"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
06-23-2021, 11:02 AM (This post was last modified: 06-23-2021, 05:25 PM by Obscene.)
I can see through you, see your true colors Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
The Loess visit had proven… interesting.
However there was one more stop on this political train, one more place to visit, one more person to inform of his “ascension” to the wildflower throne.
The dark Fae did not trust Sabra as far as he could throw her. To say that he didn’t particularly like the pastel mare with the large stick jutting out of her chest would be an understatement. He still remembers the magic crawling over his skin and sinking into his brain, the haziness that followed her hypnotic gaze, the way he became pliable under her spell. There is also a small part of him that’s loathe to admit that he had been pleased to be seen by her, she had found something past the mortal shell of his existence and stirred a little kernel of thought that maybe he wasn’t such a worthless fool after all. She had seen something in him that he couldn’t see himself. For all her flaws and danger, he couldn’t shake that.
It is always autumn here, he is reminded, as gray clouds hide the blue in the sky and the red and yellow leaves dangle off the tangled limbs of wide trees. It had been Spring when they had visited Loess but he waits till the last signs of summer to step foot in the eternal autumn lands. He had thought to send Wherewolf here but thinks better of that idea. There’s a time for pranks and this isn’t one of them. Instead he travels with the Pampian Seneschal who had proven so useful on the last trip.
When he had last been here he had been just a mortal but handsome young stallion. Now he was Fae, now he held the Pampas in his grasp, and now he had those like Aela at his side. He moves past the heavy woods of oak and maple until he finds one of the few clearings, avoiding the thick thorny briars that threaten entangle them in their thickets. He loosens a call and cocks a hind hoof, his expression as unreadable as ever despite a small flutter of nerves, and glances at his companion out of the corner of a fiery red iris. “Don’t look her directly in the eyes.” He mutters to her under his breath as his finely tipped ears swivel forward and await the arrival of the javelined mare.
06-23-2021, 06:54 PM (This post was last modified: 06-23-2021, 06:55 PM by Aela.)
She hadn't been happy about this visit.
Every lovely line on Aela's refined face is angled away from Sylva, as if every corner of her skin was crawling at just the thought of coming here. The golden mare had met Sabra once - an electric personality that Aela might have once considered a worthy ally. But the pearlescent mare had proved herself to be too volatile for Aela's taste (the memory echoes in her mind, the way that the mare had screamed: you took her! Give her back!)
Aela keeps that memory close, ready to use it if the javelin-speared leader needed any reminder exactly who was standing on the edges of her wood. The palomino casts a wary out across the Sylvan shadows, remembering all the old stories that she had heard about this place. It had been the scene for murders and types of debauchery so dark that even Aela wouldn't name it. She glances back to her companion, taking the opportunity press her slender shoulder into his broader one. A brief touch of assurance and if that wasn't enough, her next lingering touch adds in a small amount of confidence.
They could always turn around, she thinks. Let the Sylvans imagine they thought they heard the trumpeting cry of a young stallion. But instead, the Pampas Prince cocks a hind hoof and Aela merely sighs, resigned to the fact that they would be staying. She turns her blazed face away from his, staring off towards the Maples and Oaks.
"Noted," she quietly tells the brute as she keeps a watch for the notorious (hypnotic) Sabra.
It's blearily that I raise my head from my pillow of matted leaves. Crimson and gold scatter about as the scar-woven lengths of my body lift from where I'd been sleeping (healing), blood still an ugly red-brown stain on my skin. It sticks to my hair in crusty clots, darkening the locks and gluing them to my neck.
I am, without doubt, a mess.
A whine of anxiety peals from me, the disarray growing with every moment. So much blood. And it's everywhere, not just on me, but splashed about the leaves and earth in black stains. Is it all mine? Woozy, cottony space fills my head, forcing me away from the ghastly scene. Forcing me down into some secret part of me, where blood and pain and truth can't reach.
I heard them. That's what woke me up, after all, that resounding call that echoed through the trees. Visitors, I believe. A genial smile illuminates my stained features, brightening the thinness of my face. Oh, but this won't do, not one bit! No, this is not how one greets their guests.
With a glimmer of concentration, I purse my lips and think. No time for a bath, not in any realistic fashion. A cover up, then! My back turned on the wreckage of the grove, I step towards the origin of the cry, my skin darkening as I go.
