"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
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
Although Wishbone has grown to enjoy her time in Nerine, she cannot help the bored thoughts that linger in her mind when she is not training with Scorch. The cliffside kingdom had already been explored top to bottom by the time the Amazon of the Old called out for the Tephra native, so in her downtime (healing from the sore bruises and minor cuts or recalling debates to improve her thought processes) she finds there is little to do.
But there is much to think about. Wishbone’s thinking never gets her anywhere good either, a product of the mischievousness boiling in her blood. She’s heard of the threat growing in Sylva in passing — though Queen Hestia has yet to announce a meeting to discuss it or the tight alliance with Ischia — and it plucks at the strings of her mind that scream “Let’s do something!” So a day after a recent mock with Scorch (with her withers aching from a dull bite and her haunches sore from a firm kick and her right shoulder scabbing over from a bitter cut) she heads past Nerine’s borders for the first time since her arrival in the summer.
Beqanna’s winters are dreadfully different from Tephra’s, a thing the girl has learned quickly as the season progresses. With Nerine being the northernmost kingdom, Wishbone’s body has had to learn even quicker than her mind. Last winter her growing sides had been slick with an everlasting summer coat, but this time around she is puffy with a warmer layer of protection. Snow frequents Nerine’s frigid cliffs and the girl is thankful for her body’s ability to adapt.
As she travels south, the girl must navigate patches of translucent ice and heavy snowdrifts. Her mind is light despite the aches and pains that ripple through her body as she travels. The thrill of adventure always sits close to Wishbone’s heart and this time is no different than the others. By the time she reaches Sylva’s forested borders, she is dense with exhaustion but glowing with that recklessness she carries with her.
It occurs to her that she’s never actually been to Sylva before. Amber eyes take in the kingdom’s landscape with a sharper interest while she comes to a slow stop alongside the border. Her feet don’t dare cross the line, even as her mind wanders, for instinct and deeply-driven manners are difficult to ignore. Instead, Wishbone settles quietly and allows a heavy, thick sigh to blow past her nostrils and form the smoke of a miniature dragon in front of her mahogany face.
credit to eliza of adoxography.
@[Svedka] / So, because I love ignoring the hundreds of posts I owe and my characters control me, Wishbone is coming to check out Sylva on her own accord in a completely reckless and Wishbone-like decision. Please feel free to creep her out, physically mess with her, and just generally be Sylvans, but eventually Svedka's going to come along. No maiming, murdering, or raping please (inappropriate touching is allowed because this girl is bound to have her sexual awakening at some point, TMI maybe)! <3 Also none of this will be getting out to the "adults" (Scorch, Warrick, Hestia, Wound, etc) so we don't have to worry about political climate, hence why it is labeled "private." This is just for our own fun and Wishbone's development.
05-15-2018, 06:50 AM (This post was last modified: 05-15-2018, 06:50 AM by Abra.)
Abra
Her brother had informed her to be aware of any intruders on Sylvan turf. “Ischia is an enemy, so watch their alliance Nerine carefully, little sister. God knows theyll be keen on spying.” So that is exactly what she did...she watched out for her home and her people.
Abra hasn’t traveled to enough places to know the scents as well as Morty did. But she does have an idea - Ischia smells like clean island air, Tephra smells like sulfur, and Nerine smells like salty sea brine. And when she smells the trespasser, her ears pin back and she trots forward to investigate.
A small bay mare stares at the copper canopy around them. Abra’s two-toned eyes glare at her from behind.
“What brings to the forest today, cliff dweller?” She growls, ebony satellites still glued firmly to the top of her head.
05-15-2018, 12:53 PM (This post was last modified: 05-15-2018, 12:53 PM by Jackel.)
The new dawn of spring lingers amidst the tide of winds. For every lap of chill against my slender body, there is another that quickly follows impregnated with the promise of warmer weather. I take notice of the change, but merely cast it aside as quickly as it is recognized. The change in weather doesn't interest me, but those interesting scents intermingling with the oncoming rise in temperature certainly do. One of them I recognize from my recent past, the other is vaguely familiar but predominantly unknown. What is the reason for such a gathering? Who were these people? Where was my invite? Well, I guess I would just have to find out on my own.
"I know the answer to that," I purr confidently, stepping alongside the female version of my worst fucking nightmare. I understand why the scent had been familiar and unknown at the same time; similar in looks if nothing else. I'm curious to know if she is as much a demoness as he is a demon. My muzzle reaches outward, stopping a whispers breath away from the dark dame, deeply inhaling her scent and devouring the delicious familiarity of the woodsy aroma. I want so badly to poke and prod and see this creature's true self...but I do not allow myself the luxury of it just now. Let's see what happens with this pow wow first.
