"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
Sometimes when crisis strikes you call a close friend, you hurriedly open their car door and let it out while you drive to nowhere; anywhere. That was how this was for Prague, there was no expression of emotion because she's not sure just what emotions or memories there are but it felt right. Rhy and Tantalize had saved her in the nick of time before a permanent solution was provided by the crashing tides. Today the Macaw's called to her, seeing their old friend but she just groaned about how loud they were. Small forrest creatures coming to see the old one's presence; no acknowledgment. The warmth of the jungle eased her aching bones so that was a plus to all the confusion.
She has no idea that she has been a Queen here several times, fought in an alliance twice, overthrown two leaders, birthed multiple children...loved, although she would never admit it nor show it, a few. The lost files of Prague were perhaps never to be found but for now she's concerned with trying to remember.
The iron gray mare sways against the thick ferns, trying to find some shade and perhaps a familiar face to strike her memory. She is much like a blank canvas when it comes to her own memories, perhaps she can learn others. Suddenly, she notices that she's been staring at a particular branch and it catches fire, instantaneously and is engulfed in flames. "Did I do that?" she then dances around it, it's uncomfortable. You can fix it. and with a bewildered look on her face, she thinks perhaps she can and it ceases, only smoke rising.
Perhaps magic is sometimes the only thing we have to hold onto.
I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star...
Pomona always retreats into the Jungle to think, solitude is the thing she knows best. The mare is a drab little thing of middling height, her coat a uniform liver chestnut with a ruddy mane and tail that's only slightly lighter in color than her body. Stocky, of Quarter Horse descent, she's got a matronly look to her thickish barrel. Broad in the face and a little plain, her eyes are her nicest feature, being large and pretty. Despite her plain features, she has a huge set of wings made of golden colored light which lights the area around her gently as if from a candle. They rest over her topline like a transparent mantle, amorphous for the time being.
The older mare wandered aimlessly, her thoughts on her lover and her son, wondering where each of her golden colored boys had gone and if they were happy. Perhaps she would seek them out, but not just yet, she still had a good deal of self-castigation to get through. Guilt haunted Pomona for most of her life, some from without, most from within. She was truly her own worst enemy.
The scent of burning on the air brought her to attention, head snapping up on her powerful neck as her ears flattened back. Fires burned in the Jungle from time to time, and in their wake new life grew, but she didn't want to be one of the lives snuffed out to feed the fresh growth that would come after. Resisting the urge to flee, she knew she had to discover the source and report it if it were something that was a threat to the Kingdom and thus she trotted towards the scent.
Upon reaching it however, she found a thread of smoke rising from a charred branch and a bewildered looking gray mare staring at it. Pulling up short, Pomona stops and only stares for a moment before giving a tentative, "Are you alright?" in her soft, alto voice.
Old dogs cannot learn new tricks, but perhaps that was meant to be. Old faces always came when the Jungle called, and while this may be the most basic of tricks, the very first that they learnt, it offered the largest rewards. Malka, Myrina, Prague, Pomona, Pharaon and Lyris – they all came and went like the ocean’s tides, sometimes surging further than ever before, other times only dabbling against the shore. While Scorch may find their spotty activity troubling and slightly annoying, she understands the way the Jungle invites inactivity. When she lost her daughter and went without her husband for years, the shadows of the land enveloped her the way she supposes a mother ought to. And perhaps when the crown falls to a different head, she will fade once more into the chaos, be it of the Jungle or of death.
A frown creases her forehead deeply as she stares at herself in a large pool of water, the same one her crash of Javan rhinoceroses frequently visited. Her shift from leathery to hairless beast had not gone quite right, and frustration glows in her fiery dragon eyes. Two horns protrude from the middle-end of the flat of her head, the one farthest from her eyes larger than the one nearest. Snorting, Scorch turns her head to inspect the rest of her body; an inch too far to the left, and her neck gives out. Snorting again, Scorch raises her head with effort, unaccustomed to the weight of the horns. When she tries to look to her left again, she snaps back to her original position; something in her neck just fucking tore. Great.