By the time I come upon them, my coat is darkest maroon, a clever trick if I do say so myself! Smiling impishly, I come to a halt at the edge of the woods, as neatly put together as I can be on such short notice.
"Hello there!" I chime, taking in the elegant pair and their averted eyes. "What brings y'all to my neck of the woods?" It is my neck, I do know that much. These woods, these trees, are all I've loved. They are mine to the day I die, and then they'll be mine again when I return.
I can see through you, see your true colors Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Her reluctance hadn’t been missed. Aela hadn’t shared what had happened between her and Sylva’s leader but based on his own experience, he can roughly guess that it hadn’t been pleasant. Still it seems fitting that the golden mare be here although he still wonders if perhaps they should have brought Wherewolf with them as well. It had been his intention to send the scowling pegasus in his place to give Sabra the news but after what had happened in Loess he changed his mind. Better the news come from his own lips, better to see her reaction for himself to see how she took it.
As they settle themselves to wait, his companion leans into him briefly and it’s enough to entice a small smile from the dark stallion as a boost of confidence swells through him. It only seems to confirm that perhaps she might be just as on edge as she is beneath their cool exteriors. He watches how her gaze seems to linger back from where they had come, as if her body would like to physically remove itself immediately. His muzzle lingers near her neck, blunt teeth gently grazing against her sunlit skin briefly before pulling back. It had been awhile since he had explored the curves of her body and felt her kisses travel across his glittering skin, she had become increasingly distant in that area since the approach of autumn and he grows impatient in his wanting for her. He will not admit that he is rather wounded by this, that she has managed to settle herself in a part of him that he had not expected. After this trip he means to get to the root of it, bolstered by her surge of confidence, once they are safe back in their wildflower home. He means to whisper her a promise to leave as soon as possible but then they are alone no longer.
Sabra looks… different. It’s not just that she has physically changed colors some how (maroon where she had once been a sickeningly pastel blue) but something in her demeanor seems… off. His gaze sweeps over the javelin still firmly lodged in her chest and with a sweep of nausea thinks he catches a glint of blood around the wound. He firmly avoids direct eye contact as he looks her over and tries to put a finger on what exactly has changed, for better or worse. “Sabra.” He greets smoothly, covering himself in the warm folds of Aela’s boost of confidence. “I remember you asked me not to be boring. So I come with news. The Pampas are mine. It seems we are ruling neighbors now.” He sees no point in beating around the bush as they both don’t want to linger longer than needed.
06-26-2021, 08:31 PM (This post was last modified: 06-26-2021, 08:33 PM by Aela.)
She entices a small smile from Obscene and she tilts her blazed face towards his. She gives him that familiar coy one in return, hoping that it might encourage him to take them both out of Sylva sooner rather than later. His muzzle lingers near her slender neck and Aela relaxes in his attention, allowing his touch to distract them both for a moment. The palomino nearly glows as she basks under his attentive touch.
But where her mind might wander is called back. She feels it; that sensation of Magic nearby.
It's powerful, whoever wields it. And suddenly, the contented mare becomes alert. Her blue eyes pierce the treeline, scouring it for the source. They find Sabra quickly enough and her gaze is skeptical as it lingers on the maroon mare. She hadn't looked like that at all, the last time they had encountered each other. Aela had been preparing herself for the wild, erratic presence she had met in the Forest that day. The limb is still there, grotesque and protruding from her chest. Still sensing the source of magic nearby, Aela refrains from allowing her expression to curdle into something besides indifference. She follows Obscene's advice, focusing on the offending limb instead of the Sylvan leader.
Aela allows the Pampas Prince to make the formalities for them both as she tries to sort through this mystery.
And when he recalls the memory of meeting Sabra, of how she asked him to be boring, the golden Seneschal finally steps onto the scene. "You?" she says teasingly, looking up the dark brute from beneath her lashes. "I would call many things but boring is not one of them." Aela continues and then smiles towards the color-changing woman, being careful to avoid her eyes. She is growing more irritated by the minute because this is like Hyaline all over again; Sabra is entirely unreadable to the empathic Aela.
Never one to concede to a challenge, the striped mare brazenly asks: "What has Sylva been entertaining of late?" making it sound as if a forest full of dark entities must be considering something, especially if they once insinuated that the Pampas-usurping Obscene might have been boring.