My golden crown and wild eyes rotate back to the recognizable shape of the volcanic smoke being I came across while wandering. "I believe she wanted to visit her dear old friend, Jackel." I remember the taste of her flesh between my incisors, delciious like smoke and brine. The corners of my dark lips ascend like the rise of the sun in the sky while my head simultaneously tips precariously to the side, "Did you want a taste, sweetling?" A question for the smoke mare or the possible demoness or both, it didn't make a difference. Everyone wants a piece of Jack, I think to myself with an impish giggle.
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
She hadn’t expected them to flock so quickly to her young body, yet they do. While her eyes scan the expanse of the forest, a voice growls behind her and Wishbone is quick to jump and spin, amber eyes searching for the voice. It’s a mare so short the mahogany girl resists the urge to laugh aloud (she’s never seen Modicum Mortem either, or else she might giggle at his height too) and she bites her lip to stop herself.
Wishbone opens her sable mouth to speak, but a familiar figure is sliding out of the shadows. The girl recognizes Jackel from her time before Nerine (when she had been chasing seagulls and swimming with whales and climbing volcanoes and hopping over lava-streams) and her brows pull together under the tangled mess of her dark forelock. Wishbone can remember, not so fondly, the golden mare not reacting in the slightest when a bubble of molten lava burst and splattered onto her heel.
Curiously, her head lowers slightly to look at Jackel’s leg. But before she can, the golden mare is asking questions that fill Wishbone’s gut with mingled dread and disgust. “You’re still just as fucking disgusting as you were then.” Dammit, Wishbone. More often than not the girl is able to rein in her words and censor herself, but the excitement of adventure and the thrill of danger causes her tongue to toss all caution to the wind.
“I’m here to investigate just how true the rumors are, but so far I am not impressed.” The tension that lies over Beqanna is thick on their shoulders, mostly thanks to Sylva itself. Her eyes glance toward the dark mare and, god Wishbone you’re really screwing yourself over, she says, “God, you’re short. Are you supposed to be scary?”
05-23-2018, 06:45 PM (This post was last modified: 05-23-2018, 06:46 PM by Abra.)
Abra
she’s unsure what to think of this visitor, of her rude remarks and haughty stance. Like her brother, her short stature had always been easy to laugh at; ha-ha, look at that little thing trying to be intimidating.
“Short enough to kick your ass,” Abra quickly retorts. She grows ever close to the intruder, ears continuously pinned to her head. Eyebrow raised, she takes a good look - there’s nothing particularly interesting about her at first glance. Abra is nearly touching her now, nose outstretched to take in her scent.
Damn, except that.
The smaller of the mares takes it upon herself to rub seductively against the stranger. “Are you just playing hard to get, child?” A hard shove with her shoulder pushes the bay mare into a waiting birch. “If you want to be impressed, all you have to do is ask.” Mischievous eyes make their way to the laughing lady, beckoning her to come forward. They’d teach this cliff dweller yet.
I’ll be the actress starring in your bad dreams
@[Wishbone] @[Jackel] let me know if I need to change anything!!!!
The smokey girl’s words practically drip with venom and I can’t help but wonder what she’s playing at; to willingly come into Sylva and stoke the glowing ashes. There’s little else I could do given the situation but laugh, so that is exactly what I do. Starting small at first, then growing into nearly a hysterical fit before abruptly cutting off. Haide coils and hisses and the whites of my dark eyes glisten as I take a step closer to where she had just been shoved into the callused body of a giantess looming nearby. I am close enough to share heated air with her, my voice weighted heavily with derision, ”Such sharp words coming from a pretty mouth. I’m surprised your lips aren’t split and bleeding after spitting them out.” At that, my lips trace the curve of her cheek, ”What you may call disgusting, I call living freely.” My lips part to brush gently against her mahogany skin at her neckline. Nerine rest thickly upon her scent, but she still tastes like smoked brine to me. Ah, memories.
The thought to bite her again pervades my mind, and for a second I almost allow myself the indulgence. Yet something keeps me from doing so and I pull away from the awkward proximity. Awkward to her probably, that is; I loved every second of it. The voice that works its way between my charcoal lips is practically foreign to me, as I feel the wildness of my eyes narrow a degree, “Oh yes, good idea! Let’s talk gossip! If rumors are true, then that means you are Nerine’s next in line! How nice! I am sure that was no easy feat to accomplish! Wait now, what have you done to gain the title of heiress? I guessnthe news of your diplomatic escapades or epic battles never made it to Sylva. But you’re not even from Nerine, if memory serves. So I wonder, were you just the most convenient choice then perhaps?”
Taking the opportunity to circle around the pair, I wedge myself between the birch giant and the smoke mare, facing the same direction as her, and letting my soft muzzle trace the curves of her spine. I only stop when my lips linger behind her ear, my voice diminishing to a sinful whisper, “My sweet little smidge, I don’t know what you hoped to gain from coming here alone. If it was to be impressed, as you say, then I’m sure my friend and I would be happy to oblige your wildest fantasies. Just say the word.” My tongue reaches out to run along her jaw bone. “Now don’t you just want to bite me?”
