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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [open]  runnin' away to the riptide; [any]
    #7
    lady, runnin' away to the riptide
    taken away to the dark side

    Her life would be easier if she were not drawn to the complicated, the dark. She is rarely cruel without reason, not particularly mean, but she is drawn to these things in others, to the possibility of greatness that often accompanies it. She is similarly intrigued by the possibility of greatness in the very good, but they are so much harder to find, and so rarely reach their potential.

    Silver eyes linger on the black mare for several moments beyond the normal, and she follows the gaze flickering towards somewhere – but it is not specific enough to pinpoint a homeland. The puzzle won’t be solved that easily – but a part of her is ok with that. It wouldn’t be a fun puzzle if it was that easy, after all. The words of the white mare draw her attention back to the present, and she appreciates the contrast between the two; no matter what lies inside, it hasn’t escaped her notice that on the outside, they are the embodiment of her own inner conflict. Sloene wonders if they are anything like the stereotypes she has imagined for them.

    “I suppose, like many, I need a home.” she response to Celeana with another smile, including the black mare with a look and a chuckle. “I outgrew my childhood home, and with the Reckoning, I don’t really know where to settle. And I’m assuming, since you’re here, you both have homes in the new world.” she hesitates, looks at the black mare again. “I know the names. I can make an educated guess.” Celeana smells faintly of saltwater, of sand. “You smell of the sea, just a bit. So Ischia, perhaps, or Pangea, or Nerine.” And the black mare does not, but she smells of something else. Sloene frowns in concentration, taking a long moment to place the scent of sulfur – faint but unmistakable, even from a non-active volcano. “Tephra? That’s where the volcano is, right?” She had taken a grand tour, early on, but hadn’t ever picked a home.

    SLOENE
    I've got a lump in my throat
    cause you're gonna sing the words wrong
    Reply


    Messages In This Thread
    runnin' away to the riptide; [any] - by Sloene - 01-03-2017, 10:21 PM
    RE: runnin' away to the riptide; [any] - by Sloene - 01-07-2017, 05:16 PM



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