"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
Her mother had been gone so long that the small painted child tires from stalking butterflies and telling herself stories. The summer sun was so , so warm and she was just so , so sleepy. The green of her coat helps to camouflage her but the pristine white that contrasts is almost blinding. Small grunts are heard as she moves to bed down in the deep sea grasses, nestling down quietly after a few wiggles to get her long legs just right in a jumbled pile. Minerva's small jaw opens as she yawns broadly before laying her small head atop her hooves as she curls closer to herself.
Hours have passed and darkness is draped upon the meadow like a precious silk scarf. The hoots of ole owls wake the child from her sleep. Dark green eyes blink sleepily as she should not be aware yet though something has stirred her. "Momma?" The word is barely above a squeak as she peeks from between the thick grasses, trembling. Painted legs awkwardly move to stand her small form up as quickly as possible. Small ears are rotating, her body stiff with dear. There was something out there and it wasn't her momma. Small whimpers echo and strangle in her throat as she knows she is far too small to evade an predator that lurked just beyond her field of vision. Instead, the child waits and attempts to be as brave as possible for the impending death that waited for her.
Ohhhh it was just about that time of year again, and Cur was on the prowl. Looking for a nice new toy to play with, some hungry little thing with fire in her eyes or a shy little waif, maybe a little mouse that needed to learn a few tricks, or oooh a drab little honey he could carve up real good and leave her prettier than she’d started. Well, prettier to his eyes anyhow. Well and all the pheromones wafting up from all those glorious holes tended to get the boys good and riled up too.
Mmm, he could get into all sorts of trouble, have all kinds of fun, and wasn’t that just delicious?
Their mouths worked just as well, and it was fun to make them squirm, make them want, make them hate themselves a little bit for the fire that raged in their veins, the need that coursed through them and made them decide maybe just this once they could expand their horizons a little and just see what it was like. Iron could be a harsh mistress, but when he could make it flow like flesh it could still make for a fun ride, and he’d talked and touched and teased his way into a few of their bodies if not their hearts.
Who wanted their hearts?
Sure as hell not him.
Anyhow, he was strutting around the forest, looking for somebody to bang, or maybe to throw their own shinies at if it’d make ‘em good and miserable, but that wasn’t exactly what he came across. Heh. Came. But yeah, no, not somebody bangable at all. Just some squishy little kid shivering in the grass. Now, Kerberos was not the paternal type. By any stretch of the imagination. Ew. No thanks. But this particular little bundle of fluff and snot and need had some magic that could use waking, and it was a little too familiar. He narrowed his eyes and stalked over to the little whelp, all nestled down in the grass. Subtle and quiet weren’t really in his particular skill set, given he was huge and shiny and colorful and made of iron and whatnot, so he didn’t try to sneak over. No use bothering with that.
Spotty like him. Green like her. And the magic that he’d been whammied with when the sexy badass fairy had put the shiny metal back in his shiny metal ass -- ah if only literally, he’d definitely have let her -- oh right, focusing. Magic whammy etc etc left him able to feel out the little…thing’s gifts. Plant, like her. And his own messianic ability to walk on water.
Well shit.
“Where the fuck’s your dam, kid?” You aren’t my goddamn problem.
Minerva lay in a heap, curling closer into herself at the sound of approaching footsteps. She could hear it's breath, the sound of heavy hooves tramping unbiased. She is small and fragile and much like her mother (if she could remember).
But this other thing...it was a man and he stood just a little too still, the feeling of his eyes burning her. A small whimper escapes her lips as she trembles in the rustle of grass like a fawn. Min tried to still herself, try to muffle the sound of her throbbing heart.
He can feel her any way.
Where the fuck's your dam, kid?' Min remains still but she knows he is speaking to the lump of her small form in the grass. Slowly, almost painfully, Minerva looks up to the large painted purple monstrosity that bears down upon her. "She, uh, she's gone off. She should be back soon!" Of course the small child doesn't know that. She doesn't know anything. Her mother had dumped her off a month or so ago and by the grace of Beqanna gods, she had survived the wild creatures of the night and survived exposure to the elements. Large green-blue eyes blink up at the stallion, wet and watching, hoping he believed her lie.
Now, Cur had no goddamn intention of taking on some sniveling little whelp. Daddy material he was most certainly not. And he sure as fuck wasn’t going to waste any of that fairy magic giving some squishy, snot-nosed brat a present she’d...hmm, pretty much worship him for. Well now that part was promising.
No, but kids were way too goddamn much work. He’d played that game with little Syrine, and it was far more fun to find them when they were old enough to have a little fun with. Not when they were useless little shit machines. She gave him some bullshit answer about how her dam should be back soon, but he could see the lie in her eyes. Fucking useless bitch had dumped her kid, hadn’t she? Well, not that he could blame her. Who wanted a kid around anyhow?
The magic stirred in his veins, reaching out toward the little furball, but he tamped it down. “That so?” he asked, looking around as if the green bitch who shat her out could be walking toward them at any moment instead of running as far as she could go. “Funny, I don’t see her. Nobody coming to claim you, huh, little girl? You got a name?”
The magic snarled and snapped and lashed out, ignoring his command to be-thefuck-have, and seized the girl and flowed into her, giving back what was damn well supposed to be his to give. Or not give. Stupid fucking fairy. Fine. “Here, these are for you,” he told her, acting like he’d done it on purpose. Because god damn, he might as well get credit for it. “I’m Kerberos, by the way. You can call me Cur if you like.”
