"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
11-12-2015, 01:32 AM (This post was last modified: 11-12-2015, 01:40 AM by michaelis.)
Burning on, just like a match you strike to incinerate the lives of everyone you know.
And what's the worst you take from every heart you break? And like
the blade you stain, well, I've been holding on tonight.
Would he always return to the meadow? It seems that he remains enamored with the idea of attempting kingdom life like his father before him but it never holds his attention for long. Perhaps it was the fact that both of his recruiters have seemingly disappeared during his duration in both kingdoms. First, Peppe. And now Engelfors. When Michaelis was left to his own devices for long then he tended to grow quite bored. There hadn’t been anybody else in those kingdoms that had held his interest.
This was why he had briefly ventured back home.
Although he had grown terribly fond of those dark, foreboding pines.
Perhaps he could find something intriguing within the embrace of the chamber. After all, he was aware that Makai had had some sort of connection to her. But the connection remained a complete mystery to the shadow child. It seemed all those who he considered to be his were fated to remain out of sight. Makai had long disappeared into the shadows, perhaps more perfectly than Michaelis could even attempt. Nebibi had left the nest and Wayra had been stolen away. But his blue girl had remained scarce for quite some time now which had left him quite lonely. And without Engelfors to mince words with, the shadow child was left to whittle his time away within the comfortable shelter of the pines’ branches.
Of course, he had waited until nightfall before venturing out on this humid night. His eyes remained extremely sensitive to any light and he had shifted into the lifestyle of a nocturnal creature for the most part. But he honestly didn’t mind too much once he had mostly gotten over the fairy experience. The meadow-dwelling tendrils welcomed him fervidly, like lost puppies clambering to be the first to greet their master. He smiles at their clumsy attempts to greet him and he endures it all with a patience that he rarely has when they are overly excited.
They eventually settle down and reassure themselves with occasional brushes against his skin. He continues his night walk beneath the clear, starry sky with an aura of contentment lingering after him. This was his birthplace, his home in all intents and purposes. He has even raised several of his children here. The meadow never failed to fill him with a sense of homecoming whenever he stepped foot within its borders.
Homecoming. It would be a strange sensation to Anastasia. She supposes, in a way, the Chamber was her home. After all, it had been where she was raised (her and Michaelis’ period of time there may have even overlapped), but she did not feel any great affinity toward it. She felt not sense of loyalty. Of course, being the feral creature that she was, such emotions were lost on her. She was not against marching to the drums of war, but she would never understand someone throwing themselves onto the fire for someone else. Even Rho-nan, who made shadow portals and ate the bunny she gave him, did not command her. No one ever would, she was sure of it.
So the meadow does not feel like home in the same way that it does for him. She does not sigh with pleasure when she enters it, and the shadows around her do not clamber for her so much as stay because they have to; they were as much her as she was them. Still, she is pleased to be back within the borders. Pleased to use her own portals to hop along the border, spooking some as she cackled and moved on.
Until, of course, she sees him. She would always see those made of shadows.
Curious, she makes her way toward him. Curious, she walks up his side, silky black nose jutting rudely into his neck, pushing his jaw to the side. “In-ter-es-ting” her broken tongue speaks, and she leans back a little as if studying him. “Stop mo-ving,” she commands, the faint light glinting off her sharp, black teeth. She is tempted, however briefly, to bite him as she had Chantale, but then remembers the rubbery taste of the not-death but not-living mare and decides against it. Instead, she prods further.
“What are you?”
like the moon, we borrow our light {I am nothing but a shadow in the night}
Burning on, just like a match you strike to incinerate the lives of everyone you know.
And what's the worst you take from every heart you break? And like
the blade you stain, well, I've been holding on tonight.
He hadn’t paid any mind to the occasional gasps of surprise or shrieks that seemed to be punctuating the meadow (all thanks to a strange little portal-hopping mad shadow creature that he was completely unaware of). The shadow child seemed to only take interest in those worth his time and care or possibly those who caught his fancy for a brief time.
But his solo was soon to be accompanied with dissonant chord.
His only warning was a slight disturbance in the air that he could pick up and suddenly there’s a muzzle rudely being pushed into his face and manipulating his head about as it pleased. Michaelis had never been a prude about personal space, but even this was a bit disconcerting when there was no advance warning.
A short demand accompanies the touch and he is startled enough to quickly acquiesce. He maneuvers away from what looks like quite pointy teeth and mismatched eyes finally get a relatively clear view of the strange shadow-girl. Perhaps it was this creature instead who could be considered truly interesting.
Even his sharp eyesight seemed to have a little trouble of receiving a solid outline from the girl as her body seemed to be just as wispy as the very tendrils which continued to happily pat him down. He thought it strange that they remained undisturbed when normally they jealously tried to keep his attention on them or they even tried to hide him away from others. It was as if this girl was simply another one of their kind and genuinely accepted into their fold.
Interesting, indeed.
“My girl, I’m what you’d consider a hot mess.”