My eyes widen at the brief greeting. So curt! No, no, no, that's not how we do things, no it's not. My still-pink tail flicks with some disdain as I contemplate my guests. Unwilling guests, if their attitudes are anything to go by.
"Rushed to get somewhere?" I drawl airily, before sighing with some resignation. "Well darling, you're as good as your word, I'll give you that. Did they give you much of a fight?" An ephemeral smile, a wink, and I turn to the gilded girl beside him.
She's pretty, no mistake, and I find myself entertained by her overt confidence. Showy little tart, I think, so much fun we could have together! I exhale a blood-clotted breath, chest aching with recent wounds. Recent lessons.
"Whatever Sylva wants, my dear girl." I'm sure I don't know. Something exciting, if Sabra is anything to go by. Anyway, I'm sure it's none of this nosy creature's business. Not unless I want it to be.
There's a flicker across my vision. Green as bright as spring, gold streaked through. A hum of amusement drifts across my mouth, head tipping genially. "She's pretty, but you can do better," I remark in a stage-whisper to the night black stallion, wondering vaguely at her familiarity. Do I know her? Should I? My expression remains pleasant as I ponder.
I can see through you, see your true colors Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
There is a prickling in the air and he has a feeling that his companion can feel it as well as the maroon mare moves closer to them. He can see better now that her javelin wound looks almost new with the way blood beads around the edges of insertion. What had happened after he had left? Whatever it had been seemed to leave Sabra in some sort of madness and the confidence that Aela had shot through his system dims slightly. A cunning Sabra had been dangerous enough. This madwoman in her place was downright terrifying. At least she seems pleased with what he has done and he offers her a twisted smile in response, something cruel that he knows she will like, as he asks if it had been much of a fight. “Not really no.” He responds pleasantly enough, deciding that he would keep to himself that he had preferred it that way.
She answers Aela in riddles and when the Sylvian leader is not looking, he tries to catch Aela’s oceanic gaze with the red of his own. "She’s lost it.” He thinks and tries to convey that thought with a quirk of his brow before smoothing his expression once more into his usual tone of disinterest as the raving mare looks to him again. He isn’t expecting the comment that the once pastel mare mockingly whispers (quite loudly) to him and it’s enough to make him huff with a surprised laugh. “Is that so?” He asks her with curiosity, wondering what had brought on such an insult. With a small smug smile he glances at his golden Seneschal and can’t help the sudden stir he feels when looking at her. “You’re probably right but I think I’ll keep her, just in case.” He responds nonchalantly, giving a slight shrug of a broad shoulder.
“Sabra you seem… different.” He attempts to steer the conversation back on track. To get to why they were here. “Has something happened?” To be quite honest he doesn’t really care if something had happened or not but his curiosity to her current behavior is enough to make him ask.
06-27-2021, 06:45 PM (This post was last modified: 06-27-2021, 06:53 PM by Aela.)
What was the story about the branch jutting from her chest?
Aela - much like she had with Gale - leaves her Magic receptive, trying to see if there is a crack in the shield that the palomino imagines envelops her. There is always a give somewhere. No kind of Magic (despite the Dark God and the Mountain, perhaps) was impenetrable. It was like their wielders - flawed. But there is no specific memory that allows Aela any glimpse of how Sabra's injury came about, nothing that might reveal anything to the Seneschal's advantage.
All she can sense is a deep-rooted kind of grief (which isn't surprising; last time they met, Sabra had been mourning the loss of a child) that Aela hasn't sensed since her last trip into Taiga.
She's lost it, Aela can hear Obscene think and turns to look up at the Pampas Prince. Her ears flick in his direction but the palomino keeps any more thoughts to herself, her mind intentionally blank while the source of Sabra's mental barrier remains unsolved. Had the Blood Forest recruited a Magician, as the Pangeans once had?
The striped girl can certainly feel the tug within Obscene's chest and Aela feels her body lean towards him in a familiar gesture. She glances back at the color-changed mare and tries to quell her irritation that Sabra speaks as if she isn't even there; as if Aela had come along as a lovely decoration for the Pampas leader. But she reminds herself that this is what she had wanted. If they all mistake her as a pretty paramour to the onyx stallion, it is only to her advantage because they can use that to catch them all by surprise later.
