"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
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
“Fuuuuuccckkkk.”
The groan slips from his lips the moment he wakens. A disgustingly true definition of how he feels most days when he wakes. Today however, more so than others. It’s spring. Finally. (Goddamn but had that been a long fucking winter or what?) But the hell if he’s feeling it. Especially when the entire ground is a goddamned fucking puddle.
Shit, winter’s bad, but spring too damned wet. Forget his nice white coat (that shit’s already ruined, so what the hell anyway), it’s gotten his damned wings soggy. His new, beautiful glorious fucking wings. They’d probably gotten in a shitload of trouble for giving him these things, because no doubt one those buzzy little fairies had messed up somewhere along the line, but they’d have to fucking fight him if they wanted to take ‘em back. Gods know he doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t been nice a day in his life. And considering the line of bodies and the litters of children he’d no doubt left behind, he sure as hell could never be deemed a saint.
Not that he’d want to. Bloody lot of pricks if he’d ever known any. Not that he had. Saints don’t meddle with the likes of him.
Once upon a time, he’d been a good little soldier. Shit, he’d been even worse of a jackass then (and that’s saying something. He’s such a prize now, right?). But he’d done the fucking song and dance and earned himself nice pretty little pair of wings for loyalty or some shit like that. But, of course, he’d left. Because what the actual fuck is loyalty anyway?
And now bitch, just look at him. Fucking majestic. Well, almost. If he weren’t fucking soaking wet.
If ever there was a day to be ruined.
Heaving himself to his feet, he stretches and shakes himself violently. Moisture sprays about him in a wide arc. Hopefully no one was standing close. Shit, he supposes he should pay more attention to that (oh how far the mighty have fallen. Once he’d never have missed a goddamned thing. Fucking edgelord that he’d been).
She’s alone and for a filly supposedly her age that must be totally weird. But she grew so - damn - easily tired of the other kids in the fairies’ den, and for good reason. She was an adult, dammit. It’s just that she didn’t want to ask her ‘auntie’ Kag ever single day to fill her belly with dreamt up milk, so she’d decided to go seek out the fairies instead.
Had been way too long of a trek of course, and, now there was a fucking downpour soaking the meadow also. She would have tried grazing today in hopes that if she chewed real fine, perhaps she could go home. But no. There were so many horses trampling the wet grass that all she would be eating was that stinky gore of mud today, which was a definite no.
She was a nice girl though. Sort of. Most days. She’d been raised well. It’s just that this second setback frustrated her; not that she wouldn’t do it again, cuz you know, the other kids wouldn’t have survived in any way at all, but still. Freaking annoying, and on top of it all, she would have to train her wings again. How fucking great that was.
At least the rain fit her mood.
It was then that she heard another, a deep-rooted groan fuuuuck that sounded exactly like how she felt about today. Peeking around, slightly uplifted by the idea of not being the only one being pissed at by life, she sought the man’s face. A grey, pegasus-winged horse. Not unlike she would be if she ever got the chance of growing the fuck up and actually become an adult like her mind was by now. ”Thát’s an understatement,” came her groaned childish voice, giving him an exaggeratedly displeased look.
the light you are searching has always been within
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Absolutely fucking disgusting, that’s what this is. His pale legs are brown, mud coating one side of his once kinda nice white coat. Goddamn but what he wouldn’t give for a single damned dry day. Grumbling something no doubt unsavory under his breath, he snaps his pale wings open, sending another arc of moisture across the already soaked earth. And holy fucking shit! He almost smacks the suckers right into a kid’s face in the process.
“Fuck!” The expletive leaves his lips before he can call it back, brown eyes jumping to the little figure who had appeared outta fucking nowhere. Shit, doesn’t the little brat know to watch where she’s going? I mean, he’s not really into kids, but hell and damnation, that doesn’t mean he’s into punching the little shits right in the face either.
There’s something vaguely familiar about her, but hell if he can place it. Not like he’d really fucking tried anyway. If they wanted him to know who they are, they could damned well tell him. He’s isn’t some fucking prophet. Or whatever the hell they call those prophetic little twats. Brooding moodily, his lips twist into a scowl as he stares at her. Finally, after a moment of silent consideration, he sighs. Fuck it.
“Go home little girl,” he mutters, dismissing her as easily as he’d found her. “The meadow ain’t a place for damned infants.” He didn’t need some angry mother charging at him over some perceived fucking sleight to her precious little angel. Nope, definitely not the kinda shit he’s into.
The black filly looks amused, but then displeased by the wing almost hitting her in the face. Oh yeah, she's that size again. Snapping at it with her teeth for good measure, followed up by a swallowed curse. But the man curses instead, and she tilts her head at him, amused once more. "Aren't you a cute one." she smiles, then shrugs it off.
