[private] won't you take your time on me; Hestia/Scorch

[Cagney]

there's an ocean inside my head; waves that don't ever rest

won't you take your time on me? 'cause we got nowhere else to be

Sand shifts beneath his hooves as he makes his way off the island, and then the ground falls away beneath his hooves as he picks up a comfortable lope and heads for Nerine, settling in for a long run along the river and through Hyaline. It would have been easier, perhaps, for Brennen to send a winged messenger, but at this moment Brennen prefers sublety over expediency, and Cagney is the subtler option. After all, nobody but his deceased lover, his erstwhile children, and his father know what he can do; so, as he slips between the threads of time, using it to speed up his own journey, he is as good as invisible. Even if someone sees him one minute, he’ll be gone without a trace before they can even focus on him.

(Even all these years later, he still guards his secret fiercely. With Brennen ascending to a higher rank, will he be able to do that?)

About noon, he crosses from the silt and rock shores of the river to firmer ground in Hyaline, and finally late afternoon the footing gives way to sand again, and he slows to a walk and looks around, releasing time around himself and heaving a sigh for his own weariness before he begins to look for the women Brennen had described to him – Hestia and Scorch. When he spots a likely candidate, he approaches, low voice tentatively offered to confirm their identity. Once he has assurance he’s found one of his targets, he relaxes a hair.

(As much as he’s ever relaxed – since her.)

He’s shorter than Brennen, lacks his sire’s famous wings; his bay is roaned and he’s considerably stockier though his dished face still reflects their shared heritage. But what Cagney does share with Brennen is the way he goes totally still, each movement measured and intentional. He doesn’t have the same air of easy confidence, but he doesn’t do anything that could be remotely called ‘fidgeting’, or even careless movement. “My fath- er, sorry, Brennen sent me to tell you he’s going to make his move very soon.” Internally, he curses himself for forgetting he shouldn’t be that informal anymore, but externally he simply offers a quiet smile.

CAGNEY

master of time

ooc; figured I'd throw this here for posterity in case someone wants to show up in Ischia when things go down

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

Months had passed since the meeting with Brennen and Hestia (and thankfully, those months had been migraine free), but never once had Scorch felt as if her life-long friend would fail to keep up his end of the deal. She understood the intricacies of mutiny, she'd been around long enough in general to understand that things take time, and more importantly, patience. Pre-death Scorch might have gnashed her teeth and stomped her hooves some at the wait; but post-death Scorch came with a newfound appreciation for life that allowed her to remain calmer in such intense situations.

But ah, today was the paramount; and she would allow herself to feel some excitement.

She smelt him before she saw him - but her dragon eyes did catch a glimpse of him for perhaps a split second longer than ordinary folk. All her senses attuned themselves to the stallion, and when he asked her identity, she confirmed it hastily, closing the distance between them with a scrutiny that bloomed from the tension she felt so deeply in the air tonight.

It was time.

"Thank you. We will be there." She turned to Hestia, or else went to find her; and just as the sun began to set, they set out for their soon-to-be sister kingdom, ready for the night journey and for the mutiny that would greet them come morning.

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle