"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
There was a slight tremor to the night that pressed in against Carli’s thoughts. She was a child of this land, and yet she had outgrown most of these trees. Why would the land renew itself, and then allow sinners like her back inside its borders? Her golden eyes looked through the forest—so familiar and yet so foreign. A forest that had grown from nothing since she’d left. The days that she had spent in exile, wiling away the years of her immortality. Children she’d had—loves she’d suffered under.
It always led her back here. And now amongst the trees, she was no more as the rest of them. Bleeding into a tapestry of nothingness, she was able to be “normal” for the first time in her entire life… if there was such a thing. The land was stained with the blood of her ancestors, and of her children.
And yet she remained.
The solemnity of that reality made Charlemagne all the more determined to live her life as she pleased. Her solitude would come to an end eventually. But for now, she clung to the outskirts of a life she knew would be hers…
Something is not right. It is not quite wrong but it is also very far from right.
This morning Djinni had found herself staring at a blue jay. It was so quick, so bright, and she smiled at the way it screeched raucously at the hawk overhead. Then she watched the hawk, and then the clouds, and then the play of sunlight on the forest floor. All were things she has seen a hundred times before. This morning they had seemed new. The world had captured her in a way that it had not since she was a child, and she had been utterly enthralled.
The sensation is not uncomfortable so she does not dismiss it. She allows it to settle, and even begins to appreciate the small dose of joy she gets from each thing she finds. Eventually it fades, leaving her feeling somewhat empty. Perhaps going somewhere new will bring it back.
Djinni appears in the forest, her pied coat dappled by the sunlight the streams down through the leaves overhead. The canopy is starting to go brown here; Autumn is fading into winter. The trees in Sylva will remain the same throughout the seasons, and Djinni adds bits of their ever-fiery coloring to the ends of her frosted mane and tail at the thought. Nothing else changes: she is the slim grullo tobiano that she most often is, with hoops in her ears and chains at her ankles that clink softly with each step she takes.
She walks for several minutes but the sensation of novelty does not return. Time to return to Sylva, she decides, but then her attention is caught by movement nearby, and her sea green eyes find a buckskin mare nearby. The other female is a pretty creature, and Djinni has always appreciated beauty in its many forms. She moves closer, a soft smile on her dark mouth as she says:
"Hello." The grullo mare keeps a comfortable distance between them; close enough to talk but not so close as to be rude. There is nothing foreboding in her physique (she is small and slight) or in her eyes (as gentle and curious as her smile) when she asks the stranger "What brings you to the woods?"
TOUCH MY OWN SKIN AND HOPE THAT IM STILL BREATHING
The light plays with the trees in a way that is less than natural, and in her mind, Charlemagne thinks she has spotted another like her. Magic comes in many forms, and for the timebeing, she finds she is comforted in the presence of power. She turns towards the friendly voice, a canary flapping towards the opening of her cage… and then she smells it.
Stillwater’s scent on her pelt. She was positively drenched in it.
And the same bangles on her body. The way they jingled was almost intoxicating. Addicting. Her body was perfect, and she, like the other, was definitely in silent appreciation of a delectable body. And yet….
“I am out here, looking for the Forbidden Dale. I seem to have lost it. Can you help me?”
Way to go, Carli girl. Way to play dumb.
She smiles, her golden eyes settled on the other woman, wondering what information she could hope to learn from this other woman… and perhaps what she had to do with the slippery man at the lake.
Interesting turn of events, that. Perhaps her evening would not be so boring after all.
I HAD A WAY THEN LOSING IT ALL ON MY OWN I HAD A HEART THEN BUT THEN QUEEN HAS BEEN OVERTHROWN
03-06-2017, 11:44 AM (This post was last modified: 03-06-2017, 11:56 AM by Djinni.)
This is where Djinni truly excels.
She does not have to know everything to perfect this, does not have to have an intimate knowledge of a person's character to become ideal. She simply finds the appreciation in the buckskin mare's eyes and wishes herself to perfection. Perhaps she's a bit taller - or shorter - with fuller curves (or perhaps a more slender figure or a more muscled physique). A second look from her target (and they always take a second look) and they'll think they had been blind a moment before, for surely the horse in front of them was the most perfect creature they'd seen. Not so perfect as to seem art - untouchable - but so exquisitely lovely that when she smiles at them, reaches out to them, they'll count each of their life's blessings and realize the sum of them is nothing compared to this moment with Djinni.
