01-01-2017, 05:28 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-03-2017, 02:15 AM by paralee.)
She shivers;
Hates the cold.
(Why can’t it be Spring?)
(Because the seasons take their turns, as the sun and the moon do in the sky, Paralee.)
(I know, she tells herself, I know.)
Paralee exhales a slow breath and opens her eyes.
She looks at it as it hangs in the air, like a ghost. Ghosts are memories and metaphors, but she cannot think of what for. The importance of it escapes her - ghosts, memories, steamy breath in the cold air, and she finds herself staring up at the interlocking branches of the Forest. Here, she gleans small scraps of heat from pockets of moss and lightning-blasted tree trunks, wherever she can fit her small lean body into.
The one thing the cold cannot touch is the orange blossoms in her creamy forelock; they remain bright and cheery. She inhales their intoxicating scent - green and fresh, but somehow slow, honeyed and fecal too. It reminds her of sunshine and earth, and Paralee smiles rather dreamily in the wintry gloom of the Forest. The little palomino felt more like an orange tree than a horse, searching for a place to put down her roots.
(You are uprooted, Paralee.)
(I know… no mother, no sisters, no orange blossoms but those in my forelock.)
(They’ll think you strange Paralee, to be seen talking to yourself.)
(But no one can hear us…)
She isn’t talking aloud; isn’t crazy, not really.
She’s lonely; has only her loneliness and the bits of green growing things that she can find in the Forest that resist the withering hand of winter. She is glimmers of honeyed skin and creamy hair that darts amongst the dark shadowy trunks of the trees, and the next time she is seen, there are smears of lichen-dust on her shoulder and cheek.
(Paralee, you look a mess.)
(I know, I know.)
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01-02-2017, 01:26 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-06-2017, 08:33 PM by Rip.)
 The coming of the winter season was faster than he had expected. It had only been weeks since he had arrived here in the new land that he has come to know as Beqanna. The black yearling has found this new place—perhaps a new life—to be pleasant and blooming with adventure to every corner. He does not find himself leaving here just yet like all of the other places he has travelled through these past months. Then again, he has never stayed in one place for too long. There was always something that interest him and the call of his heart’s desire for adventure.
Rip has yet to leave the confinement of the forest just yet. He has enjoyed watching as autumn leaves fell and the brisk cold winter winds came without warning. The giant Percheron had found himself distracted by new things and strangers from this land—though he himself is more a stranger to these lands than the actual dwellers are. But today, just like most days, he is searching and seeking for a new adventure. It did not matter what it was, Rip sought and would find exactly what it was.
And he does find what he seeks.
The young girl, with some sort of strange blossoming forelock, catches his amber-golden attention. A smirk crawls onto his lips as he moves from the shadows of the tree trunks to her. He is large compared to many his age as he stands around fifteen hands high. It also does not help that he has large, still growing, rhino horns adorned onto his head. Some would say he was a monster-like creature, but Rip is simply a young boy with curious interest for the world and an attitude of “I deserve everything I want”.
“Hello,” he says as another smirk appears on his black lips. He comes to halt before the mare, just before she can move any further from her path. “Do you always have flowers in your hair?” He asks with a tilt of his head and a prodding tone.
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(Paralee!)
She nearly crashes into him;
He’s taller than she is, and solid enough as she slides to a halt before him. She snorts just a little, somewhat affronted by the fact that he just appeared out of nowhere, like a giant shadow ripped from those around him. Granted, he’s only a hand taller than she is, but he’s thick and looming and…
(Paralee… you’re doing it again.)
(Doing what?)
(Staring; it’s not polite.)
(So?)
She is staring; she cannot help it. He is massive and muscle and… goodness! Her eyes have just come across the horns on his face and she is intrigued by them. They are not like elk or deer, or even as fanciful as a unicorn’s.
(When have you ever seen a unicorn?)
(Never, but I know they exist. They must - he does.)
Paralee is staring so hard that she almost misses him speaking until she realizes that he is speaking to her. She jerks her nose back, having unconsciously begun to reach out to his horns to brush them with her lips. They look smooth, and impressive… but deceptively dangerous, she thinks. Yes, dangerous. It’s the very look of him that inspires this thought in her silly head as she stares at him. Despite the smirk, he was polite - no, pleasant? No, that’s not right either. She cannot quite describe him and her ears go back at the prodding tone he takes with her.
“Hello, and yes - only in my forelock.” she tells him in a rather matter of fact tone that almost smacks of pure insolence on her part. Her insolence is mostly feigned because face it, how insolent can a little harmless thing like her be towards a big hulking thing like him? She matches his interest though, gives a pertinent little flip of her nose towards his horns and asks, “What on earth are those? They don’t look like any horns I’ve ever seen.” She’s about to make a snide comment about unsightly abnormal growths but thinks better of it, he’s kind of cute, in a big dark scary kind of way.
