"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
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
In the end, she does not want to hurt him; does not want to go around him. She still wants to see him as her friend. Albeit not her best friend - friends should not let friends down, but she was not going to stoop to the level of eye-for-an-eye, nor would or could she purposefully ignore him for the rest of her life.
She doesn’t know what exactly to say, where to begin. She no longer has a conflicting loyalty against him - the last grain of it had fallen away with the transition of queens in Nerine, and Lepis leaving Taiga. She only holds their shared past and accusations, but she will not lay them at his feet with an accusing look.
She only wishes to mend, and to mend, one must forgive. It took her a while to find it - but breaking down with Noah ultimately lead to finding it buried deep within herself.
She was never built for holding grudges, not for revenge. Not that she will forget - perhaps they’ll never be as close as they were going to be once - she is more reserved, now.
It’s with that purpose that she finds herself once again wandering towards Loess. Or, wandering… the white mare only truly wanders the last bit, to be honest. Most of it she does by flight, leaving her youngest children in the care of their father.
How ironic is it that he also shifts into a dragon now. But then again… Svedka was a mountain lion, Adriell an owl. She had her fair share of predators, and yet here she is.
Yet another predator to face.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
01-23-2020, 03:35 PM (This post was last modified: 01-23-2020, 03:36 PM by Castile.)
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
(Freedom. True freedom)
Only for now…
(No, for eternity)
No…
The crawling voice in his head sneers arrogantly, embracing this change. Castile scoffs at the defiance, cataloguing this as a temporary and short-term obstacle. It – the draconic and primal counterpart – sinks its claws into the rare opportunity, unwilling to ever release.
They – Castile’s consciousness in tangent with his alter self – return to Loess upon nonchalant wing strides. In control (for now, the voice hisses), Castile returns home and steadies his eyes across the open landscape underneath him. Nothing has changed. There remains life bursting at the seams, an angry woman far from his grasp, and a child on the way.
His heart patters at this, with both excitement and regret.
And what better way to rile up his storming emotions than addressing a face once lost to him, a face he treasured years ago.
Unable to shift, Castile heavily alights on a hill nearby. A cactus breaks when his immense body settles on the space, its spines unable to pierce his scales. Paying it little regard, because his curiosity is far too consumed by her arrival, Castile slowly edges toward the face of a distant past. Smoke billows from his nostrils as his head snakes forward, lowering to nearly level with her own. ”Ilma,” he tastes her name for the first time in years, his voice a deep, vibrating growl. Each breath is a feverish rush of air, but as steady of a rhythm as his heart while it settles from the long flight.
(Let her see us for what we are)
This is not permanent.
His thoughts push away the snide voice, erecting a wall of defense to his own subconscious. Retracting his neck, Castile’s body crouches in front of her, a languid expression somehow softening the knife-sharp lines of his face. ”Hello, stranger,” his lips stretch back in a jagged smile, as his wings coil comfortably against his sides, waiting for the reaction or disappointment.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
She remembers a whole lot of things, and on top of that, she remembers seeing a whole lot of things that could be, that would be, or that would never be. Her head seems full all the time; visions and memories tumbling all over one another. In fact - some of the visions aren’t even real, but are like dreams of a subconscious; visual projections that were not the surface-truth. Castile as a dragon might have been one of them, had she not known better.
He had been so convinced he was a monster, she knew it to be truth before she came here. Before it became reality, she knew.
Yet vision and reality are still two different things. There is a difference between knowledge and experience, and so when he first comes into view, wings, claws and all, it is indeed something she needs to process. Luckily for her, she knew where he would be, his flight path known to her like any other’s path is known to her in the last minute before it happens - it is how she finds others nowadays. And so, she gives herself the precious, but increasingly rapidly beating heartbeats, that she needs to study him before and when he lands.
He greets her with Hello, stranger, perhaps as if to redo their last conversation, or simply because he likes using this word for her in a mock greeting. This time, she does answer, and neglecting the warning signals of coming close to a predator - she knows it is still him - she nears him and stretches out her nose in greeting.
He smells much more of sulfur and fire than he usually did, but otherwise he seems to be the same. ”Good afternoon, Your Majesty. My name is Ilma.” She would have greeted nearly anyone - any new king - that way, and perhaps, he deserves the normal, casual greeting of a diplomat - one who can ignore the fact that he’s permanently shifted into something that is in particular, not a horse.