She does this each time she takes a lover; Djinni leaves them forever certain that she was - and will remain - they best they have ever had.
(But she does have an exception. It had been an accident, she tells herself, a mistake she cannot repeat. One blue-eyed stallion had seen her as she truly was, had taken her while she was bare of any disguise.)
Her denial makes the winged mare in front of her all the more appealing. If - no, when - she takes her, it will wash the taste of the black stallion from her mouth. Her breathy cries will clear away the groans she remembers too well, her soft doelike hide will remain delightfully furred beneath her roving kisses.
That autumn has slipped away does not concern her, that the season for conception is past is not troubling. Djinni is no longer under the instinctive spell of the fall, but as she takes a step closer to the buckskin mare it doesn't matter. She will take her as a mare, or perhaps a stallion if Charlemagne prefers, but she take her nonetheless and bury her memories where they belong. The love of women has no season, and her mouth waters with anticipation as she takes another step closer. Those feathered wings will be soft around her, and the slope of her neck and the smooth curve of her hip will be warm beneath her touch and her cries of ecstasy will leave no room in Djinni's mind for anything else.
"The Dale?" She repeats in her sand-rough voice, nothing more than innocent curiosity in her green eyes. "You've not lost it. It's gone." Djinni does her best to be gentle. She knows how devoted some of them had been to their old homes. The grullo mare finds this new land to be far better, but she has her priorities. She doesn't want to argue the merits of this land versus that one; she wants to lose herself in this glossy eyes vision and entirely forget the troubles that had come with the discovery of these new lands.
They are close enough to touch now, but Djinni refrains; she never makes the first move. Their conversation is not entirely conducive to her end goal, but she is willing to be patient. If she wills Charlemagne to reach out, to touch her and begin, she does not do so consciously. There are boundaries that even Djinni does not cross; she might set a trap but she will never force a creature into it.
Still, the bait is placed and she offers the mare a smile that is full of condolence as she says: "All the old kingdoms are gone. We've new ones now; had you not heard?" She supposes it is possible, for those who call the meadow, forest and field their home. They might have woken on the mountain and simply climbed back down to the places they knew and never looked past the sparking mist at the edges. Djinni is not at all suspicious of the buckskin's intentions, and even if she were it wouldn't matter. She's not trying to recruit this lovely stranger, she's only trying to seduce her.
TOUCH MY OWN SKIN AND HOPE THAT IM STILL BREATHING
…You’ve not lost it. It’s gone.
Just as she thought then. Plunged into the sea with all that was left of her power… and her history. And yet, with the simpering sweetness that was upon the other woman’s face, Carli found herself momentarily entranced by the magic that was taking place before her. She, perhaps unlike most around them, would be none the wiser that they were being put under a spell. Charlemagne, being all too familiar with the intoxicating way that the lady moved—having done it once or twice herself—felt herself going under, and being unable to stop it.
Perhaps this knowledge would work out in her favor.
Go in the direction of the power, let it lead you to your own.
The smell of Stillwater was heady to her own throat, and she swallowed as she stepped closer. It was as her truth serum. She was well aware and well versed in this kind of magic, but found that she was bound—to what, she was not sure… and yet. “The Dale was my home, in the days of old. I am in search of a way to restore the bloodright of my birth. This land has been drained of its magic, and I seek to find a way to be restored.”
Carli steps closer to the genie, who was weaving her magic in such a way as to be perfectly beautiful—and perfectly devastating. The truth was being pulled from her lips, even as surely as her body was being reeled towards the other woman—enticing bangles and all.
Slippery man, who?
Capture the canary, you temptress.
“I am Charlemagne.”
I HAD A WAY THEN LOSING IT ALL ON MY OWN I HAD A HEART THEN BUT THEN QUEEN HAS BEEN OVERTHROWN
She watches, careful, and sees that the buckskin mare does not crumple under the news of her lost home. For a moment she had feared she might, that all would be lost to sadness and comfort, but the stranger rebounds, steps closer, stokes the fire. Mourning that which cannot be replaced would be futile, and while little could change Djinni's intentions, she is grateful that she does not need to offer a sympathetic shoulder.
