"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
I wish I could feel it all for you, I wish I could do it all for you
She’d come before, once, but she hadn’t stayed. Seeing Ramiel apparently well-adjusted to his new life as King hadn’t encouraged Kellyn into recovery herself, as her ghost-family had hoped, but merely made her bitterly more aware of her own failures, pushing her closer to the edge between present and past, between the real world and the ghost world. After a perfunctory conversation, the strawberry girl had fled back to the silent safety of the Tundra (ever still her home). Even ghosts seemed to avoid the Tundra, at least more so than the rest of Beqanna, so though she’d talked to many ghosts there they weren’t constantly bothering her.
And then time had caught up to her in a different way – she’d slowly grown larger and larger, pregnant though she didn’t remember ever doing anything that would lead to such a state. And indeed it had been an abnormal pregnancy – lasting longer than any natural pregnancy could (years). The only upside was that Kellyn was a master of hiding – she’d lived years secreted away from even her own family, after all – and no one else realized the unnaturalness of the thing.
When she finally gave birth, Kellyn knew almost instantly that the girl was a remnant of her time with her demi-god grandfather at the edges of time and space. First and foremost, the filly was a startling purple, a color drawn straight from his space-colored appearance during parts of the quest. Secondly, the baby seemed half ghost herself; not quite alive but not yet dead either. Her flesh was never whole, peeling and falling away under the purple roan, but yet she lived and breathed like any living thing. Finally, the girl was ghosty. And not the watered down ghosty that Kellyn could have given her, the muted ability to see and speak to the ghosts but the full-on half the time a ghost world jumping nonsense that had been the provenance of Ramiel and Rhy.
And she doesn’t know what to do. She can’t see herself raising a daughter in the Tundra. Cagney had no choice but to raise his daughter in the Tundra, in a time when her existence might have been a death sentence for Elite, or himself, or even for the filly Kellyn had been. But it had changed her, a childhood in isolation, and Kellyn didn’t want to do that to Cassady. And she’d already failed to live in the Deserts, her ghost spirit guides disapproved heartily of the Valley, and a part of her always felt vaguely ill at the thought of venturing to the Jungle, where her mother had caused more harm than anywhere. A remnant of times long past, she can’t quite grasp the concept that she is welcome anywhere now, not just the formerly mythical Kingdoms, and so in her mind the Dale is the last possible home.
It is merely a bonus that it is the home of one of the other ghost children, that he rules there, and that he is unlikely to turn them away because they are both broken. Though, to be fair, the strawberry girl is decidedly less broken than before. Turns out that incubating a ghosty fetus for a ridiculously long time had been preventing her from achieving control of her new powers, because as soon as Cassady was free of her womb, Kellyn had the same control of her mediumship that she had always enjoyed of time. It was a welcome relief, to only have to deal now with the still-recurring nightmares.
“Don’t dawdle,” she calls back to the girl trailing behind her, and then shakes her head at her own words. If she’s not careful, she’ll turn into her big brother (or worse! her father) instead of the parent she has always aspired to, a strange combination of Brennen and what she imagines her mother would have been like if she hadn’t been comatose during Kellyn’s childhood. But Cassady doesn’t have too much time to wander off, because suddenly Kellyn stops, gazing into the depths of the Dale, which is already dropping into brilliant autumn color. “Well we’re here.” she sighs, flicking her gaze from side to side. “Our new home, I guess.”
Kellyn
the girl who walks in time and talks to ghosts
daughter of cagney and elite
I can guide you if you feel blind. I just need you to be willing to journey into my ill mind.
It had been years since Marjorie had stepped foot back in the Dale. The beautiful kingdom had once been her happiest homes. She had been raised here when her mother was queen, and during those few years she had ran and pranced through the emerald green grasses and chased rabbits and foxes in the underbrush.
Her startling magenta and black coat had been strikingly beautiful yet unusual against the varying shades of green and blues of the kingdoms landscape, in the same way it was now as the mare gracefully moved out from under the pines and into the open. Slowly she came to a stop, her eyes, almost black as the night dancing around as she took in the few changes that had taken place during her years of travel.
