01-12-2020, 01:02 AM
She won't give him the satisfaction of flinching when suddenly he is there in a blink. The instinct is there, the desire to snort and shy kept chained tightly down, something she has mastered slowly through sheer stubbornness. Once upon a time, many things sprung up before her, not there, then there, it was the nature of the blindness that had afflicted her. Things could hide in between the clouds in her eyes. If Neverwhere had shied away from every unexpected thing, she wouldn't have crossed half the lands she had travelled, she might have never made it to Beqanna at all to be bothered by Magicians. She does not bother to hide the distaste that makes her ears pin flat until they disappear into the windswept sea of her mane, however, and his slow smile is met with a flat stare.
"Mm, the disloyal ones, too," her voice has an edge to it, a coolness, but she speaks with recklessness rather than aggression, letting the words drip from scarred lips without much thought as to whether he will think she is implying he is disloyal. She'd have to know who he is to decide that, and Heartfire did not assign any names or knowledge or meaning to any of the faces of the kingdom residents she had sewn into that patchwork vision. A black-winged bay... Even if he'd been in that dream, would she remember him? She does not, in either case, does not recall his wings, his scars, his star, and his easy manner strikes against the carefully built walls she has kept around her, sliding away to the rocky earth underneath.
Footsteps whisper in her ears and one of the halved curls lifts from where it lies. It traces the steps, bold and sure of themselves as they come closer, although she does not turn to greet the new stallion, all but ignoring him until he speaks. Her breath rattles noisily deep in her nostrils in response to his jab, but she does not mind being called cold. She is cold. She is stubborn and sarcastic and contrary, and she does not meet strangers with honeyed smiles and gentleness, especially not when there are two of them and just the one of her.
(At the corners of her vision, something phases in and out, a shape, vaguely familiar. It darkens the brightness of the afternoon sky then disappears again in a flutter, a shiver.)
There is sweat beneath her mane and a sudden chill. A tremor runs up her spine, finding a resting place behind her eyes, rooted in her skull. What the hell was that? Her unease makes her dig in with the stallions, her scowl deepens though they have been nothing but friendly, if irreverent.
(The shape flickers again. A horse? A silver-brown shadow, there and then gone just out of her field of vision. Upwind, but the only scent on the wind is her and the two stallions before her. Could there really be a third?)
The second stallion is speaking, making introductions. His name means nothing but the naming of the bay cuts through the competing confusion. Brennen.
(For half a breath the shape solidifies, a white face scowls at nothing, then it becomes nothing.)
The not-horse disappears, the tingling sensation that wrapped around her eyes evaporates, leaving behind only the skim of sweat on her neck. Pale blue eyes focus briefly on the scaled stallion. Eurwen did not mention Leilan - at least, she had not mentioned him by name or description which amounted to the same thing. The familiarity she finds in the lines of his face therefore goes unplaced and is shoved away as not immediately important. Her attention shifts again to the bay.
"Eurwen mentioned you..." The spotted mare's voice whispers a warning in her head and ears that swiveled forward in surprise now half-turn, back to their usual angle. She cannot find it in herself to temper the curtness of her voice, even knowing they will do much better if he is still on their side. Her nostrils curl, the scar tissue pulling at the corners of her lips, "Though, she didn't happen to mention that you stink like fish."
"Mm, the disloyal ones, too," her voice has an edge to it, a coolness, but she speaks with recklessness rather than aggression, letting the words drip from scarred lips without much thought as to whether he will think she is implying he is disloyal. She'd have to know who he is to decide that, and Heartfire did not assign any names or knowledge or meaning to any of the faces of the kingdom residents she had sewn into that patchwork vision. A black-winged bay... Even if he'd been in that dream, would she remember him? She does not, in either case, does not recall his wings, his scars, his star, and his easy manner strikes against the carefully built walls she has kept around her, sliding away to the rocky earth underneath.
Footsteps whisper in her ears and one of the halved curls lifts from where it lies. It traces the steps, bold and sure of themselves as they come closer, although she does not turn to greet the new stallion, all but ignoring him until he speaks. Her breath rattles noisily deep in her nostrils in response to his jab, but she does not mind being called cold. She is cold. She is stubborn and sarcastic and contrary, and she does not meet strangers with honeyed smiles and gentleness, especially not when there are two of them and just the one of her.
(At the corners of her vision, something phases in and out, a shape, vaguely familiar. It darkens the brightness of the afternoon sky then disappears again in a flutter, a shiver.)
There is sweat beneath her mane and a sudden chill. A tremor runs up her spine, finding a resting place behind her eyes, rooted in her skull. What the hell was that? Her unease makes her dig in with the stallions, her scowl deepens though they have been nothing but friendly, if irreverent.
(The shape flickers again. A horse? A silver-brown shadow, there and then gone just out of her field of vision. Upwind, but the only scent on the wind is her and the two stallions before her. Could there really be a third?)
The second stallion is speaking, making introductions. His name means nothing but the naming of the bay cuts through the competing confusion. Brennen.
(For half a breath the shape solidifies, a white face scowls at nothing, then it becomes nothing.)
The not-horse disappears, the tingling sensation that wrapped around her eyes evaporates, leaving behind only the skim of sweat on her neck. Pale blue eyes focus briefly on the scaled stallion. Eurwen did not mention Leilan - at least, she had not mentioned him by name or description which amounted to the same thing. The familiarity she finds in the lines of his face therefore goes unplaced and is shoved away as not immediately important. Her attention shifts again to the bay.
"Eurwen mentioned you..." The spotted mare's voice whispers a warning in her head and ears that swiveled forward in surprise now half-turn, back to their usual angle. She cannot find it in herself to temper the curtness of her voice, even knowing they will do much better if he is still on their side. Her nostrils curl, the scar tissue pulling at the corners of her lips, "Though, she didn't happen to mention that you stink like fish."
Neverwhere
...
@[Brennen] @[Leilan] I don't know if Brennen smells like fish, Neverwhere's just being an ass lmao
