07-30-2019, 04:03 PM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Castile listens to Ilma; he always listens to her, but does not always agree. Perhaps their agreements will forever be a rare occurrence, and yet they hold enough respect for one another to always engage in conversation. He calmly regards her opinion of Litotes with a dip of his head and a feeble, amused grin. ”We are both ambitious,” he counters, knowing well enough that they would forever try to achieve greatness. They are unable to remain idle, collecting dust and sleeping away time. They both hunger for power, but they seemingly know when to take pause. Litotes held Hyaline before his dismissal, then a place as a General, a Head of War, Pangea as a territory, and now King of Pangea as a kingdom. He has been subdued ever since, savoring what he has gained in recent years. Castile is much the same. A prince, to nothing, then a Lord, a soldier, a herd leader, then a King of Loess as a kingdom.
Ambitious. Yes, that describes both men well. Proud, too.
They’ve made mistakes along the way and they will continue to do so as life goes on. Friendships were forged and destroyed, loves gained and lost. Friends one day become enemies – he briefly reminisces of mother and Amet – and sometimes rebuilt down the road. Is that a possibility between him and Litotes? Of course it is, but still he treasures the relationship for what it is now. They push each other and support each other. It’s similar – although more romantically inclined – with Sochi. Wolfbane, Lepis, and, once, Vulgaris. They’ve all sided with one another to form a dominating force. That is what Castile enjoys; there is excitement and drive among them just as there is trust and friendship.
But Ilma wants to see something different for him, just as she always has.
”No,” he volleys sternly, ”I don’t need a mother or teacher. I don’t need someone halting my ambitions.” He expects her to exhaust of his resistance, but she is a pacifist and he is a warmonger. ”Tephra attacked us first, and Loess retaliated. We don’t cower or stand down. I will not roll over and make peace when someone invades my home with ill intent,” his eyes angrily flash, but with a deep breath, he settles again. What’s done is done. It’s well in the past. It was his decision to tell her, but he suddenly regrets it with a sideways glance toward the rolling hills. Ilma wants to be the calming hand to subdue his fiery temper, but very few have that successful ability. He cannot blame her for trying, for her persistence. Humor slowly trickles back into his mismatched eyes as they level on hers. ”Are you saying you are against me, Ilma?” He almost chuckles despite the heat that permeates the air between them every so often, even just in this one conversation. ”I think you care too much for me to truly be against me,” but there may come a day. Friends one day become enemies.
Sweeping his tail idly across his hocks, he considers her wants. As much as he knows she wants them personally, there is also a greater definition in her confession. ”As you said, perhaps the meadow was always your home,” quiet, safe, harmonious. Secluded from warfare and away from his impulsiveness.
Ambitious. Yes, that describes both men well. Proud, too.
They’ve made mistakes along the way and they will continue to do so as life goes on. Friendships were forged and destroyed, loves gained and lost. Friends one day become enemies – he briefly reminisces of mother and Amet – and sometimes rebuilt down the road. Is that a possibility between him and Litotes? Of course it is, but still he treasures the relationship for what it is now. They push each other and support each other. It’s similar – although more romantically inclined – with Sochi. Wolfbane, Lepis, and, once, Vulgaris. They’ve all sided with one another to form a dominating force. That is what Castile enjoys; there is excitement and drive among them just as there is trust and friendship.
But Ilma wants to see something different for him, just as she always has.
”No,” he volleys sternly, ”I don’t need a mother or teacher. I don’t need someone halting my ambitions.” He expects her to exhaust of his resistance, but she is a pacifist and he is a warmonger. ”Tephra attacked us first, and Loess retaliated. We don’t cower or stand down. I will not roll over and make peace when someone invades my home with ill intent,” his eyes angrily flash, but with a deep breath, he settles again. What’s done is done. It’s well in the past. It was his decision to tell her, but he suddenly regrets it with a sideways glance toward the rolling hills. Ilma wants to be the calming hand to subdue his fiery temper, but very few have that successful ability. He cannot blame her for trying, for her persistence. Humor slowly trickles back into his mismatched eyes as they level on hers. ”Are you saying you are against me, Ilma?” He almost chuckles despite the heat that permeates the air between them every so often, even just in this one conversation. ”I think you care too much for me to truly be against me,” but there may come a day. Friends one day become enemies.
Sweeping his tail idly across his hocks, he considers her wants. As much as he knows she wants them personally, there is also a greater definition in her confession. ”As you said, perhaps the meadow was always your home,” quiet, safe, harmonious. Secluded from warfare and away from his impulsiveness.
castile
@[Ilma]