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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]  i will sing to you as if my chest is glass; any
    #8
    He shrugged, not having expected anything different. Hoping, maybe. But not expecting. She was gentler than most creatures he met, the random clashing meetings of feral beasts not part and parcel of her every day. It baffled him slightly. Why not establish where you stand with someone new right off the hoof? Figure out who is stronger, who is smarter, and let your relationship go from there. 

    There is tension in every line of her now, and the burly sea farer watched with interest. She was angry and on guard, and he had caused that. The oceans in his eyes followed her, calculating. At her sharp assertion, he nodded. The words that followed it brought the smile back to his mouth, but it was one of resigned satisfaction more than any actual pleasure. A smile of being right about something unpleasant. 

    "Yes, but it sped the process up a bit, didn't it?" He asked, languid when he should have been intent. "You know you don't like me, and I know it'll be more work than it's worth to drag you into the sea." It's as thinly veiled an insult as she'd just volleyed to him, so he set back and let land. Watched her for reaction, or lack thereof. 

    With a sudden groan of weariness, the hybrid stallion stretched his neck in an inelegant curve. It had been a long journey to this part of the continent, and now that he had landed, exhaustion was setting in. It was being helped along, of course, by the musical notes the grey woman spoke. She had a very pleasant voice, he thought, even if it was being used to scald him with. 

    His broad shoulder jerked up and down, a gesture he didn't use often under water. "Mystery," he hummed, "is overrated. I like to know what's what." Less room for misinterpretation that way, or so he believed. Whether that he meant loved it, well... Love was an emotion he had grown up dodging. He'd seen the effects of it on his dam, and found it shockingly destructive. It was enough to drive anyone into the sea. 

    @[Alleria]
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    RE: i will sing to you as if my chest is glass; any - by Cormorant - 01-31-2021, 04:51 PM



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