(Cute?)
(He could be, if he didn’t appear to be so intimidating. Or annoying, not sure which.)
(Oh Paralee! Grow up.)
(No, I’m forever me.)
He continues to smirk, and she just smiles happily up at him. Paralee is rather glad of his company, even if it is a tad more brusque than she’s used to. Then again, she hasn’t much to compare it to - social niceties escape her, really. She’s had better luck conversing with sticks and stones and her siblings, then anything or anyone else. Maybe that’s why she’s a wee bit daft in the head…
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As she nearly crashes into him, Rip gives off a loud snort of displeasure. He truly never liked anyone in his own personal space, but he surely did not have a problem being in someone else’s space. However, for now, he lets it pass.
Rip cannot help but notice the way she stares at him. Either she is dumbfounded or completely stupid, he thinks for a moment before brushing the thought aside. Out of nowhere, the girl is reaching out for his horns. Rip quickly jerks his head to the side just as she jerks her nose away. “You could at least ask first,” he states bluntly. Rip knew he was certainly one of a kind and did not mind the rather astonishment of who and what he was. However, he was rather used to such looks and amazement reactions—many of the other females his age back at home had flaunted themselves at his feet. The attention had been nice, but Rip had plans for more important things.
The girl’s ears go back, and he smiles softly at the reaction of his words. He finds the girl to be rather straightforward with her words, but he does not mind it truly. Rip always found it fun to outwit the other when it came to sarcasm and such things. “Well, that was very obvious since they are only in your forelock.” A grin spreads across his lips at his words. The girl then directs her earlier interest at his horns. He laughs at her innocent of such horns even though he himself has not seen every horn in the world. “A special kind of horn, and surely not from the likes of here,” he says with a flick of his tail, “But I guess if you must know they are called rhino horns.” Rip tilts his head to one side, though keeping his amber-gold gaze on her still.
“Do you have a name?” He asks, “Then again, I could always call your flower.” The yearling laughs softly at his jest. If he was going to spend his time chatting with this girl, then he might as well do it properly—as if that was ever a way for Rip to do anything he decided to do.
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(Paralee, Paralee.)
(Yes?)
(You’ve made him angry.)
(So?)
She ignores his snort of displeasure, debating in her head if he is simply grumpy or gloomy as both seem more than adequate to describe him as. Could be an unfair assumption on her part, but she’s trying to decide if he’s more foe than friend… supposes in the end, it doesn’t matter.
(It should always matter.)
(Why?)
(Oh Paralee!)
Grumpy, he’s definitely grumpy.
She harrumphs as he makes his statement about asking first. It’s blunt and quite true, but then Paralee just wouldn’t be Paralee if she went around asking permission for every little thing she did. Did she need to ask the air for permission to breath it? No, so in the same vein, she figured she could just reach out and touch the horns on his face. This idea of personal space and permission is rather new to her, a concept as vague as the horizon on a foggy night. (She almost laughs aloud, but that would be impolite.)
“Are you always as ugly sounding as your face is ugly looking with those horns on it?”
Oops! Paralee just couldn’t help herself. Sometimes, she just didn’t think before she spoke and it was a lot like poking a bear with a short stick - she just said whatever came to mind, pleasantries and manners aside, her thoughts always came tumbling out rather rudely. She could argue he is just as rude as she is and she’s just doing unto him as he is doing unto her, except she knows that argument isn’t all that valid - she was taught better than that, she thinks, barely remembers.
(You were, Paralee.)
(Maybe.)
“Well…” she drawls, stretching it out as long as she can until the l’s come rolling out of her mouth like a tide of desperate sound. “Maybe all the ones in my mane already dried up and died and those in my forelock are all that’s left.” It sounds flimsy even to her ears but she doesn’t like knowing he’ll best her in sarcasm and witty banter. But then he goes on about his horns, calling them rhino horns, as if she knew had an inkling of what a rhino was and her eyes are drawn right back to the way his head tilts casually to the side, emphasizing the slope of those two horns on his long mean face.
She straightens at his question, managing to somehow almost look prim and proper for a moment until she laughs; “Everyone has a name but Flower is not mine, not now and not ever. Besides,” she adds, sucking in a breath and almost biting her lip, “I’m not nearly half as nice as a flower is.” The little palomino eyes him and laughs again, “I’m Paralee, and what do I call you?” She couldn’t maintain the charade much longer and dissolved in more giggles and even a pretty little toss of her head that made the pale hairs and orange blossoms dance across her face until they settled back down into a curtain that she peered at him from behind, her expression suddenly coy, impish even.
(Oh Paralee…)
(Flowery and sweet, that’s me.)
(Hardly Paralee, hardly.)
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02-24-2017, 10:52 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-24-2017, 11:17 PM by Rip.)
