05-12-2015, 04:07 PM
There is an air of contemplation about the electric Avthillar when she arrives. Scorch studies her for a moment, attempting to unravel the mystery beneath that golden skin - horse skin, I might add, for which Scorch is grateful. Her last encounter with a big-cat had not been one to smile one; Prague, however useful as a magician and Amazon, was rather quick to throw about accusations, even ones which were but half-formed. Alas, Scorch is no telepath, nor magician, and she cannot read Rhy's thoughts or memories. Perhaps just this once, Scorch will use her words.
A harsh laugh cuts through the beginning of her story when Rhy plops comically to the Jungle floor. Wisps of light manifest around her awkwardly placed limbs, toying with her. The magic moves through her without thought, flowing from her mind like thoughts; never ending. But when Rhy clambers back to four hooves, the wisps are pushed aside, which Scorch does nothing to stop. Her magic is unimportant in these moments, for the Avthillar appears to be incredibly tuned to her story, which is something that absolutely cannot be said for each of the sisters of the Jungle. They have always been this way though, easily conversing, trading stories for stories, understanding for understanding, respect for respect. Whatever their differences politically, Scorch counted the golden woman to be among her 'friends' without hesitation, if she could even call them that.
When the story comes to an end, Scorch waits patiently for a response, allowing shadows to play hide and seek amongst the foliage below them. It curls slowly around the leaves, more lackadaisical than their energetic light-beam counterparts. Raising her large-boned head suddenly from her impromptu session of shadows-and-smoke, the Khaleesi perks her ears at the questions, and flicks then back almost as quickly. The answer is a very secret one, you see.
Eyeing Rhy, Scorch remains silent for a moment before begrudgingly deciding that it has been far too long since she's told the tale, anyhow. The last time she had seen her Erinak, Malka, in fact; years, if we are to be realistic (which really, we aren't). So with a sigh, the story comes, however reluctantly. Or should I say, the title of the story is given.
"We had the same dream. All these years later, I'm convinced that it was a quest. We... found an egg and collected healing waters an fought a dragon. It's why I'm hairless, actually, and why your grandmother was gimped." The beginnings of a grin had been upon her anciently charred lips at the nostalgic memories, but she cringes nostalgically at the supposedly offensive adjective. "Sorry. We were always rather crass with each other. I was the hairless rat, and she the gimp. I - I can't remember exactly what happened..." It seems as though she is about to go on, but when she recognizes just what her words mean, a dark expression crosses her unbecoming face. She has begun forgetting. It brings anger to her stomach, anger which she has worked so hard to temper into something more of a bluntness. Diverting her eyes, Scorch glares at a nearby log, sending shadows to embrace it. Maybe if everything else lays in the darkness, I won't be so alone.
A harsh laugh cuts through the beginning of her story when Rhy plops comically to the Jungle floor. Wisps of light manifest around her awkwardly placed limbs, toying with her. The magic moves through her without thought, flowing from her mind like thoughts; never ending. But when Rhy clambers back to four hooves, the wisps are pushed aside, which Scorch does nothing to stop. Her magic is unimportant in these moments, for the Avthillar appears to be incredibly tuned to her story, which is something that absolutely cannot be said for each of the sisters of the Jungle. They have always been this way though, easily conversing, trading stories for stories, understanding for understanding, respect for respect. Whatever their differences politically, Scorch counted the golden woman to be among her 'friends' without hesitation, if she could even call them that.
When the story comes to an end, Scorch waits patiently for a response, allowing shadows to play hide and seek amongst the foliage below them. It curls slowly around the leaves, more lackadaisical than their energetic light-beam counterparts. Raising her large-boned head suddenly from her impromptu session of shadows-and-smoke, the Khaleesi perks her ears at the questions, and flicks then back almost as quickly. The answer is a very secret one, you see.
Eyeing Rhy, Scorch remains silent for a moment before begrudgingly deciding that it has been far too long since she's told the tale, anyhow. The last time she had seen her Erinak, Malka, in fact; years, if we are to be realistic (which really, we aren't). So with a sigh, the story comes, however reluctantly. Or should I say, the title of the story is given.
"We had the same dream. All these years later, I'm convinced that it was a quest. We... found an egg and collected healing waters an fought a dragon. It's why I'm hairless, actually, and why your grandmother was gimped." The beginnings of a grin had been upon her anciently charred lips at the nostalgic memories, but she cringes nostalgically at the supposedly offensive adjective. "Sorry. We were always rather crass with each other. I was the hairless rat, and she the gimp. I - I can't remember exactly what happened..." It seems as though she is about to go on, but when she recognizes just what her words mean, a dark expression crosses her unbecoming face. She has begun forgetting. It brings anger to her stomach, anger which she has worked so hard to temper into something more of a bluntness. Diverting her eyes, Scorch glares at a nearby log, sending shadows to embrace it. Maybe if everything else lays in the darkness, I won't be so alone.
![[Image: scorch2.png]](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d3f8827d56fd033f445fc5aa8055947a/3778d5ee43303690-eb/s1280x1920/532e323d08dfe066db7c4d27a9277d571bf7cdb2.jpg)