"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
appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
She almost never left the water, and yet in a matter of days she finds herself on land twice now. How strange. It’s not a feeling she particularly enjoys, feeling quite literally like a fish out of water. How did they stand it, these land animals? Her skin feels dry and tight, though it looks perfectly fine. The air too is dry and harsher than the water, though she can breathe it perfectly fine. She does not stray far from the edge of the water, remembering her Queen’s command that Baltian’s not stray too far inland. Besides, she has no desire to leave the water behind, preferring not to stay on land for too long.
Though the Ruins sing their terrible siren song to her, she goes past them today, instead heading to some land with a nearby river. There seem to be enough of the land-dwelling horses here that she thinks it’s a safe enough place to come ashore, and more importantly, a decent place to gain some insight on this Beqanna. A name is not enough, and though Helice’s scouts were perfectly capable of getting information, Rezza found herself too antsy to wait. Sometimes it was just better to do a thing yourself.
She stays near enough to the edge of the water, coming on shore without any fanfare. Even the jellyfish tentacles that are so often in her mane disappear, and she looks as normal as she possibly can here. Still, her eyes and lack of ears give her away as something other, though they are all strange here enough she doesn’t particularly stick out. She has little to do here besides wander along the shoreline, hoping to catch someone willing to answer a few questions.
He should feel guilt, though it is not an emotion he is terribly familiar with. Even so, as he contemplates the winding passages of fate that had brought them here, he knows he should feel it. Even if he did not, Rune is more than capable of reminding him. But the fact remains that he does not.
There is little doubt something fundamental is broken inside him. It had broken long ago. Yet as the years pass, he finds himself caring less and less. Finds himself less and less willing to fix whatever it is that had been ripped from him on that long ago day.
It had been a day of great change so much like the one he had more recently been a party to. It seems he cannot keep himself from seeking out those days - the moments things break and shift forever.
It’s fortune that finds him staring at the strange woman as she rises from the water. He has been curious about the deep-sea kingdom that had risen when the south had fallen. To his great chagrin however, he has no ability to exist underwater, and so has had little recourse in order to sate his curiosity. It’s inhabitants don’t rise as frequently as he would wish, so that he would find one now is incredibly fortuitous.
But then, he’s always had uncommon fortunes.
There is no trace of hesitance in his step as he approaches, his gaze lit instead with an avid hunger for knowledge. He studies her carefully, noting the oddities in her appearance. Of course, in Beqanna, there are many oddities, but this is something different. Though truthfully, he must imagine he looks as strange to her as she does to him. More so perhaps, given the carved bone punching through his skin.
With a slight tip of his head and a faint grin curving his lips, he greets the stranger with a familiar boldness. “How does it feel moving from sea to land like that?”
appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
Why would they rise from the water when they thrive beneath its surface? She is not a fan of actually walking, and finds it so very strange that she stays still on the land. It is nice, perhaps, that she does not have to exert effort not to drift along with the current, but really, she is just antsy. It is hard to keep still, to not shift and shimmy with the wind that blows against her hide. Honestly, she is not suited for this whole land thing, even if she is capable of surviving on it. Her skin feels dry, even though it is not, as the wind blows against it even gently. Part of her feels like she’s going to suffocate from so much air around her. It is also dry. Dry dry dry.
But what is fortuitous for him is equally so for her. She is here, uncomfortable and out of her depth, because she seeks information. So does he. They ought to get along well enough. The stallion that finds her is odder still than those she has encountered before in the Ruins. They glowed, like much of the populace of Baltia (a thing that is rather useful in the darker parts of the sea), though she hadn’t seen anything particularly interesting. No, of more interest to her were the land stallion that could survive in her ocean and this strange creature that appears to be missing some skin.
She would stare, probably, if she wasn’t so well trained. Instead she turns her head in his direction as he approaches, coming to stand still though her tail swishes idly behind her. A strange motion, but still, not entirely unlike moving a long fish tail in water. The latter is preferable. He doesn’t start with any proper greeting, though this doesn’t throw her. Instead her smile is amused at the question. “Probably not much different than it would feel for you to take a swim. Though I can’t say I see the appeal of staying on land.” She doesn’t like it, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t cause any physical discomfort really, for she is perfectly fine here, though there is decidedly some mental discomfort with it. ”I’m Rezza,” she offers simply enough. No title, no fanfare. It was often easier that way.
He watches her - the subtle shifting of a creature used to the ceaseless motion of tides and currents, the uncomfortable flick of a tail. He imagines he would feel much the same under the ocean, missing the steadiness of dry land. But then, he had never imagined diving beneath the waves as a possibility for him, never even dreamed of trying. He is a creature of earth as much as she is one of sea.
