"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
02-20-2019, 04:25 PM (This post was last modified: 02-20-2019, 04:26 PM by Ilma.)
Ilma
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
The brightly-coloured fairy had spoken - tasked her with the very thing she had asked help with. The irony didn’t escape the moon-coloured mare, and with a respectful dip of her head she had made her way down. Perhaps the fairy had seen something in her that made her willing to help. Or, perhaps she had been disappointed in Ilma because the alabaster mare hadn’t dared to go back into the fire without some ammunition.
She wished she knew the answer; all she knew now was that she had to use her head to make the peace she so longed for.
She wasn’t here, then, on a personal matter (in a way it was, since it had bothered her so); she wasn’t here on kingdom business per say. But to make peace for someone else, she also had to make peace with herself.
So that’s why she decided she would go to Loess, and see what the dragon man had made of it. Something tells her she might be walking into the lion’s dragon’s den, but she can’t find it in herself to care.
Perhaps, in her growing age, she becomes a little reckless?
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile] Uhm here’s a something that I hope gets better with more posts, lol
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Ilma.
Her scent carries on the autumn gale, and Castile admittedly isn’t sure whether to be disgusted, angry, or happy. Once, she had soothed his worries and bandaged his emotional wounds. It was a rare moment of vulnerability that he offered her. It blossomed into a friendship, but it faced unexpected turbulence when she watched the explosiveness of his and Sabra’s relationship. For the first time, Ilma witnessed Castile’s fiery temper.
He could see the revulsion and distaste in her eyes. It was painted across her entire face, but he didn’t care. Rage poured through his veins, and there was no stopping it.
They – Ilma and Castile – haven’t seen each other since.
Nonetheless, he addresses her. To reduce travel time, he takes to the sky but it feels far too incredibly short when he lands heavily in front of her. Nothing can prepare him for this reunion, but if he is uncomfortable, it isn’t at all conveyed on his steely face. Stern, regal even, Castile straightens himself in front of her and takes a final step closer. ”Ilma,” he tastes her name for the first time in months, playing with it along the edges of his tongue, but it doesn’t yet bring a smile to his lips. Admittedly, he half expects her to be here in defense of Sabra. The memory hangs thickly in his mind, molasses – always there, sluggish to fade away. ”What brings you to Loess?” A more amiable greeting counters this in his mind, threatens to surface afterward to soften the edge of his voice, but he suppresses it with a swallow.
Until she states her purpose – until she admits that it is separate from their previous meeting – Castile remains stoic, defensive even.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
He’d warned her once - but that same fact had been the light she saw. Still sees, now that she’s not greeted with a scowl, even if she and he had left in utter disagreement. She is curious, what had happened to the filly, yet if Sabra was any bit as fierce about protecting her child as Ilma had come to suspect, then they would have made it with or without Castile’s repentance.
Ilma smells a lot of smoke in Loess; reminding her of Tephra, of Magnus, but this place softens the fiery sting of sulphur (which is new and draconic, instead of old and volcanic) with pools of hot water and the smell of greens; grass, trees and undergrowth make up Loess’ habitable parts. She assumes Castile may have more children than the ones with Solace and Sabra, then; or other family members perhaps.
He’s shielding himself behind a regal, stern mask. One she so often wears as a diplomat, she knows he, perhaps, knew this meeting to be as inevitable as she, and yet knows not what to say, or do. Ilma is in a contemplative mood however; she doesn’t feel like chastising him. Perhaps she should have been more neutral towards his behaviour last time, her looks surely must have spurred him only into more anger. But the point was that she'd not been so different from Sabra, once. And that his anger had prevented him from seeing - something he, as not-presently-hormonal-and-in-labour, should have been able to suppress, should’ve asked before accusing Sab.
But that’s his dragonlike nature - something she thinks he still might not fully control, as easily as he seems to get upset. But even if he doesn’t fully control it, it is something he needs to live with.
His almost-overly-neutral greeting is something she can accept. In return, her diplomatic face is much the same when she dips her head in formal-like greeting of a ruler - one she admittedly doesn’t know so well as she’d hoped, perhaps.
There is time to fix everything, if one wants to. There is time to start over. ”You do,” she answers him. ”I figured it was time we talked.” About what, she doesn’t know yet; she lets it depend on his reaction. She has thousands of questions, for sure - or maybe just the one.
Is he still her friend?
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
So this got a little deep and is a novel (:
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Ilma mirrors him so well. They are stoic reflections of one another as their eyes roll curiously over one another. It has been so long – perhaps too long – since they’ve last spoken, but fate built a wall between them. Life’s adventures pulled them apart. While there have been, likely, minimal changes in Ilma, a great deal has clouded Castile’s past couple years. His fiery eyes look at her with rejuvenation and with an altered prowess.
