"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
He had smelled her from before… The purple witch who inhabited his nostrils and affected his mind. The sea god had himself taken a respite from the world down to the underbelly of Beqanna, much preferring the company of fish to that of his own kind—and yet even there, she haunted him. Azlyn. The violet beauty with the foul mouth. The one who reminded him that it was okay to be angry at what the world had done to his home.
And so he had taken to the depths. She had aggravated him—gotten under his skin, and he wasn’t even sure why. Or why he had taken on the thought that he would suddenly be safe to take a breath of the air and withdraw his oxygen from someplace other than the water. Ashley, former King of the Dale, had traded land for water, and made his royal court one made out of coral. Seaweed clung to his now green tangled hair, and his skin had taken on a teal green quality. He was still the red buckskin man underneath it all, but this was his disguise. The shattered persona of a fish king that could perhaps be happy somewhere other than where he was—and it seemed that it was within the heart of the sea that he found his peace. And yet, as soon as he has hit the beach and gone into the Forest—he can sense that she is there and has not left.
As if she had ever left him in the first place.
“I know you’re there, Azlyn. There is no use hiding from me. Not as if you could, with your purple ass hanging in the wind.” He is not nice to her. There is no need to be nice to one who so enjoys antagonizing him. Grating him and goading him…She knows who he is, and doesn’t care. A little boy with a cardboard crown, she sees him as. Nothing more than a boy with a cardboard crown and a stick as a sceptre. And though she makes him angry—he enjoys it.
11-01-2016, 12:16 AM (This post was last modified: 11-01-2016, 12:17 AM by Azlyn.)
azlyn.
She cannot pretend she hasn’t thought of him.
The buckskin stallion has lingered in her mind over the past few months, clinging to her thoughts like a tiny little burr. Every day there’s a moment where he just … slips in. A moment where something inexplicably draws her back to their encounter.
She still doesn’t understand why he’s had such a lasting effect. She’s met many stallions over the course of her long life (her sizeable brood of children is evidence enough of this), and he’s not that unusual by any means.
He’s just well … tall, dark, handsome, regal, brooding (and yet somehow sassy at the same time) …
But it’s more than that. She has, after all, met many stallions that could have fit that description. When she’d looked into his eyes she’d seen the years behind them, the depth. It’s more than the power he holds (he’d revealed much to her on that occasion) - it’s the connection. The kindred soul.
And perhaps more importantly, he’d been rather fun to tease.
Even now, as she ambles slowly through the trees, her mind flits back to their conversation and the jibes they’d traded. She can almost hear his voice, calling out to her through the forest’s thick trees …
Oh!
She freezes, one violet leg frozen mid-step. There’s actually is a voice filtering through the trees, and it is calling her name. And it happens to be a voice that she recognizes well.
“I know you’re there, Azlyn. There is no use hiding from me. Not as if you could, with your purple ass hanging in the wind.”
It must be. She can’t help but snort before calling out in reply - “how rude!” Trying to hide her the sudden enthusiasm surging in her heart, she forces herself to walk slowly in the direction of the voice. She slinks around a thick pine and the smell of seaweed and brine hits her like a wall. Her violet nose wrinkles delicately as she leans nonchalantly (or so she thinks) against the pine.
It’s him alright, albeit greener and more weedy. She’d recognize those eyes anywhere.
But she doesn’t want him to know that he’s been on her mind, so she keeps her tone dry and lazy, as if she’s simply encountering a small annoyance. A minor setback to her day. “A little hypocritical, don’t you think, to comment on the colour of a ladies’ behind when you look as if you’re being overtaken by mould.” Not her best, to be sure, but it will have to do when she’s been so suddenly put off guard.
He looked at her, grunted. He shook his head. It was a moment out of a Ridley Scott film. You know the ones. The ones with the slow-motion capture in them? The Ridley Scott slow-mos. Time almost seemed to stop as the shake emanated from his head, and then down his back to his tail as the teal, and the sealife seemed to flake away from him as if they’d never been there. Like water droplets that fade off and get absorbed into the atmosphere, never to be seen again. It rained color, and when time returned to itself again, Ashley once again looked at Azlyn, and grunted. The ginger-man, walked passed her, slapped her buttocks with the end of his tail, creating a whip-like sensation that could crack against her flesh if it made contact. “Let’s see you do a trick like that, precious.”