@[Wishbone] @[Abra] @[Svedka] Not sure who is next. I'm sorry it's not the best. I'm a bit distracted with things today. Please let me know if I need to edit something.
He strides through the darkness confidently and without hesitation, as if he had known the forests of Sylva his entire life. There is no look of caution that marrs the sharp angles of his face, which remain in an expression of seriousness (and anger?) that look almost out of place in the tersity of his jaw or the spark that glimmers darkly in his cerulean eyes. There is no introduction, no grand entry as he forces himself into the group of Sylvans, ears hidden beneath streaks of ivory and blue.
Wishbone is forced against the tree, with a golden mare at her side (the one whispering sweet and delicate words into her ears) while the obsidian woman keeps her in place, despite her short stature.
“Ladies, ladies,” comes Svedka’s voice, sultry and honey-thick as it leaves his lips and falls into the forest’s air. His eyes flicker to Wishbone for a fleeting moment, brows lifting in slight amusement, before settling on the buckskin. “Surely she shouldn’t have all the fun? There’s enough of me to go around.” A charming grin splits the ivory of his lips, despite the air of caution that swathes itself around them, the tension palpable and lurid. The stallion is poised and ready; muscles growing taut beneath his milk-and-honey flesh, nostrils wide and flaring with anticipation and adrenaline. It was an adventure, despite the danger that they have found themselves in; and though Svedka will try to use his silver tongue and charm to allow their escape, he has a feeling that the two women will not allow him to do that so easily.
He prowls closer, set on bringing the buckskin away from Wishbone. She is tall and thin, willowy in the darkness of the forest. Svedka comes to stand at her shoulder (where Wishbone is not), curving his neck and encouraging the nameless woman with a bold swipe of his mouth against the sleekness of her shoulder. He immediately throws his head back, just in cause the woman would try to bite him for the intimacy. A single ear is trained towards the darker female, listening for any movement that might occur now that his back is to her, muscles in his flank jumping at the sheer idea of her trying something.
Perhaps he could talk their way out of this. Part of him hopes that he can, but another part of him isn’t sure he wants this delectable game to end just yet.
And if he cannot talk their way out, he is more than willing to fight his way out.
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
Wishbone should’ve known better. When they flock to her young sides with unnerving, malice-tinted eyes and begin to lick along her cheeks, she should’ve known better. When they smile with roughly-fringed mouths and high, shadowy cheekbones, she should’ve known better. But she is young, swept away in the riptide of adventure and it is pulling her out to sea.
Wishbone does know that she’s fucked up. The thought pushes through her mind with such startling clarity it feels like those first moments she had leapt into Nerine’s bitter northern waves (seawater swallowing her mind and drowning her in the sensations of prickled wakefulness) and she grunts from the sensation. All these thoughts happen in quick succession — “You should’ve known better” and “You’ve fucked up” — as she is forcefully pinned against the tree.
Their bodies are warm, sliding around her like boa constrictors, and she feels her muscles grow taut under their pressure. She’s lithe, cradled between them with sinewy muscle finely-crafted along her curves, and their touches only further pull attention to the graceful slopes of her body. Wishbone’s honey-whiskey voice speaks again in Jackel’s direction, husky with the force of her words. “I’ll never tell either of you anything about Nerine.” Their questions are prodding — as hers had been only moments before — and it forces a barrier brutally closed where it had been open.
The golden mare’s tongue moves to slide against Wishbone’s cheek. But the mahogany girl is twisting her neck, snapping her teeth within inches of Jackel’s nose. She isn’t looking to harm or even touch; her actions, though bold, are more meant as a warning. Despite the situation she’s in, Wishbone feels the electrifying vibrations of feverish exhilaration in her pulse, pressing against the fibers of her blood vessels.
Her pulse increases evermore at the sound of Svedka’s voice. Ah, dear brother. He’d come to her rescue. The questions of why or how don’t flood her mind at this point, though Wishbone is sure she will be asking them when they get out of this situation (there’s no doubt they will in her mind). “Oh, you guys are fucked now.” She should really shut up, but the victory of her brother’s arrival brings forth a vibrant laugh from her sable mouth.
When her older brother’s mouth moves at Jackel’s golden body, Wishbone’s own mouth mirrors to nip at Abra’s delicate ears. Provided her distraction works, the mahogany girl attempts to slip away from her predicament against the tree and move in the opposite direction of Jackel. “You couldn’t let me have just a bit of fun without stealing some of it, huh, brother?” There’s a laugh on her mouth, even as they untangle themselves from the slippery, shadowy fingers of the Sylvans.