Heavily self-invested, Scorch does not notice the Makaws calling. When ash is carried past her field of vision on a rare Jungle breeze, however, she snaps into attention. Of course, this means swivelling her head to the left, and she curses as her own little fire alights within her muscles. Snarling beneath her breath, the Khaleesi carefully turns before moving quickly to investigate.
Who she finds is rather unnerving.
“Pomona, Prague,” She says, surprise lacing her masculine tones. She tilts her head to the left in a show of concern and confusion for the magical mare who seems completely out of sorts. “Fuck!” She mutters when her neck gives out again. Fucking horns. Her tail swishes angrily, though she doesn’t realize that it’s her rhino tail, long and skin-like with a tuft of fur right at the end. Drawing herself up, she looks to both mares inquisitively, careful to remain in one position.
“Prague, what’s up your ass? And Pomona, where have you been? We missed the two of you.”
Perhaps this was best for our silver lioness, forgetting all her past downfalls and starting anew. The problem with that is she's lived long enough, loud enough that others can't let her do that - there will always be an enemy or a wolf in sheep's clothing. Without her wit or her memory, despite her immortality and magic, she could fall prey to an attack from another.
Death used to be one of her favorite dreams, now it means nothing. There is no recollection of the ones she's murdered, no children abandoned, no heartache. Every mistake she has made, both as a leader, mentor and mother - all is washed away. How utterly helpless she must feel, to be so old and to know there is a past but unable to recall it. She feels like a goldfish, one flicker of hope gone with the next gulp.
She is an ocean.
She is salt in her enemies wounds. She is the sand that you dig your toes in to keep balance in the tide. She is the red tide when she is angry. She is the small, frothy soft waves when she is happy. She is the mother, the nurturer of creatures - she harbors a heart as big as as a beluga and a bite comparable to a great white. She is all of these things without knowing.
She needs someone else's wave to guide her back to her own shore.
Although only seconds have passed since the first mare approached it felt like days trying to speak out, finally the Andalusian manages, "I'm alive. I'm ok." What a simpleton! She has always been one of words even if most were sarcastically spoken. When the bald mare approaches something changes within the mare, slowly her body's characteristics change. Her long, strong head starts becoming shorter with a more dainty snout, whiskers longer, teeth sharper; hooves become padded paws and claws slowly emerge. You know where this finishes, a lioness - silver in color with amber eyes. Scorch does something strange to Prague, even without her knowing. "Scorch, I remember you. Nothing, what's up yours - an anaconda?" she doesn't say it with with or charm, it's very dry and matter of fact. She is almost taken back by Scorch's abruptness and that's very out of character.
"I think I'm very confused which is also, very confusing," she says staring at Scorch and the mare who's wings illuminate, "Is this home? What happened."
I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star...
Pomona was taken aback by pretty much everything. She had no idea what was going on, but at least the forest wouldn't burn today. But the day is still young, she thought in an uncharacteristically negative manner. She was often hard on herself but she rarely attributed it to bad luck or outside sources.
Her golden wings gave a flick of surprise as she shied away into some brush at the sudden appearance of the Khaleesi. The drab amazon was not yet used to Scorch's new figure, she seemed so naked without her tattoos, the wrinkled skin reminding her of something helpless like a baby songbird. Perhaps it would not be wise to say that to Scorch, surely the Queen was as uncomfortable without her tattoos as Pomona was. To Pomona they had been a brave mask she could wear, something to remind her that she would always have sisters, even when she was far away. Losing them had been like being cast out of the Jungle, it had made her limbs go numb and her stomach drop in sudden terror.
Sensitive to a fault, she winced when Scorch swore, her dark eyes squinting as if she'd been struck. Surely she was used to the Queen's fiery attitude, but Pomona was unused to harsh words. Recovering her composure, the stout liver mare stepped back out of the brush and moved to stand closer to Scorch, a wistful look pulling up on her lip, "Ah, yes. I'm sorry I was... about..." It was a lame excuse and she dropped her head as her wings twitched uncomfortably on her back. Looking up, she realized how stiff the Khaleesi looked and she asked, her voice concerned, "Are you okay? No offense meant to you, but you do look like you've a snake up your... er, uh... arse..." Her face would have colored if it could but instead her eyes looked away, the dark irises finding their way to rest with caution on the stranger, older mare who was now a silvery lion. Predators made her nervous, Pomona even tread cautiously around the young guardian of the Jungle because her form was a Jaguar.
