"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
Before McDonald’s, I bet “don’t buy cheeseburgers from a clown” was a pretty hard and fast rule.
The midnight and moondwash’d stag embarks his chassis into the meadow, writes the author, in a sentence that gives flashbacks to the early 2000s, when we all beat each other over the head with thesauruses in an effort to prove who was the better writer.
(Answer: no one. We were all nightmares.)
Satty, while not being quite that old, is still very old, way too old to still be here and be alive, but time is fake and horse roleplaying games even more so, so here we are.
(I wrote that joke in my last Satty post too, but since no one replied, for some reason, I get to reuse it.)
The point is, Satire – Satty to his friends, which is everyone – walked into the meadow. For the hundredth time or something. He spends his time in other places, like most of us, but the meadow is his favorite. He’s done some cool things here, like that one time he actually had children and made love with a beautiful mare, and the time he met a tree that he had a thing for.
In truth, everything that happens to Satty is a Good Thing, because he is an eternal optimist, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He loves everybody and everything, and sometimes it’s nice, to be like that. Satty’s so blithely happy that he thinks angst is a city instead of the constant state of most of his narrative brothers and sisters (the narrator’s brainchildren tend towards sad and gay; Satty is only one of those things).
Here’s some other Good Things:
The sun is shining. Or, in 2000s roleplay talk, the golden orb dancing across the azure firmament is luminous.
(God, how did we do it? I do that once and am exhausted. How were we not all constantly exhausted and bleary-eyed from looking up words? Why did we not think to look up the actual definitions of the words themselves?)
There’s a lot of grass on the ground, and grass is delicious.
There’s a bird overheard. Satty is a birdwatcher, in the sense if he sees a bird he watches it. The bird is brown/amber/russet/hazel. It’s pretty.
03-05-2018, 03:50 AM (This post was last modified: 03-05-2018, 03:50 AM by Valensia.)
Valensia
She is so very proud of herself today. The black roan filly can’t contain the giddy frolics of excitement inside her anymore. She immediately takes off to the meadow (without knowing that she’s left Tephra) where she can let it all out, and possibly get in some more practice at battling. She’s so excited she doesn’t really pay attention to her surroundings. Instead just letting out the bucks, kicks, and head tossing like any other yearling would at being chosen. And while she dances lost in her little fuzzball world. Her writer remembers those days, and sometimes wonders how it is that we did not collapse and fall into oblivion after one sentence. Though it WAS good practice for extending the writers vocabulary. Sometimes even so far as to be getting strange looks or jaw drops when she started talking like how she wrote (was writing?).
But Val does make it to the meadow, and sadly doesn’t seem to pay enough attention, so that she stumbles, her side doing this falling thing against Satire. (hopefully she doesn’t gouge him with one of her bones from her wing!). With a little filly type grunt, she gathers her footing once more. Shaking out her mane and folding her wings so that they are no longer loose and a danger to others around her. I’m so sorry! She gasps out, wide eyed and horrified that her silly antics caused her to get into trouble.
She takes a moment looking him up and down. I’m Valensia, she finally decides its okay to talk to this stranger. She’s near bursting with questions. He doesn’t look familiar, and he doesn’t smell like Tephra… she looks around herself noticing the difference in scenery. Oops! Her whole face expresses everything that runs through her mind, she’s never been very good at holding it in. Never had a reason too, she has a good family, and a good home, with lots of good friends. She’s never met another girl before and she likes it this way. She’s rather spoiled and hopes that it will forever remain as such.
“And there was you - your fair self, always delicately dressed, with white firm fingers sure of touch in delicate true work. I loved you then.” - Charlotte Gilman
@[satire] let me know if you need me to change anything
03-18-2018, 01:32 PM (This post was last modified: 03-18-2018, 01:32 PM by satire.)
Before McDonald’s, I bet “don’t buy cheeseburgers from a clown” was a pretty hard and fast rule.
Satire is a fearsome warrior, as long as his opponent is an inanimate object that’s not sharp or anything. In those fights, he’s only cried a few times after. He’s a definite Alliance contender, and it’s a shame he’s not in any kingdom, because he would have 100% been nominated, and 100% have won all his battles like the warrior he is.
Well. Probably. If there’s infinite universes out, we can only deduce that there’s a universe where Satty is an alliance winner, a sentence so terrifying it sounds Lovecraftian (hey Microsoft Word don’t you tell me that’s not a word, it IS, it means “like H.P. Lovecraft,” DON’T TEST ME).
Anyway. With that theory, there’s also a universe where he’s handsome, and one where he’s charming.
This is none of those universes.
He staggers a little bit when the filly (wonder woman voice: a baaaaby!) stumbles into him. He outweighs her by *coughing noise to mask his unhealthy weight*, but he also has the balance of a drunk frat boy, so this isn’t an unexpected development.
He doesn’t fall completely over (small victories) so once he dramatically plants his feet and realizes he’ll stay upright he grins at the filly.
“It’s okay!” he says, because in Satty world, pretty much everything is okay, always, and god, what I wouldn’t give to live there!!
“Hi Valensia,” he says, “that’s a pretty name.”
“My name is Satire,” he says, then drops his tone, as if sharing a confidential secret (another secret: that’s a really unnecessary adjective but I like it, okay), “but you can call me Satty.”
