"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
She is no stranger to the abnormal. Even now, though she had left years ago, Oceane knows it to be true that her homeland of Nau-Aib houses some of the most intricate, most unique, most vile living things she'd ever have the fortunate chance to encounter. Despite being comfortable around Different, it's still the abnormal that arouses curiosity within her. She aches to know why, how. Hadn't nature once coaxed their genes to fit gently into a neutral mold? To blend into their surroundings lest they chance drawing the attention of a predator?
Had they, finally, become that predator themselves?
The various colors draw silent admiration from the pegasi woman; she watches them from afar, though does naught to hide the way her amber gaze lingers. Curiouser and curiouser she grows and the weight of her legs tugs her opalescent frame forward involuntarily, an invisible puppeteer.
"Blessed by the sunset," the words roll from blue lips at the sight of a mare blanketed in sleek red, orange, yellow splendor. It's here that her gaze stops to rest for a time, letting the gentle murmur of the field fall away into the background.
Oceane
tag || "speech"
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
10-14-2019, 05:21 PM (This post was last modified: 10-14-2019, 05:28 PM by Gale.)
He wakes slowly, and the eyes from which he first sees are not his own. Blink. No, this horse is walking. Blink. No, this one is conversing with a stranger whose lips move around the word ‘sunset’. Blink There. These are his own eyes, one dark against the cold earth, one brightened by clear sky.
He always rests this way, stretched out on the earth. He can find his sight this way, and he feels somehow safer with half of himself pressed to the earth. It’s a reminder, he thinks, though he is not sure what the reminder is of. He is not sure of many things, anymore, not since he pulled himself from the dusty earth are started moving east. The autumn rains have cleansed the red dirt from his sides, but his stripes hide remains mussed and feathers of his wings protrude at sharp angles that indicate a lack of care. His tangled mane and tail are no better, and yet he manages still to catch the eye. Not quite handsome, he recalls someone telling him once, but striking.
Rising to his feet, he shakes away some of the leafy debris from his coat and moves toward the warmth of the sun. Blinking his bright eyes against the light, he peers out onto the sweeping field below. He is not sure what he is looking for, but he knows, somehow, that he must look. The brindle stallion does not recognize the red and orange mare he passes, but as he glances at another nearby, he realizes it had been her eyes he’d seen through, and this second mare had been the one who had been speaking.
”Hello,” he says, his expression friendly despite the rough disuse of his voice. ”You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you?”
Ruinam had spent a long time teaching his companion to control the island when he was gone, coaching him how to communicate with Ruinam while he was gone, sending him signals even at distance when something was wrong, Ruinam depended on their relationship when he was away from the island, it enabled him to leave for a while and return to an island usually unchanged, though this relationship would change very soon if he was successful in his quest, he would lose his bond with his companion and he would be gone forever, the thought lingered in both their minds and slowly tore them apart.
Ruinam leaves the resort, confident that his companion will keep the resort running as usual, excited to visit the field once again and find out what has been going on around beqanna, perhaps to even meet new horses and recruit more members for the lonely resort.
The stallion did not mind the trek to the field, often enjoying passing through all the different lands and admiring their different landscapes, often running into strangers and creating fleeting relationships, creating moments he did not want to miss.
The field always had and would have a special place in the ivory man's heart, a spot of rolling green hills with dotted trees all around the landscape. Ruinam is greeted by the lush landscape of grass, the very same he had spent many months grazing on, debating which land he would join, eventually leading him toward Sylva and giving him a home.
The stallion spots two other horses, a smile painted across his face as he walks toward them, his voice humming a greeting as he hears them speak faintly "Hello there, what brings you both to the field?" he asks curiously, halting a couple of steps away from them.
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
It has been months – years? – since the field’s distant cold nipped at his heels. He walks into a haze, his legs tickled by the tall grass as his mismatched eyes dart back and forth. No one is comfortable here, not truly. Facetious small talk and bargaining, convincing words and deceit. That’s all that thrives in this open space and it sends a chill cartwheeling down his spine. This place, at least in his opinion, is not at all welcoming or warm. It’s a purgatory until nomads are sorted to their new home, to their awaiting fate.
His trip, he intends, is to be quick. In and out, he tells himself beneath the heat of a summer sun, but he knows how it always becomes a lie. Conversation lures him.
A placid hunter, Castile crests a few grassy knolls and whispers past occupied knots of conversation until his gaze sifts through the faces to find her own starkly contrasting. The vibrancy of her coat is a beacon, a gem surfacing from the mud. He blinks once, twice, but his legs never stop moving until he is among them. One by one, others trickled toward her as well – just as easily drawn to the flame – and he spares them curious glances. It dwells on the boy. Familiar yet foreign. A blip of his memory, but from where? Underneath his metallic forelock, a brow raises thoughtfully. ”Hello,” he says into the wind, sweeping his eyes away from the lost memory to Ruinam then to the woman that united them here.
