feral, though it's trivial

[Roushe]

My pupils took a moment or two to adjust to the shifting shadows when I emerged carefully from the Pine wooded canopy. Evaluate. Everything lacked flaws. The sun was flawlessly blinding as it rose, the blades of grass at my fetlocks were flawlessly soft and thick, the clouds were flawlessly spaced in the flawlessly painted sky. They casted gentle shadows across the backs of the other females, who seemed to be created in some sort of god's pristine image. Everything here was simply impeccable.

And undoubtedly, I despised it. Where was the detail? The interesting twists and curls that the eye is privileged enough to be allowed to detect? The desperate mistakes that aren't typical mistakes, the mars in the painting that were first screw ups and then molded into the whole genius center of the piece? That place I once called home, it was what one might dub a masterpiece. I had at one brief point in my three years considered it so, though I had just been reminded of how significantly different the world is from my previous seclusion. This place wilted my spirit and sliced my empathy to bits. I wanted no part of this disgusting city.

It had been a careful month since I'd had contact with another being. My soul was simply too exhausted to tolerate the dimwhittedness I had been recently encountering within other horses. My brothers and sisters somehow adapted to Father's mindset, one of complete control and levelheadedness. The only provocative thoughts that seemed to cross their mind were those that entertained their future as a idiotic "unit," whom they could claim, to whom they could run to in time of need. A constant crutch was a necessity. That seemed anything but enticing to me, as I'm sure you already assumed. I was my mother's only child until recent time, her first piece of youth. She is perhaps the author of my novel, for lack of better words. Thinking of her made the gritty discomfort of this meadow fade a bit. I did miss her mutual bitterness for such lack of complexity. I wonder what she is doing in this moment...

Roushe

she was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city

[demian]

we try to sound like someone else.

Mornings were always what seemed to catch Demian offguard. The wanderings were growing longer and he found himself constantly traveling from the valley to the field in search of recruits worthy of the dark kingdom. The silence had grown too thick within the borders of the forest and if one sat still for too long it was as though the mind would begin playing tricks.

Ghosts haunted the kingdom and as the days lagged on they would brush their soft tendrils against even the most aware of travelers, causing their paranoia to grow in such a way that they found themselves moving faster, desperate to cross out of the kingdom and into 'safety'. Though that is exactly what silence did wasn't it? Pique your senses to their absolute heights, rise the stress levels to unknown lengths.

But Demian, having been a loner for so long, a wandering travel so to speak... Had grown accustomed to the silence and the secrets it held. He had began to see those secrets as stories untold and when he had first noticed it all, he had begun to follow it. Learning, growing, holding onto feelings it created within him. Until the morning came and the silence made him realize that even it was lonely without the life and voices that should be held inbetween the cracks.

Gray wings, tipped black beat softly against the sky as he glided through the winds, slowly circling the field in search of a typical lonesome personality like himself and it took only moments before he noticed the girl stepping out from the trees and into the morning light. The sun seemed to glare off of her for a moment and with it, he turned his head. Shiny things always seemed to push him back.

He was never interested in the beautiful or shiny. It was the imperfect and different that caught his eye. That drew him in like a moth to the flame. So again he circles, choosing to watch her for a few moments more until finally he notices the differences. She wasn't weak, in search of care and protection. She wasn't flighty and distrustful.

She was wild, careful, attentive and while she walked amongst the golden grasses he could tell the potential in her was more than enough for a place like the forested kingdom. He knew to bring someone like this home would please the valley, and he knew that even Nish may be fond of the difference in her. Somehow they both seemed to be on the same page about possibly too many things.

And with that thought he found himself swooping down, coming down for a soft landing behind and off to the side of the mare, soft steps almost silent due to years of practice as he trotted up next to her. His jaguar spots gleamed in the shadows of his wings until finally he pulled them to his sides, tucking them gently into place.