Without their tattoos it was hard to tell who was who. Not everyone in the Jungle was a friend, even among the Amazons, but at least with their tattoos one knew they shared a mutual cause. Chewing her lower lip she asked softly, "Do you not remember?" She didn't know where the stranger's, Prauge she thought, memory left off. So she gave her a run down in her slow alto. "Ah, you're in the Jungle. If you're an Amazon then it's home. We all lost our tattoos so it's hard to tell. Um. I guess that's what happened. Beqanna took her Kingdom gifts back but the Elders of each Kingdom got new ones." Her eyes traveled to Scorch's horns. "Like horns and wings and stuff." Cocking her head to the side she gave a reluctant, "Erm, have I answered your questions?"
In the moments that pass between each fragmented sentence Prague manages, Scorch stomps her hind left foot irately, attempting to snap herself out of the annoying twinges of pain in the thick of her neck muscles. A slightly perturbed grin grabs hold of her expression when Prague replies plainly, with lackluster; she almost believes that it’s all some sort of show, especially considering Prague’s slow shift into the form of her silver lioness. Scorch’s reply begins with confidence, but as she stares into the woman’s empty eyes, it dwindles into discomfort and confusion.
“I damn well remember you too, Prague – but anacondas, don’t… Live… Here.” She finishes bluntly, perplexed. Prague’s next statement and series of questions do not help the situation, leaving the muscled warrior at a loss for words. Pomona moves forward then, bringing Scorch out of her utter bemusement.
“It's fine, I’m fine,” She growls, “A bit of a kink in the neck, not a viper up the back end.” Stomping her hind foot, she mentally attacks the rhinoceros horns which have stubbornly clung to the end of her long, broad face. “Unlike Prague, I haven’t quite mastered shifting yet.” Offering a grin to Prague, the expression wilts quickly until the impressively ugly woman returns her focus to Pomona.
“While that’s what’s happened here, I’m more interested in what happened to the Amazon’s resident magician, and what happened in there,” She says slowly, with an inclination of her head towards the lioness’s; subsequently, she curses. Ears pinning, Scorch decides to shed the buffoon costume. Glaring forward for a moment, the horns cautiously melt into proper horse-skin. Breathing a sigh of relief, Scorch returns her attention to Prague, probably just in time to catch the deranged magician’s reply.
07-30-2015, 10:31 PM (This post was last modified: 04-01-2016, 08:42 PM by prague.)
you can't be wild and then be tame
She isn't sure exactly why the bald mare is so brash with her. Prague is clearly missing the big picture but eventually she assumes it will come back. "What do you mean what happened in here? If you know more about me than I do myself, feel free to fill me in," she says rather sarcastically.
At least the other mare is kind, although she isn't sure of her name she tries to put her feelers out, slowly she passes through the thick skull, sliding through mucus membranes and stimulates the light-winged mare's brain. Pomona she whispers inside the girls head, then decided to make it known otherwise, "Pomona, it's nice to meet you. I'm new here. Scorch, where would you like to see me work?" this is the most subservient Prague has been in her entire life, surely Scorch would take advantage of having a magician around with old magic. Prague was a rather docile magician even in her youth, she wasn't very showy but she could cause avalanches, earthquakes, monsoons and any other disasters you fancied. The iron mare gets a sharp pain in her temple, her ears pinning to her head and a grunt escapes her. It's all too much, she feels weak and soon after things slowly circle into tunnel vision. It becomes rather static in her brain, there's lots of fuzz and the images of Scorch and Pomona slowly meld together in some strange form.
She knows something is wrong now, her body is backfiring on her and she is unable to heal herself at this moment. "Hel" she says before a hacking cough sets in and white foam surfaces on her lips, her front legs tucking beneath her as her hindquarters slowly followed (her pregnant belly sticking further out), she then wonders how she got pregnant...life is so strange. Life is even stranger when you feel as if you're dying.
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