"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 wasn’t quite sure where he belonged - he was something in between, a rift between life and death, ‘good’ and ‘bad’. He was born into this world with a rift of powers: one to revive the flora so close to life, and one to call upon the dead. So far, he had yet to do much of either- so far, he felt as though he was teetering on the precipice of what he could be, of what direction to take.
If he was older, perhaps he would realize that things are not so black and white. There is no deciding factor on ‘good’ and ‘evil’ in this world. Rather, it is a fine and thin line that one chooses to cross each and every day. To Wu, however, it felt like the powers he was given at birth was a delineating question that once answered, would echo throughout his life. Perhaps if he had spent more time here, he would see that every soul is a mix of sweet and sour, that we are all a little more grey and not so much black and white. But the naivety of young souls always outshines - and so he remained wobbling and unsure of who he really was.
He felt volatile, unstable, a constant battle waging in his heart of which way to go. And so he went nowhere. He spent his youth in the dark woods, neither summoning or reviving - simply hiding. He conversed only to the birds, whispered to the dark things in the night, and found friends in the fauna. But what kind of life is that? A solitary and soulless (how ironic) one. It was a life bordering on insanity (and oh, what a dangerous place to spiral to). He knew, somewhere on the edges of his sanity, that remaining in that coven of a woods would break him.
And so he left, picking his way through the dense woods until the trees thinned and out into the field he stepped.
05-20-2021, 09:53 AM (This post was last modified: 05-20-2021, 10:50 AM by Reave.)
i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
Reave had been born into a world of gray. Where so many youth believed in the fallacy of good versus evil, Reave had long understood otherwise. Not to do so would mean he must then be evil. After all, he had killed his mother. In a world of black and white, only the heinous kill. But Lilli had never let him believe it, even in the depths of her grief.
And so Reave had been born knowing the world is not a simple one. Everything he has known since then has only confirmed it.
Though spring is now heavily upon them, the young stallion could not be pressed to remain for too long on the windswept moors of his territory. The winds had grown milder and the gorse and flax had begun blooming, but with company sparse, the temptation to find other sport is far too great.
It is not often Reave finds himself in the field. Of course, as a youth, extolling the virtues of ones home had hardly seemed an exciting prospect. Truth be told, it still doesn’t. Even so, Reave rather suspects he could find interesting company here, even if he did turn out to be a terrible saleshorse.
When a black and pearly white form catches his eyes, he shifts his attention curiously, peering at the stallion for a long, contemplative moment before deciding he looks at least moderately interesting. Reave, in all his youthful zeal, is an inherently selfish creature. And so, the majority of his life decisions thus far had been balanced on the decisive edge of whether he imagined something would be boring or exciting.
As he approaches, he can see flashes of the other stallion’s memories flitting like fireflies on the turbulent whirls of his emotions. Though some are far too brief to catch, the one thing that becomes perfectly clear is his uncertainty. It brings a small, speculative smile to his lips as he draws to an easy halt near the stranger. He is undoubtedly an odd sight, with glowing bone puncturing his shoulders and hips, features wrent by a half-grown mask. But Reave, so accustomed to his oddity now, bears the confidence of someone far more beautiful than he.
“You don’t look so sure about being here,” he quips by way of greeting, head tilting curiously. His grin widens then, vibrant blue eyes gleaming from the shadows of his growing mask. “Or is it that you’re not sure about where you’ve been?”
There is the comfort of the woods, it’s echoed stories turned ash and stone in the mouths of the creatures who cannot talk. And then there is this - a vast open field that is dotted with horses, groups of two or three, those alone and grazing, and even larger groups yet. It is much more than Wu was anticipating, or ready for. Perhaps he thought that he would be allowed a grey transition into the world - a transition that happened quietly, seeking out the company of others in his own comfort. Sometimes it seems things are quite black and white - his tomb of solitary trees quickly exchanged for a myriad of horses before him.
It is mere moments before Wu sees one of these horses coming towards him - and a moment of brief panic ensues. He was not quite ready to be so involved, to be a part of this world he knew was occurring beyond the yawn of the trees. He supposed though, he truly did not have a choice. It was this - or it was a deep bow to kiss the mouth of insanity.
