"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
The world is bright and beautiful place, but Rucker loves none of it so much as he loves home. He doesn't know whether it is safety or family that draws his heart to twine with meadows and wildflowers of the gates. He doesn't ponder it much either. Rucker is a colt of simple tastes, with a heart as wide open and bright as the prairies. His blue eyes often light up with eagerness and a slow and steady country boy smile makes its way across his face. He is ungainly, as foals often are, but by looking at him one can tell that he will have his father's height. His coat is pitch black, accented by white socks and a blaze. Of course, they are not often pure white because Rucker enjoys rolling in the dirt and feeling the grit in his skin. Gold strands are interwoven in his mane. They are a gift from his grandma, and he loves her secretly best of all, because she told him his name and let him know he was not alone. He is handsome, and wild, and full of energy.
He is also deaf.
The black colt doesn't notice it much, having always been lacking sound. Occasionally Rucker finds himself frustrated that he can't make himself understood, but mostly he communicates with body language and that easy smile of his. He is young, and carefree and fears very little. Not from ignorance, but from an inborn confidence. He wants to protect those he loves and he feels capable of that, even if his body would disagree.
Despite loving the gates most of all, Rucker had felt the urge to roam and learn more about the world he is growing up in. With patient direction from his siblings, the black colt took the short walk to the playground. In family of many children he does not often feel alone, but he does crave a change of scenery. Someone who would play with him and maybe want to explore, too.
He looks about carefully, letting his eyes fill in for the lack of his ears. This place is peaceful but vibrant, watched over by glittering flashes of light. He does a happy circle-trot and stands proudly, blue eyes wide and a slow smile on his features.
11-02-2015, 09:05 PM (This post was last modified: 11-03-2015, 11:40 PM by Lexa.)
the dead are gone, and the living are hungry.
She is getting more than a little tired of her mother’s antics.
Lyris is a volatile creature, prone wandering and the occasional wild mood. Lexa loves her mother dearly, but dealing with her on a daily basis is just … exhausting. And she needs a break.
Thankfully Lyris isn’t the strictest of mothers - Lexa hadn’t even needed her permission to leave the kingdom, she’d just gone.
And so now, here she is, out of the Amazons for the first time and ready to explore. At first glance the playground is nothing special - a small, secluded meadow surrounded by trees - but she squares her shoulders and marches in anyway. There aren’t any other children her age in the Jungle that she’s aware of, and she's eager to have a conversation with someone that is not her mother, and not several years older than her.
It takes her longer than she’d expected to find someone. The playground is depressingly empty, and the few scents she detects seem old. Clearly it’s been some time since anyone played here.
But eventually, a foreign scent reaches her nose and she tracks it down. A boy. How interesting. There aren’t many of those in the Amazons.
She marches up to the boy and stops right in front of him, head cocked to the side and inspecting him with a critical eye. She’s immediately interested to see the gold strands of hair in his mane - the shade is identical to the golden coronet band around the top of her left front hoof. Curious.
“I’m Lexa.” She offers, by way of greeting. “Why is there gold in your mane?” Well she’s clearly inherited her mother’s penchant for directness.
Rucker is used to being approached and inspected. He is also used to others speaking to him. (Although he doesn't call it speaking. To him, it is some mouth language that he will never quite conquer.)
He is not, however, used to the rate at which her lips move. His eyes widen slightly and a confused look passes over his face. He had been so busy admiring the gold on her hoof, an identical shimmering color to the strands in his inky hair, that her first words are lost to him. Frustration bubbles up in his mind. It is quickly conquered by his good nature and with a slow sprawling smile he offers up one of the few words he can himself say. Though he never hears the words himself, he has practiced mimicking the shape of his mother's lips when she talks to him. She is often talking, and Rucker finds it comforting although he doesn't know what is going on.
“Rucker. Who you?”
The words are a little off, harsher than perhaps his tones would be if he knew. For surely this girl wanted his name? He couldn't imagine what other use she might have for him, although he hoped it would be an adventure. With a young boy's impetuousness he dips his nose towards her foot, lipping the rim of gold and then giving the girl a quizzical look. In his own way, and without realizing it, he is asking the exact same question she had.
This time he watches her mouth carefully, blue eyes filled with concentration. His ears never move, not responding to even the slightest bird song.
The first thing she notices, besides the gold, is utter confusion on his face when she walks up to him. She pauses, cocking her head to the side and looking at him quizzically. She hadn’t said anything all that complicated, had she?
