11-03-2015, 12:09 PM
He is scraps, and he’s always known it.
He is the leftovers of a loveless night, the residual dust from a carver’s earliest work before he moved on to greater labors. Walter is the unwanted, the thrown-away; he is the trash grown staler by a stalled truck.
Djinni had her childhood, had her parents and their love. But Walter’s was a quick and greasy take on growing up. The emaciated crone with a voice like broken glass had lured him to the Chamber. She hadn’t lied at least – she hadn’t promised him a proper home, anyway – but she hadn’t really wanted him, either. He’d been just another body to fill her kingdom, just another faceless orphan to feed the machine that was the piney place at the time. He was a bitter and angry boy, but he was smart. Smart in a way that kept him out of trouble, despite his lashing tongue. Smart in the way he occupied his time and taught himself everything he needed - and wanted - to know. But his sharp brain made easy work of his heart, poking into deep, meaty truths he couldn’t ignore. He had been left behind because his mother was either incompetent or uncaring (he wasn’t sure which was worse). His father possibly knew he existed and didn’t give a rat’s ass or his mother had never told him. Walter saw that the common denominator was his mother, and has more or less blamed her ever since.
So he’ll never be as whole as many others. His heart is still punctured by the sharpness of thoughts that have never left him, even after all these years. Holes caused by abandonment and regret decorate that vital organ, sending out blood throughout his body that is poisoned by his memories. He is always seeking a salve, a tonic to patch him up and ease the ache.
Despite his outward indifference, his heart sings for repair.
Seeing Djinni again heals him further. She is like sunshine on this cloudy, sunless day. He suddenly thinks they should have been born with each other’s coats – they’d be far more fitting. Her smile is radiant, and he already knows his cheeks will later be numb with his own returning smile. “I wish I had wished you back,” Walter says, feeling much colder than he should when she pulls her muzzle away from him. His voice is still that same smooth tenor, even after years without polishing. “But I can’t be responsible for all the good in the world, as much as it pains me to admit.”
He grins, the sudden appearance of his own feathers on her neck stretching the smile even further. The palomino wants to know everything about Djinni’s adventures then. He wants to see where she’s been, to hear the voices she’s shared stories with. He breathes her in as discreetly as possible. And when he doesn’t smell the sage and spice of the Deserts, he is not surprised in the slightest. But she remains coy in her answer. “Well I’m glad you’re here with me.” His face sobers instantly when he realizes what he’s said, how she might interpret it. “Me and the rest of this lot,” he says, gesturing to the meadow-dwellers around them. To his dismay, they are few and far between. Walter takes a moment to collect himself before looking back at the smoky mare, a tentative smile curving his lips. “Where will you go next?”
He is the leftovers of a loveless night, the residual dust from a carver’s earliest work before he moved on to greater labors. Walter is the unwanted, the thrown-away; he is the trash grown staler by a stalled truck.
Djinni had her childhood, had her parents and their love. But Walter’s was a quick and greasy take on growing up. The emaciated crone with a voice like broken glass had lured him to the Chamber. She hadn’t lied at least – she hadn’t promised him a proper home, anyway – but she hadn’t really wanted him, either. He’d been just another body to fill her kingdom, just another faceless orphan to feed the machine that was the piney place at the time. He was a bitter and angry boy, but he was smart. Smart in a way that kept him out of trouble, despite his lashing tongue. Smart in the way he occupied his time and taught himself everything he needed - and wanted - to know. But his sharp brain made easy work of his heart, poking into deep, meaty truths he couldn’t ignore. He had been left behind because his mother was either incompetent or uncaring (he wasn’t sure which was worse). His father possibly knew he existed and didn’t give a rat’s ass or his mother had never told him. Walter saw that the common denominator was his mother, and has more or less blamed her ever since.
So he’ll never be as whole as many others. His heart is still punctured by the sharpness of thoughts that have never left him, even after all these years. Holes caused by abandonment and regret decorate that vital organ, sending out blood throughout his body that is poisoned by his memories. He is always seeking a salve, a tonic to patch him up and ease the ache.
Despite his outward indifference, his heart sings for repair.
Seeing Djinni again heals him further. She is like sunshine on this cloudy, sunless day. He suddenly thinks they should have been born with each other’s coats – they’d be far more fitting. Her smile is radiant, and he already knows his cheeks will later be numb with his own returning smile. “I wish I had wished you back,” Walter says, feeling much colder than he should when she pulls her muzzle away from him. His voice is still that same smooth tenor, even after years without polishing. “But I can’t be responsible for all the good in the world, as much as it pains me to admit.”
He grins, the sudden appearance of his own feathers on her neck stretching the smile even further. The palomino wants to know everything about Djinni’s adventures then. He wants to see where she’s been, to hear the voices she’s shared stories with. He breathes her in as discreetly as possible. And when he doesn’t smell the sage and spice of the Deserts, he is not surprised in the slightest. But she remains coy in her answer. “Well I’m glad you’re here with me.” His face sobers instantly when he realizes what he’s said, how she might interpret it. “Me and the rest of this lot,” he says, gesturing to the meadow-dwellers around them. To his dismay, they are few and far between. Walter takes a moment to collect himself before looking back at the smoky mare, a tentative smile curving his lips. “Where will you go next?”