"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
it's a guarantee that he won't forget me. my body little, my soul heavy.
Everything has changed.
Three words Naia thought she would never speak. Over and over again she whispers them to herself. How did it happen? She barely remembers the change. Her time on the Mountain was brief: after the fairy chose her shells, she passed out from combined pain and exhaustion. When she awoke, sore and sniffly, her body felt . . . softer; it felt thirsty. She had rushed to the Hyaline lake in a blur, and that is where it happened.
She changed, and in her reflection she saw her beauty. A nereid, skin scaly and elegant. At first, she was fearful, but now upon the Nerinian border she feels fine.
It is clear in the limp of her step and drop of her skull that the appaloosa is injured and plague-ridden. How ironic that the fairies gifted her magic so beautiful while the sickness took her health. At least in her nereid form she appears the picture of health, soothing singing voice in tow. Perhaps if she had someone to worry about her wellbeing, she would use that gentle song to ease their concern; alas, she only has herself to hum to (and hum she does, her new soundtrack to convincing herself she will be all right).
Naia quickly crosses the kingdom, ignoring pain in the back of her throat as it intensifies. The crashing waves of the cliff-crushed beaches call to her. At the edge of the waterline she begins to change: the curve of her hips more feminine, the passing of fur into scales, the ethereal float of her mane and tail. She casts one look back, pausing only because she thinks someone may be there.
cold in the violence after the war hope is a fire to keep us warm
At first she doesn’t notice the humming, too caught up in the tug and pull of injured flesh and the burn of tired muscles as she pushes herself along the beach in a relentless rhythm. But it’s irresistible, in a way. Impossible to ignore. And as the notes find their way from her subconscious to consciousness, she finds her feet slowing as curiosity takes root in her ever-seeking mind.
Though she had been running for some time now, she is barely winded as she slows, an easy trot carrying her along the beach until a figure appears. She slows to a walk then, her gaze brightly curious as she picks her way along the shore towards the woman standing with her toes in the water. The red and white of her skin is darkened with sweat, her mottled tresses wild and tangled and decidedly unkempt. But then, that has hardly mattered since bone had begun to jut raggedly through her skin, blood drying into her fur even as fresh, vibrant red oozes from where her skin had been torn by bone.
Of course, her habit of running does not help. Not when each stride cracks barely healed wounds and pulls on tender skin. But it’s easier, somehow, to forget all of that when she can focus on the burn of muscle and stretch of her lungs. Her body testifies to just how often she pursues that particular method of forgetfulness, her youthful frame slim and leanly muscled, her vitality unmistakable.
She forgets too, sometimes, just how freakish she must now look. The odd sight a young woman with jutting bone and trickling blood must make to this stranger, so enthralling in her lovely perfection. Instead she smiles, refusing to bow before the conventions of a society that would make her a monster.
“Hello!” she greets brightly, stepping closer, eyes bold as they rove her loveliness. Even the faint, telltale signatures of illness cannot detract from such ephemeral beauty. “Was that you singing?”
it's a guarantee that he won't forget me. my body little, my soul heavy.
As her fur passes into scales, Naia’s mane and tail gently tug at the water that crashes against her legs. Two scarves on a gentle wind, ethereal and light and swift. The nereid shivers in her scales, pale eyes passing over the hardy skin that hisses to be immersed in the water. Her nostrils flare in that same indignation from the first time she shifted - perhaps she will never get used to the slithering of her skin.
The sound of another approaching snaps her back to attention - her thought that someone is around turns out to be accurate. The surprise of her shifting turns to surprise at the bone-covered girl approaching the shoreline. Naia cocks her head fascination, a bashful smile curling one side of her mouth. The appaloosa has conversed with very few, but she still finds the slight flutter of her heart suspiciously faster than general social anxiety. The nereid has not forgotten the muscular girl that raised herself by beating tree trunks until her bones ached. That armor across the other’s skin is fucking cool.
Heart pounding loudly in her ears, Naia remains as a nereid and shyly steps closer to Brazen. Her smile is quaint and alluring in a way that is obvious she has no idea what she looks like.
