margot It has been a suspiciously quiet, peaceful few years in Beqanna.
Not that quiet or peaceful is inherently suspicious, nor that it was truly quiet or peaceful by any sane being’s standards; but this world, like many worlds, is marked by its tumultuous and heartbreaking nature. Many a creature found love and the eventual suffering that comes with love within the borders of Beqanna. The legends of old, though—they only seem to be growing . . . older. No wistful, gut-wrenching stories come to replace them.
Margot, in all her self-proclaimed wisdom, has recently tasked herself with replacing the stories—even if (and one should not even dare suggest this to her face) those tales she concocts are much more than stretching the truth.
They started as rumors. Harmless, meandering whispers that she pressed carelessly into the ears of strangers and acquaintances alike. Margot, as fickle as a cherry blossom petal on a spring breeze, grew bored quickly of just the rumors. Soon, she whisked strangers into grand tales; and could one even blame her when she wove the very love residing in those strangers’ hearts into her tales? Could you really fault her when her words swept into magic? When her magic became reality?
A pink petal in the wind: delicate, beautiful, whimsical. Such whims carried Margot into the delicate strands of hair of lovers, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, friends. Caught helplessly, she simply could not escape. How could she, when their love held her rapt so?
Such love does not exist without heartbreak. As Beqanna does not exist without chaos.
Love drives her careless floating into a driven path. Love—her first love. The reflection of the red canyons in her mother’s eyes when she spoke, the dust caked to her father’s legs: Pangea.
Pride and new, true stories spin in her gaze as she peers into the desolate land. 
03-21-2023, 07:23 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-21-2023, 07:23 AM by Jesper.)
Whenever a quest is completed on the Mountain, it is as if Beqanna, herself, emits a pulse to course over her lands. Jesper is in tune to it. His poll lifts from its resting position, and his four limbs straighten to bear weight evenly. The black Anglo-Arabian hybrid takes a deep breath. He tries to distinguish between the varied scents brought to him on the playful breeze. The whispers of the Forest are that lands from a time long ago have resurfaced. Oh, Beqanna! You are such a tease! thought Jesper. Without further ado, the equine steps into an animated walk. He makes his way to the Forest edge where he is better able to distinguish the smells.
He methodically filters through the aromas that reach his nares. Four distinct scents reach him: a warm fragrance of lavender from one, chilled pine from the next, stone and grass from another, and a stale salt from the last. Who is to say what made Jesper choose the way he does. Perhaps, the salt reminds him of the briny sea that surrounded the Isle. Maybe, he can sense the barrenness from afar. Whatever the reason, unshod hooves carry the black steed towards the land of Pangea.
The ground transitions from leaves and packed soil to shifting sands and packed clay hills. A dirt devil of dust swirls to his left. Jesper takes a moment to scan the terrain. Hills streaked in brick and amber hues surround the land. He notes the river of water that courses through a deep gorge. Its shores are dotted with green vegetation. He feels a chill in the air, with no trees or, mountains to block the northern wind. He neither shudders, nor turns away. Between his environmental adaptation and fox-shifting traits, Jesper is beyond adaptable.
He tosses his ever-so slightly dished nose, as if agreeing to the conditions that this land offers. He is extremely familiar with harsh living conditions, having spent his recent years on a barren icicle in the middle of the ocean. He can only hope that an undesirable environment will limit the number of visitors. He is content to settle down here and so, makes his way further into the domain. As he walks, he tries to recall what he has heard of Pangea. The only thing he can seem to recall is its connection to Carnage. Carnage. The brute who raped his mother. His father. He wonders briefly if the jerk is still around. But, then, his attention is caught by a white figure to his left. Her figure is feminine and delicate. He did not expect to see another life, here. Intrigued and enraptured, Jesper adjusts his course to approach the female. He stops a respectable distance from her and offers a polite, warm smile.
"Why, hello, miss. You may call me Jesper."
One tufted lobe remains trained upon her, whilst the other continues to listen to his surroundings. His aquamarine gaze is soft and focused upon the lady though, he tries not to stare.
[@ margot]
margot Though never impartial to or against company, Margot finds a slight tweak in her spine at the unassuming arrival of a stallion. She blinks her glassy doe-eyes at him, lashes fluttering to her cheek so slowly they might be a still in a black-and-white movie. That ever-sweet smile curls her mouth—an instinct, as quick as a predator’s—despite the imperceptible tension in her body.
“Miss?” the porcelain woman laughs, a lilting giggle born of genuine amusement. “I don’t think I’ve been addressed as ‘miss’ since I was a little girl,” Margot adds teasingly, then dares to wander a few steps closer to Jesper.
“A pleasure to meet you, Jesper. My name is Margot,” she introduces herself with little aplomb, tail swishing casually back and forth across her hocks.
That girlish smile stays quietly on Margot’s lips as she studies the stranger. His eyes—already a true blue without the accent of his dark coat—stand out starkly against his black fur. Ghostly, almost. Like the spirits dancing around the newly-returned lands all over Beqanna. Perhaps he is but a specter, some soul lost in a loop; perhaps she is just he same miss, a different stranger offered the same cordiality in the hopes to end his madness.
