i told you i'd get a post up for her! here it is... only several months late.
 gaza Once upon a time, Gaza met a sad silver woman and she sang him a sad, sad song. Fear possessed her mind and froze her legs. Fear kept her from moving forward, and when she ran, she turned around and fell backwards, away from Gaza. Gaza, who only wanted to help Cordis, and maybe one day sidle up against her skin. He was a young and infatuated, and at that point he had not yet met the far more real women that would bear his children.
Cordis and her long lost daughter exist in a sort of other world for Gaza. One that he never imagines he will touch again, unless it is with ghostly, dream state hands.
So the flash of silver flesh takes him by surprise, causing Gaza to do a very quick double take. It’s almost comic, but then it also almost gives him whiplash. At first he thinks it might be Cordis, but after a minute he discerns that the figure in the distance is not, in fact, the sad woman he met years before. He frowns in thought, muddling through the options. Colors are plentiful here - it could easily be a coincidence. But then again.. what are the odds? In all his years, he’s never seen none so completely silver like Cordis, and none so completely gold like Yael. Even if the being isn’t a relation, that silver skin prods at a forgotten yearning and so the black stallion changes course and moves towards her. He has nothing to lose from saying hi, does he?
When Gaza is within speaking range, he calls out rather politely, “Excuse me, but are you Cordis’ daughter by any chance?” What else could he say? ‘Were you ever kidnapped as a foal?’ or even better, ‘do you belong to a dark, god-like monster?’ He can't say that - just in case it isn't her.
vanquish x yael
i wanted pomegranates—
i wanted darkness—
i wanted him.
She remembers her mother – her mothers – but she remembers them abstractly, as one might recall a work of fiction, or a dream they once had. They were not her real life, her real life began in the dark smokiness of His lair, where He taught her the pleasures her flesh could provide, the beauty in skin flayed, in bones carved with poetry.
She looks like her, though – a molten, glorious silver. The color elevates the rest of the features, sunlight glints off her curves and the cut of a cheekbone. Less beautiful and more ethereal – the face would not launch a thousand ships, but it might haunt one or two.
Still, for all this, she does not find herself beautiful now – now she is boring, a canvas whited out (she can share stories but her body does not back up the tales, seamless as it is). She misses her wounds, wishes she was not so whole – all that remains is a brand, burned into her skin on her crest beneath a wash of silver mane.
She watches the stallion approach, idly, for nothing about him is remarkable, until he opens his mouth, speaks a name she knows so well yet has almost forgotten.
Her body tightens, grows wary. She is not so idle now.
“I am,” she says, though she wonders, sometimes – the time before Him is ill-recalled, “why do you ask?”
p e r s e
------------------------------cordis x spyndle |
[do you mind if we time jump to present day? sorry i suck for waiting a month to reply :/ ]
Gaza can see her body tighten, the way her eyes flash from idleness to action and the way the hair on her skin raises ever so slightly. He sees dilation and hears the clenching of muscles - even now, he finds the sounds and sights odd. And yet that must be how the girl feels, for even though she is a ghost from his past, he is also ghost from hers. Whatever he said has put her on guard, and so he tries to present himself as non-threatening as possible. Body language is his thing, now.
He lets a little bit of hope jump into his sand-gold eyes and an easy smile spread across his face. “You just look so much like her,” he says, not knowing who else she might look like. Younger, though, and less world-weary. There is no skittishness in lightning, no; nothing more than a beautiful confidence, and even as the words drop from his mouth, he knows they aren’t as true as he wants them to be. He could say more about her mother, but just in case it was the mention of her that caused the woman to be wary, he forgoes it for now. “I’m Gaza. What’s your name?” He takes a step closer to her, digesting all the little tidbits of her that he can. And yet, for all the chemicals and body language, she is an enigma to him.
He finds that he likes it, that he is captivated by her, just as much as he was by her mother.
i wanted pomegranates—
i wanted darkness—
i wanted him.
She has no such supernatural senses, reads little into the boy’s body. His words, though, chime heavy as church bells, and the name still echoes in her skin.
She remembers a touch, soft, a silver muzzle. She hadn’t had a name then – or if she had, she had forgotten it. There had been fear, in her upbringing, though she’d never known what for.
(For exactly what had come to pass.)
The only body she truly knows is His – tombstone gray (most of the time), beautiful. But even as well as she knew that body she could never read Him, He was written in a language she could not decipher, the language of cosmos and black holes, ancient magic and slaughter.
He asks for a name. She can give him that much, even as she still eyes him warily, her past knocking at the door, a call she isn’t sure she should answer.
“Perse,” she says, letting him step closer even as her skin prickles.
p e r s e
------------------------------cordis x spyndle |
gaza Perse.
Gaza tastes her name in his mouth, the way it pulls his lips together and then separates them again. The way his tongue lifts to create space, to round the edges of her name, the tiny hisss at the end when the tip touches his teeth. Perse. Her mother’s name hisses at the end too, but her name is less mournful. Cordis.Cor-dis.Less of a mouthful. It is… simple, and he wonders if she indulges in such simple pleasures as touch. Not the kind that invites pain, not the kind that she’s experienced at the hands of Him. Not the kind she craves.
Just… touch. Pure and unadulterated.
“Perse,” he repeats back to her, a lop-sided grin dangling in a rather lackadaisical way. “It’s nice to meet you.” But he stops there, watching the hairs on her skin rise up. He only has one shot at this. “I don’t mean to pry, but… she’s missed you.” A half-truth, as he remembers her fleeing before his insistent questions, his queries as to why she hadn’t gone looking for Perse. But a half-truth is better than an all-out lie, and even when Gaza didn’t have his super senses, he could see the regret in her eyes. Or perhaps, what he imagined to be regret. He saw the fear, certainly; there had to be something else in there too.
vanquish x yael
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