“Yes,” she murmurs, a supernatural lilt coloring the soft syllable. The nereid steps closer once again, reaching her muzzle out to touch the bloody bone if the girl will have her. “Did you grow this?” Her head pulls back, eyes gently curious. The memory of the warrior girl she was (and still is) flashes behind her eyes. Yearling Naia would have murdered to grow her very own armor. “It is beautiful.” The last statement is more final, the smile on her face a little more confident.
06-25-2019, 02:23 PM (This post was last modified: 06-25-2019, 02:23 PM by Brazen.)
cold in the violence after the war hope is a fire to keep us warm
She watches in fascination as sleek fur undulates into smooth, shimmering scale. A transformation that would draw the eye of any but the blind. Even then, Brazen wonders if the blind might somehow notice. She doesn’t realize she had been holding her breath until her lungs remind her with increasing persistence she needs air to live. Sucking in a break, she blinks, before ducking her head and coughing with embarrassment into her knees.
Damn. Her new companion must thing her an absolute ninny.
Maybe she is a ninny, because she can’t seem to help the way her eyes are drawn insistently back to the lovely woman, roving her beauty as though she were a dying woman in the desert and Naia an oasis.
If she’d had the forethought, she might have been confused. She’d never encountered anyone with such a lovely, enticing mien about them before. Had she any thought at all, she might even have realized it couldn’t be natural. But, alas, Brazen is only a young girl beset by too many hormones.
It takes her a moment to register that the nereid had spoken, her muzzle brushing pale bone as she inquires after it. “Oh,” she says, rather dumbly. “Um. Yes, I suppose I did”
She had never had anyone express fascination and admiration for her rather unorthodox body protection before, and at first she’s not quite certain how to react. “Thank you,” she replies slowly, her brows furrowing behind the bone that masks her face as she searches her companions much more lovely features uncertainly. As though she might find the confirmation of her honesty in the lines of skin more than the breath of her words. “Did you… mean that?”
07-29-2019, 08:50 PM (This post was last modified: 07-29-2019, 08:51 PM by naia.)
it's a guarantee that he won't forget me. my body little, my soul heavy.
“Why would I not mean it?” Naia answers, genuine confusion furrowing her brow. A hesitant smile lifts the corners of her lips, turning a typically serious face into a goofy one. Perhaps the two are both a bit socially inept - the nereid with her lack of personal interaction, and Brazen with her uncertainty. For a brief moment, the girl wishes she could read minds, wishes she could pluck her counterpart’s exact insecurities straight from her brain.
“I would never say something I do not mean,” she murmurs, pale eyes gentle on the bone guarding the roan woman’s face. Her voice is so soft that the ocean’s noise may have carried it away.
Naia redirects her touch to the bone around the other girl’s head. A smile so small it may not even be there curls the corners of her mouth. The blood that mingles with the smooth ivory is wildly beautiful, like spilled ink upon a museum's marble floor. The smell is metallic and strange in Naia’s nose, though she cannot say it is entirely unpleasant. Her muzzle dips back down and her brown eyes follow. A gentility she does not understand is present in her gaze.
“I didn’t grow these,” Naia redirects with a bitter look away. The ocean is just loud enough to keep her from boiling over with anger. “The scales, I mean,” she adds hastily, realizing her companion cannot, in fact, read her mind. “They’re nice underwater but they’re no dragon scales. I think there is much more beauty to be found in the harsh - like the way your blood sits upon your bone.”
cold in the violence after the war hope is a fire to keep us warm
A silly question perhaps. As though the lovely woman’s answer might change merely because Brazen had questioned it. Only those with cruelty in their heart would do such a thing, and Brazen can sense no cruelty in the mare before her. That might have embarrassed her, had she that much cognitive ability left. But then, she’s never been particularly cultured in her speech or manner, so perhaps it could merely be attributed to who she is.
“No, of course not,” Brazen agrees almost absently, her eyes fixed on the features so close to her own. It’s clear to see there is an honesty about the nymph-like creature before her. She stands with breathless stillness as the soft muzzle traces the edges of her armor. For a moment, she fears her blood might paint itself garishly onto her companion’s perfect skin, but it is a thought quickly lost in the steady rush that sounds in her ears and faintly warms the copper of her pelt.
