"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
03-04-2022, 04:01 PM (This post was last modified: 03-04-2022, 04:09 PM by Aela.)
Her mind was restless, and in return, so were her long legs.
Aela spent very minimal time in Taiga. She took to spending most of her time in Nerine, but if they (a triumvirate of characters in a setting that still surprised her) were to succeed in finding those missing from when the Pampas sank and if Aela ever hoped for the sheltered territory to regain the reputation that the Flower Court once held, the former Seneschal understood that she would have to spend a portion of her time there, meeting with Cheri and Obscene, working with them to formulate a new plan for their future.
It was a necessity, she reminded herself.
But that necessity took place in a forest that Aela cared little for. That forest was damp with fog. It was often cold - as was Nerine - and she found herself missing the milder weather of the Pampas and even the sweltering summers of Pangea. The slender palomino - well camouflaged by the thick tree cover - shivered away from the notice of others. She knew they were out there; Aela could sense them in a flurry of emotions. There was a horse nearby who was irritable from the cold. There was another who was hungry. A young mother who was looking forward to the spring, when she could wean her colt.
They were too close, as far as Aela was concerned, if she could discern those things.
The Empath turned from them and moved in another direction. The ground was covered in a light layer of snow and the golden woman sighed, disparaging of the way that the ground crunched beneath her hooves. Despite the way that the filtered sunlight glinted off her gleaming stripes, there was little warmth to be found. Her soft, exasperated breaths came out in little puffs of silver smoke that irritably gave her presence away.
She wanted privacy and a place to simply soak up the sun for a few hours.
When Aela finally finds it - a rather convenient spot by the River that truly seems too convenient to be unclaimed - she does as she has always done; she takes it simply because she wants it and because she can. For the afternoon, it was hers and hers alone.
If anyone wanted to dispute that fact with the lovely thing who rested at the center of the sun-filled clearing, they were welcome to try.
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Days cease to matter when one has what apparently will be an infinite number of them. Too damn many, as far as he is concerned, but nothing he can really do about that. Others might imagine they could get a great deal done with that many days, but not Ashhal. He vastly prefers the simpler things in life. A full belly and a patch of sun in which to nap were all he really needed. Aside from the occasional fuck or fight to break up the monotony, it’s all he really wanted.
Or so he tells himself. Often.
On this wretchedly unfortunate day however, one of those two things is destined to be disrupted, much to his immense annoyance. He had split from the trees to find his favorite spot for sunning himself only to find the space already fucking occupied!
Features slipping into a ferocious scowl, he stares at the woman for a long moment as he decides his course of action. She’s pretty enough, he supposes. Maybe he could interrupt his monotony with her before kicking her out of his spot. Either way, he has already lost too damned much these last couple years. He’s not losing this spot now too.
As he stalks forward, his blood heats, relishing the thought of an imminent confrontation. None of that shows in his fierce expression however. The lines of his face are unforgiving, his dark eyes hard and flat. When he is close enough that he looms over her, the unkempt tangles of his mane lending to the air of menace surrounding him, he growls, “You’re in my fucking spot.”
03-07-2022, 01:33 PM (This post was last modified: 03-07-2022, 01:47 PM by Aela.)
The sun feels magnificent.
Its warmth shines on her golden hide and she can feel it on her back, on the elegant curve of her neck, even on the pale blaze of her face. Her head is lifted and upturned towards the sky; she can sense someone is nearby (even if she can’t see his scowl, a horse wouldn’t need empathic abilities to feel its presence). Aela has never minded being admired, but this isn’t some smooth-talking brute who thinks that the palomino might be easily swayed into a certain kind of company.
Oh, no.
This brute is something else entirely, and Aela who has to keep her emotions in check the last few weeks for the sake of progress, finds herself intrigued. It’s been some time since she has truly tested herself (and isn’t that what she had taught Fyr? To allow powers to grow was to put them against the abilities of others to learn limitations and discover strengths?) and whoever he is, when she opens her blue eyes, she is pleased to see that he looks like a strong enough specimen.
Battle-hardened from the look of his numerous scars and solid muscles.
His spot, the pegasus growls at her, and Aela, not unfamiliar with the scowling breed, offers a small smile in return. ”Oh,” she murmurs softly, like she might actually acquiesce to his demand, and the lovely lines of her mouth even momentarily falter into a beautiful frown. But the slender creature doesn’t move away from her spot; there are no such spots such as this in Taiga and she certainly won’t be returning to that accursed forest until she is good and ready. She was kind enough to let him loom as close as he did, but with an irritated flick of her flaxen tail, Aela decided that enough was enough.
Her benevolence was spent.