Her answer is quick. It crashes over him as a tidal wave, crushing his hopes of a neutral and friendly conversation. Suddenly, the air seems electrified as his memories trace back to Sabra. It isn’t even the delivery of the lavender child that spurs to mind, but of the thunderous reunion in the Resort when it all came to a crumbling end. Electricity darted painfully through his veins when their bodies connected. It should’ve weakened him or helped him fall into her embrace. Sometimes, he wonders if that is what she hopes. It backfired, however, and spawned an irreversible rage that drew their relationship to a screeching halt.
Castile’s skin twitches as though flies are surrounding him while his gaze distantly stares toward the horizon, remembering.
”Go on then,” he finally snips, his voice edged and terse, ”You begin.” It could still be diplomatic, but deep in his gut he realizes Ilma wants more from him. She yearns to understand his actions, to see where he stands with everyone and everything. Slowly, Castile turns his head away from the mountainous horizon to look at her expectantly, waiting for what looms.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
We're so similar, and so different.
I'm not sure why I'm drawn back here, by rumours that I shouldn't have cared about other than hoping to establish a new alliance with Loess, perhaps ask Lie on my way back if he wanted to go home or stay. I should have done so when Vulgaris was king, but then he somehow had gotten it in his head to pull al healers to this place and keep them, and I wasn't certain if I should even approach. I don't know when that plan backfired on him or how, but I know that it did.
Perhaps I have more hopes for Cas than I ever did for Vul? No, that's not fair to either of them. The grey man so badly wanted a friend; the tobiano needs one even if he thinks he doesn't want me to be his friend. I can see it in the way he avoids my gaze, in the way he is instantly reminded of something he did wrong in the past. But I did wrong, too. Several things. I can only hope not to repeat any past mistakes, and it's that, perhaps, that I want for him as well. To learn.
But the way he talks to me, bites off his words, makes me lose my posture for a fraction of a heartbeat. My ears are reflexively pulled back as his words, go on then, as if I'd come here to whip him and condemn him. In the blink of an eye, while he continues with you go first, I'm back to my neutral face, and I wonder if he'd missed it altogether in his own tenseness.
I wait a while before I challenge him again. Search his features slightly more openly than before, wondering what has happened to him to figuratively want to bite my head off, but I can't find it, can't fight it unless he lets me in. "You're not like this."
I know because he is the one telling me that two wrongs don't make one right. I know because told me he's a monster - I know he was always afraid to let the monster win, but that to fight would tear him apart. He's placid now, no longer fighting, but I don't know who won. Right now what I see, what I hear about, is someone accepting the monster part, but forgetting he is also still a man. Giving in too much, in my honest opinion.
But what I really don't get is why he's so on edge with me when I tell him I came to see him. I hadn't said I was here to rub it all in, and I'm still not planning on it. He's giving me every reason to be mad at him, but I don't want to.
Being mad never solved anything for me. And I'm pretty sure it didn't solve everything for him either.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
He is a hunter, a monster. He relies heavily on watching the expressions and reactions of his prey. They guide him and play into his methods. And so he notices the flicker in Ilma’s face, but he glazes over it without so much as a shrug. It’s understandable that she may be deterred by his brash behavior, agitated by his terse voice. Many squirm beneath him now. Some tread carefully, realizing his explosiveness and unpredictability. Ilma, however, faces him bravely and combats the air around him with dignity.
As always, Castile applauds her for that.
”I am, Ilma,” his voice rumbles forebodingly from his throat, reverberating throughout his entire core as he inches toward her. The intensity of his stare never wavers. He bores into her as smoke coils from his nostrils – a habit now more than anything – and he considers her statement for another moment longer. ”When you saw me, years ago, I was a mess. I was vulnerable,” a pause as he disgustedly snarls, ”I was weak.” Never again, he promised himself. No one else would see him struggle and drown in such emotions. It would never happen again.
He wouldn’t fall prey to that ever again.
A breath slowly rises and falls. Easily enough he could turn her away now, dismiss her with a simple flick of his tail, but he doesn’t. Instead, he provides her the information she likely thirsts for. ”I’ve since addressed my mistakes. I’ve learned from them and I have moved on in the best way possible.” His mismatched eyes flash vibrantly, knowing that she is aware even without names being spoken.
castile
@[Ilma]
Just trying to get back into writing since everything happened, so just bear with my current suckiness lol
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
I know better.
Perhaps he won't admit it, and if that's the case, perhaps I am too early. Yet I will not give up on him, even if he thinks I should. I give a slight shake of my head. He tells me he was weak, and at that point my staring back at him is no longer neutral, but defiant; but I wait. I can wait. I've waited so long for this visit, why not add a few short moments and let him speak what he thinks he is.
When finally he doesn't leave, I nod to him, my face softened, and move closer despite the small inkling in the back of my head that at some point he might turn, might bite me or worse - but I can't find myself caring about that risk, and if he'll let me, I'll give him a hug.
