hey megalomaniac; any

[Katarina]

k a t a r i n a Hey megalomaniac You're no Jesus Yeah, you're no fucking Elvis Wash your hands clean of yourself baby Maniac, step down, step down Step down The mist is thick on the rise of a saturated morning. It soaks the bark and drowns the petals of lavender that have bloomed late in the eve of a wicked summer. The mare, young and dark, squints the green bulbs of ehr eyes as thick lashes fall over their observation. It had been some time sicne she had tken a breath that was clear of dirt and ebris. The light of a brilliant sunrise would later burn her eyes and blind her for a second or two as she adjusted to the new world. The form is of Friesianic build, lighter and more womanly, but still retaining light feathers and long dark hair that stick to the pretty curve of her neck as the humidity is relentless despite the early hour. Katarina draws a breath, the roundness of her mare-ish form filing briefly before she exhales. She nearly drowns on the early morning dew. Old blood fills her veins, pumping maliciously, driving her to the field as she knows rhis is the way of old but the mare would not go easily nor does she believe in wandering relentlessly through land after land. She wants them to come for her, pay tribute, make her desire them. Katarina is not of these worlds for she has known a different time. There had been a time when the world was angry and driven. Men came from the nooks and crannies to seek their woman, squeal and stomp, claim their bodies. Katarina wonders if these primitive mongrels still exist. She finds a place amongst the tall grasses to stand with a broad form against the damp breeze. She waits for them to come.

[Maiko]

Maiko

Biting’s excellent. It’s like kissing, only there’s a winner.

There’s a bitch in the field.

It’s not even herself this time. Oh, she recognizes those similar to herself. They stand with a certain aura of owning the place, spoiled little princesses that they are, most of the time. For a bastard such as she, abandoned upon birth (wondering if her mother hated her for existing in the first place), there was nothing more cynical in life than that the both of them were behaving outwardly similar.

That’s the extension of the comparison, of course. Maiko’s undefined hybrid form is nothing short of the usual, and the newcomer is clearly of Friesian blood, pure black with flowing mane, broad shoulders and charming fetlocks, like an overlong black gown upon her heels. But the other difference is that the mare is mundane black where Maiko sports a veridian green colour and fuchsia-striken cream mane to contrast.

It’s funny to keep compairing and mirroring, but it shouldn’t take too long. She strides towards the other mare to address her. ”Anyone coming for you yet?”

@[Katarina]

@ if anyone else wants to join, Maiko doesn’t have a home yet either but will gladly make this harder for you xD

[Katarina]

k a t a r i n a Hey megalomaniac You're no Jesus Yeah, you're no fucking Elvis Wash your hands clean of yourself baby Maniac, step down, step down Step down If the green one had even uttered some resemblance of her thoughts, naming Katarina entitled and..a princess? The dark woman would have nearly tore her throat out. Katarina is a proud mare who comes from blood older than those who seemed to roam the changed land. She is of a greater source than the paltry offerings that seem to drag along their bellies, paying tribute with thick tongues and rolling eyes. Her mother, Mordgeld, had raised her well with cunning a eye and sharp nose for bullshit. Her father, Adolf, had taught her to be strong, quiet, and to listen...but to not only the words but the mannerisms of each equine. Katarina draws a breath and slants her eyes to see the approach of a loudly colored creature. The dark woman is quiet as she roves over the other's green shape without so much as a hinder. She does not shy from confrontation. A feathered hoof is stretched slightly outward, her eight shifting from one lovely hip to the other, eyes watching carefully as she reads the other. "Not as of yet...and that is rather pathetic." The remark slips from between the soft lips, murmuring lowly as there is no infliction in her voice. The stories of old that her mother had spun were only legends now. The world was not raw and wild anymore. Beqanna had crawled away from the legends of men seeking their women with tooth and smiles. No longer did they flock to the field in hopes to catch a woman's eye any longer. Now the women are the ones who must fight. Bah. Katarina shakes away her stupidity with the soft wave of her carefully cut head. If that is how it is then that is how it will be. So help them all, Katarina is risen from the ashes to feed from the land of Beqanna, to carve her mark amongst the ancient.