"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
A few leaves tumble out of the way as Beyza teleports herself into the meadow, accompanied by a small flash of white light. She can feel the drain on her magic but finds it pleasant - stretching the abilities she often just uses for small things to entertain herself or her children.
She might not have used it for teleportation if she remembered the chill that would greet her outside of her tropical home. After spending so much time in Ischia, Beyza’s tolerance for the cold has decreased. Fortunately, there is no moral dilemma that keeps her from using her magic to keep herself warm. And though she knows she will be tired after these efforts, the soft white glow that surrounds her begins to radiate heat instead of just light. Just enough to ward off the early morning chill as she finds her way through the meadow.
Frost clings to the grass and the leaves that have not yet fallen, though it melts wherever she steps - leaving a trail behind her. She is not moving with purpose, her steps slow.
This is as close to Pangea as she allows herself to get now, and even then she keeps closer to the river near the west - her white eyes only drifting occasionally to where she knows the canyon territory lies. Her thoughts begin to stretch there too as she begins to remember that she had loved it, once, and it is an effort to force herself to remain here in the presence. She resolves to approach the first face she sees to distract herself - and can only hope that it will be someone she does not recognize.
you used to tell me we'd turn into something oh, you said life was much better than this
It has taken trial and error to master a complete mask of pleasantness when Lannister feels so little; but after a few frightened and confused strangers, he has shaped a perfectly handsome smile on his mouth. He is realizing that, too: he is a lovely thing to look at, well-muscled and bearing the sharp lines of a sculpted face. Such beauty is a weapon, he is certain of it, and he learns a little more of where it might take him each day.
A wavering reflection peers up at him from the crystal water of the creek that passes through the meadow. Lan turns his head this way and that way, gray eyes absently admiring all the fine features he inherited from his ancestors. While not particularly understanding earthly beauty, the wine-stained male has had to learn what weapons still sit in his arsenal. What a fine knife his pleasant smile makes, what a quiet arrow his kind eyes might be—how he might string his mouth like a bow, shoot his words with the deadly precision meant to strike.
He would no longer be the scared, wilting boy shriveling in a dream world.
And when he finally masters all that lies dormant within him, he’ll fill the neon vacancy flickering in his heart.
Lannister flicks his ears backward, lifts that head that feels so alien to him. He spots Beyza, quickly flicks his gaze over every inch he can see. Turning, he plasters that warm smile across his face and flicks his tail good-naturedly.
“My, my, what a trick,” he says, biting back the desire to purr and sculpting the tone of a practiced conversationalist. “I envy the ability to keep yourself warm in all this biting cold.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Lannister. A pleasure to meet you.”
It is not long before someone finds her, and Beyza immediately stops - already enraptured. She does not think she’s ever seen someone with so much colour before, all the more vivid against the brown-and-frost backdrop that the current season provides him. Her white eyes mirror the movement of his, her gaze dancing along golden stripes.
She finds the grey of his eyes comforting - a respite from the brilliance, though still more colour than she has ever possessed.
As someone who is not so practiced in conversation, she’s glad it is not up to her to begin it. She feels no pride at the mention of her trick but it inspires a small smile all the same - it is good to be noticed, she thinks.
“I’m Beyza.” And there is only a slight pause before she asks curiously “Are you looking for warmth today, Lannister?” Beyza extends the bubble of it but only enough so that it would touch the tip of his nose. Just out of reach and an invitation to step closer. An excuse for it. A faint, ghosting smile shimmers in her white eyes as she watches and waits to see what he’ll do. She finds herself defaulting to how she stands when she is not consciously reminding herself to move. Unblinking, unmoving. Only the gentle rise and fall of her breaths hinting at life for this mare who still feels like such a ghost.
Especially when standing near someone of such vibrant colour.
A moment later she remembers to try and she forces herself to blink, to shift her head just slightly to the side in a practiced movement. A mimic of an action so small it seemed to be instinct for everyone else as she observed their actions and taught herself what to do.
you used to tell me we'd turn into something oh, you said life was much better than this
Are you looking for warmth today, Lannister?
He falls into a memory, a fine line between this biting reality and the gentle warmth of his father. When he was but a spindly newborn, nothing but long legs and a wobbly head, he sought out that warmth. The loving, reverent touch of his father to his forehead every time he delighted him with something new.
Lannister remembers nights when his magic warred out of control, when he couldn’t control even the smallest bits of their realm. There were endless, drowning oceans and devastating, cold winters.
Every time, he ended up shivering, saved by the sheer will of Elio. His father would dip his head, watch Lan with eyes that matched his. He’d say, concern coloring every consonant and vowel of his tone, “We need to get you warm.”