”I’m Castile,” the name is honey on his tongue even with a voice like boulders scraping down a cliff – deep, gravelly, precarious. Innocent mischief flashes across his eyes but is dulled by the nonchalant shrug rippling through his shoulders. ”The field,” he echoes Ruinam in response to the confused boy, filling his mind with their location, ”of Beqanna.” The thorn of not remembering the boy pokes into his side, but still, nothing registers. Nothing comes to him. A fleeting glance acknowledges Ruinam more thoroughly, but rather than speak, he simply nods before returning his attention to the mare. ”What’s your name?” A place for the homeless is where she has found herself, whether she realizes it or not. With a dragged step back, he enables the slightest amount of additional space among them, but is pursed with curious silence.
Though it has never been a desire of Oceane's to be the iridescent flame that draws fluttering moths ever nearer, she has been just that time and time again. She has learned to use it to her advantage, to pick at the frayed strings of knowledge until they let loose from the spooled tongues of her pursuers. She would have intended to use this habit with the intricately designed brindle dun - her gaze falls away from the sunset mare, who has lazily meandered further across the field - were it not for the inquiry that falls from his lips. He is just as lost as she, and this prompts a brief pursing of her lips.
His fluttering and her flame swiftly attract two other moths, and Oceane finds her amber gaze being drawn with intrigue to them. One comes with a smile - warm, bright. The other, a mischievous glint. It's this one, the last of the moths, who finally tells her where she is. The name Beqanna draws no reaction from her, no melancholic twinge or promise of a bright future. Oceane finds her detachment to it pleasing, her only tie to this new world her own desire to learn what lies beneath its surface. She rustles her opalescent wings, settling them more comfortably against the gentle curves of her abdomen.
"Castile," she repeats to the painted one, measured and slow. Where mischief had briefly flashed in his eyes lies a dullness now, perhaps boredom with the mundane. To this, Oceane can relate. "I am Oceane," she tells the three of them, though the names of the first two moths are still unknown, "And I've come to seek adventure."
Oceane
@[Gale] @[Ruinam] @[Castile] || "speech"
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
As they draw near he steals bits of their vision, little flashes that will seem no more than a blink. He looks at himself through Oceane's eyes, then at both of them through Ruinam's and the trio via Castile. It is a little dizzying but he remains upright, and opens his own eyes just in time to see the displeased pursing of the blue mare's lips.
Uncertain, the pegasus takes a step backward. Done just as Ruinam arrives. The stallion is boisterous and friendly, with a brightest smile that the brindle can remember seeing. Of course, he remembers little, only a few flashes of color and light before waking up in the earth. "Hello." He replies, a soft cough clearing his throat as his voices rasps on the pair of syllables. There is no time to try again; the orange eyed stallion has started to speak.
They are in the Field, says the tall piebald stallion, in Beqanna. That second word means something to him. The young stallion narrows his eyes for a fraction of a moment, but the origin of the familiarity is out of reach. The most recent arrival seems focused on the blue mare; he asks for her name - not for the pale stallion's or the boy's own. The boy is glad - he does not know his name.
The white stallion had asked what brought them to the Field, and rather than fade into nothingness and disappear(though the urge is strong), the brindle answers. "I don't know where else to go." He has no where else to go, truly. There is food and water here (though it grows ever sparser as winter draws near) and he supposes he might make a life here amid the gentle hills. "I came to see if Oceane might know where we are."
That was in vain, it seems clear now. She is as new to this place - Beqanna - as he thinks he must be. "I'm Blu." He adds, because that is true, even if not his real name. Perhaps it is his real name, he reasons. He can't recall any other and this seems as good as any other.
The sudden scent of brimstone sends a shiver down Ruinam's spine, it had not been so long ago that he and the dragon had last met, his voice his all too familiar as he speaks.
Ruinam returns the subtle greeting toward Castile but keeps his silence, observing the other horses as they maintain the conversation and admiring their different colours.
After all the horses finish, the white stallion steps forward, a smile quietly painted across his pink-tipped muzzle "It is lovely to meet you Oceane, I am Ruinam, I come from the island resort" he says warmly, turning to the other horse "It is also nice to meet you Blu, there are many places you can go, Beqanna is a very welcoming place" he says, glancing at Castile and then to Oceane "Whether you are looking for adventure, to settle down or just to burn something" he nods looking at Castile with half a smile.
The stallion remembers when only a few years ago he also did not know where to go, wandering around the field aimlessly until he finally found Sylva and was taken in, only for it to be ripped away from him a few months later.