Instead, it seems that the buckskin mare is looking for something more than a physical location; a search that Djinni knows all too well. "What was taken from you?" She asks as she comes closer, a hair's breadth only between them. "Not your wings, it seems." She says as she gestures toward the lovely feathers, "Something else?" Beqanna has left all of them with something, she knows, but the immortality that had replaced magic on her own blood was a poor substitute. She had struggled for too long without it, and has sworn she would not do so again.
It does not occur to her that lovely "Charlemagne" (She repeats the name, savors it) might have lost something of equal value. Even if it had, Djinni would not change. The allure of beguiling a magician would be, if anything, even sweeter. Djinni had almost caught a magician once before, but his eyes were too clouded by love to truly see her beauty, and she'd let him slip away. She prefers her prey willing, like Charlemagne seems to be. "I'm Djinni," she tells her softly, her voice barely audible were the two of them not so close. "What did you lose?" are the sounds her mouth makes, though 'I can make you forget the loss for a while,' are what she suspects Charlemagne might hear.
TOUCH MY OWN SKIN AND HOPE THAT IM STILL BREATHING
What did you lose?
So much. Oh, so much. Carli’s love of her throne, her power—her daughter and her dead lover… it was all gone. And it all played before her like an erotic dance that the magician played. She was caught in a trance, almost. Moving of her own begotten will. She had held secrets close to her breast, clutching it like so many pearls. And yet, in the state that she was in—even as she felt like she was drowning in her own brain, the golden canary flapped her wings, and pushed back from Djinni, as if trying to claw her way to freedom. To safety.
To anything.
“Magic” was the word that tumbled out of her mouth. So rushed and harried. So unlike her. “I wish so badly that I had my magic back.” And she closed her eyes and stepped towards Djinni, fully aware that she was giving herself over to someone else like her. An enveloping embrace that only power can bring.
She was weak. In the end, she gave in. She always does.
And the scent of Stillwater is carried away into the wind, as Charlemagne’s reality became blurred in a haze of intoxicating power that she herself was aware of, but too physically weak to beat.
Her black leather boots trembled in anticipation, silky black tresses fell in front of her face, hiding her golden eyes. She longed for freedom. And she longed for power.
You learned a long time ago, Carli girl. You cannot have both.
I HAD A WAY THEN LOSING IT ALL ON MY OWN I HAD A HEART THEN BUT THEN QUEEN HAS BEEN OVERTHROWN
03-07-2017, 07:49 AM (This post was last modified: 03-07-2017, 07:51 AM by Djinni.)
The power of a title has never appealed to Djinni. It is her privilege, of course, that makes her that way; why would a girl born to a king and his queen need to care about titles? She was already doubly a princess, born to lovers that were themselves the children of kings and queens. Her blood puts the sapphire sky overhead to shame; it's no wonder she had not thought twice when turning down her inheritance of the Desert.
Djinni does not mind when she is not recognized, does not care that her name is uncommon, does not savor the honorific of 'queen' that now precedes her name.
But power in small doses, the temptation of it, the way they salvor and beg as she dangles their dreams in front of them? That she adores. The thrill of it had been an balm to her suffering the moment she had found her missing djinn. When Charlemagne admits that she, too, had lost her magic, Djinni knows she has the pretty mare well and truly caught.
The moment Charlemagne steps forward and they touch, Djinni smiles. She had been smiling before, of course, but her clear eyes are hazier now, flecked with golden sand that spirals through her as she presses her dark muzzle to the soft spot below the other mare's jaw.
She is just as soft as Djinni had hoped, gives beneath her touch just as she'd imagined. The heat from their contact is more than physical though - she has heard Charlemagne's wish. The buckskin mare will feel it, a soft and furious implosion at the surface of her skin where magic is placed just out of her reach.
Djinni pulls her head away and seems to take the magic with her (though it is Beqanna, likely amused at her attempts but unwilling to rerun a gift that has not yet been earned), and when she presses another kiss a little lower on her neck, Charlemagne will feel the spark in both places. Again she pulls away, leaving only the fading heat of her mouth on yellow hide.
