"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
They were made. Made and shaped and crafted to be the most perfect of creatures. Except everything had gone wrong. Fate had proved a cruel and fickle mistress. The prefect sisters are both wonderful and terrible in their imperfections. Little more than things. Wonderful and terrible and fearful things.
Perhaps, were it not for the unfortunate nature of their deformity, they might even have been beautiful.
But still, they are meant to be here, regardless of appearance, and so here they are. That had been the agreement after all. Even if their father had disappeared, vanishing into the winds of time and space, taking to the other lands - lands not of Beqanna.
But they are young yet. They do not know, nor do they particularly care. They only know that they have been sent here. Here, to a forest of endless pines enclosed by mountains. They linger upon the edges, walking in their peculiar way (they are peculiar creatures, and everything they do is certain to be strange).
Oh, it’s so lovely here.
Hush!
But they know we’re coming! What does it matter if we’re heard.
Oh, I don’t care if they hear you. You’re voice grates.
Their bickering can no doubt be heard far and wide. Were one close enough, they might even see the way one sister snaps her teeth along the others neck, scraping away gray hair to reveal black skin beneath. Were one to look closely, the might also notice a plethora of such marks upon both sister’s necks and shoulders.
It seems, when one must always live in close proximity to the other, it can be difficult to get along.
Patrolling was no longer the joy it had once been, where he could move at whatever pace pleased him (and oh how Siberian had loved to run, the exhilaration of running flat-out was like nothing else), but it was still a duty that he needed to perform as a Chamber Captain. Usually, it is a quiet task; coming across nothing much aside from the various woodland creatures that populated the piney kingdom. Today, however, the Budyonny already knows that his usual routine will be different. As he ambles along in grizzly bear form, his ears catch the sound of distant voices. Well, that was unusual. It wasn't often that the Chamber had visitors, and when it did they usually came in the form of one solitary equine. They are not voices that he recognizes, and after a moment's consideration he shifts back into his natural horse form, black furred except for the irregular star that decorated his forehead. He has two reasons for this: one, assuming that they were friendly visitors, there was no point in frightening them with his ursine shape; and two, it was better that strangers *not* know what he was capable of straight off, in case they had ulterior motives for visiting the Chamber.
Now restricted even further, gait-wise, he moves along carefully in the direction of the voices, each hoof sliding cautiously across the ground as it it were a field of ice, shifting to avoid every invisible obstacle that threatened to trip him up. Siberian listens, ears swiveling like twin radar towers, until he can hear the two speakers breathing nearby, the tiny sounds they make as they fidget while waiting to be greeted, whatever further words they speak as he nears their position. A deep inhale confirms to the ebony stallion that he knows neither one of these guests, but he tips his head in polite greeting to them anyway, sightless eyes staring straight ahead regardless of where they are actually standing. Their voices had sounded on the lighter side (I am guessing?) and so he can only assume that both are mares. He is not used to playing "door greeter", but just because it wasn't something he'd done before, didn't mean that he should ignore visitors when he did come across them on his rounds. "Hello, I'm Siberian. What brings you to the Chamber? " He hopes that Nymph would come soon. His friend would know better how to handle an interaction with strangers, what with being the head of the Diplomatic caste and all, instead of being in the military caste as Siberian was.
Father had hated them. He had taken no joy in the unique horror that the twin girls are. He had instead sent them here, before he had left. They are not quite sure if he had left because of them, but it will haunt them for days and weeks and months to come (had their birth been so terrible, so fearsome, that he could simply bear it no longer?).
But they have each other, at least. They will always have each other.
The two are as one. They share a body. It can almost be said that they share a mind. They are so similar, their thoughts nearly as in sync as their bodies. It must be as such, for certainly they would not survive otherwise.
Father sent us.
Their response to the man who approaches them is eerily harmonic, each girl chiming the words in clear, bright tones that echo the other’s far too closely for comfort. The stranger’s approach had not surprised them. Indeed, would surprise no one. With his hesitant step and blank gaze, he is nearly as odd as they.
Oh, not quite so. There is little that could truly rival them for sheer novelty. But he tries so very hard. It brightens their hearts, makes them peculiarly happy to see another strange thing in this world of the mundane.