The words of the palomino leave a sour taste in the black giant’s mouth. It almost makes him want to spit out the disgusting flavor, but he holds it in and instead gives a soft snort of amusement. His amber-golden eyes focus on her for just a minute. “I’m probably the ugliest thing you’ll ever see in your life,” he says with a smirk that cannot help but grow quickly across his lips.
Rip couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, amusement still plastered on his dark lips. “Of course your ugly comebacks will only get uglier,” he says. The boy found amusement in her words, clearly thinking this blondie girl lacked any sense of humor or great comebacks. If anything Rip thought of himself to be top dog in the matters of humor and sarcastic comebacks. He was obviously fluent in this language since day one (or at least he thought so without a doubt in his mind).
“Dried up, huh?” He mumbles though his words are quite audible for her to hear. The boy tastes the words for a moment but mostly pretending he is thinking about what she said. He isn’t really at all—he already had a comeback in mind, quick as lightening it seemed. “You must be pretty rotten if those are the last one them left.” He laughs at her, loudly and boldly from where he stands.
He then quiets down and watches as she straightens up a bit. A laugh erupts from her mouth surprisingly and Rip’s ears flicker forward quickly. He watches with enjoyment as she laughs and giggles all the way while trying to maintain a serious face while she talks. “Paralee, huh?” He tastes the name, but doesn't really like it as much as the name he gave her before. “I guess I’ll call you Paralee, but I still might call you Flower.” He then nips at one of the pale areas of her forelock and gives a little tug to see the orange blossoms dance again. “They at least don't make you look so rotten,” he adds with a gentle smile.
“I’m Rip,” he says with a flash of teeth and pride feels his amber-gold eyes. He then tries to match her coy, impish look. “You can also call me Master or Sir,” he adds with a flash of teeth and pride again. |
@[Kristin]
(He’s not that bad looking…)
(I know, I know.)
He smirks; doesn’t seem to mind that she hurls an insult or two at him - insults that she doesn’t mean, because he is more intimidating than ugly. Intimidating and handsome, she thinks but that thought is pushed down deep into a girlish corner of her mind that she often ignores. Paralee could be daft at times, even as she continues to look at him with a mix of wary regard and begrudging respect. Just as she is starting to admire him, he opens his damnable mouth and ruins it.
(Oh Paralee, you are no match for him!)
(Who says I have to be?)
“I don’t think my comebacks could get any uglier than your face,” she adds sweetly, her lips curling back in a smile. She sensed a meanness in him; a meanness that brought it out in her and bested her own cruel sensibilities. Paralee had to concede that he was indeed far better at this than she could ever be. It just wasn’t like her to keep up the charade and it had lasted long enough for her liking. “I don’t think I could ever be as rotten as you are.” she admits, lacking a shred of sorrow for that. She’d rather be her - silly Paralee, as happy as a bee buzzing about a flower. Except right now, he was this dark flower that she seemed to buzz about, attracted to in a way that isn’t just physical but something more, something dark that sent a thrill down deep into her bones.
(Don’t Paralee…)
(Don’t what? He’s fascinating.)
He teases her and she is taken aback by the surprising gentleness of it as he smiles at her, tugs her pale forelock to make the orange blossoms dance across the golden span of her forehead. His nearness makes her suck in a hasty breath before blowing it out slowly through her nostrils. “I suppose you can call me Flower,” she says casually, like she couldn’t care less what he called her. Even if she did, she’d not be likely to admit it to him as her eyes flick by him to the forest then back again. “Rotten, huh?” she chuckles, unable to keep the merriment out of her eyes or from her smiling mouth. “How could one such as I be as rotten as a leftover carcass on the ground?” Paralee sidesteps into a little spin that throws her flowery forelock into further disarray.
(See? He likes me.)
(Oh Paralee, you sweet fool!)
“Rip.” she states assertively as she comes up close to him in all his hulking big blackness.
“Are you a ripper, sir?” she teases, all flashing teeth and shimmying flowers as she takes a step back from his rhino-horned reach. He is still dangerous, she tells herself but hardly trusts the hard deceitful look of him because he gives her rare glimpses at a gentleness that lays beneath. She thinks about teasing him again but holds off, says instead - “I think I like you, sir.” and laughs some more, like she just said the most natural thing in the world that one could say. Of course, Paralee doesn’t divulge if it is just a genuine like of his masterful and mischievous nature or if it is more than that. A girl has to keep some secrets after all.
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03-20-2017, 07:08 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-20-2017, 07:09 PM by Rip.)
There was something about her sweet smile that pulled him in. He perhaps was enticed with her, the sweetness of her laugh and comebacks that matched his own. Well, they almost matched his own. Rip would always find himself better than others no matter what. He was out rightly born arrogant to the very depth of his bones. Naturally he also lacked little remorse of others. It was likely he would always be that way—always thinking of his own well-being and others.