Minutes passed as he allowed himself to walk alongside the smaller horse before glancing over at her and huffing slightly, "Demian," he stated gruffly in a simple introduction. Again, he was never good at introductions. So far he had only found it easy to introduce himself to one other In the passing year. The social awkwardness was brought on by lack of communication with others due to self chosen isolation.

Sometimes he found he could force himself to do better, but he always cared to live more by authenticity than falsehoods. For who could trust a liar or one who put themselves off as something they were not. It was better in his own mind to be himself, that if anyone didn't like it, we'll then they could suck on his big toe. That's if he had one anyway.

Coming to a stop he smirked slightly, "Sorry, but all this walking is a little ridiculous so early in the morning wouldn't you say?" Chuckling slightly he rolled his shoulders before tilting his head a bit as he watched her with a look of humor dancing across his graying features.

What do you know. Our graying man thinks he's funny. Who knew.


D E M I A N ( carnage x adalind )

ooc: i have no idea what's going on here, so i apologize :| this was word vomit at 3am xD

[Roushe]

I sensed the young man's presence far before I actually saw him. One thing I had been taught and had taken quite naturally to was the ability to understand the gutteral emotions that accompany a foreign watching eye. It always snuck up on you at first, and then it settles. You feel a subtle churn in the lowest part of your gut. The harder you concentrate on the honest emotion of the physicalities of it, the quicker you'll notice the gurgling migrating along you ribcage and through your lungs. It finds a home there. Your breathing isn't regular anymore because you are aware of it. It's hard to breathe normally when you're conscious of each breath, you don't actually know how to breathe like normal, you just do it. The youth in my tribe had been taught proactively how to hide their awareness of a spying eye and I honed in on those childhood abilities. 



Without watching the being drift downward toward me, I stared at the direct point at which I assumed he'd land. I was fairly accurate, though I had hoped he'd be clutzier than he was. Deep breath, pretend its regular again. The change wasn't obvious, I had been trained to make sure of that. But it still drove me crazy to show even the slightest reaction. All that aside, I was about to speak to another living thing for the first time in quite a while and I wasn't sure my tongue still worked properly. Eventually, as I gathered myself, I looked at the winged figure. He was quite intricate in his design. Spots freckled his hide like a predatorial cat. What had Mother called them...? Perhaps a tiger? Regardless, his markings generally were beautiful. The mind capturing detail didn't make my knotted tongue any easier to untangle. But as a whole, the markings set the male off. He looked uneven and awkward altogether. The untypical predator markings weren't appealing on a prey animal's body. He was ugly, so to speak.


Despite his impressive markings and less than impressive general appearance, Demian's first words were uninspiring. Well, one word. It seemed a bit mumbled but perhaps I just had a hard time deciphering his lack of accent. Regardless, I couldn't quite speak at first. I felt uncomfortable. He had the demeanor of a leader. I had never meshed with the type. It's the equivalent to telling an alpha wolf and lead lioness to coincide, both hunt differently and both rule their families differently. In regards to my attitude toward Demian though, I kept myself together carefully. If he is in a position of power, the doors he held the keys to could be unlimited. I was too smart to sacrifice that because of first judgments. Besides, I didn't see this male as one big ugly mass. Altogether, he was an eyesore to that with a dull eye. But this being was enough for my eyes to drink and study and feed upon. He was what I found to be the missing flaw in this setting. I warmed at that thought. A wrinkle in this seemingly perfect painting, in my book he was now what made it legitimately flawless. 


Not to say, I didn't quite grace my lips with a smile when I spoke. I simply nodded and continued to size him up, this time I wasn't actually memorizing him. I didn't need to see him anymore than I already had. No, I figured I'd see how much he'd allow himself to squirm in silence. Soon, he threw a chuckled few words in, something about walking and morning. I hadn't noticed an overabundance in walking lately, not for myself. Even as a child I had had more energy than the rest, mentally and physically. Mother had no problem keeping up with me, she even encouraged my energetic habits and had happily stayed up on sleepless nights conversing over the most preposterous topics. I was a restless young being, and hadn't outgrown that trait. Taking a step or two forward, I closed the distance betweeen us to roughly two feet. I still didn't speak, instead I squinted my eyes and concetrated on a spot on his shoulder. They were larger blotches, each different than the one before. They flowed carelessly into eachother. The details were so very intense and wonderful that for a moment I forgot what he said his name was. Demien. Jaguar. Not tiger, jaguar.