His voice was almost a sneer. He’s not happy that she’s been on his mind. But what makes him even more uncomfortable is the knowing that he has been on her mind. He doesn’t want to be on anyone’s mind. He is not relationship material. At least, he doesn’t want to be. His own mother had made sure that he was raised to be political bait for the highest bidder, and when she hadn’t ruined him, his actual relationships had seen to where she’d left off after she died (the first time).
As for Ashley, his auburn buckskin coat and wings having reverted to the perfectly quaffed status that he had been used to in the old days, he beat against the earth with his hooves before turning back to glare at her once more. If he was pointing fingers at her, perhaps he could come up with enough reasons to hate her so that he could put her from his mind once and for all.“And how unbecoming is it of someone who pretends to be a righteous bitch as a front, but spends her days pining after him like a little girl? How hypocritical does that make you?”
She can feel more than see the irritation that rolls off him. She also can’t help but enjoy it. Just a little.
Then he shakes his head ( a rather showy motion that travels from the nape of his neck down to the tip of his tail), sending a spray of colour raining down around them. She supposes it’s supposed to be impressive, and in a way it is, but her foremost thought is that he’s got too much power for his own good. “Show off.”
His next words however, make her breath catch in her throat. “And how unbecoming is it of someone who pretends to be a righteous bitch as a front, but spends her days pining after him like a little girl? How hypocritical does that make you?”
The gears turn in her head, connecting dot after uncomfortable dot. Magic. Magic can involve telepathy? Shit.
She hasn’t met enough magicians in her life (that is, none) to have really thought about what magic entails. She hadn’t really considered the possibility of him being able to read her own thoughts … whoops. Well the cat’s out of the bag.
She exhales quickly, attempting to recover. He’s wrong about one thing after all - she hasn’t been pining. “Pining? Well someone thinks quite highly of himself.” She raises her head to look disdainfully down her long violet nose at the angry look on his face. “I won’t pretend that I haven’t thought of you, but I haven’t exactly been suffering mental anguish of the lack of your presence in my life.” She pauses, as if considering. “More like … contentment. Peace even.” She hasn’t had to deal with comments like that after all.
Her brown eyes travel back over the rest of his body appraisingly before rising back to meet his own. “Much better by the way. You look a lot less like something that died on the bottom of the ocean.”
She was mouthy. That’s all there was to it. And he couldn’t get enough of her. He huffed, pumped his wings and the petals on the forest floor kicking up around Azlyn, turning her a forest green as the lichen come to rest upon her back. Who looks like mold now?
He flipped his tail and stretched, arching his back as the feathers fell from his body and the bones of his wings shrunk away into his skin. His body cracked and lurched, and for the moment, Azlyn was forgotten as his body split open and the blood poured out onto the thirsty soil at their feet. Once upon a time, the vanity that was Ashley would not hesitate to only put his best foot forward. He was always the consummate gentleman, and perfect to the eye in every way. Now, the old man who couldn’t care less was coming to the fore, and the power bristled off him as his body contorted to reveal the power of a magician—that there were no rules.
Pushing himself back to rights, he looked at Azlyn and leveled her in the eye, narrowing his gaze upon her. He wanted to scare her. He wanted to get under her skin. He wanted to stretch her open and find out what it was that made her tick. As for him; he itched to get back in the water. Being in this skin was causing him awkwardness. Like he had to pretend to be the consummate gentleman of old.
He was no longer a King. He was just a man. A very agitated one at that.
“There are many things I could become. And many things I know.” He stops and looks up at the clouds, looking for some semblance of rain. Anything wet. Anything to make him feel like he wasn’t going to peel out of his skin, when all he wanted to do was go and swim. “Why have I constantly been on your mind? Surely you have come back to family and love of your own. If there are any who can put up with that smart mouth of yours.”
