"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
He hasn’t forgotten her (even amongst all his killings and adventures and quests and other “partners”) or their little game (a game which resulted in something – or, rather, someone – whom she would have to care for). He hasn’t forgotten their first and second encounters, or the way her gold eyes flared to life with spunk and emotion. He hasn’t forgotten the feeling of the two of them connected on that night, or the way their individual magic warred for a victory.
He’s back again, now, and his thoughts turn toward her. It’s been years since he saw her last. He wonders (although it isn’t tender thoughtfulness; his wondering offers no sympathy or love) if she has found a lover who will soothe her in the night when she wakes from dreams of his grinning, smug face. He wonders if she has had any children past her firstborn (and his firstborn, too), and whether they were raised better than theirs. He wonders if she’s getting along in her years, if her eyes are fading and her splashed coat is graying and her powers of the earth are growing weaker.
He doesn’t ask around to find her location (he never has, he never will), but heads for the most humid part of Beqanna. The musk of the Jungle leaks into his nostrils as he travels closer. The chill of the winter cold burns away to reveal the warmth of the Jungle’s constant temperatures and the swirling sounds of snow melt into the cawing of birds and growling of predators.
He doesn’t call for her. He does, however, uncaringly trek over the border and waits near a thin stream weaving between the underbrush. She will find him; she usually does.
And in the darkened underpass I thought,
"Oh Satan, my chance has come at last!"
She is so very tired.
The years have been creeping on her and have been dragging her down further and further. "Not long until I see you again," she mutters into the humid air with her gold-flecked eyes cast toward the canopy. Mother, Covet, and Scorch are all there. Her loved ones here are dwindling now but still she continues to live on. Myrina was convinced that she would be taken during the childbirth of her twins but she was mended and healed with time. Hours following their entrance to the world she was still lying in a fresh puddle of blood. Fear momentarily gripped her as she considered not being there for her sons. They matter so much to her but in the end she was still fairly absent in their lives. Her weakened state drove her into the shadows but her magic tendrils would stir the plant life around them to watch over them or protect them in any way possible.
Although better than Echion, Myrina wasn't an ideal mother either.
A sigh passes through her as she turns her head to the skies. Birds fill the branches above and sing their songs. She smiles delicately, but the kindness quickly evaporates when the trees whisper of someone so very familiar and yet nearly forgotten (but how could she ever truly forget him?). Her body bristles and she hesitates. Is she really prepared to hear him chide at her appearance? Is she stable enough to receive criticism on how she has changed with time? Myrina swallows the lump in her throat. There is no way she can deny him; she has never been able to turn him away when he would find her. Despite her adoration of Covet there was still a magnetism that kept her mind wondering of Lokii.
The earth trembles around him and the trees bow to the side before she steps through to meet him at the riverside. There is still a fire in the stare she finds him with but she is so very different. Gray hair scatters across her eyebrows and down her cheeks. Her fit body has weakened slightly but the Jungle still keeps her in moderate shape. Myrina isn't horrid; she doesn't have the ability to ever look ugly but her age is truly showing now in a way that she cannot prevent. Her voice, however, is as strong as it has always been. "Why are you back?" He has a tendency to come and go, but they always find each other.
Always.
But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask.
In his years of chaos-bringing and adventure, he still looks exceptionally good for his age. Perhaps the illusionism helps with that a little (pulling at the minds of those around him, unconsciously twisting their eyes to view him as that young stallion he had been once, even manipulating his own mind), or perhaps he is just rather good at taking care of his body. The gray hasn’t escaped him, however (it is beginning to show through around his eyes and muzzle, against his knees, in his silver locks), and he has to force himself to recognize that years are ticking by and taking his youth with him.
However, the Jungle still remains a constant river of life. He notices is it as he stands among the undergrowth, listening to the symphony of the Amazon’s forest sing about him. The birds nearby quieting their song (listening for, perhaps, the earth-wielding mare’s steps or in fear that the tree beneath them might give way if they don’t notice her presence) cause the trickster to turn his eyes toward the approaching shadow.
Speaking of age, he can tell the golden-eyed warrior has received it plentiful. Although her eyes still blaze with that fire and her magic still proves to be strong (the earth trembling and the trees quivering speak of that), her body is withering. Although muscle still hides beneath her coat, her spotted body is sprinkled with gray and the natural slenderness of a woman is receding into the sharp angles of an elderly mare. When she speaks, however, her voice is strong and familiar.
Her question is a simple one (although he finds himself pausing at the thought of it), compared to the myriad of words she had for him the last time he came creeping after her. His head tips to the side slowly, angular cheekbones stretching as his lips slip into that ever-present smirk of mischievous amusement. “I came to see if you were dead yet,” he admits. Sure, he was here to check up on her (did that, in itself, admit the small amount of care he might actually hold for her?).
The trickster forced the thought from his mind. He didn’t feel anything for the golden-eyed Jungle warrior (he never has, he never has, he never has, he never has…) and he never would. Besides, she must not feel anything for him, either. He can tell she has tried extra time at parenting aside from their failed daughter (he can see it in the lines of her face, in the sharpness of her hip bones, in the strength of her eyes, in the crease of her lips) and part of him wonders if she found love outside the tide-like (first arriving, then receding, in constant motion) presence of him.
