"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 inescapable frigidity of winter was beginning to descend, many deciduous trees now barren, their spindly, winding branches exposed and naked to the eye - an unmistakable sign of the coming season. Autumn had been a dry one, with nary a single drop of rain having fallen since it had begun. The air was often thick with humidity, moist and suffocating, and now seemingly overnight it was now fraught with ice. His mouth felt dry and his lungs felt as if they themselves were coated in a sheen of frost, though he knew it was a gross over-exaggeration of reality. He was never one for the cold and undoubtedly would have functioned better in a desert setting, but something about the allure of the thick pines and surrounding, enveloping mountainsides kept him.
He kept his wings close to his sides, allowing each one to shield his flank with their thick but nonetheless fragile chitlin, the very protein in which built up and made for his method of flight. It kept the icy morning breeze from updrafting along his hips and ribcage, providing solace to the unusual creature that now lurked in the shadows. Morning was beginning to stir and awaken the land, bringing it to life once more with its pale sunlight and overcast skies. He steps out for a moment, his four forelegs and two hindlegs each shifting slightly as he submits himself to the sunlight. Though he is a creature of the night, the warmth of the sun feels glorious against his champagne pelt and he takes a long moment to soak it in.
The moment is short lived, however, when his sensitive hearing catches a hefty figure stalking through the foliage, their weight crushing small twigs and dried, dead leaves along the way. He steps back into the shadows for a moment, allowing his unusual compound eyes to focus on the figure, piecing together his equally unusual image. His deep tangerine spots always appear first in his vision, followed by the shape of his extraordinarily large, feathered coal-tipped wings. He knows instinctively, by scent, by sight, that it is his King. He moves closer, stepping out from the shadows again in the very moment Demian does the same. He clears his throat gently from a distance, his unblinking black eyes staring at the overall picture of him.
"Demian, good morning," His voice is low, though more of a rumbling tenor. "I've been thinking. The war is nearing, and it may do the Valley some good to know where we stand with the Tundra and Falls alike. I can see if Cress would like to accompany me and leave in a couple of hours' time."
With a past so dark, that Satan'd jump out of his seat. But still you out in these streets, thinking you hot as can be. Without the knowledge to lead, so you just follow the sheep. Making sure your lame swag is all polished and clean
He has never been one to like the terrible cold the valley produced in the winter. His constant small walks through the pine trees were frequent attempts to keep himself warm and from the frost settling on his thick graying coat. Not that it would much matter. If it did, he'd be able to melt it instantly and dry his coat within seconds yet he didn't like to use his gift from the Valley unless it was absolutely necessary. The most he'd ever used it for was in order to form a pair of eyes in order to somewhat see those in front of him, and he liked it that way.
He wasn't like the others who used their gifts to their full extremes almost every time they came across someone new. He wasn't necessarily the flashy go-all-in type. But those eyes. Those eyes he could form he did like using. And it wasn't for shock value, no. It was done because he truly cherished the way the gift allowed him to view the world still, even if painted in flame and smoke. In reality the Jaguar king considered the fire a blessing, when most would see it as a curse. Simply because of those eyes it allowed him to create.
He is standing still, unknowingly having come to a stop when the sound of the unusual shuffling of Elysium's six legs drifted along on the wind and to his small little spot. He turns then, towards the man as he appears from the shadows, eyes of flame swirling fast, the colors of green, blue, and purple twisting and turning together quickly as they catch sight of the moth made equine. It takes the Valley king a moment, but he finally sees the legs that cause the unusual noise the delicate wings and moth like features and with a smile of amusement he tilts his head. "You are quite unusual. Though that isn't a bad thing."
You could easily say that Demian drove to fill the Valley with misfits, the unusual, the different. The Valley was becoming a round peg in a square hole and he loved how many differences it held within among it's members. "Good morning though, Elysium." A small smile tilts at the corners of his lips as he nods respectfully to the moth made horse, his shoulders rolling in a soft shrug as he continues on. "I think that is a good idea though it has already started," he sighs softly.
Demian had originally sought for the war as well, agreed to it, sided with the Chamber regardless of their lack of numbers and he had stuck to his alliance and his agreements, though his heart wasn't fully in it. Demian wasn't a fighter and he didn't wish to be. His main focus was to rebuild the Valley. Though that wasn't to say that he hadn't done his part. He had recruited Pollock the Murderer, sent the man after the children. He had sent a group of the other side to their deaths with a once gate's king as their leader. And soon he'd send a woman as the last act.
It was always said that death comes in threes.
And well, Demian was making it a reality.
"I doubt the falls will agree to an alliance with us, at least during this time of war. They haven't ever been one's to fight. Though I think that we could at least try and get to know them. I want you to be kind to their new king and queen. See what is happening. How they are fairing. Maybe a friendship could fire up a future situation." He bites his bottom lip in thought. "I think Cress going with you would be a good idea, though she may disappear into the throng of the fight. Do not be too upset if she doesn't show... Anyway, I have a feeling you're highly capable of doing this on your own." He smiles a bit more then before shifting his weight from one side to the other. "What do you think about the Tundra, Ely? I haven't heard anything from them."
demian.
uhhhhhh...... i forgot how to word.
i blame medical law studies :|
He can feel the eyes (or perhaps, lack thereof, but a rather elusive form of magic allows Demian to study him all the same) of his King follow the lines of his unusual features and his delicate, albeit beautiful wings. He is no stranger to intrusive looks, nor is he unfamiliar with the variety of reactions his quirky physique elicits from others, but as he returns the steady (though fragmented, as his compound eyes pieces together the strangeness of the other male as well) gaze, he finds his blunt approach to his conditon to be an altogether very welcome one.
He much preferred for others to blatantly address his moth-like features, rather than sweep it away, as if it didn't matter. Surely, it did matter - he was unique and he himself had never come across another like him, and he did not even know of his own origin. To simply pretend he is anything other than a peculiar hybrid of insect and equine would be to insult his intelligence and emotional capability, and as his King chuckles over his vocal acknowledgement, Elysium cannot hide the faint smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.
His throat reverberates with a soft laughter of his own. "I am, I know. And so are you."
And so they are bound by their own strangeness, and it is in this that their friendship will certainly root itself.
"I agree; for the sake of the inevitability of another war, it would be in our best interest to find where we stand after this is all over. I will seek Cress in this matter, but prepare for the journey without her. If I can be of assistance and replace her in times of need, I surely will." He pauses in thought, his eyes trailing off as he peers off into the distance as the bright sunlight peeks between rolling, looming clouds - its rays cause him to lose himself in his thought for a moment.
Finally, his eyes seek Demian's face once more, studying his peculiar eye sockets of flame in the midst of his swimming thoughts.
"Thank you, Demian - I appreciate the vote of confidence. I will do what I can. As for the Tundra, I am not certain anyone has heard from them, but I will travel to find out our standing with them nonetheless. The King has long since been quiet there, but I know there are others there I will undoubtedly be able to speak with in his absence. I have seen an unusually large male drift to and fro from the Tundra; perhaps I can make contact with him. I will leave this evening."