"That wasn't weakness." I breathe in and out slowly, to steady myself for the looks and words that will surely follow, but I won't let him go yet. "You've accepted one side of yourself you always feared before, and that's a good thing. It takes effort and perseverance." I smile, retreating to look into his mismatched gaze, steady as I've ever been. "Now, you only have to accept the part of you that you still fear." He calls it weakness. Vulnerability. After all these years of fearing the dragon part, the monster, it seems that now he fears to be hurt. To love is to be vulnerable. To trust is to open up. Being hurt once, twice perhaps even, for I don't know how much he cared for Solace, is not a good excuse to act like a bully and burn everyone in his path to take what he thinks he needs at the moment.
All I know is that he shut down, and closed off.
I don't know what happened between them, but I can guess. An argument with Sabra about her child would not have placed himself in her good graces. If he'd lashed out then, surely he would be hurt now.
I give him a small nod, look at him a while longer. "Never stop learning, Cas." I add softly. He may be angry all he wants and I won't care. And I think that he knows.
He might as well attack or kill me, but if he does I will have proven my point. Letting the dragon in is one thing; letting it take control is not what he needs. It's time he sees that as well.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile] someone likes to live dangerously here
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Ilma edges closer, perhaps against her better judgment, and traces her eyes across the rigidity of Castile’s. He watches her intensely, predatorily, as his guard. Even amid the chaos that she witnessed and experienced, despite realizing his fiery temper, she still closes the space between them until she is just within his reach. The heat of her body is like fingers extending toward him, but he doesn’t meet her. Instead, his hooves stay rooted to their place. His head lifts, looking down at her with uncertainty and questioning as she still inches nearer until their skin touches for the first time. Many would perceive her reckless if they saw her now, facing a monster with compassion in her eyes and heart.
So few have been tender with him – at least to this level – and he is taken aback by the unexpected gesture. He says nothing, does nothing. Only Isobell, mother even, have been so gentle and loving toward him. The intimacy has never been extended to someone outside their family. Sochi is close – so dear to him – but their fiery, predatory nature creates something beautifully heated between them. Not even Reia’s mother is this sweet and delicate.
As confused as he is, Castile doesn’t retract from her touch. He simply watches without returning it. He doesn’t fold into her or clutch her tightly, but he isn’t cold toward her either.
Seconds melt into minutes until Ilma releases him and steps back to search his eyes, her mouth smearing into a honeyed smile. ”I’ve accepted what I am,” what he has become over the past decade. Change has been the only constant in his life – how odd is that? ”You saw me after I discovered Solace left me, after I lost my chance to help raise my children from foals – I’ve since found them – and after I realized how much I failed.” He doesn’t mention Sabra to her. Even as he increasingly grew attached to Sabra, Solace forever had a larger piece of him. She always had. ”I’ve since learned to survive, to be independent, to thrive. I’ve since found a home to raise my family.” His voice is stern with an underlying tone of reassurance because despite everything, Ilma still cares for him and sees him as a soft-hearted man underneath the dragon armor and fire.
For that, he would never harm her.
”I don’t need another mother, Ilma,” he half jokes, knowing they are similar in age but steered in different directions. ”I don’t,” he suddenly says, reflecting on all the lessons he has experienced and learned from, ”and you shouldn’t either. I’m not the same man you met years ago. There is much you could still learn about me.” With life’s changes, Castile has always adapted, but Ilma wants to see him as he was years ago – teetering between depression and madness. That simply isn’t him anymore. He has settled and grown into himself. He has accepted what he is, what monster lies within him. Sighing and with a slow, thoughtful blink, Castile asks, ”Did you come here to lecture me, Ilma?” A feeble, lopsided grin appears, softening the hard lines of his face.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
I am silent for a long while, simply hoping he doesn’t leave right away. I can be stubborn like that; in that way perhaps we are opposites; him the softer man beneath hard layers of anger and cold heat, me the stubborn core that won’t give, underneath so much softness and warmth; friends despite everything because what we see in the other is something we admire.
My silence is slowly condemning and deafening, and so I have to say something, do something. ”I wanted to see what you have become. Forgive me for not being too jubilant about the way you conquered this new home of yours, or the way in which you’ve expanded this family of yours.” My words are harder than the tone beneath; I came because of rumours and didn’t exactly like the carelessness with which he handles it. In fact, all I have left is perhaps disappointment, and my soft tone reflects it. I had hoped he would be better, but he’s volatile and although I know he means well sometimes, I also just now find, that some other times he doesn’t care what others think or feel. But I can’t judge him for past actions if his leading role will help him grow into what he could have been. So I rest my case. Perhaps he will continue to change.
”I’ve come looking for some form of peace. I don’t know if I found it yet, but that’s more to do with me than you. At least you’re taking care of your inhabitants as far as I can see. I hope you’ll consider each and every one of them family, one day.” I take a deep breath, then step away. Despite what he’d said, despite my disappointment, I know that I do in fact feel like he needs a mother - but lecturing him, like he calls it, is not the way to go and so I’ll go.
Before I spread my wings one more time, I look back to him, my face neutral though my tone is warm. ”I hope your life brings you what you need.”
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile] figured I could end it here!
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