Unless it was insanity who was coming towards him now - a being that quite clearly set its marker on the ‘evil’ side of that poorly drawn line. Bone caressed his painted body where bone clearly should not have been. His eyes were iced over like the forests’ lake throughout winter - the water so sharp it was painful to taste. He was tall - though not as quite as tall as the trees Wu knew - but tall enough to stand up to death. Should the world have been black and white, this gentleman looked like he belonged on the darker side. Wu’s naivety, for all that it judged through, must have held some inkling of truth (though Wu did nary know of Reave’s history of murder).
There is little time for Wu to change course, change his mind, change anything - for the stallion was upon him in all his hallowed being. He’s speaking to Wu, as if it was a common enough thing (perhaps it is so simple, to just approach another and speak?). He’s asking questions (or is he making statements?).
It takes a moment for Wu to find his words - something that had been saved for the flora and fauna- “I was there. There for a while. And now I am here.” That much, Wu knew. The woods is (was?) his home - he knew that was the only place he had been. ““I.. I don’t know.. I’m not sure. I’m not really sure about where I’m going?” His voice cracks slightly from disuse, and his statement inflects upwards, as if he really isn’t sure at all. “Are you going?” And Wu realizes this isn’t perhaps the right way to ask a question. This much he knows. “I meant. Why are you here?” Maybe that wasn’t really what he meant either, though.
The sharp cry of an eagle breaks the soft hum of the field, the large bird visible overhead as it circles before being lifted by a current. Though he rises beyond the sight of a normal equine, Reave knows he is still there, still far above them. Still watching.
It brings a sense of satisfaction, knowing he would never truly be alone.
But his attention does not waver from the stallion before him. The tide of panic had brought memories surging to the fore, isolation and madness curling between them. Between the memories of time past lie snippets of what might yet come. In one lies a creature so deranged it would be hard to call him equine anymore. It stirs curiosity in Reave, admirer of chaos that he is, and he finds himself wanting to know more. Always more.
The stranger’s reply to Reave’s peculiar greeting is confused and uncertain, spelling clearly that which the young stallion had already seen. It brings a small smile to his lips even as a faintly impish gleam lights his sharp blue eye.
“I am here, and I was also there,” Reave replies, mirroring Wu’s own response, eyes fixed almost teasingly on the black and white stallion. “Soon, I will be elsewhere.” His grin widens for a moment before he shifts restlessly, a faint, brief chuckle escaping his lips. “But I am here because I was bored, and you looked interesting.”
Reave had no reason to lie to this stranger, no reason not to tell him exactly why he had chosen to approach. And so far, he can’t say he is disappointed. Of course, with only a few words exchanged between them thus far, a great deal could easily change still. As he considers the stallion with an open speculation, he continues rather abruptly, his tone prodding, testing, “Does that disappoint you? Do you wish to be elsewhere now?”
Is there an innate fear in being alone? Does silence and solitude truly carry with it a trepidation? Wu had been ‘alone’, in a manner of speech. But a soul can only be in solitude for so long without tasting the bittersweet tang of insanity. So he created his own cache of creatures to correspond with. He became friends with the things that did not quite speak like him. He created his own version of ‘never truly alone’. (Although just the existence of another soul nearby does not quell the crazy). Perhaps Wu had been truy alone, without another being to understand, respond, and react.
Wu hears the eagles’ cry and twists an ear inquisitively. This was a bird he was not intently familiar with - for he knew the calls of each feathered being that lay await in the woods. Perhaps this was a new type of creature that only resided in this newfound place he stepped into. There was too much too different - too many things he was unaware of, unfamiliar with, unsure of.
The eerie bone mask is cracked with a sly smile, and Wu inwardly tracks through the features he knows - the leer of the night things, the doe eyed expression of newborn babes, the head cocks of the birds watching from the trees. This expression that lay on Insanity before him, was not one he could for certain decipher. He knew what a smile was, of course (because yes, he had smiled to himself in those dark woods) - but what did it mean? What thoughts lay lightly on those upturned corners? What was roiling behind those ocean-sea eyes?