He couldn’t help but to be a bit flippant over her question. He was just your average run-of-the-mill meadow-goer. There wasn’t anything too terribly intriguing about him, unless you counted his obsession with collecting shiny, beautifully powerful things and happily surrounding himself with said things. Sure, he prowled the night like a mopey vampire most times, but he couldn’t quite help that the sunlight pained his eyes enough that he’d rather hide away from it all.
Michaelis gives the girl a pointed once-over and promptly turns the question back upon herself.
“Perhaps I should be asking you the same question?”
She doesn’t understand their torment and their obsessions and she certainly does not understand the way they fight over power. It all seemed so trivial to her. But she likes them all the same. She likes the way their eyes light up when they talk about something that they are passionate about, and she likes the ways that they seem to enjoy their own destruction. It was fascinating to watch from afar, and she had spent her fair share of time watching all of them as she moved around the meadow. She had heard lover’s spats, and she had seen children playing, and she had heard whispers of political movements. It was all fascinating, even though she could not feel empathy.
She frowns at his answer, tilting her head at him as if trying to decipher it. “Hot mess?” she parrots back at him, thinking that if she said the words, she would understand them. She does not. She does not like the sensation of being in the dark or feeling stupid, and her lips curl back over her sharp teeth. “What does that mean?” the words are short, staccato, harsh in her mouth. “I do not like hot mess.” Of course, she does not like it because she does not know what it means. She would never like that.
He fires the question back at her, and she frowns at him, still not sure how she felt about him. She was hovering on the edge of it, and she took a step back, feeling her skin crawling with indecision. “I am Ana-sta-sia.” Naturally, her name was too complicated for her to say, and she stumbled over it the same way that she stumbled over all long words. It was an intricate name—a delicate one. Something that spoke of soft eyes and gentle smiles and was nothing like the brutish creature before him.
like the moon, we borrow our light {I am nothing but a shadow in the night}
Burning on, just like a match you strike to incinerate the lives of everyone you know.
And what's the worst you take from every heart you break? And like
the blade you stain, well, I've been holding on tonight.
This strange creature and the shadow child perhaps shared more in common than at first glance. Michaelis is also a people observer. But he doesn’t distance himself from those that shine brightly. He was a dragon who hoarded the shiniest of treasures, even those who could be considered a diamond in the rough. They were the most appealing as it allowed him the opportunity to watch an ugly duckling grow into a beautiful swan; sometimes that transformation was the greatest pleasure.
He likes the appeal of power and those who wield it successfully.
But he lacks the ambition to attain it for himself.
It was the journey of the others’ quests for it which was what he truly gloried in.
The stranger seems puzzled by his turn of phrase and becomes agitated in her state of not understanding. She seems to encounter difficulty in speaking some of her words. But for the most part, her sentences are clearly distinguishable. If anything, her harsh staccatos play a contrast to the wispy tendrils trailing in-between the two.
“Don’t worry too much about it. No one actually likes hot messes to begin with. And it was simply an idiom I used to describe the rut I seem to always be in.”
He wouldn’t begrudge her confusion. After all, there was much about her that remained unknown to him. She introduces herself and he finally has the beginnings of the mystery. Accompanied with a cheeky grin, he coaxes one of the more eager shadow-tendrils to gently brush against her cheek. It was a friendly introduction of his companions to one who would obviously appreciate them.
“Speak too much,” she grumbles, mostly to him and partly to herself, looking down as she did her best to untangle the latest sentence he had given her.
Hot messes. Idioms. All foreign words that just blurred the meaning he was trying to portray. It was not necessarily that Anastasia was stupid, it was just that she was smart in a very different way than most of the horses around Beqanna. She did not have the same vast vocabulary they had; she did not understand their politics; she could not unpack their complex relationships. But she could tell you the best way to hunt deer crawling up a mountain, and she could tell you the best place to bleed out a rabbit, and she could show you how to snap a neck with one quick shake.
“Shadows no like all of your words,” she frowns at him. “Do not like when hot air goes ‘woosh’ from your mouth.” She mimics by puffing up her cheeks and blowing out, eyes going comically wide. “Sound dumb like babe who ruins hunt. Blah, blah, blah.” It wasn’t necessarily true, and she knows that. The shadows seemed to like Michaelis just fine—clinging to his coat, scampering up his legs (traitors, she thinks viciously)—but it made her feel better to think that he was the stupid one in the duo.
Her ears remain pinned back to her skull, but one swivels forward at his name and she huffs loudly, giving him the equivalent of a stink eye. “Mich-ae-lis.” One hoof traces the dirt in front of her, and she mutters under her breath. “Dumb name.” Her thoughts and childish mutters are interrupted by the shadow that he sends out to her, and she is distracted by it, leaning into the dark touch for a moment before remembering herself and straightening. “What is fav-or-ite ani-mal to eat?” she asks suddenly, hoping that he could perhaps salvage his reputation, but knowing it was likely futile.
like the moon, we borrow our light {I am nothing but a shadow in the night}