”I figured I have a reason to stay, now.” she tells him more seriously. She tilts her head at the large figure before her, contemplating for a moment if she should ask. If he can guess what she probably knows about, and if he had thought about what he should do.
”Have you told them yet?” she asks him, eyeing him almost suspiciously - probably not, she thinks. Wouldn’t things have changed in her mind’s eye, otherwise? The shock would be less if she knew beforehand.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
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
In fact, yes, it is still him. There are predatory instincts threading through him as they speak, branching through him like veins as the shift makes itself permanent in his body. Everything draconic seeps into him, flushing away the remnants of his typical and equine self. Oblivious to the changes – it’s still so new, so invigorating! – Castile settles comfortably in front of Ilma, not even recognizing the way in which his subconscious twists and turns. At the forefront of his mind, he remains himself and capable of controlling himself.
(Time is ticking)
”I like it when you call me that,” he chuckles, his expression languid despite the rough edges of his scales and the horns racing back from his skull. Of course, he teases her. It has never been his nature to boast his title to others, never calling himself King even as the crown sits perched on his brow. He could continue with her jest, play along with her formalities as though they’ve not known each other the past decade. Alas, he does not fall prey to her game, rolling his shoulders casually as his mismatched eyes pierce her. ”Oh, is that so, Ilma?” For many years, they’ve seen the world from different angles. He couldn’t fault her; it was her nature to be kind and peaceful, to prefer a lull over chaos.
He, a monster by birth, finds solace in those peaceful days but also craves the adrenaline rush elicited by chaos and mayhem.
And like others before him, Ilma could have been harmed in it all, whether emotionally or physically. It’s unfair of him to push others away to protect them. After all, it is their own choice, but there is still good inside him, if even underneath many layers of scales, fire, and aggression.
Castile doesn’t regret what he said and did to her last they met; and he doesn’t breach the topic, but her statement brings a question of why. Why would she want to stay with him, in Loess, under the rule of a volatile beast? He has told her that taming him is not an option, that he will not be babysat, which leads him to believe that she is aware of so much more. Blinking slowly, thoughtfully, Castile regards her pointed question and debates which course to take. The rhythm of his heart is nearly felt in the soil beneath their feet, inviting Ilma’s to echo it and synchronize. Despite the turbulence he has created in his life recently, he remains at ease, unwilling to allow any others to dive into his sub consciousness and rip him apart from the inside. ”The truth always comes out,” he simply states, glancing away as he accepts what is to come. He is dangerous, not just physically, but he has always known this.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
Castile doesn’t always understand her, about as often as she doesn’t understand him - but she figures that it is okay if they don’t always see eye to eye. What remains beneath their surfaced disagreement is a friendship, a tie not so easily broken. She would not pull that plug if only at the last resort, when either he or she can no longer be saved.
Castile is not someone she would ever give up on; she knows that there are and will always be, two sides to him.
She grins a little when he coyly talks about being called majesty - ”Yes, and I’m the queen of Nerine.” she laughs, and shakes her crest. He never gave much for titles, and she didn’t either, so she doubts he truly would want her to call him by his, all the time.
He seems more serious when she declares having found a reason to stay, and she nods. ”Don’t flatter yourself too much, mister dragon.” That she has a reason not to pine away doesn’t mean that he is that reason - not by himself, alone, that is - nor does it mean she would make herself his subject. But she will vouch for him and be a good friend when it becomes necessary, and she will keep ties with him close enough; hopefully enough to help make more and stronger ties between lands.
To her more pointed question, he reacts with a scoffed ‘the truth always comes out’, which confirms her suspicion. There’s nothing she can do about it; it is not her place to tell Sochi or Lepis about who sired Oceane’s foal, and this sire seems to accept the consequences. ”Just… take care of them, will you?” she asks of him; nothing more can he do either way, but to care for them all. They’ll understand one another at least, though not all three women will understand Castile’s motives perhaps… maybe in time.
As the dragon settles comfortably before her, the moon-coloured mare lets her amber gaze observe his form. ”So, have you thought about how a dragon should rule a kingdom?” she smiles a bit - his secret had come out, but not everybody might accept him now; especially since not everybody might understand that he was the same Castile as before. He didn’t always tell everyone about his shifting ability, after all.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
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
Ilma peers up at him, unafraid by the pointed teeth that reflect her pretty face; she knows him too well, knows that even like this, no harm will come to her.