The man speaks again - riddles that seem to twirl before Wu, but they unfolded into a language perhaps only those not-quite-sane understood. Certainly the stallion was here now, and perhaps his there was Wu’s (but no - Wu would have known if there was another in his woods). “Where is your elsewhere?” Everyone must have one.
Bored. Wu had known boredom briefly (or perhaps it was much, much longer). But when one is left to their own devices, and their own twisting, turning, downward falling mind - boredom does not stay long. Did this stallion quench his boredom the way Wu did? Was Wu entertaining enough for him- in all his peculiarity?
“I don’t know of anything else to be disappointed about. This was the place the Trees lead me to, I just listened. I do not know if I want to be here, but I cannot be there any longer.” Maybe the stallion would understand - maybe beneath the luminescence and the ivory and the grandeur, maybe he understood what it meant to not be able to stay. “Do you understand?”
It is strange not because he does not understand. It is strange because he understands perfectly. Reave has spent most of his young and feckless life never staying still for too long, lest he fall victim to the swirling trap of his own thoughts. It had been easier to seek out new and thrilling things than it had been to consider his own shortcomings. And the disasters that had struck hammer blows to his life twice now.
It is only recently that he has come to realize he cannot - should not - avoid them forever. But of course, that did not stop him from trying.
The other stallion’s first question is easy. Easy because it requires no thought. He knows as plainly as he knows the spring grass beneath his feet. So he grins, amused, as he answers. “Wherever I am not now.” And it is the perfect truth. He has already roamed far and wide, and still there is more. His elsewhere would always be in the strange and most interesting corners of Beqanna. The places he was not already standing.
The rest is not nearly so easy. As Wu replies, Reave tilts his head, piercing him with a stare as a frown begins to slowly tug at the corners of his lips. It is not confusion that knits itself across his bone-shrouded brows, but rather consternation. He does not reply immediately this time either, because this time there are no words yet on his tongue.
“You and I are not so very different,” he finally says, answering the question in the only way he knows how, before quickly amending, “at least, not in this.”
Only then does the smirk begin to creep back onto his lips. “I don’t normally indulge in riddle-speak the same way you do.” He laughs then, tossing his head slightly as he paces a few restless steps. The movement tugs at the edges of the wounds his armor had made as it pushed through, dried blood cracking to bleed anew. He ignores it. When he settles again, his bright gaze returns to the other stallion. “I’m Reave.” He pauses then, considering this stranger with the intensity of someone making a decision. Whether it would be a good one remains to be seen. Then, his grin widens. “If you want to go Elsewhere, I might be able to help.”
When one is alone, it is far too easy to stare your shortcomings in the eye. At first, you skirt around them like a nervous little thing. But as time ebbs and flows, there’s no where to look but directly at them. Afterall, isn’t that why Wu had condemned himself to the forest? Are his shortcomings not boiled right into his blood - the divide of true and evil? Whereas some cannot stand still to save face, others are crippled and unmoving in the face of it. How ironic should two souls be, staring back at one another - one who feared to move elsewhere due to his shortcomings, and the other who could not stay still.
This man is so easy to emotion, Wu thinks, as a grin appears on the stallion's face. It is uncharacteristically beautiful in the face of all his gore and might. One question, and this painted man can so easily shift into an easy smile, an amused brow, a playful banter. How strange, how strange. It is almost breathtaking to see another's' features shift so easily, after the faces of the fauna. His words lilt off his tongue, smooth and simple, without a hesitancy or questioning. To Wu, it was almost as easy as speaking with the birds, only this time they spoke back.
And as true as told, all good things must come to an end. That easy smile is soon replaced with something less so sure, something more concerned. How strange, how strange- rolling quickly from happy.. to sad? Of course, as all unsane men know, emotions are not so simple. Wu did not shift through emotions at anothers will or words, simply because he never had to. Each smile or frown or cry or laugh came from what was inside his own little world. But this man before him, Wu could affect. Wu could make him smile, make him frown. It was like the forest- like bolting through the brush of the woods and scattering each soul, or creeping quietly along to coexist.