She thought about lighting herself aflame, letting her aura take over to give the arrogant gray a lesson about invading personal space, but as her head tilts prettily to one side, Aela decides on a different approach. Her gift was there, shimmering on her unmarked coat in warning, ready to transform her into the thing the winged beast feared most or perhaps to overwhelm him with her favorite emotion: terror. ”Touch me,” she said in a breathy voice that was half-dare and half-laugh, as tempting an offer as much as it was a veiled threat said beneath her dark lashes, ”and you can have it back.”
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
If he were a different sort of man, her guise of soft sweetness might have beguiled him. Might have made him weaken towards her, tempting him with something sure to be incredible. But Ashhal had long ago learned just how deceptive allure can be. Innocence that might be a draw to others only brings suspicion and a stirring need to destroy it to him.
Her quiescent smile and gentle “oh” elicit no kindness from the hard-edged stallion. Instead it stirs a deep-seated desire to wipe it from her. Restrained violence fairly shimmers around him as he considers the best way to continue. The only thing he doesn’t know is whether she would respond to force with receptiveness or fear. Despite the loveliness of her demeanor, he senses no hesitation or alarm, only a coy sweetness that causes his hackles to rise.
Ashhal has never been overly familiar with emotion. His greatest familiarity is anger and loathing. Anything else is nearly as foreign to him as breathing underwater would be. True fear is not something he has felt in such a long time that the sensation of it budding inside his chest is unrecognizable to him at first.
As it swells, quickening his heartbeat and drawing his breaths up short, he frowns in confusion. Along with it comes the urge to retreat, so strong that he has nearly taken a step back before he realizes something is truly wrong. Before he realizes that she must be doing something to him.
Her breathy words only confirm his suspicion.
On its heels comes rage. Many creatures might have fled in the wake of terror, but Ashhal has never responded to fear by fleeing. No, when it comes to fight or flight, he inevitably chooses fight. Every time.
With a nearly animalistic roar of rage, he lashes out at her, bellowing, “What the fuck have you done to me?”
She had demanded he touch her, but she would get a hell of a lot more than she ever dared bargain for.
03-27-2022, 01:55 PM (This post was last modified: 03-27-2022, 01:58 PM by Aela.)
It had taken a great deal of her reserve when Aela had pooled her powers with Cheri. It had been worth it; the palomino had discovered that her son was alive. But the onyx-and-green mare had been in a weakened state when they attempted to summon a Telling in the flames and it had been the depth of her emotional powers that had fueled the appaloosa. She wouldn’t never consider herself a weak creature, but she had been careful in the weeks after not to over-exert her abilities.
This is the most she has done since returning to the North and Gods, it felt exhilarating.
All that seething rage is a beautiful thing; it's what she uses to stuff the fear down his throat.
But it isn’t quite strong enough for the gray pegasus to step back. He comes lashing towards her and Aela tosses her slender head up and those delicate ears pin into the flaxen silk of her pale mane. She steps quickly, and being such a small mare, it allows her to move deftly out of his way. He is a scowling, bellowing thing, and she refuses to let the brute sour her mood or her sunning spot.
Her blue eyes narrow slightly on the large stallion before she steps back into the warmth of the sun's light, as if already impervious to his looming presence.
She won’t grant him an answer, but Aela decides to offer him a warning with a dismissive shrug of her slender shoulder. The lesson should have been learned; despite her smaller stature, she was not an entity to be crossed with. There were plenty of other things she could make him feel, and if he valued his own emotional control, he would take his scowl and temper some other place.
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
That she does not retreat from his lashing rage tells him all that he needs to know. Her gentleness had been little more than a guise, and his suspicions had been proven correct once again. The understanding stirs a bubbling resentment deep in his gut, an acid eating away at him just like the forced fear or the anger he can never seem to quell.
His breath coming heavily, Ashhal doesn’t even try to hold onto any pretense of civility. Though he doesn’t lash out again, the desire to do so sits uneasily inside him, pressing far too close to the surface. Even a blind creature would have been able to feel the heavy tension singeing the air around him, the violence he wears like a cloak.
Dark eyes burning with a restless desire, Ashhal does not remove his gaze from her. She doesn’t bother to answer his question, doesn’t bother to explain herself. In truth, he’s not even remotely fucking surprised. She wears her deceit like he wears his anger.
Her demand causes his lips to peel back from his teeth the moment it’s uttered. An undeniable threat. The danger her ability poses lay unheeded. Foolish or simply blinded by rage, it hardly matters, he wouldn’t heed it either way. But then, he has never feared death, and she could never hope to have the power to visit what he does fear upon him, no matter how much false terror she shoves down his throat.
“No,” is his only response spoken through gritted teeth. Instead he calls upon the ability he had so rarely bothered to use since it had flared to life inside him. Though unpracticed and clumsy, he steals over her memories, twisting them with a harshness he doesn’t try to temper. Attempting to rewrite history into one in which she agreed to leave, cowed by his rage.