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
Castile almost bites back, almost takes Ruinam’s bait. The sideways comment churns his stomach and heats his blood, but the irritation never surfaces to his face. Instead, a hooded stare and feeble quirk of his mouth is all he spares to the porcelain male. Burn everything, yes. If he could now, there would be mayhem berthed from his own palm. His power would branch across Beqanna and scorch the enemies that defy him.
But alas, there is no fire in his gut, no smoke clawing at his throat, for now. This is his punishment, but he conceals it well beneath the scrutiny of his peers.
Oceane’s interest does not slip Castile’s notice as his mismatched eyes slip back to her after having regarded both Ruinam and the boy. A smirk toys with the corners of his lips when she says his name, her voice calculating and remembering him while her mind funnels on his face. He has given her answers. He has already inched his way closer to her, enticing her, but he is not yet done. Her confession sparks something within him, and he nods to her just as the playful glint returns to his watchful gaze. Blu, the boy claims his name to be, nearly hugs against the woman with a light of hope brightening his expression. They are not mother and child, yet a curious attachment is slowly building in front of him. Blue is setting down the foundation, brick by brick, as he searches for answers and direction.
Castile’s neck arches – a handsome display with his thick, muscular crest – as he looks at the youngest of their group. ”Blu,” he repeats gruffly, though not at all unkind, ”Perhaps you and the lovely Oceane here would like to seek adventure and refuge in Loess?” Ruinam has already provided the Island Resort as an option. The name still elicits a disdaining roll of the king’s shoulders, the memories coming and going quickly at his will. ”I’m finding Loess to be a most interesting place, and it would love to have you both,” he does not yet confess his place in the kingdom, how his opinion is heavily biased. His home speaks for itself, still wild with activity with voices buzzing through the air. ”Though, Ruinam’s offer can give you peace and quiet while basking on its sunny shores,” there is nothing more to do there, he muses, but the admonishment is kept to himself this time.
The thrum of tension settles just on the periphery of their conversation. Had Oceane no finely tuned observational skills, she would not have noticed the sensitive microaggressions between Castile and Ruinam. The latter had just introduced himself, the name of his home hanging just at the end of his name, but the woman's amber eyes have drifted to the youngest moth and the crease of worry at his forehead. She will come back to the tension later.
Blu. Her face softens ever so slightly towards the lost brindle, releasing its previous disappointment. "It's nice to know another lost soul," she offers him quietly, an unspoken apology wrapped in the comment before her molten gaze is turned back to the other two stallions, a fluttering ear catching the tail end of Ruinam's comment and the half-smile for Castile that accompanies it. Curious.
She, unabashed, flicks her bright eyes to the smokey black tobiano in time to catch his own quirked lips, though there is no other indication from him that he has taken whatever bait Ruinam has dangled before his mischievous eyes. Oceane takes a half-step forward, her own intrigue building. It's followed by another rustle of her wings, the iridescent feathered beacons catching the golden sun and setting them aflame.
She catches Castile's mismatched eyes as he turns back to her, and Oceane can't help the way her own gentle face cracks into a small grin, though the moment does not linger. He has turned his attention to Blu, inquiring of the brindle's desire for adventure, and throws her name into the mix as well.
Oceane hums in quiet surprise and she tilts her opalescent head to the side pensively. "I'm curious, Castile, why you think Blu has knowledge of what I desire to do." She offers the brindle another apologetic glance before nodding to Castile in the affirmative. "Regardless of Blu's decision, I'm curious of what interesting things you claim hide within Loess."
Oceane
@[Gale] @[Ruinam] @[Castile] || "speech"
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
The friendly white stallion is from Island Resort, Blue learns. There are many places he can go, Ruinam continues, many things he can do. Well, he supposes, that does sound good. The trouble is: Blue doesn’t know what he is looking for. The mention of burning stills him, and he glances at the piebald stallion who Ruinam seems to think is prone to burning things. Blue does not like fire.
He really does not like fire.
The memory comes unbidden, the sizzle of flesh and feather and a heat so intense he lost himself. His first memory, though he cannot say when it is from, and not a pleasant one.
Around him, his companions continue to speak, words that sound like nothing more than a dull buzz. It is not until the winged stallion rumbles something about peace and quiet that Blue returns to himself, and he finds himself nodding. Yes, he would like peace and quiet, and the absence of memories about fire. There’s an apology for him in Oceane’s eye just before she speaks to Castile; something he has missed, he thinks, and is unoffended. She seems to want to go with the burning stallion, Blue realizes, while he thinks that he would like to be as far away as possible from wherever this Loess place is.
“I would like to see your island,” He tells Ruinam. “I think I would like peace and quiet. Would you show it to me?”
Gale
