. To freeze as hard glass. To shatter, as though someone had tapped on her frozen body with a hammer. To be consumed by a terrifying blackness, knowing that this is how it ends. To be brought back in a firestorm of agony, body pieced hastily back together and welded by searing magic. To scream and scream and never able to make a sound. He would never know. And that was the worst pain of all.
She doesn’t notice the filly until she speaks, her gaze glued to Ramiel’s as it is, silent, desperate appeal in those golden depths. Her head whips around, eyes widening as they land on the flower strewn filly. She back pedals quickly, not looking where she is going. As a result, she rams solidly into a tree. The jolt brings the light sparking back to life beneath her skin. It flickers madly, as though seeking an escape. Had she been more herself, she might have noticed the distinctive white and gold, realized that this must be another sibling. Instead she looks at her with wild eyes, wondering what had possessed her to wander into a grove pockmarked by holes.
The girl’s comment causes her to laugh, a laugh as strained and broken as the rest of her.
Plants can’t help me.
there's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye
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He can see the emotions sparring on her face. At first he thinks he has calmed her, that his presence alone is the stopping power to whatever force she contains. He, too, thinks of their childhood. He remembers the running away, the wildcat, the river. He remembers the games of chase and of hide-and-seek; of listening to their mothers sometimes but disobeying in increasing frequency. How long those days seem away from them now. They are on the verge of adulthood, with plans having been already set in place by their parents. They have survived so much already, learned so much about themselves and others. But separation is imminent.
She loses it just as he reaches out to steady her. Ramiel pulls away as the cracks glow with their unbidden flames. The quickness with which he moves surprises even him, and he immediately feels sorry for it. It’s surely the reaction she dreads, this fear. How horses would see the flickering of a broken girl and be wary enough to stay away – fear of the unknown (and uncontrollable? he wonders) at its finest. He exhales a breath he hadn’t known he was holding before finding her gaze again. Gold meets gold, his own eyes staring back at him, the same alarm in both of their depths.
There’s a strength though, too; the strength of iron bars. The greying colt doesn’t think Joscelin can even feel it right now, but it’s obvious to him. She wields it unknowingly and pulls the shattered pieces of her mind (if not her body) back together, at least for now. Finally, the blasting light darkens to nothing. Only her broken egg-shell body remains. That, and a voice nearly too meek to hear. He is standing close enough to barely make it out, however.
Not anymore. Not anymore, but it had at one time. Not anymore, but when the cracks had opened, the agony of each inch of each line had been like hellfire. When the wormhole had failed me, I felt each moment of my shattering like a lifetime. Not anymore, she says, but he can see that she hurts still, in a far different way. She asks for help without a sound and of course he will oblige. Ramiel steps forward, his muzzle a soft whisper on the curve of her shoulder. His gaze leaves hers’ long enough to access the cob-webbing, to see down into the blackness where light had once shone.
A sudden sound startles Joscelin into motion. She moves backwards and the lights begin to come to life again. Anger heats the ghost-boy. He had been so close to breaking through whatever walls his sister has built up, so close to acceptance of her changes. But when he turns, his anger evaporates into the too-warm fall air. It’s only a girl, younger than them. A flowering vine meanders its way down the length of her stark, white back. More blossoms appear at her feet, growing heedlessly despite the late season. Ramiel doesn’t know what to make of her at first, but soon remembers himself. “I’m Ramiel and this…this is Joscelin. Who are you?”
He looks nervously between the two of them. If Josc suddenly loses it – as her skin seems to suggest she might – he will have to find a way to protect this young girl. She offers to find healing flowers (and the boy fully believes in her penchant for plants) but he’s not sure they will do anything at this point. His sister agrees, laughing darkly at the idea. Ramiel gives her a stern look as if he hadn’t expected her to be so dismissive of a little girl. “She means thank you for your offer.” He smiles at the ivory filly, but it’s brief and worried. “Who are your parents? Maybe you should find them for now,” he says, though not unkindly, wondering if she can sense the danger that had very recently damaged their clearing.