They step close, bright smiles adorning each of their lips. And closer still. Their happiness can be heard in their voices.
I am Pray. And Prey.
The one on the right speaks first, then the one with the wing (that strange, single wing that would never see the sky) in a voice nearly indistinguishable for the other.
Who are you? They echo the last in tandem, curiosity and bright jollity lacing that clear, resonant voice of theirs.
She has not seen the bear in quite some time, although lucky enough for him - he was not alone, so she would not fair scolding him for being amiss from the raid. Kimber had originally thought she would pass up Siberian and his suitor but quickly she noticed that it wasn't your average horse.
Two heads, that one is new and likely a migraine.
She meanders that way, listening as Siberian chimes in with a greeting to the odd pair and they neglect his own introduction. She slides out from the pines and near the group. "I believe he already told you, he's Siberian - I'm Kimber, the General - who is your father and why did he 'send' girls to Chamber?" she says firmly to them both, with the raid and all the uncertainties involving it you could never be too sure. "Siberian, I see you've decided to let the sunlight hit your face, finally - I assume you're well?" she says, still eyeballing the pair instead of him; not noticing that his eyes are milky and the likability of him being able to see her is slim. Kimber was cranky, trying to wean a foal and nurse herself back to health; she is prone to mood swings without all of that.
k i m b e r
immortal dip-dyed general of the chamber
i apologize for the suck but i'm hoping forcing myself to write will encourage muse.
He tilts his ebony head, puzzled at their query regarding his name, and is about to repeat it. Before he can do so, however, Kimber's scent--vaguely remembered but now freshly-matched with the sound of her voice--hits his nostrils and the stallion stays silent, letting his commander speak. She gives the two visitors a minor scolding for their lack of attention regarding his greeting, then asks the question that had been on Siberian's lips as well. Who indeed was their father, why did he not come himself for whatever duty he'd assigned to his daughters? He is willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, however. By coming here, they were proving themselves to be dutiful children to their sire, and perhaps they'd simply just missed hearing his name. He doesn't voice those thoughts aloud, though, not wanting to contradict the Chamber General's opinion, especially in front of strangers. "Welcome to the Chamber, Prey and Pray. ", is all he says in response, hoping to seem friendly.
The Budyonny hears Kimber speaking again, addressing him now instead of the foreign mares, and he blinks with surprise, old habits dying hard and all that. Her casual remark about the sun causes him to let out a soft sigh, as it brings to his mind that night he had strayed into the Silver Cove and spent his evening watching the sunset over the waters while a little pegasus used his paw for a pillow. She wasn't so little anymore, was Misra. He can still see her in his mind's eye, the first time she had come to the Chamber as an adult, with a small colt tagging along at her side. The sight of the child had made him feel vaguely jealous, though he still wasn't sure why. And the sun. He would never see it rise again nor set, and that was yet another thing he missed from Before. He moves closer in the direction of her voice, sliding hoof tips carefully across the ground, and stops when he thinks (hopes!) he is a few feet away, letting her see him better. "I'm as well as can be expected, thank you Kimber. And yourself? "
They are not easy. They can barely live with each other (but they must). Perhaps that is why their father sent them. Perhaps their father does not hate them.
Or perhaps he does.
But they are here and that is all that matters. For now, the bickering has subsided. Twin pairs of eyes turn to the mare (the color of a bruise, so very interesting. Like their own gray and purple). The violet of those glittering gazes shine in the dim light. For a moment, the faintest glimmer of shrewdness is visible in those purple depths, swiftly gone.
Yes, so he said. He did. Siberian. Siberian. Of the Chamber. Is he? Of course. Yes, of course.
But then the name of the general catches their attention. They smile in unison, twin features lighting with recognition.
Kimber. Kimber. You are Kimber? Father said to find you. He said you would know. Kimber. It is a good name. I like it.
The speak to each other, forgetting for a moment to encompass the others in their conversation. Then, as though remembering, they step forward. One head dips down, the other one up, even as smiles curve two pairs of lips.
Kirin. Yes, Kirin. Our father. He sent us. He said you would know. He said to find you. Kimber.
in the hollow of your eyes
Prey
Ok, seriously, I apologize for whatever the heck this is :| Mostly a mess