Rules were simply meant to be broken.
“I will admit,” he says with a teasing smile, “I am the rottenest person you will ever meet in your life.” He then gives the flower-maned girl a playful wink. Honestly, Rip did not mind being known as the bad guy. The idea of such a reputation was thrilling and adventurous for him. He simply did not need to be held against the standards of others. It was his life, and always would be, so why follow the rules of others? His rules always ended up being better. And morally, being true to yourself with your own “principles” was easier. Rip preferred simpler things and spending time enjoying life.
He is pleased when the orange blossoms dance again in her mane. The boy liked the orange flowers in her mane truthfully. However, he was not one to quickly announce his likeness of something. Rip did not find the need or desire to give compliments to others. In fact, neither did he need such praises from another to feel special. The boy already believed he was the top dog around, and it was only increasing in this new world every second. Paralee at least gave him the boost of confidence in that area.
Well, he didn’t need it entirely.
Rip smiles wide when she steps back and does a little spin. “Alright, you aren’t as rotten as a carcass,” he says because truthfully the golden girl was rather pretty. He liked her flowers, her smile, and even her presence so far. “But that’s only because you got flowers,” he adds. There always has to be a sarcastic remark leftover, never a true compliment left in the end.
She comes forward, bold and mighty, but Rip does not fall back. He was not fearful of a small girl like her, but neither was he scared of anything else really. He tilts his head to the side, moving his head in angle so his large-growing rhino horns do not hit her as she steps back from him. “I probably could rip anything with these,” he says with a flash of his own teeth.
Paralee teases him once more (always teasing him in some way, but he started it as well) and then laughs. “Like me, huh?” A mischief smirk crosses over his dark face. “Hopefully not too much, I can be bit of a bad influence.” He pauses for a moment, letting a silence fill them as he watches her with his amber-golden eyes. “Then again, a littler danger never hurts no one,” he teases her.
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@[Kristin]
He was cocksure and that drew her in, unbeknownst to her it was a characteristic of him that she found charming. Others could mistake it for arrogance and to an extent, it was but it he leveled it with humor and a sarcasm that she found masterful and endearing. Perhaps that was odd of her, but then, Paralee was never the most complex character in creation - just a free-spirited one that took a chance on a rhino-horned colt almost no older than she, and in him, she find a spirit not quite kindred but somehow alluring.
(Oh Paralee!)
(I know, but I like him - horns and mouth and all.)
(Those horns or that mouth will be the end of you, Paralee.)
(No, I think he likes me too…)
She laughs; his smile is teasing and makes her heart flutter in her golden breast. “I believe sir, that you are correct in that estimation!” Then she leans in as if to murmur conspiratorially in his big black ear, “Only the rottenest are best.” and she gives his ear a gentle teasing tug before pulling her head back and tucking her chin to her chest in a coy manner, merriment glinting in the deeps of her brown eyes. One of her eyes ends up obscured by a wayward lock of orange blossoms and pale hair, just the smallest strand of such that curves inviting down the length of her eye and cheek. It makes her look shy and comely, and she is anything but as they both know!
Her grin grows less shy and more devilish as he admits that she is not as rotten as a carcass; she feels a minute flutter of triumph at getting him to almost take that insult back. Paralee cannot help but chortle her glee as he concedes that it is only because of the flowers, and she half-agrees - “Well, they do make me sweet because they are so sweet themselves.” and then she pulls at her lip with her teeth, feigning an uncertainness that she really does not feel. It was ploy and farce, as most things between them had been in this dance of mischief managed. “Still, they’re nothing like those ripper-horns.” she tells him, as he angles them up and away from her face.
(See? See how he took care not to hurt me?)
(Oh Paralee…)
Paralee did not miss the way he was careful to avoid hitting her as she stepped back from him; perhaps that too, was her own carelessness in doing things that she did not think to mind his horns much as she spun and danced around him. She was often a whirling dervish of golden motion and orange blossoms, but then weren’t all nymphs fleet of foot and free? Yes, she sometimes fancied herself a nymph of some great citrus wood that smelled like the blossoms in her hair. Then she remembers that he is all black hugeness and flashing teeth and ripping horns, but not to her - oh no! He is big and black and handsome, and Paralee can find no fault in him! She cannot keep the laughter from tumbling wildly out of her mouth or the quick easy smiles that she gives him, as he smirks and laughs too, and even questions her silly bold statement of liking him.
“Why yes, I do!” she assures him, but the expression on her face is one of fake incredulity and she looks more cross than anything else. She pouts, also fake, and he teases back and she is struck once more by the devilishness of him. “Dangerous, hm…” she queries, tongue to lip for but a moment as she considers him with a hard brown look that softens as her face gives way to more laughter. “But sir, who am I in danger of if you’re around?” and once more, she spun around him, making the orange blossoms shake and spin in her hair.
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