(Don’t make promises)
There’s an occasional draw to the idea of cradling her neck in his mouth, or splitting apart her tender skin with a single one of his talons. The urges are there, whispering to him, but Castile suppresses it for now. That is another side of him, a deadlier half that has rarely surfaced.
But still, it is there. Waiting.
A deep breath winds down into his lungs only to expel in a low chuckle. ”It would be interesting to see you as queen again, especially over my mother’s old home where the revived amazon women lived,” a clink punctuates the thought as he blinks to distantly consider the scenario, ”that’s a fierce little group.” Indeed, little. Many of the lands have quieted, a lull that so often happens only to be pursued by buzzing activity or great catastrophe. Which will it be, he briefly wonders before inclining his immense head to look once more at Ilma. ”It’s always flattering to know you cannot stay away from me for long,” a half laughter rumbles the ground underneath them, knowing well that it is far from the truth. Their recent conversations have left sour tastes in their mouths and years of separation.
Yet their paths always cross time and again.
The humor of their conversation melts and streams away. A heaviness weighs on Castile’s shoulders, betrayed by the heavy sigh that reeks of fire and brimstone. Seeing as Ilma already knows, he does not hold reservations or clutch so tightly the story. Sweeping his tongue across his long muzzle, his thoughts trace back to recent events. He did it to himself, and yet he loathes them for the repercussions. ”You obviously don’t know Sohi well,” the solemnity of his voice is startling in contrast to the ferocity of his appearance. Even made as a joke, it falls flatly. ”I’m not sure if she will have me back,” because who can love a fool? A damned fool. ”But Oceane and our child will be safe. I’ve known her destined for great things since the moment I saw her,” it may have been facetious of him to think so, as much of his bias initially lied in the bright array of colors splashed across her skin. Even aside, however, she has proved herself to be a key element in Loess, a conclusion that clouds his mind daily.
Ever curious and intuitive, Ilma presents the question that has rippled Castile’s thoughts as of late. Craning his neck, he glances back over himself in vain admiration. In amusement, he allows his scales to shimmer from their piebald pattern to gold, to teal, then a beautiful porcelain. ”A Dragon King. An exciting era, no?” His muscular tail sweeps and would have collided with Ilma if he did not halt it in mid-stride. ”My resignation looms, Ilma. I’m not worried about the perception of myself as this type of king,” little does he realize the magnitude of his actions in the Mountain. This experience, this permanent shift, changes him daily. Each hour wastes another memory or sense of judgment, only to be replaced by primal and predatory needs. It’s subtle now, for it is only the beginning, but Castile thinks not of his future in this body. It’s still too fresh, too new, and he basks in the power of it all.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
She’d said it, of course, as something that was equally stupid as what he had outed just before. As a joke, a thing that would never come to pass. She’d given it little thought, knowing what was about to happen in the near future - thoughts of any sort of leadership and being queen at that? No, not something for the near future. She shakes his head at him. ”Interesting it may be, I fear Nerine is the least of your worries.” In other words, it might be better if he let the whole north thing go. Not because they are the trouble, but because of the flanks that were left exposed by such movements.
She nods when he tells her about Sochi, agreeing that she doesn’t know the mare well. Still, she smiles a little when he tells her that he doesn’t know if she’ll ever have him back. ”Forever is a long time, and love is a strange thing.” she shrugs. Perhaps some cooldown time for the both of them would be enough - how long of a time that would be, the white mare could not say. But his promise about Oceane and the boy, she takes - looks him in the eye when she nods. ”I’ll keep you to that one.” Because he doesn’t know yet, and how can he - and telling him will only upset him now while it would distract him, and still leave him powerless.
She’s silent for a while, mesmerizing when he mulls over her question. “It’d be sad to see you go.” she tells him, gazing around her. ”Though I know you’d not go quietly.” she smirks a bit, thinking of the possible ways. His flame won’t be sniffed out easily nor quietly, she thinks. ”Have you thought of naming an heir then? It would perhaps be best if there wasn’t any fighting over the position.”
Fighting, after all, was bound to happen, but if Loess went into a succession war, more would be at stake than just the hill kingdom.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
I’m so late sorry
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
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
”I have a pull to it,” he grimly admits, ”I spent most of my life in the north. It’s where I belonged, but also where it pushed me away.” The plague, Icicle Isle. Castile catalogues the memories well enough, but his alter self merges them together to add negative connotation toward the spit of land. A deep hatred festers inside him, far beneath his grasp, brooding where everything of his primal self lives. He does not confess how rapidly he loses himself in this quest, how each day lessens his sense of normalcy. Soon, he imagines, there will be nothing left of him – his true and thoughtful self – only the predatory and instinctual needs of his draconic core.