"What would you do for it?" She whispers into the beauty's ear. Her breath is cool, a contrast the the quick blaze of chicanery where her cheek brushes Charlemagne's ear. She'll feel it all three places now, burning with Djinni's touch and vanished entirely when they are not in contact.
The grullo mare takes a step away, her eyes cloudy with lust and sorcery. This game of give and take: this is what she needs. Something to take her mind and shut it away, something to box away the fretting and replace it with something that does not require thought at all. This is only physical, only temporary, but she touches her black nose once more to Charlemagne's to sweetly singe her with power the magician will feel but cannot control, and wills it to last long enough to scrub her memory.
TOUCH MY OWN SKIN AND HOPE THAT IM STILL BREATHING
What would she do for magic? Nothing. Everything.
“Anything.” she moans and steps further into the genie’s embrace, pushing her neck into the kisses and groaning as she feels the heat rising off of her. Carli’s wings flare outward stretching out to grab at Djinni and pull her closer, wanting the heady scent of magic and sex and lust to wash over her. It is barely a moment, really, but she feels that tempting charge—that awakening—and her feathers shake, momentarily flashing with images of her token dragonfly wings. Carli sees them and she all but groans again. She slides her body further into her momentary lover, sighing softly in the dark. “I would do anything.”
The flashes of her wings continue as she feels the heat of the magic just barely out of her reach, and then feels herself floating away, allowing her consciousness to become as nothing—for now, she has no mind, no memory. She simply allows herself to feel. To simply be loved. She presses kisses into Djinni’s hair, which has gone wild and tussled.
Carli’s mind is in a fog, and as she allows herself to kiss and be kissed, she is merely carried away into nothingness, allowing the seductive woman her whims.
I HAD A WAY THEN LOSING IT ALL ON MY OWN I HAD A HEART THEN BUT THEN QUEEN HAS BEEN OVERTHROWN
Those wings are as soft as she'd imagined, feather-light and warm as they drag her in, and for a while she forgets. There is heat and fire but no time for the teasing and playfulness she most often enjoys, there is only rush and want and need as she presses herself along Charlemagne, forces the mare to dance along the very edges of power just out of her grasp.
She kiss the yellow neck, traces her dark muzzle down the dipping dorsal stripe and the sleek curve of the mare's golden rump, knowing exactly the right touch, the right places. Charlemagne is so different, bright instead of dark, but it is not enough. Djinni is still herself and that is too much, and so she nips harder at the base of the black tail than she might have. She rears up, changes, presses down on the buckskin's back as a stallion. He burns with need - the need to forget - and takes it out on the mare below him, rough and savage as he holds her withers beneath his mouth, scrapes her flawless shoulders with heavy hooves. He holds the magic still, knows she will feel it everywhere he presses against her back, knows it will be enough to keep her beneath him until he has want he wants and then...
He does, and there is bright and molten fire and supreme physical satisfaction...and emptiness.
The pleasures is still seeping through her body as she - she, again - throws herself down, but she feels only the hollowness where something else should be.
She can't name it, not when she refuses to admit to herself that he has tainted everything for her. This should have been enough, a pretty face, a dark wood, her name moaned aloud.
But it was not enough.
Perhaps nothing will ever be enough again.
Djinni has not forgotten Charlemagne (she wishes her pleasure intense enough to blot out the trees overhead) but there is no longer any allure to her, not with her golden (not blue) eyes or sunshine (not midnight) hide. The grullo horse doesn't bother to hide the disappointment in her expression - let Charlemagne think she is the reason - as she presses a friendly kiss to the mare's forehead. She had not promised the buckskin mare anything; as far as Djinni is concerned this had been a legitimate trade.
"I can't give you magic," she tells Charlemagne. "You'll have to ask the Mountain for that." There'd already been life stirring within the other mare's belly, and with the first real smile since she'd met her, Djinni wishes the unborn child to be - at least for a few hours after birth - a lovely shade of smokey grullo tobiano. And then she's gone in a puff of golden sand, leaving Charlemagne used, alone, and still empty of magic.