He stretches his wings, pumping them vigorously and sending a flurry of petals and greenstuff from the forest floor raining down on her head. It rankles … and likely more than he’d intended. His moment of showing off is reminding her of her own current lack of wings (wretched fairies). “Oh thanks,” she mutters dryly. “I suppose I’ll just have to start a new fashion now.” He can probably sense her anger (damnable telepathy), but she leaves it at that. He’d intended on annoying her, not reminding her of her current inadequacies.
His body is rippling again (no doubt ‘display’ is in the offing), and she’s about to sass him when his wings disappear and his skin actually cracks. She doesn’t hide her disgust, her mouth twisting as her eyes follow the gush of blood that suddenly stains the forest floor. “Gross.” His body knits together, suddenly normal again, but she still has a bad taste in her mouth. “Now what was that supposed to accomplish?” Seriously. Ew.
“There are many things I could become. And many things I know.” She snorts audibly and her eyes roll. “Of that I have no doubt.”
He speaks again and her mouth twists in a decidedly different expression. Well he’s hit the nail on the uncomfortable head this time, hasn’t he?
She pauses for a moment, mind drawn to places she would rather it not go. She hasn’t seen Ram since she abandoned them in the den, hasn’t seen Makaria or Kione since their fight in the Jungle, hasn’t seen Pevensie since their last visit in the Deserts, hasn’t seen … any, of her children in years. “I have no one.”
As for love? She’s loved her children, as any good mother will. She’s loved her sister and her adoptive family. But romantic love? Never. She’s always kept her heart hidden away, always tried to protect herself (she’s already experienced enough pain). She’s never been able to open up enough, never been able to find someone to crack her armour. “No one at all.”
To tell the truth, it freaked him out a little that she had become as mellow as she suddenly was. Ashley knew he had hit a sore spot. He said nothing. He pulled his body close to hers and allowed the heat from his pelt to give her some sense that there was at least someone there for her. The breeze was quiet, and Ashley’s body wound its way around her, seeking to give her even the smallest comfort. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, suddenly contrite. “I did not mean to remind you of the past.”
Ashley’s magic allowed him to see the future, and the past, and he looked inside her mind to see the children that he had birthed—and that they were, for one reason or another, no more. Or if they were, they were no where around here. Life and limb aside, Beqanna had been razed to the ground. Chances of them finding them to these shores was not likely.
“I suppose in the battle of wits, I come out victorious” he says at last, pulling away from her, attempting to put away his emotions. “If you need a home, you are welcome to share mine. It is an island off the coast from here, and it is insular to the treachery of the forest. A good place to forget your past.”
Her mind wanders (following the path Ashley’s comment had laid out for it), and for a moment, an image of Lestrade floats in her minds eye. Lestrade, as she’d seen him last - scared by the flames. Fleeing. Alone.
She hasn’t seen the boy since that day, since the fiery stallion had attacked and scared her son into the woods. She’d searched for him after, but his trail had died on a trek through a canyon and she hasn’t been able to find a single sign of him since. She’s hopes he’s alright, wherever he is. He’d be a grown stallion now, almost 12 years old. Does he have a home, a safe place? A family of his own?
Funny, to be thinking of him now. She hasn’t actually thought of him in a while … not since … well, not since that first day she’d run into Ashley in the woods. She’s just been so distracted lately. It’s been kind of nice.
Her thoughts are suddenly pulled away from her son by a soft, gentle touch, and her breath catches in her throat as she realizes that Ashley is leaning against her, attempting to make amends for his jibe. She’s frozen for a moment, startled … though not unpleasantly so. A warm sensation spreads through her. For some reason he makes her feel … safe. Comforted. And, dare she say it … affectionate.
“It’s alright. I have a lot of past … a hazard of immortality.” She smiles wryly, though the expression does not touch her eyes. Comforted though she is by his embrace, the memories of her lost son still ache. “Most things remind me of the past these days.” Especially considering she’s had little else to occupy her thoughts. Well, until now.
She feels slightly awkward, not having intended on sharing so much so soon, but Ashley soon offers her a line and she can’t help but chuckle. “You wish! You simply … caught me off guard!” She smiles fondly at him. “But, I appreciate your offer. I … think I will take you up on it.”