A new edge took over his tone of voice, as if he were convincing himself of the words. “Unfortunately, you showed up and dashed my hopes.” Bruised eyes scanned the Jungle forest behind her. “Who’s queen of the Jungle nowadays?” he says, forcing a change in topic so she couldn’t have time (although he knew she would find it) to analyze his word choice and tone.
And in the darkened underpass I thought,
"Oh Satan, my chance has come at last!"
Her magic has been enough to keep her mind sharp even as her body began to betray her age. With her withers more prominent now and with gray hairs peppered across her pretty face Myrina feels lackluster and decrepit. She doesn't realize how fierce and beautiful she still is even in age. When she stares at Lokii with narrowed eyes she imagines herself as an old crone but she is still ever so proud looking - a warrior.
She tries hard not to melt when his voice emanates and breaks the drone of the birds and wild cats. The tone that she finds so familiar blankets across her threateningly. Without even trying he lures her deeper into his own spell, but she is battling tirelessly. Her nostrils dilate as they drink down his scent. It has been years since she has seen him and even longer since she last saw their daughter. Myrina knows he cares not for the wellbeing of their child; it was a mindless rendezvous that led to Brynhild's birth. The girl was healthy and beautiful but her face only reminded Myrina of her weaknesses and regrets.
She had to go.
Without realizing it Myrina exhales the breath that had caught in her throat. "Sorry to disappoint," she snarls as he looks past her at the Jungle engulfing them. She doesn't know whether to be insulted, shocked, or humored by his responses and so she stands in a brief silence as her attention roams. It would be so simple to wrap vines around him, to tether him down until he pleaded for mercy, and yet she can't bring herself to do it. A vine slithers in front of him but pauses and falls limp. "If I die then I would take you down with me," the words slip without any consideration. Would she be so bold as to ensure his demise to follow her own? Her lips purse shut. She couldn't drag him down with her; Covet will be in the afterlife. When that day comes Myrina wants peace, not to be eternally tormented by Lokii and his games.
But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask.
10-20-2015, 01:49 PM (This post was last modified: 10-20-2015, 01:50 PM by Lokii.)
this isn't mischief
He has to admit, although time has swept over them, she looks exceptionally well. The gray across her brows and fluttering her lips give her an aged look, but the fierceness in her eyes and the muscle under her skin prove she is still strong. He wonders, compared to her, how he might look. There is gray unashamedly beginning to spread across his torso and around his bruised eyes (a hidden genetic code finally coming into play), there is an ache of arthritis in his knees during winter (a consequence of his ambitious young life taunting the magician who broke said forelegs), and there is a certain degree of gauntness in his cheeks (outlying the sharpness of his bones underneath, bringing them to the forefront, yet giving him a handsome look).
He can almost sense her fight (after knowing her for so long, he’s almost gotten the hang of her – almost), but it’s hiding from him. He catches glimpses in the hard gold of her eyes (in the way her lips draw firm and grim, in the heavy flare of her nostrils), but other than that there is nothing he can identify. The snarl of her voice causes a thick chuckle to creep out of his mouth. “Calm down, babe,” he purrs. “It’s not the end of the world, the fact that we’re aging.”
Then she admits to bringing him down with her, when she dies, and he smirks. “Can’t go without me even in the afterlife, babe?” His bruised eyes dance with mingled amusement and mischief. He shrugs carelessly. “Although I suppose it would be fun to bother you everywhere you go…” The thought of going somewhere causes him to think about his interaction in the meadow with the girl that looked strikingly similar to this golden-eyed warrior.
“Speaking of which, I’m positive I met a daughter of yours in the meadow the other day. Spotted girl, young and sassy, with orange eyes… Ring a bell?” He pauses, then looks at her with something almost close to carefulness and deep interest mingled with – no, it couldn’t be – a sprinkle of hurt. “Who’s her father?”
lokii
this is mayhem
I hope you don't mind me adding Nayl and his conversation into this thread... Just wanted to give them something to talk about and sedate Lokii's curiosity. (;
And in the darkened underpass I thought,
"Oh Satan, my chance has come at last!"
Why is it so challenging to hold a grudge against him? She wants so desperately to hit him, to choke him of air with a single thought threading into the vines, but she doesn't. Instead, she sighs in resignation when his teasing voice tumbles past his lips. "I don't know how in the Hell I'm able to put up with you," an unexpected chuckle vibrates through her entire body and all the rigidity in her face melts away. "You can push my buttons and yet--" she cuts herself off because she doesn't quite know how she feels about him. Once, she had wanted - needed - him despite not even knowing his name. The magnetism between them couldn't be ignored but it was all a game to him.
That's all anything ever is to him.
"I swear, if you're in the afterlife with me, I'm going to lose my shit." In a good way or bad? Myrina isn't quite certain as she turns her eyes away from him. The Jungle is serene and in a relaxing lull until his voice breaks the silence again. Everything had been in humor (despite her sharp retorts) until he mentions her daughter. Before she can even look at Lokii, her mind is already grabbing at tree roots and the world around them. Vines snake toward him as trees groan leaning toward him. The ground trembles. Only then does Myrina face him again. "Don't touch my daughter." It isn't a request; it's a demand that she knows full well he won't obey or respect. "Why are you talking to her?" She can only hope Nayl has enough strength to evade his advances when Myrina was not at that age.
With the Jungle raging around him, circling him like a cage, she inches closer. There are flames crackling in her eyes. "Why do you want to know her father?"
What torment does he want to instill on her family once obtaining that knowledge?
But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask.