After a while of him staring at her (god knows why), his scowl turns into a sigh. Go home, little girl. The meadow isn't a place for damned infants. Oh how glorious, just another horse that doesn't look past her small stature; doesn't seem to register she doesn't exactly behave like a baby.
She scowls at him, and shrugs. "What'cha gonna do about it, mudpie?" she inquires, as if he isn't about 1,5 or 2 times her size. Staring him down with amber-coloured eyes and a face twisted in determination, she seems to challenge him. Wings half-unfolded as if perhaps it'll make herself look more threatening, she stares at him a while - but then she sighs, not unlike he did a moment ago. "Fucking child body." she murmurs, and shakes head and wings as she rearranges the feathers.
the light you are searching has always been within
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Hell and damnation, but this weather has him in a black mood. No doubt the kid had noticed. Seriously. If she hadn’t, well, then she was really fucking thick. Which is a laugh and half, especially if he’d known from exactly whose loins she had sprung. Of course, he’s never claimed to the the cleverest bulb in the box. Or whatever the fuck that colloquial phrase was supposed be be. Shit yeah, look at those smarts.
Scowling fiercely, Ashhal glares at the little brat as she tries to make herself seem all big and badass with her clever comebacks. Mudpie. Well, yeah, duh. Shithead. They’re all goddamned mudpies in this fucking weather. His eyes narrow as she mutters something under her breath about child bodies.
Didn’t he know it.
But fuck, did that sound familiar or what? He steps closer, peering at her through narrowed eyes as that scowl twists his lips. Not that he could actually tell if she was his kid. Who the fuck actually knows? He sure as hell hadn’t bothered to keep track. And frankly, there is simply no diplomatic way to ask. Like, hey, kid, who’s your daddy?
Heh. Heheh.
No, gross, stop it Ashhal. He’s got some questionable damned morals but not that fucking questionable. Still, valid question. Of course, if it is him, what self-respecting female would actually tell her kid she slept with a guy like him? ‘Yeah, your pop’s great kid! Probably insulted me while banging me, but hey, he’s sexy as shit!’ Oops.
Instead of traveling down that twisted rabbit hole, he snaps upright, mouth curling from scowl to smirk. “Watch yourself, kid,” he quips with abrupt amusement before one wing flips out. Scooping it through a particularly juicy mud puddle, he flings it right at her. And unfortunately for the kid, he’s got some damned fine aim.
Honestly, when she finally grew up enough to know that it takes two horses to make a baby, her mother had just shrugged and told her a name. Ashhal. Not that she knew this guy's name, or even knew what he looked like. Other than that she's a little slimmer and slightly taller than her mother, which was only one thing to go by. Oh, and probably grey. In that case, this guy fit the picture... just like a hundred or so other stallions. This strange form of immortality, she also had from him, but, seeing as that wasn't exactly something that easily showed, there was no way to know that other than to ask. Which she wasn't going to do now.
She can't help but secretly like the bickering they do, though. When she calls him mudpie, he tells her to watch herself, then suddenly a scooped up mudpie (indeed) flies towards her face. She raises her own wing, though even if it doesn't hit her eyes, it splatters on the feathers and therefore showers her in mud droplets.
She scowls at him. "Didn't your mother ever tell you to be nice to little infants?" Of course she hadn't - or perhaps he had grown careless later in life. And, surely, she wasn't an infant - not really. She was a trained three-year-old warrior. Too bad she had no muscles (AGAIN) to show for it, and her wings refused to carry her - again, also. And milk teeth. She'd been trying to munch some grass with those, which had somewhat helped feed herself. But they weren't fit for an attack.
Shaking her head to get rid of a mud droplet near her eye, she steps forward to meet him nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye. "I bet you forgot. You're supposed to walk me home or find my mother for me, like most morons do." she tells him.
the light you are searching has always been within
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
If he were being entirely honest, he might admit that he kinda liked the little black filly, just a bit. Which is a fucking miracle because he never likes kids. But let’s be real, he’s never honest. Hell, if you get a single real damned thing out of him, you’re doing fucking swell. And he sure as shit wouldn’t actually tell anybody he liked them. That invites feelings. And ugh, gross. Feelings are just… gross.
Besides, kid didn’t need to get her hopes up.
Instead he smirks at the little twerp as he flicks mud from the pale feathers of his extended wing. Her indignantly rhetorical question startles a bark of laughter from him as he adjusts his wings, settling them at his sides once more. “As if my mother fucking cared,” he scoffs. “She tossed me off her teet the minute I could chew a stalk of grass.”
Something he’s pretty damn well sure this kid knew nothing about. She didn’t have the lost waif look about her. She might talk a tough game, but there’s an entirely different look to a kid who was forced to be tough by the cruelty of the world. Again, not that he’d fucking admit it. Wasn’t her damned business anyway.