Again, just as quickly - the frown is replaced with a laugh and a coy look. He is all movement - his face, his eyes, his feet. He is like the flighty birds, the ones who hop from branch to branch, who quirk their head this way and that, who scream at Wu when he comes too close, and call when he is too far. But birds do not bleed like this- and Wu’s gaze follows the rivulets that fall down his shoulders.
“I don’t mean to be riddles.” His eyes do not leave, but cross the mountains of muscle with the path of blood. “Wu.” He says distractedly, finally pulling his gaze from the path of red and slowly back to the man before him. “I would enjoy an Elsewhere.” It was too open here- the voices of others carrying easily to him, the land stretching clear and unguarded. “Take me.” His eyes dilated, staring directly at Reave- his words more certain than any he’d spoke thus far (almost demanding) - anywhere but here.
Having spent the entirety of his life with a face as mobile and constantly shifting as water, Reave doesn’t even notice. He is so used to being the one who moves, the one who paces, the one who never stays still, that this does not strike him as the least bit odd. The way Wu remains still and placid is no different than a hundred conversations that have come before - the ones that require talk rather than action.
And for Reave, it hardly matters whether every thought flits across another’s face or if it remains as stony and still as a cliff. The emotions and memories fling themselves into his path regardless, telling stories that their faces never could. And if he needed more, their eyes told him the rest. So, though Wu may not wear his thoughts in his expressions, they are Reave’s nonetheless. The trees and the squirrels and the birds are written in the loneliness that surrounds him, in the madness the encroaches too close, in the fear of the unknown.
To Reave, who has seen fear and laughed it away, it is an odd thing. An enticing thing. Something he wants to take and prod until he discovers what happens. If that meant taking Wu Elsewhere, all the better.
His blue eyes gleam with delight and anticipation now, lips twisting into a satisfied grin as his newfound companion agrees to go with him. There are a hundred places they could go, but in the truest twist of irony, the home he had come to find new company for would quite possibly be the one to inspire the most reaction. Wu, who had spent his entire life shrouded by darkness and crowded by branches, would undoubtedly find the windswept moors a vast change. The caves or small copses of evergreens might suit him better, but they would not hold him in their bosom in the same way the forest did.
And so, with a grin on his lips and a devilish gleam in his eye, Reave replies, “I know the perfect place.”
05-25-2021, 09:25 PM (This post was last modified: 05-25-2021, 09:25 PM by hanna.)
wu
go ahead and say death is a thief
How strange, to be read like a book and not even know it. Wu cannot feel the pry and probe of the man before him. He does not know that his emotions are stirred like a pot of honey and Reave has the first taste. Well, for sure, he knows that he is just a bit off - he knows his actions and words probably aren’t like most, he knows that his time in the trees has made him a little less.. Normal. But what could that even mean, anyway? The creature before him bears bone where skin should be - that can’t quite be normal either.
Wu’s sanity hangs by a thread, and Reave is pulling the string. It is no surprise to either of them that there is too little, too late. If Wu is so readable, his mind so easy to taste, then Reave must know how soon he will plummet into something that is ‘not quite all there’. How helpless could Wu be in the face of danger he doesn’t even know?
There is little that Wu knows outside of the woods. Even the field they stand in now is too much, too vast, too busy. Anywhere but here - an Elsewhere that Reave promises. It’s perfect, he says. And Wu imagines the shaded dark, the cool iridescent, the soft chirrups of the creatures - he imagines home (what home was, what home might be?). He imagines anywhere but here, and the best place he knows is where he was.
“I should like perfect, I think. I will follow you - show me where. Anywhere but here. ” He steps forward towards Reave, ready to leave this hellish place the Trees first spit him towards. And again, and again - he whispers under his breath anywhere but here. And again and again, he trusts this stranger (oh, how silly of you, Wu dearest). This man of bone and blood would take him somewhere better, would take him somewhere safe - somewhere the voices don’t carry, and the wind doesn’t cut, and the space is a little