Perhaps, she already knows.
A deep sigh erupts from him, and as much as he wants to grin with boyish hope, Castile finds himself incapable. ”Maybe,” is all he says as his heart shouts for Sochi to return, wanting her pressed against his side once more.
But not like this. No, he needs to be himself when he finds her again… If he finds her again.
The muscles in Castile’s jaw coil as he clenches in silent frustration. It was his fault – he takes the responsibility – but the awful and proud pieces of him barricade his heart and prevent him from admitting it to her. One day, he promises himself, how long far in the future can an immortal wait? How long until she is nothing more than a memory and ashes on the wind?
I am a fool.
And while he loses grip on his heart and love, he also knows Loess is slipping through his fingers. Everything in his life swerves away from him, all because of his own actions and the passing of time. ”Six years I’ve had this kingdom? I’ve lasted longer than my predecessors,” somehow, amid the sobering conversation, Castile chuckles and finds light humor in the changing wind. ”I’ve helped it as much as I could and it has always remains interesting. I can only hope to leave behind a lasting legacy,” he doesn’t want his name lost, but he understands that it happens to even the greatest of Kings and Queens. And, he reminds himself, death does not follow resignation. There remains unwritten chapters in his life, unforeseen adventures to keep life exciting even when a crown no longer sits on his brow. ”Dear Ilma,” his titanic head inclines and his mismatched eyes glimmer, ”shouldn’t you already know who I plan to succeed me?” The teasing in his voice softens the edges of his face as he regards her lightly before distantly searching the horizon. ”Loess will have a new Queen, and she will be a fresh breath of air,” a scaled brow lifts suggestively while he searches her face for recognition, wondering at what point Ilma will realize who is next in line. As an easy give-away, he adds, ”Our son will be a remarkable prince.”
Castile falters then, his eyes flashing to an indescribable darkness for a fleeting moment. Slowly shaking his head, he suppresses what just tried to surface. ” Things are changing, Ilma. I’m trying to stop it, but it is tiresome. For the first time ever, I’m truly humbled and fearful of entirely losing myself. There’s more to being a monster than I initially realized, and I’m being drawn deeply into it.” This experience, as tumultuous as it is, continues teaching him, but he looks ahead in preparation. ”If I lose myself… completely lose myself… tell her that she is Queen, and Lepis will be her Cleric, if she so desires.” A pause as he reflects hesitantly on himself. ”And I will try to return as myself to be her guardian.”
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
She looks at him and still wonders what’s going on in his mind. Sometimes she thinks he may be dangerous, other times he’s just her old friend in a different look, and yet she can’t predict any of his actions. Not in his current state she can’t; he has two different ways of thinking, and while these sometimes overlap, they’re most of the time contradicting, and she could not predict him for the life of her.
But she doesn’t have to. She could talk to him when they were both much younger, and she can do so now, still. ”Last a little longer, Cas. You’ve an exposed flank in the East.” she tells him - but it’s not in his nature to listen to her when she talks about military strategies, especially now, now when he’s not wholly himself. As himself, he might have understood its meaning far better than he may in the moment, when his dragon-self is conflicting.
”I see future actions, Cas, but I can’t read your mind. Until you decide to speak up, I know nothing.” And since Sochi left, he had not decided to confide in anyone yet. But now he does, and she smiles when he starts the description. A newbreeze, huh. Not his confidant Lepis then, but a lover. Interesting choice; but Oceane was a fine choice indeed. He doesn’t know about her forced move however; as the dragon takes over for a moment, Ilma looks to the east, though she can’t see the land.
When Castile surfaces, it is with more difficulty than she anticipated when she came to see him this morning. Ilma nods gravely, her posture not falling but she also knows she cannot stay longer, her mere presence tempting the predator inside that a fairy thought to just let surface over time. ”As soon as I am able to.” Where and when that was, depended on a few different factors, and she didn’t like either.
So perhaps, she thinks, it might be safer to leave this information with Lepis as well, before she leaves. ”I’ll leave you to yourself, Cas. Be stronger for as long as you can.” she smiles up at him, faithful that he will hold on a little longer, but knowing that eventually, he’ll just be a dragon on the loose, with no more ties to Loess than to his family.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile] we can end here if you like or he can roast her tail when she leaves, either is fine :p
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