A small sigh escapes Margot’s chest, the tiniest glimpse into her wandering thoughts. No specter stands before her.
“Is this an old haunt of yours, Jesper? All these lands risen from the dead and I . . . I only recognize this one,” she murmurs, cocking her head to the side.
@ Jesper
Though fleeting, as swift as the blink of an eye, Jesper notes the initial spasm in Margot's back, upon his approach. He is... well, he tries to come off as unimposing. Yet, his acute gaze catches the tension along her spine. He makes a conscious effort to break his gaze away from her. His crystal blue orbs scan Pangea while, ever-so-subtly, he shuffles back a half step. Jesper has no intentions of driving away the only company he has had in months. Of course, this solitude is much of his own doing. No one can manipulate, torture or, play mind games on you when you are alone.
He feels himself lured back to the lady in white. In an instant, her tension melts into fluttering eye lashes and a tender smile. He smiles in return as she teases him. The black steed catches her drift closer to him though, makes no attempts to move closer or, further away. His olfactory sense embraces her tantalizing perfume with delight. Margot He repeats to himself.
He is comforted by her body language now and, briefly tunes into his immediate surroundings: the even swishing of her tail, and the annoying tickle of an insect, eager for its spring snack. Her soft sigh brings his attention back, just in time to catch her next words. He listens and, carefully, says these words, "We have that in common, Margot. Pangea is the only one I have heard of; though, I have never visited before." The dame's head tilts to one side, to which, the black interprets as interest. He goes on, "It seems as though I am attracted to barren-type lands. My last home was literally an ice island."
His lips curve into a warm smile, inviting her to ask more of him if she desires. He dare not offer up his relation to Carnage or, his suppressed curiosity and mixed emotions regarding his sire. Pushing the conversation back to the lady, Jesper adds, "Has Pangea changed much since the last time you visited?"
margot “Oh,” Margot exclaims as a wistful, almost-teasing smile lifts her lips. “A shame you are only visiting now,” she adds. Her eyes glaze with the memories of her childhood: her demon uncle and all her hellish cousins, the rough hewn shrubbery scratching her skin, all the red dirt caked to her pale legs. That wistful smile on her face goes stronger, more lost.
Miffed, perhaps. Beneath all the lovely pedantics.
“Icicle Isle, then?” Margot eventually coughs out, far-away eyes once again finding a present day clarity. She blinks at Jesper, forcing her face into friendly relaxation. “I can’t say I ever visited the Isle. It was . . . remote,” she finishes, then giggles at her own joke.
“It’s certainly emptier,” the porcelain woman answers with a muted frown. Though her mind wants to stray again, Margot forces herself to remain in this reality.
“Do you miss it?” she asks suddenly. “I mean . . . Beqanna like it was before.”
@ Jesper
Fuzzy ears catch her melancholy tone, caught between that burdened smile. The black steed notes that her focus shifts to an inner musing so, he stands, patiently, in silence. Her return to their conversation does not skip a beat. Jesper offers a soft smile in acknowledgement of her correct guess. That smile grows as she finds amusement in her own joke. The male chimes in at this point, "Who says I am only visiting? I mean, I could stay." He allows his sky blue gaze to meet hers before he adds, in a tone that is light and playful, "Would you like me to stay?"
Her tone matches her frown. Jesper wants to reassure her though, there is no predicting what future Beqanna holds for Pangea. The fox-shifter listens to the next set of words she emits before addressing her question. "I do, some. Though, I have come to terms with my agelessness. I am going to see many versions of Beqanna. Thankfully, I have some tricks left." He allows silence to fill the space between them. Jesper very much loved this conversation though, he finds himself growing bored with just standing here. He addresses her once again. "@ margot, would you mind showing me the lay of the land?"
margot Though not necessarily patient as an attribute, Margot finds herself patiently watching Jesper. She arches a brow, her smile growing surprised. She draws her chin closer to her chest, studying the stallion as he continues.
“I think everyone should stay in Pangea,” she answers lightly, “so I suppose yes, I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.” Margot, in another life, might have made a great politician. She could argue for a life in Pangea for hours, but she cares very little for those that come and go. It might be clear in the diplomatic way she answers, the way she doesn’t see flirtatious teasing plainly in front of her.
“What kind of tricks, Jesper?” she asks with a swish of her tail. She turns to walk away, beckoning him with a short glance backward.
“Pangea isn’t the most beautiful this time of year. Hot, dry, dusty. But it’s mossy and cool at night in the right spots. You can find blooming jasmine in the spring.” Margot talks as she leads him to a shaded riverbed out of the sun. She dips her head to the water, taking a drink.
“My mother used to rule here, though I don’t think she ever cared for the title . . .” Margot trails off, thinking of Desire fondly.
“We’ve got tricks, too, you know. Her and I. Do you want to see them?”
@ Jesper
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