"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
04-21-2016, 12:07 AM (This post was last modified: 04-21-2016, 12:09 AM by Volcan.)
Volcan
Burn slow, burning up the back wall Long roads, where the city meets the sky
She hesitates in being true to her word for a day or two after Vanquish’s return to her oasis. The smoke girl burns to bring honor to the family she has been so graciously adopted into, but therein lies her dilemma; she’s only truly met two members of the family, and only one face-to-face. She has a clear memory of the golden mare in the sky on the day of her birth from the sands, but she has failed to find the woman ever since. A more correct statement would be that Volcan has failed to find anyone; and although she hates to be a failure, she’s just a little too unsure to go waltzing into social gatherings right off the bat.
Best to take things slowly - to add kindling to the spark before true lumber.
With the sun beaming mercilessly down on the gangly yearling, she decides it will be now or never. Slivered eyes scanning the horizons, she wonders whether anyone will even hear her callings. To hell with it, She says softly, relishing how she can curse in her head whenever she wants. A true rebel, this one is. And anyhow, I’m close enough to the oasis; it’s just over there.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Volcan lets loose a high-pitched whinny, inviting her unknown brothers and sisters to come and play ‘house’ with her, as it were. In the silence that follows her summons, Volcan shifts her weight uncomfortably; how exactly she is going to go about this delicately is a mystery. One she will have to figure out right quick.
This is not the end, this is just the world Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
Kratos was no less in stature than his father, a twin in shadow albeit just wildly colored with his white flesh and myriad of black spots – a gift from his warrior queen mother. Nevertheless, there is no mistaking him as anything other than a son of Vanquish as he makes his way over the dunes, dusk casting a scarlet glow like blood dripping down gold as it fell across the sands. In the days since the war Kratos had busied himself with remembering all of the too-far oasis’ and hollowed caverns deep in the red rocks he had known so well as a child.
He is passing the great oak when a call reaches out to him, a thin veil of lightning sheathing down his body as he edges himself into a long-legged stride. He had yet to make the visit to his twin Kreios, as the Nightwalker had ordered, instead he seemed to always find more compelling prospects to entertain. Like his little electric lion he had been lusting in the shadows with, like the strange girl who calls out now.
She smelled of his father but carried none of his visible traits, so when the dragon’s son comes alongside her and sees she is no more than a child he knows this must be the girl the king had spoke of. His little smoke girl, Vanquish had called her and Kratos struggled to keep an incredulous scowl from twisting his lips. He had never known his father to be particularly empathetic for those that were not of his own bloodline, but nonetheless he does not glower now either – he would heed his father’s biddings, well, at least this one. “Hello, girl,” he says, a wolf’s smile snaking over his black lips, “and what might your name be?” He asks, white-fire crackling in his mouth as he dips his head to the crystalline waters, lightning seeps past his throat and ripples across the surface of the pool as he drinks.
Burn slow, burning up the back wall Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Of her supposed siblings, Volcan knows little - nothing more than that they exist, in fact. She knows nothing of Vanquish’s relationship with Lyric, or of Yael’s own adopted children, other than that they roam the far stretches of this universe, just as she does. Even less so does she know of her true blood siblings, of her twin Vi, who searches even now for her friend beyond the lands of Beqanna. Despite being freed from Camrynn’s time-altering grasp, Volcan still lives in a bubble of ignorance, completely unaware of her lineage, her siblings, her legacy.
The day of revelation looms closer with every wane and wax of the moon; but for now, this reality is all she knows.
He stands like Vanquish, and she knows him to be one of his immediately. His scent reminds her of her adoptive father, though in a strange way that she doesn’t particularly enjoy or trust; the bespeckled man smells of lightning and snow, rebellion and chaos. Her nostrils flare to study the scent more closely, but her train of thought is interrupted as the man greets her.
Ears tilting back just so, Volcan lifts her chin, scrutinizing the Percheron stallion with slivered eyes. He could lift one hoof and end her existence here and now should she become unwary. The sight of them must be laughable; a spindly girl barely managing 14 hands standing off against a monster of a stallion towering well around 18 hands who must be twice her weight. She isn't laughing, though.
“I am Volcan,” she replies coolly, from between ecru lips. Although the two are simply greeting each other, the filly feels almost that this first impression is one she can not lose to the titan before her; this interaction held weight. “And what is your name, boy?”
This is not the end, this is just the world Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
i like the ones who say they listen to the punk rock
i like the the kids who fight against how they were brought up
They all have a bit of a legacy these days, don’t they? Even those who aren’t born to parents whose names are written in the stars. Whether or not they bring honor to that legacy and increase it sevenfold, or let it fall into obscurity is completely up to them. Despite whatever circumstances surround their birth, they have their own agency to ride the current all the way to the end, or to swim upstream, fighting all the way. There is no right way, because if you’re raised like a salmon and live like a salmon, you’re going to swim upstream like the rest of the, even if you’re a trout. So who makes the fish? Nature or nurture? If sand is as comforting as your mother’s womb, what’s the point in running around like a howler monkey?
Monkeys don’t like sand. Sand doesn’t like monkeys. And so Alek and Q are very wise in this regard, and really, their philosophy should be written down and passed on to whatever younger siblings are to come. Eliora, perhaps, or you know, whatever kids they can properly influence. They two of them are having a grand ol’ time, laughing and horsing around by themselves when they hear Volcan’s call. Q’s ears swing towards her voice, casting a quizzical expression towards Alek.
Whatcha think? “I don’t know, she’s kind of weird.” And not like, actually our sister. “Yours, you mean. Last time I checked, I was still a cat.” Ass. Just for that, let’s go. “You know I could just stay here, and you’d be shit out of luck.” You know Ima would skin you aliiiiiive if you did that.
Alek growls, but says no more, and the pair head from a smaller oasis to the large one. The sun is setting, and it casts a deep red glow over the dunes, turning the caracal a burnt red color, and setting their shadows to giant-size. Qatar is large enough, but not as large at Kratos and Kreios are, tempered by Yael’s petite size instead of amplified by Lyric’s. He is glad to see his elder brother there, and offers an enthusiastic greeting to the two of them. Alek is less than pleased, however, remembering the mischief and sting of the spotted stallion’s sparks. He grumbles while they’re still out of earshot, “You didn’t tell me your brother would be here…”
Had Qatar the ability to speak, he would have deepened his voice to the tremorous rumble that Vanquish and Kratos possess, making fun of the imposing stallion in the way that only brothers can. Alek, however, cannot walk the walk that he talks, and would never dream of teasing Kratos to his face. Not after the last ill-timed remark. Instead, the cat holds his tongue and as the pair approach and offer a mild-mannered greeting, curiosity figuratively killing him.
“Volcan? Nice to meet you. This is Qatar, and I’m Alek. The big guy is Kratos.” He jerks his head politely towards the stallion that towers over all of them. “What’s going on?”
Qatar
the little mute prince.
i have no idea what this is, except that it is full of ramblings and puns...