As she continued to observe, a small twist of the gut followed the realization that the Dale was slow moving, unlike during the times when she had grown up here. Back then it had been full of life, thriving with children running around and threw their mothers legs while the rest grazed or chatted peacefully in times of coming change.
She missed the activity and the excitement in the air. And she wondered where it had all gone. What happened that had caused such a silent and inactive atmosphere? Pursing her lips she turned back towards the trees, in search of the King she had heard rumors about. From the stories she had known her mother and grandmother would of liked him. They had always liked strong personalities with a touch of brokenness and a high hint of difference than the rest.
With delicate steps, she found the path she used to frequent as a small foal and began to walk along it, humming quietly to herself and enjoying the cool breeze as it passed over and around her, picking up small tendrils of her mane and blowing it about. Only did she stop when she saw the mare and small foal in the distance and with curious eyes, she watched them move deeper into the kingdom.
For a while she stood, keeping an eye on them, before finally rolling her shoulders and speaking to herself under her breath, "Go, you can do this." With a soft sigh she stepped forward, moving at a quick walk and soon catching up with the pair. She made sure to approach the mare where she could see her first so as not to startle her before coming to a slight stop. "Hello," with a slight smile tilting at the corners of her lips she glanced from the mare to the foal. "I'm Marjorie. I see you've just arrived like myself."
With a slight chuckle of amusement she takes a step closer. "Are you looking for Ramiel? Do you mind if I join you?" After all, it wasn't best to travel alone no matter how sturdy and able one was.
I wish I could feel it all for you, I wish I could do it all for you
She doesn’t know why she assumed Ramiel would be the first to find them. Perhaps because he has always seemed a little worried, a little attached to the other ghost children. That one friend that holds the group together even when everyone is going their separate ways. And it’s ridiculous for her to feel disappointed, an uneasy feeling deep in her tummy, that he isn’t the first to reach them. They’ve spoken less than a half-dozen times and he’s a King, isn’t he, with important things to do other than babysit other broken ghost children. So she turns her head to look at the other mare, and forces a hesitant smile onto her face.
Where Kellyn is almost pink, a bright red chestnut diluted to a softer color but smattering of white hair, this girl is actually legitimately pink. Bright pink. Not Elite pink, the eye-shattering unnatural color but a deeper shade, like the very edges of a sunset. And framed in night-black. They must make a pretty picture, the three mares, two pink and a purple. Though Kellyn can’t help but wonder if the effect is ruined by the bits of her daughter that are rotting off – but that can’t be helped. “I’m Kellyn,” she offers her name in response, and glance back where Cassady is (predicatably) lagging behind. “And my daughter, Cassady.”
As for the rest – well, she can’t deny that she’s looking for him. For many reasons, but she supposes seeking a home is the least of her worries. “We are looking for Ramiel,” she agrees after a moment’s consideration. “And I suppose there’s no harm in looking together.” Okay so she isn’t the friendliest of creatures, but at least she’s vocalizing. A few years ago two sentences would have been much more than the voluntarily silent filly could manage. So it’s progress. And she knows she doesn’t have to say much – as soon as Cassady catches up, the filly will take full advantage of meeting someone who isn’t her family…someone who converses more easily than Kellyn.
Kellyn
the girl who walks in time and talks to ghosts
daughter of cagney and elite
01-05-2016, 10:11 PM (This post was last modified: 01-05-2016, 10:14 PM by Cassady.)
this would be a great place for a quote
Already, though she is barely half a year old, Cassady has begun to understand certain things about how the world works. Firstly, that her family is not normal. And that despite her mother’s odd mannerisms, Kellyn doesn’t hate her. they could, Cassady supposes, have hated her. She was a burden for years before she was even more, after all, and she’s not exactly the ideal child. Flesh falling off could easily have turned them off. But they don’t hate her. They’re just odd.