For now, she'll overlook the slight that Sabra makes.
"Yes," Aela chimes in, deciding to follow Obscene's lead. "You know, you do seem different." Her refined face tilts, admiring the deep maroon coloring of the Sylvan's coat. The slender creature beside Obscene feigns concern, "you were very upset the last time we met." And now Aela doesn't hesitate to hold on to the memory any longer, letting the image of the wailing woman in the woods and the powerful storm she conjured go between the trio. Sabra had shifted into something that Aela hadn't seen before (or seen since) and it had been impressive, the way that she had called upon the lightning.
Her blue eyes widen slightly, making her appear hopeful.
I hum a little disappointed noise. Victory without battle seemed a hollow thing, but I suppose the easy route had its appeal. To walk in and claim something without resistance... Well. I think I have always ruled these woods, to some degree or other. The memory of the tired mare who acquiesced to me some years ago now is absent. Fallen through a weak spot in my tattered mind.
These two, however, I think I mistrust. More than most, anyway. There's a sharpness in her eyes when I murmur my criticisms, and it brings a vague smile to my lips. Not just a pretty face, eh? "Keep her, don't keep her. I'm sure she'll land on her feet either way. Won't you?" I say with a throaty rasp.
The spindle in my chest is a reminder; the risk run with playing too hard with one's toys. They do not go back together in quite the same way, once broken. Break it too many times, and you might not even recognize what's left of the pieces for what they once were. Oh, but the way my blood shines is a beautiful thing...
And then it seems they wish to turn the conversation back on me. My eyes narrow ever so slightly, a persistent knocking growing louder in my mind. It's been there this whole time, I realize, like a woodpecker hunting grubs in the background. Which one, which one... Ah.
The memory grabs hold, a dimly lit meeting drawn in the palette of emotions more than real colors. It's a violent recollection, one fraught with pain and despair. I flinch, and like a reflex a stab of lightning runs back up the channel opened between my mind and the interloper. I hope it hurts.
"That wasn't very nice," I snarl softly, looking back to the girl who's face had briefly appeared in my mind, now standing so innocently at my door. Ozone scent builds in the air, the promise of a storm soon coming. Sooner, if they insist on playing games with me.
My gaze, sharp as knives, cuts between them. "Enough of this playacting. Why are you here," For clearly this is no social call. I have not been the kind of mare one visits for fun in a very long time. Only when there is need. Need that can't be fulfilled anywhere else.
I can see through you, see your true colors Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
He smirks at Sabra as if in amused agreement but something in her words finds a dark spot in him. It rests there, nestling deep, as he glances at Aela out of the corner of his eye. Yes, yes she was rather slippery and he had no doubt that there was no situation that Aela couldn’t find her way out of. Perhaps she did have nine lives like a cat, would always land on her feet. With or without him. It’s enough to twitch the corner of his lip slightly downward but the movement smooths out within seconds of appearing.
In typical Aela fashion she starts to bait this deranged version of Sabra and before he can give her some sort of gesture to watch it, Sabra turns towards her with a snarl. There is something that seems to run through the two of them and it’s enough to make him stamp a hoof with open irritation. It seems to be enough as the blue mare looks between them and seems to grasp some sort of sanity to ask them what they wanted.
“Can’t one pay a courtesy call to inform them of recent events without wanting something?” He asks smoothly enough but there is something icy that creeps around each word. The dark red of his gaze glittering again as he moves closer towards Sabra, enough for his chest to graze against the end of her spindle. “But I will admit that I am curious to why you linger in these woods Sabra. Why has it been so quiet?” He pauses, watching her carefully for any signs of trouble. “We’ve met Oceane. She wishes for a calm and peaceful South. But that’s not what you wish for is it?”
His mouth twists into something smug but charming, aware of the danger that rings like a warning bell in his head and quickens his pulse in an unpleasant way. He reaches slowly for Sabra, a slight touch of his muzzle on her jaw. He remembered the way she had looked at him once and counts on his handsome looks and the flirtation she had casted his way before to keep things calm and focused. “What do two rulers do to keep things from getting boring?” He murmurs to her quietly, his gaze never losing contact with hers even as he can feel Aela’s eyes on the back of his head. Perhaps he had learned more from her than he had thought.
![[Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTkjKh9Q/Obscene-Pixel.png){kind=tracking}