His grin widens at her reply, the blue of his eyes deepening into a sapphire gleam with barely concealed mirth. “The air stings your wounds then?” he asks wryly, half expecting no answer. Of course, she doesn’t have persistent bone creating wounds in her skin, so it’s hardly a fair comparison. He chuckles then, before adding in an amused lilt, “And I do not see the appeal of living underwater, so I suppose we are well matched.”
With a tip of his head, eyes flashing behind the glow of his mask, he finally returns her introduction. “Reave.”
Shifting restlessly, he paces half around her, though his gaze never strays far. He rarely stays still, so this is nothing out of the ordinary for him. What is odd though, is his uncommon focus on something that benefits him so little (though, to be completely honest, he hasn’t known her long enough to know how the future might settle. Perhaps it would, even if it does not appear so now). Still, he does not shift away.
“How do you hear with no ears?” he asks, continuing their conversation as though his restlessness had not just interrupted it. His own ears flick briefly back, as though to emphasize his point. “I have to imagine sound is very different underwater.” His lips pull into a quick, almost boyish grin. “And yet you seem to have no trouble understanding me here in the air.”
appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
She is unruffled by his response, though her smile grows a bit in amusement. It feels like a game, but then again, words were almost always a game. It’s the sort of game that Rezza finds to be particularly fun. ”It would, if I had any,” she says simply. She is no stranger to wounds. None of the Baltians are. She may not be a solider, but the attacks of the Great War found their way to her shores enough times that she has still been caught in battle, still done what she could to aid in the fight. She is not a stranger to pain, physical in this context though emotional as well. It’s a different sort of sting entirely than the one he meant when she surfaced on the Ruins, though she feels it all the same. ”Do they always hurt?” she asks instead of voicing the thoughts in her head, curious about his strange ailment. Was it a blessing or a curse? Or was it simply both? They are often just two sides of the same coin.
He introduces himself, and she tucks the name away, though she’s more interested in how restless he is. Should he not be used to the stillness of this land? Or were they all restless in the end, and she just happened to be lucky enough to live in a place that gave her an easy outlet for it? ”Shall we walk?” she offers, nodding her head in the direction of the shoreline that she had been strolling down before he arrived.
His next question though makes her laugh, something real and pleasant. She has not forgotten that, despite her many decades of death and destruction. No, on the contrary, these things have made life all the more precious. ”I have ears, they just don’t make themselves so readily known as yours. And to me, things sound the same on land or on sea, more or less anyway. I imagine for you that would not be the case though.” His questions are easy enough to answer, rather mindless in a way, but it builds trust all the same. Or breaks it, depending on how things go. Still, she is here for answers, so she would trade some in exchange.
They are fond of the same games, it seems. Even without his abilities, it would be easy enough to see that, despite their obvious differences, they are in fact quite similar in many ways. As though ambition and curiosity draw undeniable lines in the face.
He tips his head slightly, her bald reply causing a corner of his lips to pull briefly upward, amusement flashing across his masked features. He could not begin to count the times he had looked upon another only to find pity in their face when they contemplated his wounds. But it is not pity he finds in hers. Rather, it’s the familiar face of curiosity.
His grin widens at her question. “Only when I think about it,” he replies blithely, voice filled with restrained humor. It’s the thing about chronic pain, that peculiar fact. One grows so accustomed to it that it only becomes noticeable when pointed out or somehow worsened. Like being introduced to a salty sea, for instance.
It does not surprise him that she takes note of his restlessness. What does surprise him however, is her offer to walk. He is not terribly old, but in all his years, he has always had to be the one to suggest outlets for his inability to stand still. Others notice, to be sure, but they almost always pretend not to.
It would be easy to imagine her suggestion is an act of compassion, but Reave suspects otherwise. If he had to guess, he would say it stems from familiarity instead.
“Let’s,” he agrees readily, eyes lighting with keen interest. He shifts easily, moving in the direction she had indicated, though his attention remains on her. Her laughter brings a glint to his vibrant gaze and a grin to his lips. It’s a pleasant sound, her laugh, even if his ears are not quite what hers are.
“I suppose they must be,” he muses, gaze shifting briefly from her as he contemplates her answer. “Otherwise you’d be muddling around with earfuls of water.” He chuckles. “And that sounds horribly unpleasant.”
appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
He answers in the same manner as she did, an easy quip. She grins slightly and nods, letting that particular topic pass by them as they turn to walk instead. Years of practice has made her, generally, good at figuring out how to be the accommodating one. To be fair, she is glad for the walk and it does not bother her. Still though, even if she hated it, she’d pretend to be itching for such a thing to put him at ease. In this case she does want something from him, but that fact is irrelevant. She’s served as the Queen’s advisor for something near enough or more than a century (eventually, you lose track). It’s simply built into her DNA at this point to be a very skilled diplomat even when she doesn’t have any particular end goal in mind. Over the years, she has simply forgotten how to be anything else.