I took a step back and exhaled, our eyes met. "I don't particularly mind." With another step back, my eyes found the grass again. I had forgotten about my accent. It was thick at the moment. It was hard to place a finger on exactly what area my accent dubbed my origins. It was a tribal adaptation that everyone from home had grasped, myself included. I shifted my weight slowly. It was hard to tell what type of personality Demien possessed. He was curt, yet friendly with a joking edge. My own sense of humor had always fallen short of anything but dry. "Roushe." My accent deceived me yet again. The 'ow' sound in my name always made it apparent. It came out as a short 'a' sound and drew itself out longer than the average pronunciation. Exhale again. Granted, I sure enjoyed my differences.

Roushe

she was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city

OOC - Same here. Her accent is meant to be a sort of cross between Cockney English and South African. Thanks!

[Joscelin]

there's a song in your lung
and a dream in your eye

She cannot lay any claim to being flawless. Perhaps once that might have been so. Perhaps once, with her bright carmine skin that faded into striking white, she might have been considered quite without fault. But not anymore. Never again. Her once pristine body is now scored with black cracks, fractures in her once perfect skin that skitter across her body with jarring imprecision. The boldness of those fissures are made even more notable by the bright sparks of light flickering along them. With those cracks, that light, she is a mess of blatant imperfections.

She does not linger on those numerous flaws however. She has no need to. Those very faults have given her strength, awakened her in ways not possible without the terrible anguish that had brought them about. Those that take her broken skin as a sign of weakness would learn very soon the error in their judgement. She knows, better than most, that such obvious marks do not automatically equate to vulnerability.

She had woken this morning, unsure of what she should do with herself. As yet, so very little weight had been placed upon her in her new role within the Amazons. Perhaps then, she must place that weight upon herself. She had woken with a desire to do something, though that something had not been clear. The vibrantly green foliage of the jungle stares back at her, daring her. Daring her to make her place here. Daring her to set her mark. And then she knows just how she must start.

Her feet turn her towards the field, golden gaze intent. She takes the easy route, through the skies, above the trees and hills, over the streams and rivers. The wind bursts against her body, a thundering song that has called to her since the day of her birth. After the thick, sticky heat of the jungle she now calls home, the brisk air of the heavens is a relief for overly warm skin.

Unfortunately, it cannot last. All too soon, she reaches the confines of the field. And however much she might like to linger, the drive beating within her chest will always win out. Her cracked white hooves skim the tops of the trees before she drops swiftly to the swaying grasses at the edge of the bustling field. Metallic eyes drifting across the expanse, she pauses. Her gaze catches upon the duo, a dusky mare standing close to a spotted stallion sporting dark feathered wings.

Her feet bring her close, easily bridging the distance between them. Dusty grass brushes against pale legs with a whispering hiss. She halts a few scant feet from them, inserting herself easily into the small group. Brilliant gold eyes survey the stallion first, before landing unerringly on the mare. The newcomer. The tail end of her words drift to her ears, conveniently informing her of the mare’s name. Roushe.

Hello Roushe, she says softly, bright gaze intent upon her. Unnerving to some, perhaps. But she does not think this mare will be too off put by her directness.

I’m Joscelin. She pauses for only a brief moment before continuing. As much as I’d like to dance around the point, I will not. Her lips quirk then, a small wry smile to emphasize her sardonic words. Perhaps she should be a little more circumspect. But then, if she were, she would not be Joscelin. I am from the Amazons. You look to be a woman who can hold her own.

joscelin

html c insane | pictures c nazo-the-unsolvable.deviantart.com and akharlamov.deviantart.com