The memories fall away with a blink, only a couple of seconds of reality lost. Lannister paints that handsome, practiced smile across his mouth and dips his head in thanks. “How lovely that is against all this winter,” he answers as he takes a step forward, pulling half his body into the bubble of heat. “How can I thank you for such a gift, Beyza?” he adds with a small, humbled smile.
Lannister, being a creature of another realm himself, hardly notices Beyza’s unearthly stillness, her practiced movements so similar to his. He tilts his head and observes her, thinking nothing terribly out of the ordinary.
When he steps closer and partially into the offered warmth, Beyza feels a small flutter of satisfaction. She’d been hoping for it, of course - that’s why she had not just pushed the bubble out towards where he had been - but the success is pleasant all the same.
He does not step all the way inside, and Beyza shifts the warmth for a moment, drawing it closer to her but only by a few inches - her white eyes bright with a grin that does the trick of making her seem (and feel) alive all on its own.
Having a sense of humour is a relatively new development for Beyza, yet another thing she can thank her daughters for. It still does not come easily all the time and she has discovered that it is one thing that she cannot become better at by practicing on her own. She must wait for opportunities to present themselves - like now, as her white eyes dance with gentle laughter at his question and humbled smile. “I am sure I’ll think of something.” Beyza replies, the gentle teasing in her voice more of a result of inexperience at using such a tone than it is kindness.
Though there is some of that too.
Lannister’s question about her reason for being in the Meadow is an easier one to answer, and her faint smile remains as she observes him - using the end of each sentence as a reminder to herself to blink. “Company. It’s been some time since I ventured out of my tropical home. I didn’t even realize it’d be winter when I did.” Her attention drifts for a moment, frowning at the frost-covered world around the bubble of heat she keeps over them. It does not bother her to admit that she had been so out of the world she had forgotten about seasons, but it does bother her that she had forgotten in the first place. It was too easy to misplace the rest of the world.
But the frost cannot hold her attention for long in comparison to the deep reds and golds of her companion and it is not long before her gaze gravitates back to him - her smile slipping back into place as it does. “And what about you?"
you used to tell me we'd turn into something oh, you said life was much better than this
Beyza is a tricky woman, Lannister quickly decides. When she draws the warmth closer to herself, his smile falters just slightly as he wonders if she is playing a cruel game not unlike the ones he plays in dreams. But he steps closer without hesitation, only noting the harmless amusement in her eyes once he’s settled a foot away from her.
“Tropical home?” Lannister asks, head tilting as the smile slowly drifts from his face. He knows that most of his years spent in the dream realm were above Tephra, at least as above Tephra as another universe could be. He simply knew that Elio resided there before he disappeared, considering the kingdom a safe land for Lannister were he to ever find reality.
Elio had such limited knowledge of the world his son learned to knit. He had no idea of the dark night all of Lannister’s culminated power burst and spit him out in the Common Lands.
A quick shake of his head, rapid blinking, and a drawn breath released the daydreamer from his train of thought.
“My apologies,” he murmurs, but doesn’t explain it’s for his stuttered response. “I can be that company, if you’d like. I suppose I’m looking for the same thing,” he adds with a smile, gold-striped face crinkling with the learned emotion. He doesn’t mention how he now wonders what her dreams are like, what he could turn them into. Simply smiling, blinking, wondering.
“You live in Tephra, then?” He assumes because he knows so very little of the vast lands of Beqanna.
When Lannister apologizes, Beyza’s unblinking gaze focuses on him a little more intently than she had been allowing. She can’t puzzle out what would have inspired an apology. Her mention of a tropical home had erased his smile, but that seemed like something she should apologize for (if she were so inclined).
Whatever that puzzle might be, it becomes hidden under his smile and the offer to be the company she had been looking for. “I’d like that. But this isn’t the favour you owe me.” She adds this last bit and puts effort into making it sound as playful as she intends it to be. It was pleasant to keep a small tether binding them together, even if is only the thanks for a respite from the cold. But since he was also looking for company, it seemed reasonable enough that there may be some other way to thank her.
Just what, she doesn’t know. It isn't her first instinct to think of something flirtatious, though the set up is certainly there if she thought to take that step. For now, it doesn't occur to her - that just simply had not been a skill she remembered to practice.
“Ischia actually, just off the Tephra coast. I don’t like being on the mainland more than I have to be.” There is a small frown that appears at this admittance - which, while true, is not something she particularly intended to share. So she moves on, her smile more of a mask this time as it slips back into place. “But the parrots are only good company for so long.” Her curiosity is more real and it returns some warmth back to her gaze as she forces another blink. “Do you live in Tephra?” Had he brought it up for a particular reason?
