"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
10-02-2019, 05:50 PM (This post was last modified: 10-02-2019, 05:50 PM by litotes.)
boy what's normal to you? 'cause that sure ain't normal to me.
Once of sunlight and spirit, Litotes is now a ragged thing. He reeks of downtrodden and rotten dreams, black shadows twisting angrily around his belly. He smiles to himself, though. Even through what emptiness he has found so prevalent in his heart, he smiles.
They are the teeth of a predator, those cruel things glittering in his mouth. And when he smiles it is void of emotion, like the way an artist can never truly catch the life of an eye. He tries to perfect this facade, one of quiet solitude and strength; but the truth is that the stronghold he held in his chest for so long has crumbled, and what demons he kept at bay have eaten him from the inside out.
It will not be long before he resembles an undead thing, a creature of the underworld.
Litotes finds that his crown is hollow yet heavy, void of meaning and wealth. In Pangea he rules, the kingdom he once felt such pride and stoic admiration for now lackluster and barren.
He misses his people, his Kensa, his children.
Alone, so utterly alone—how else can he define himself?
Amongst the red clay ruins of his world, he wonders, dust tinting the pale cremello of his hide red.
and if i fall would you know that to do? and if i'm caught up would you stay?
Being almost a year and a half old, Altissima was fairly certain that she was an adult. She certainly felt like an adult, at least in comparison to how young she used to be. This was the oldest she had ever been, after all. She wanders her home wondering if it will always be her home or if she could, and should, discover a life beyond its borders.
In the bright summer and red clay, Altissima and her owl companion stand out as they move – this is a pair made for the chill of winter and little else. Winter, the snowy owl, is flying near her bonded friend, bright golden eyes alert for whatever they may come across.
It’s a surprise to find Altissima’s father. Such a surprise that her eyes shift from their natural blue to a deep violet. Those dragon-eyes pick up the differences in Litotes but her life experience doesn’t provide her with any knowledge to explain why this version looks like the ghost of the one in her memories.
The yearling feels emotions twist her stomach though she’s not sure what any of them mean. There’s fondness, his silver-speckled face is one of the first she had ever seen, after all, but there’s also a sense of abandonment as well, and confusion, and a hollowness.
She doesn’t even know what to call him when she approaches, her legs moving her almost against her will. But they halt while there is still several feet between them, locking up. Her companion circles nearby, curious and wary.
“Hello father.” She settles on, though it feels odd and formal but she's not sure what else to do. She's confused by the caution and wariness she feels. Her reaction to him hinges on how he will react to her – will he be happy to see her? Will he be disappointed that she is not someone else?
boy what's normal to you? 'cause that sure ain't normal to me.
Litotes’ mother once told him that her love for him is like a river, raging and dangerous but not infallible. He did not know what she meant then, with those eyes so full of sorrow when they turned upon his wayward father. Looking back, the cremello knows that she must have seen what future was before him, as some wonderful mothers do. A weak smile curls his lips when he thinks of her weary face. He wonders if she would be ashamed of the job he has done with his children. Being an only child (on his mother’s side) spoiled him and taught him almost nothing of love that can stretch itself thin.
And incredibly thin has Litotes stretched himself.
That choking disappointment in himself takes his breath away at the sight of his pale daughter. He slowly turns to face her, eyes darkening with conflicting emotions. He settles on resignation and hesitant affection. He leans forward to brush his nose against her cheek, the movement so gentle and shy that he feels embarrassed. A father should never feel so uncertain of his daughter; yet, here he stands, before a child he has hardly seen and a reminder of a woman he may never have.
“Altissima,” he breaths out as he draws away, eyes now welling with unbidden love. “I have missed you.” She may not believe him, but he has, just as he misses every opportunity he lets float by him. In this case, the opportunities to show his daughter he cares for her slipped by quickly and harshly—so swift that he is not sure of how she has grown into the girl before him.
“Come,” he murmurs, gesturing vaguely behind him to a semi-underground spring. “I need a drink, and you can tell me how you’ve been on the way.”
and if i fall would you know that to do? and if i'm caught up would you stay?
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