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again
ooc: of course not, the more the merrier! yay sibling thread <3
She did not feel endangered by the mare, did not pick up on the warnings that maybe she should get out of there. Of course, she was under no real danger - her magic would have protected her if something were to happen. Her only worry was for the older girl who reacted oddly to her presence, or two something, and backed violently away until she ran into a tree, stopping her retreat. Isilya’s brow furrowed with concern and she took a step forward before thinking better of it. Perhaps, given her state, it would be better to give this fractured-looking mare a bit of space. Maybe she just didn’t like to be around others! Isilya thought that she could understand that - her own mother kept to herself more often than not, breaking the habit for her daughter or for Tiphon.
Mostly, though, Isilya was raised by the Dale - not those that lived in it, the two before her represented the first that she had ever met - but the land itself. It nurtured her and taught her. She played games with the butterflies and raced with the foxes and it was ever her favourite thing to lay in the sunlight and dream of dark skinned fairies that talked to her of magic.
Now though, her attention rested with the two before her - this beautiful pair that shared her blood, that she had been called toward.
More accurately, this was when her attention was drawn to the male - Ramiel as he introduced himself. Joscelin and Ramiel! She smiled politely then, nodding her acknowledgement of this exchange of names. “It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you, I’m Isilya.”
He continued, asking her where her parents were and suggesting that she go and find them. What a silly thing to do! She had just been with her mother she did not need to go find her again, not until she felt hungry later on. But he had asked her a question and the little magician was too polite to deny him an answer. “My parents? They’re Katniss and Tiphon. But why would I find them when I have you two?” Innocence radiated from that smile as she looked between them, eager for friends and to be accepted. She wanted to help Joscelin, wondered if there was any way that she could. Perhaps they could create a salve that would cover up her hurt. Hundreds of possibilities, idea, kept popping around her mind as the flowers continued to pop around her hooves - crowding against her legs in their desire to be next to the little girl that shimmered in the sun.
The girl doesn’t leave. She feels as though her entire soul is splitting apart, and yet the girl does not leave. Of course, how could she have known? Joscelin’s entire world has fallen apart and no one can feel it but her. Ramiel is trying. He knows a little. So very little though. Not enough to help her.
She hadn’t meant to thank her. She should be grateful that Ramiel has done it for her. She speaks again, offering only words this time. Katniss and Tiphon. Father. Yes, she should go find father. He could protect her. That the child (she had said her name. Isilya) needed protection from her grieves her. Enrages her. She had become something to be feared rather than loved. She had become something terrible. She needs to tell her, make her understand. Save her from herself.
You don’t want me. You should… you should find him. Find father.
She feels as though she should probably be crying. But the tears won’t come. Her golden eyes remain dry. A war rages within those depths, but not a single tear falls. The light flickering beneath the surface goes mad. The blackness of the cracks have been replaced by light, no longer flickering but solid white. The sadness and anger is at war within her again, a maelstrom that has reached its breaking point. Confusion joins that battle of emotions. Why is this happening? Why won’t the rest of her heal as quickly as her body had?
She wants to scream at them to leave, but it’s too late. They hadn’t left when they had the chance. So she does the only things she can. With a wild leap, she bursts into the sky. Higher, higher. Not high enough. In a blinding burst, the light burns through the clouds, disintegrating anything unlucky enough to be in its path. Rampant energy gone, her flight breaks, unable to be maintained. And she falls. She has never fallen before. She should be frightened, but she hasn’t the energy to be. Tree limbs slow her descent, snapping beneath her weight. She lands upon the leaf littered earth with a heavy thud. She cannot tell if she has broken anything, and for the moment, she does not care. Her golden eyes remain fixed on the distant sky - a place that had once been a safe haven for her.
As she lay in the small clearing, the only thing she can manage is a faint, halting apology. The only consolation she can offer her earnest siblings.
I’m… sorry.
there's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye
html c insane | pictures c nazo-the-unsolvable.deviantart.com and akharlamov.deviantart.com