Secondly, the world is big. Much bigger than she originally supposed, with the first few weeks of her life in the Tundra. And the people outside of the Tundra say way more than the people inside the Tundra. It’s like a Kingdom of functional mutes. The outside world is way more exciting. And more colorful.
Thirdly, that she’s quite sure there’s as much still to learn as there are stars in the sky or white flecks in her coat. And that someday she will learn them all.
She ignores her mother’s voice floating back to her – she isn’t that far behind, it’s not like she’s going to get lost – but when a new voice joins the chorus her head comes up, eyes brightening. Then the girl slips up into a trot and surges forth to join them, ears pricked towards the bright stranger. Of course, she’s purple, so she can’t judge. “Hello!” she chirps as soon as her mother falls silent and gives her an opening. “Are you from here? It’s much greener than the Tundra. Is it always so green here?” She is bright where her mother is reluctant, and perhaps it is enough to make up for Kellyn’s reticence.
The final acolytes on Carnage’s mission – the other five of them – have permanently affixed themselves to the folds of his brain. He remembers their faces as clear as the day he first saw them. He remembers how young most of them were, how aged they had looked after it was all over. Not so much in their bodies, perhaps, but in their eyes. In the murky, blackened corners of each of their gazes where they had watched ghosts passing by. In the bright spot on their irises normally made by the sun, now lit instead by the knowledge of universes and the end of the world.
The last six are wiser and worldly, but they are also a frustratingly silent bunch. He’d run into most of them only once since their shared ordeal. It had been a quiet and succinct affair in the meadow on a full-moon night. Nothing of worth had come of the gathering, save for the temporary appeasement of Ramiel’s worry for them. Those who had answered the call had been mostly whole and outwardly content – what more could he hope for? After, they had all gone their separate ways into their separate lives. He should have been glad to have even seen them once again, but of course, wasn’t enough for the grey stallion.
Maybe he is stupid and sentimental to continue to worry for them, but he does.
There is a connection that lingers, silk-thin but as strong, between the finalists. Maybe they don’t feel it like he does (often, he’s wondered if they feel it at all – if it’s all in his head, even). Maybe he’s simply tethered to the Afterlife (and Gail, their guiding light at the end) more permanently than the rest. He’s brought back a daughter of Death, after all. Graveling is proof enough of his forays into places he is physically able to go but possibly shouldn’t. And if a repeat journey into the land of the dead can yield such powerful results from one acolyte, what can they all accomplish together?
He thinks about it a lot. But as the king of a land far removed and rather before the sandy stretch of the afterlife, Ramiel can only spend so many hours of the day lost in such thoughts. He moves on as best he can. War looms like plague across the land, taking and entrapping each of the kingdoms until nearly all are boiling with its heat. It simmers just below the skins of the horses, stirring them into frenzied preparations he’s not sure will be enough.
As the spring sun rises, the charcoal stallion edges closer towards the borders. It is prudent to watch them these days, and it is a task that allows him ample time to think as he completes it. It isn’t long before a commotion just ahead catches his attention. A flock of various songbirds still lean from their journey northward rises into the air, disturbed from their perches in the trees. Ramiel’s golden gaze narrows in on the small gathering that has caused all the fuss. Three females, one smaller and trailing the other two, linger just within the borders. “Hello,” he calls out, his voice rich and even. Perhaps he should be more concerned about three strangers at their gate. But as he draws nearer, he is surprised to recognize the strawberry-colored mare.
“Kellyn?” It’s been years since he last saw his fellow quester, years since she ventured into the Dale and promptly ventured back out. She hadn’t had a reason for visiting last time, but now, he thinks he understands why she’s come. The little one (purple and rotting – he’s reminded of Graveling at once) stands behind her. A daughter? He smiles warmly at the pair before turning to the other woman, the curiosity not diminishing in his gaze. “Hello, I’m Ramiel.” The ghost-man hadn’t heard the conversation before he had come upon the group. He doesn’t know they are looking for him, but feeling the same connection he’s always felt with Kellyn and the others, he’s glad to have found them. He turns to her now. “Have you come to stay longer this time? You are always welcome, you know.” Ramiel looks between the three of them then, especially the magenta one. “And who are your friends?”
ramiel
ooc: I'm so sorry for the wait! The holidays were absolutely insane this year
01-21-2016, 12:22 AM (This post was last modified: 01-21-2016, 12:25 AM by Kellyn.)