He opens his mouth and gives a name, his voice odd to her ear. There’s almost something … thick, about it. Like he’s got a mouthful of something and is trying to speak through it. “You sound funny.” She says it without thinking, then winces. Probably not the most polite thing to say. Oh well.
She sighs and gives her name again when he asks for it. “Lexa.” Is he stupid? How on earth had he managed to miss that?
He completely ignores her question too, reaching forward and lipping at the band of gold around the top of her hoof. “Hey!” Lexa takes a step back, instantly uncomfortable. He’s giving her a questioning look, clearly curious about the gold. Lexa huffs, a little annoyed. She’s not particularly fond of repeating herself - it’s something she has to do for her mother at times when the mare gets distracted. And Rucker clearly doesn’t have any idea of personal boundaries. “I don’t know where I got it. It showed up after I was born. What about yours?”
She takes a quick glance around, trying to see if there are any other foals in the playground - this boy appears to be a bust. But they seem to be the only horses here today. She glances back at the boy and sighs. She might as well stick around for now. She’d like to find out where the heck he got the gold from anyway. And it’s not like there’s many other horses to talk to back home. Except for her mother of course, and she is precisely the reason she’s here. “Where are you from? I’m from the Jungle.” She suddenly notices how weirdly still his ears are. A bird trills in a nearby tree and while her ears move instinctively towards the source of the noise, his remain forward, focused on her. Creepy.
Lesa? Lexa, he thinks. It's a name, a new one, and he wags his tail in greeting and excitement. He loves his treasure box of encounters, each person like a jewel to examine and learn. Grandmother, mother, Tioga, father. And each is so different! Little mannerisms and facial quirks, each of these things he commits to memory. And Lexa, she is a mixture of contained energy and concentration. He recognizes her impatience, and he offers an apologetically sorrowful look. The words 'I'm sorry' are not in his limited vocabulary.
Rucker shakes his head vigorously so that the golden strands catch the light. When he is certain she has noticed them, he answers her question with painstaking concentration. His voice is syrupy, slow and unsteady. His mouth form words he has heard only in his mind. He wishes his mother were here to explain. He doesn't have the grasp of language required to tell the girl that her voice will never be heard.
“Savta. G-Gandmother.”
He remembers her well, the golden mare in the deserts who gifted him with the syllables of his name and the knowledge of family. His heart warms whenever he thinks of her. He cannot imagine ever gathering the courage to call for her, but knowing that she is available for him is a steadying force in his life. For though he is shy, he doesn't doubt his savta's sincerity.
Lexa's next question throws him. He stomps his foot, once, his own sign for someone to go slower when the speak. But of course she can't know this. Rucker knits his brow in frustrated contemplation. Something about where she is from? Sh-ju-something with a long vowel sound. Maybe she wants to know where he lives. The problem is, the dark colt doesn't know the name of his home. It is beautiful, wide open with grassy plains and wildflowers that look and taste delicious.
Inspiration strikes him and he loops around her in a circle before wandering a bit away and looking over his shoulder. He repeats the circle, this time in front of her, a playful look on his face. Come with me, his blue eyes are saying, and every muscle in his body is tensed with eager excitement. He can show her his home. Eyes are something they share in common. Rucker lets an easy, slow smile cross his features as he waits patiently for Lexa to understand.
The boy brightens up, his fluffy little tail twitching in excitement. Lexa smiles awkwardly - he’s bordering on over enthusiasm.
Her eyes narrow and her ears flick forward as he speaks again, straining to make out his words. He sounds so strange. It’s more than an accent, it’s like he’s having trouble with the words themselves. Maybe there’s something wrong with him. Yes, maybe that’s it. It would explain the trouble they’re having with conversation so far.
‘Savta?’ ‘Gandmother?’ She’s assuming that means Grandmother. But other than that, she has absolutely no idea what he’s trying to tell her. Saying ‘grandmother’ and shaking his golden hairs at her (she assumes that’s what he’s trying to do) really gives her nothing. God this is going no where.
Suddenly he stomps his foot and she twitches, startled. What the hell? Then he’s on the move. Lexa watches in bemusement as Rucker suddenly starts circling her, looking at her with hopeful expectation. He stops, then circles her again and takes a few steps away, looking back at her again.
Ohhhhhhhhh. “You want me to follow you?” She glances around the playground quickly. There’s still no one else here. And it’s not like she has anything else to do …
“Eh sure. Why not.” She takes a few steps towards him to indicate her assent. “Lead the way.”