But then Naia is pulling back, and Brazen blinks as though waking from a dream. Her blue eyes fix on the nereid as bitterness suffuses the next words from her lips, surprising the bone-clad girl with it’s vehemence. Almost instinctively, she steps forward, her lips coming forward to press against the smooth scale on her neck, as though she might protect such beauty from it’s owner’s vehemence.
After a moment, she replies softly, “They feel like they are yours.” As warm and alive as the woman who wears them. Breath soft against her skin, she traces the smooth ridges almost absently before recalling herself and withdrawing abruptly. With a somewhat sheepish grin, she rushes to cover the moment, hoping she wouldn’t comment on how familiarly she’d just touched a stranger. “I think you’re beautiful, if that matters. Although,” she continues with faint shrug, “I’m pretty sure things always seem more lovely when you’re not the one attached to them forever.”
With a faintly lopsided smile, she lifts her gaze to find her newfound companion’s. “I’m Brazen, by the way.”
it's a guarantee that he won't forget me. my body little, my soul heavy.
What beauty Naia finds in the bitter blood and glowing ivory of her companion lives in her need to understand and be all of the ferocity in the universe. When she looks at Brazen, she sees how strange and incredible their world is - she sees that she is not alone in the cutting glares she used to receive.
And, truthfully, her jealousy is a live and writhing thing when she imagines how others must see the crimson bone. She misses when her first impressions were her own and not some flippant lie controlled by magic.
Naia is shocked by the lips pressed to her scales, eyes wide and blinking. She holds her breath for the time that she and Brazen are connected, in awe of a gesture she is not placing upon another. A smile, one wistful and delighted all at once, hesitantly curves her lips, and she would lean into that protective gentility if she thought she could.
“Brazen,” the nereid repeats, and the name sounds strong and right in her mouth. There is no flirty bat of her eyes or coquettish tilt of her head; no, Naia has no idea how to sashay when she wants someone to find her attractive (and apparently she will never have to). She simply is, firm and grounded, pale brown eyes honest in their analyzation.
“Well, thank you for thinking that. I don’t think I like all of the attention . . .” Her eyes flit to the chestnut’s and then down to the sand, nervous from such vulnerability. “Though yours is welcome.” There it is, her first ever flirtation, and she almost immediately shies away from the blush that rises in her cheeks. “My name is Naia,” she murmurs, then laughs, “Maybe we can ask Carnage to swap bodies for a day.”
She wonders what it would be like to be under Brazen’s skin, but then again - she is not sure in which way she means that.
cold in the violence after the war hope is a fire to keep us warm
It’s the curse of being alive, in a sense. To always want something you do not have. To find beauty in things other than your own skin. Though Brazen does not feel the same bone-deep jealousy, she does know longing. What must it be like, to be so achingly lovely? To have skin so soft and flawless? To know a life without pain and blood?
It’s foolish to wonder. But Brazen has never claimed not to be a foolish girl.
Of course, it does not occur to Brazen either that such things can be wrought so easily by magic. Perhaps she should know, given her mother. But then, her mother had never been one to portray beautiful lies. Still, to her, the world is relatively simple yet, where beauty is nothing more than beauty. Besides, she should know better than most that what lies beneath is more important than that which lingers on the surface. Were that not true, she would be nothing more than the raving, maddened beast she looks to be.
She is glad when her newfound companion does not object to her overly familiar touch. Abashedly pleased when it is welcomed not just by action, but by word. Yet again, heat seems to flush too near her skin’s surface, something that is as foreign as it is curiously intriguing. “I’m glad,” she whispers, her voice almost shyly soft, despite the way her eyes linger so boldly on Naia’s warm gaze. Though she does not consciously recognize the subtle flirtations, her innate vitality rises to meet it. “I think some attentions can be… very nice.”
She shifts almost unconsciously closer, too accustomed to sharing affectionate touch when expressing herself to realize what she does. She pauses and blinks however, when Naia makes her final wry comment about switching bodies. Suddenly, a peal a humored laughter escapes her lips, low and surprisingly pleasant. As the laughter fades, she tilts her head, gleaming eyes settling on Naia as she replies, grin still on her lips. “As pleasant as that sounds for me, I think you’d find my skin much less comfortable from within.”
