10-02-2016, 09:59 PM
Pyre. It still did not feel quite like his name, though nothing else had presented itself as an appropriate alternative to the blue and silver stallion stuck in the body of a yellow mare splashed with white patches all across her garish body. Or...no, that didn’t feel quite true either. He would, he suspected, be perfectly comfortable in this shape as well, if it weren’t for the fact that it was the only one he was capable of wearing since...well, since he’d left the mountain where he’d awoken a blank slate, without so much as an inkling of his past or his identity.
The memories that had filtered through were few, sparse and sporadic and lacking in depth or detail. He recalled the fire for which he’d named himself burning in his blood, in his bones, in his breath, burning in the air around him, burning away his flesh and the ridiculous torrent of hair that cascaded down his neck like a waterfall of yellow and white that should by all rights have been silver. Or black, for some reason black felt right too, with flashes of silver thrown in like twinkling strands of starlight. He shook his head, wrinkling his brow against the onslaught of the image, there in a flash and gone just as fast.
Still, he suspected this female form would fit just fine if it were his choice to wear it. The longer he walked in it, the more it felt like...like the binding, choking, claustrophobic feeling wasn’t the shape itself, but that he could not change it. That his body refused to mold and twist and bend to his will the way it should have. It left him feeling vulnerable, set his teeth on edge, set off a wary warning prickling beneath his skin heavy enough that he itched. He shrugged, twitching the skin along his sides to try to dislodge the feeling, and when that didn’t work he found a tree with particularly rough bark to rub against to try to scratch the itch.
It only helped a bit, but at least it was something. He snorted, shook himself, and lowered his head to take a reluctant bite of what was tragically grass instead of still-warm meat. Mismatched eyes scanned the forest around him for signs of approach. Bright, cheery yellow and white ears, just as mismatched as his eyes in this shape, swiveled idly about, listening for the telltale thudding fall of hoofbeats, the crunch of old leaf litter, the snap of a twig, any indication that someone was approaching.
((Okay, to reiterate, Pyre is what Quark named “him”self, he looks just like the description in his profile says, just like the ref that’s also there. Yellow and white tobiano splash mare. Lots of hair. Drafty Gypsy horse. Just doesn’t feel like his body fits, on account of it’s supposed to be shifty and let him be male if he damn well wants to be.))
The memories that had filtered through were few, sparse and sporadic and lacking in depth or detail. He recalled the fire for which he’d named himself burning in his blood, in his bones, in his breath, burning in the air around him, burning away his flesh and the ridiculous torrent of hair that cascaded down his neck like a waterfall of yellow and white that should by all rights have been silver. Or black, for some reason black felt right too, with flashes of silver thrown in like twinkling strands of starlight. He shook his head, wrinkling his brow against the onslaught of the image, there in a flash and gone just as fast.
Still, he suspected this female form would fit just fine if it were his choice to wear it. The longer he walked in it, the more it felt like...like the binding, choking, claustrophobic feeling wasn’t the shape itself, but that he could not change it. That his body refused to mold and twist and bend to his will the way it should have. It left him feeling vulnerable, set his teeth on edge, set off a wary warning prickling beneath his skin heavy enough that he itched. He shrugged, twitching the skin along his sides to try to dislodge the feeling, and when that didn’t work he found a tree with particularly rough bark to rub against to try to scratch the itch.
It only helped a bit, but at least it was something. He snorted, shook himself, and lowered his head to take a reluctant bite of what was tragically grass instead of still-warm meat. Mismatched eyes scanned the forest around him for signs of approach. Bright, cheery yellow and white ears, just as mismatched as his eyes in this shape, swiveled idly about, listening for the telltale thudding fall of hoofbeats, the crunch of old leaf litter, the snap of a twig, any indication that someone was approaching.
((Okay, to reiterate, Pyre is what Quark named “him”self, he looks just like the description in his profile says, just like the ref that’s also there. Yellow and white tobiano splash mare. Lots of hair. Drafty Gypsy horse. Just doesn’t feel like his body fits, on account of it’s supposed to be shifty and let him be male if he damn well wants to be.))
@[Reilly]