She steps forward then, puffing herself up like she could take him and the whole damned world on all at once. He snorts derisively in response to her indignant demand. With a sharp jerk of his head, he pops her with his muzzle before snapping his tail and turning around with surprising grace (seems you can take the man out of the fucking war but can’t take the warrior out of the man). He carelessly ambles towards a small pond located conveniently nearby (this meadows is just fucking littered with convenient ponds though, isn’t it?), tossing dismissive words back at her as he does so. “You found your way here kid, you can damned well find your way home.”
Glancing briefly over his shoulder, he offers her a smirk before diving into the water, doing his best to splash her with as much of it as he can on his way down. The very least he could do after spattering her with a shit ton of mud. Hell, maybe if the little brat was able to swallow her pride long enough, he’d even let her swim with him.
Oh, but she had been weaned and immediately sent away - the circumstances had been different, however; Scorch had taken her in, and she had known her mother did not hate her; instead, she knew she would see her again soon enough. And the woman who'd cared for her had truly cared; so much so that she'd made her fight a twilight-built colt almost twice her size, without being told how to fight in the first place. Scarring for some, maybe. But she didn't have to do it alone, and apparently, she had some good battle instincts. She definitely did not have those from her mother, but...
Well, it's not like this guy was showing off or anything. She huffs at his answer. "Don't tell me you want pity now?" she frowns at him. He wasn't going to get it from her, at any rate. Not if he first insulted her three times over and then suddenly came up with an excuse from... yeah, definitely over a decade, ago.
His dismissive answer (of course, she'd expected something along those lines) gets her to laugh, and giggling, she follows him. He dives into a pond, swollen by the rain, and she follows after. Any Hyaline girl can swim. Even if they're dead-and-reborn. So even if he pulls her in, or she falls, that's fine. Unlike flying, swimming is something she doesn't need to wait on for months of wing-growing, before doing it.
He tries his best to soak her, and she shrugs a little. She tilts her head at him, and shakes her body, then retorts. "At least I have one." Stepping back, she sticks out her tongue. "What's your name anyway?" Now seemed as good a time to ask as any, and at least he was busy getting himself and her wet -since he wasn't constantly insulting her, she could get the word in. "You know, so I can avoid you."
the light you are searching has always been within
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
She’d been a damn sight luckier than him apparently. His only teacher had been experience. And let me tell you, experience is a fucking bitch. A massive, cold-hearted bitch. But the hell if he was rehashing ancient history with her. There’s a reason he never mentions it. Fucking dead and gone, ain’t no use resurrecting it now. If that’s a story she ever wanted to hear, it sure as shit wasn’t gonna be from him.
“Fuck your pity,” he tosses over his shoulder when he turns away. He didn’t want her goddamned pity. Who the fuck did she think he is anyway? Some damned girl?
Ducking under the water, he flaps his wings, stirring waves in the murky water as he washes the mud from his skin. When he emerges, he shakes his head to clear the water from his eyes, grinning like a heathen. Fucking pristine. Look at that glorious white. Screw her and her half-assed mud pie insults.
His dark eyes shift to consider her with mild amusement (an abrupt shift from his previous vexation) as she leaps in beside him. He settles back into the water, relaxing his weight into the buoyancy of the water. He ignores the snarky jab at his lack of mother. That had stopped bothering him a long-ass time ago. Her decade estimate was fucking laughable too. Try a goddamned century kid.
He narrows his eyes on her when she asks his name. The fuck she want his name for anyway? Cuz yeah, that’d really help her avoid him. He’s a fucking sticker burr. If he wanted to hang around she’d never shake him. Of course, at this point, he’s not entirely sure he shouldn’t just shake her now. Then she’d never have to see him again.
What the hell did it matter anyway though. With a shrug, he shifts in the water, moving towards the shore once more. “It’s Ashhal,” he offers offhandedly as he steps onto the bank, bracing himself as he shakes water violently from his pale flesh.
He doesn’t ask her name. Maybe she’d tell him, maybe she wouldn’t. Honestly he didn’t give a shit. He’s perfectly happy to keep calling her kid.
She laughs. He’s hilarious, after all. Of course he doesn’t want her pity. He’s wallowing in self-pity, she sees that clear enough. But the joke is on him - she’s not going to give him any.
Once in the pond, he cleans himself somewhat, but the dark girl lingers, drifting with her wings spread, moving her legs about lazily until he does something. Or asks something.
He gets out, and she turns to watch him with her burning amber gaze. Truly, if she were as white as het mother he might have recognized something. But it’s him she takes after - alas, she isn’t grey yet, and so he wouldn’t know. Not for her looks anyway.
She makes a snorting laughing sound as he finally tells her, and peddles to the shore where she has more footing. Shaking her small body, she looks at him amusedly. ”Figures.” is all she says then, and sticks out her tongue to him. Of course the biggest idiot she could find put here, would turn out to be her sire.
the light you are searching has always been within