They begin to walk along the shore, for the one thing she has not been brave enough to do is leave the sight of the water. Nevermind that the Queen also commanded them not to venture inland too far, she’s simply unwilling to walk into a land she knows nothing about and end up lost in the middle of the desert. She can survive on land, but not forever, and certainly not in the wrong climate.
His response is amusing and she chuckles at it, eyes glimmering slightly with the laugh. ”I can’t say I would know how unpleasant that might be.” Though perhaps it’s not all that different to them as this dry air is to her. ”May I ask, where are we? I’m sure it will come as a shock,” she says, tone making it clear that the opposite is definitely true, ”but I know very little of your land. As your new neighbor, I would love to know more.”
Conversation has always come easy to him. A diplomatic trait, to be sure, even if he is someone few would consider a diplomat, much less a good one. He is too reckless for that, too invested in curiosity to limit himself to what one might consider safe. Reave may be able to recognize the easy grace of someone who has a great deal of experience in threading the thin line of diplomacy, but that does not mean he seeks to traverse it himself.
Yet she does not seem to mind his prying conversation. And if he has developed any true sense of equine-nature over his relatively few years, he would guess it’s because she wants something in return.
Of course, he’s hardly an expert on Baltian nature, so maybe the point is moot.
He chuckles at her pithy response, appreciating the wit that’s rare even among his own kind. “I don’t suppose you would,” he replies easily, vibrant eyes gleaming. She presses on easily enough, asking a question of her own. Her dry humor brings a grin to his lips even as one masked brow lifts. “Truly shocking,” he agrees, tone as sardonic as hers, lips stretching with his humor. “And I suppose you will be equally shocked to learn that we call this place simply ‘the river’.”
“And in case you were looking for more detail, we’re quite near ‘the forest’ and ‘the meadow’.” With a laugh, he quickly scans their surroundings before returning his gaze to her, blue eyes bright. “Quite original, wouldn’t you say?”
02-16-2022, 10:01 AM (This post was last modified: 02-16-2022, 10:10 AM by Rezza.)
appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
Rezza cannot remember her life before being a diplomat. She was groomed for the role all her life. Her brother was to be the King through marriage to the Queen and so she was groomed to be useful. Rezza was not a warrior, though she’d been trained alongside her brother enough to hold her own in a fight. Her brother was trained in both diplomacy and war, and Rezza benefitted from the life he was required to lead. Benefited is probably the right word, anyway, depending on how you look at it. Perhaps it would have been better to have been nobody, just a resident of Baltia with no true responsibilities. But that had never been an option in her family, and she had taken to diplomacy like a fish to water. Ha. Get it?
Baltian’s may be different in many ways from these Beqannians, but there are some universal truths nonetheless. Prying questions are normal in her world, and she knows how to answer them well. Others wanting something in return is always a given. What she wants in return is easy enough though. Just to understand this place she now lives and the people in it.
She likes this particular stallion, who seems to enjoy her quips and dry humor and gives it right back. This is the sort of conversation she enjoys the most, where the other participant is actually fun. So many of them are so formal, as if diplomacy requires formality all the time. Pro tip, it doesn’t.
”So original,” she agrees, with a mock tone of being impressed in her voice and a particular grin. ”Then you have kingdoms here, yes?” She’d heard a few more distinct names in her other conversations, particularly in those in which she as asked about the lands that fell into her sea, but she hadn’t heard much about what was actually left.
Life can be such a funny thing. There are those that believe in destiny. That believe they are fated for certain experiences. But Reave has never found life to be quite so simple. It’s complicated and messy and never quite works out how one might expect. He, for instance, had never believed in a fate that would lead him here. He hadn’t been born dreaming of taking a territory at the tender age of two, yet he had done it. He hadn’t spent years imagining he might play a role in sinking one kingdom only to give rise to another, yet he had done it. And he hadn’t dreamt of being a king, yet here he is.
But then, he had never believed in destiny. He had merely believed that if he wanted to do something, he could. And so he did. Perhaps not always in the most ethical of ways, but that’s what Rune was for. Reave might ignore the bird’s advice half the time, but he was always there giving it.
It’s that that makes him a less than ideal candidate for diplomacy. But it is also that that gives him the drive to dig deeper.
His lips twitch at her sardonic humor, but it fades when she asks about the kingdoms. “Naturally,” he agrees easily. Then the grin is back. “If you’re ever by the northern peninsula, you should swing by. That one is mine.”
He glances towards the north for a moment before his gaze swings back to her. “But enough of those dreadful bores.” One corner of his lips curls up as he peers at her, eyes gleaming in the glow of his bones. “Tell me about your kingdom. I’m wildly curious, but I don’t suppose I’ll ever have the chance to visit. What’s it like?”