I wish I could feel it all for you, I wish I could do it all for you
Kellyn is correct in her assumption – as soon as Cassady catches up to the two mares, she is plastering the stranger with bright questions, with her curiosity. But Marjorie is not forced to answer, and Kellyn is not forced to decide whether to curb her daughter’s enthusiasm, because another voice floats almost immediately across the distance, a friendly ‘Hello’ that draws the attention of each member of the trio in turn.
Her polite, guarded smile turns something truer when she locks hazel eyes on the approaching figure. It’s just a smidgen warmer, reaching all the way into her own bright gaze. With Marjorie, despite any of Kellyn’s intentions, her smile had been simply the expected societal politeness. At least she had learned that much – with her upbringing, it would not have been surprising if she had failed to learn even of the most basic niceties. “Ramiel,” she responds to his question with a nod, not bothering to analyze the relief that has filled her.
She doesn’t want to think about what she would have done if he had not been here anymore. Taking sanctuary in this place, with him, is a surety she doesn’t want to have to question. Not her own motives or the underlying insecurities – and he makes it breathlessly easy. He is welcoming, extending them offer of safety without hesitation. “I’m sorry about last time,” she mutters, self-conscious about the way she had come and gone like the shadow of a passing cloud. “I couldn’t.” She doesn’t expand on what she ‘couldn’t’ do, her eyes flicking to Marjorie and back uncomfortably. “I do plan on staying, though. It’s better, this time.”
And it is. It’s not good – perhaps her life was never meant to be good – but it’s better. And she must not be messing anything up too spectacularly, because her ghostly cousins are silent, not far (they are never far, Kellyn has noticed) but they are not interrupting. “This is Marjorie,” she draws his attention first to the other pink mare, her face cautious but not yet judgemental. “Uh – we just met, looking for you.” She can’t claim Marjorie as a friend, but that social nicety thing tells her that isn’t really a requirement. “And my daughter, Cassady.”
Kellyn
the girl who walks in time and talks to ghosts
daughter of cagney and elite
It doesn’t bother her (much) that Marjorie doesn’t have time to answer her questions. She has plenty of time to get her answers. More interesting is the way her mother reacts to the next voice that joins them. Kellyn tenses, but almost immediately relaxes. The kind of relaxed that Cassie is used to her mother only expressing safe at home in the Tundra – so instinctively, she associates the stallion with safety as well.
The girl is quiet while Kellyn stumbles over a few sentences, watching Ramiel from where she stands between Kellyn and Marjorie. There is something about Ramiel that reminds her of herself, of Kellyn, though he hasn’t done anything outwardly suspicious. The purple girl glances towards the two ghosts who seem to pop up around her mother a lot, looking for their reaction to the strangers. She has learned already to use them as a better judge of danger than Kellyn herself – Bethanie tends to get angry with Kellyn, while Sorenson tends to worry. They’ve come today, but their ease puts the girl at ease.
She wonders if he can see them too. Her grandfather and her great-grandfather can’t. Cassie has learned not to talk to the ghosts in front of others, not strangers.
“Mom says you know about the other place,” she tells Ramiel, not worried in the slightest about the fact that her mother had also said he was a King, or what his being a King might mean for how they should treat him. Cassie has not yet gone across to the other place on purpose – though she has wandered there on accident. It was lucky that Sorenson could help her find her way back, because a panicked Kellyn had been left behind, knowing where her daughter had gone but unable to follow. Kellyn had told her not to go back until she knew how to get home, but it wasn’t something Cassady had much control over – sometimes she is simply here, and then there. “And the Tundra is boring.”
She may have moments of maturity, but she is yet a child.
