01-26-2021, 12:24 PM
it's a mystery to me
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
While she didn’t think everyone hated Ivar the same way she did, Wishbone is unashamedly surprised at Mazikeen’s reaction. Her grasp on the tusk slips when the white bear pushes in front of Ivar’s taunting face, and it careens out of their hazy circle of light into the shadows. Wishbone doesn’t move to pick it up again, though she itches to arm herself with a bigger weapon now that she seems to have two enemies. For a moment, she is shocked at how Mazikeen had shifted so quickly, but there are much more pressing matters. A rough snort leaves the midnight woman, and her ears twist into the knotted tangles that lie like a crown upon her head.
The rage that flickers within her reflects in Mazikeen’s face, and they stand facing each other like twin pyres of flame. Wishbone’s amber eyes dance between the bear’s face and Ivar’s, trying to pick out what type of facade the kelpie must have put on to make Mazikeen believe he wasn’t capable of inflicting pain. “You must know an entirely different kelpie then,” she sneers, and her voice is bitter yet warm with an undercurrent of pity. “If you’re not careful, he’ll drown you too.”
The gold-faced mare takes a few steps back, creating distance between Mazikeen. Wishbone doesn’t want to fight the white mare (bear?), and she has no reason to. Her anger is directed solely on Ivar, and her amber eyes find his face from beyond Mazikeen’s furry shoulders. She opens her mouth to hurl another insult (probably something about conning young, unknowing women) when Ivar’s face wavers. The seconds it takes to blink twice, his scaled face melts into shadow, still formed to the kelpie’s structure yet entirely made of the darkness that twists around them. By the time Wishbone recognizes it, Ivar looks perfectly normal.
Confusion blurs the sharp lines of anger on Wishbone’s face, and she feels something lodge in her throat (fear, she might realize later, but she has never been one to admit to fear). “Mazikeen, he’s dangerous.” She is pleading this time, and she finds the tusk from where she had tossed it in the undergrowth. The bone whistles to her side, but she doesn’t point it at Mazikeen or Ivar. Wishbone shifts her weight to distribute it evenly between her legs, prepared to fight if either of them sprang for her. “He’s not… There’s something wrong.”
The rage that flickers within her reflects in Mazikeen’s face, and they stand facing each other like twin pyres of flame. Wishbone’s amber eyes dance between the bear’s face and Ivar’s, trying to pick out what type of facade the kelpie must have put on to make Mazikeen believe he wasn’t capable of inflicting pain. “You must know an entirely different kelpie then,” she sneers, and her voice is bitter yet warm with an undercurrent of pity. “If you’re not careful, he’ll drown you too.”
The gold-faced mare takes a few steps back, creating distance between Mazikeen. Wishbone doesn’t want to fight the white mare (bear?), and she has no reason to. Her anger is directed solely on Ivar, and her amber eyes find his face from beyond Mazikeen’s furry shoulders. She opens her mouth to hurl another insult (probably something about conning young, unknowing women) when Ivar’s face wavers. The seconds it takes to blink twice, his scaled face melts into shadow, still formed to the kelpie’s structure yet entirely made of the darkness that twists around them. By the time Wishbone recognizes it, Ivar looks perfectly normal.
Confusion blurs the sharp lines of anger on Wishbone’s face, and she feels something lodge in her throat (fear, she might realize later, but she has never been one to admit to fear). “Mazikeen, he’s dangerous.” She is pleading this time, and she finds the tusk from where she had tossed it in the undergrowth. The bone whistles to her side, but she doesn’t point it at Mazikeen or Ivar. Wishbone shifts her weight to distribute it evenly between her legs, prepared to fight if either of them sprang for her. “He’s not… There’s something wrong.”
@[Mazikeen]