"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
04-01-2017, 03:51 PM (This post was last modified: 04-01-2017, 04:04 PM by Magnificent.)
Magnificent
Why did she follow? The bile shot up from her stomach the moment he had left. She was sick, her stomach churned and the reason? Because she wanted to go with him, and in that desire she went against everything she was raised to know. Everything she still knew because Magnificent was reluctant to think herself anything but above the others.
First she retched, emptied what little contents had rested within her belly. It wasn’t much, barely a few mouthfuls of grass. She had tried to eat more, at the very least to distract herself, something to do that would make her stay put. Then she cried, tucked away in the trees of Tephra, she was sad and yet, she was angry. It should not be so hard to do what was expected of her and she wished with the very fiber of her being that she could do just that. She loved Kirin, hung on each word as a child and even now those very sentences repeated themselves in the darkness of her mind.
Did he have to know? Would he find out? And so what if he did? Magnificent could twist words as easily as the next, she could spin a tale to make her decision seem plausible, self serving. It was in fact, not far from the truth, barely distorted.
It was self serving, a little known truth, never uttered into the air because the birds might hear- they might whisper it.
WIth a sniffle she righted herself, lifting her head and puffing her chest. It did not take long to find the trail that led to the river, the path worn with his steps and the air, though it blew, smelling of his skin. She stood alone on the banks, watching as the water crashed in rapids and she wondered what it might be like to be tossed in them. To feel so very small and helpless, to be victim to its power and begging for release.
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
He had always been restless – since the moment his lungs had been filled with their first gasp of air, the adrenaline surged within his veins, and the wanderlust lingered in the very marrow of his bones. Though he had once been content to be nestled against the flank of his mother, the time had come in which he had to come into his own. Soon, the familiar ache for something else, for somewhere else had become overwhelming, and so he tore away from the proverbial heartstrings that kept him tied to the volcanic ash and molten rock that had been his own.
The sun had risen and fallen many times since the day he finally pried himself away, tucking himself within the shadow of a dark, hazy evening without so much as a word to anyone. The days had turned into months, which eventually faded into years, and still his wandering heart urged him on, never sated to simply remain in any one place for too long.
It did not quell the eventual longing for a familiar face, though, and every now and then, beneath a crescent moon or in the wake of an oncoming storm, the wayward wind would carry him home. To the gentle embrace of his mother and father, the carefree moments stolen away with a friend he had not seen in too long - always too long; age seemed to carelessly have its way with all those he loved - and even a cautious glance to an unfriendly face.
An unfriendly face.
A grimace crosses the usually serene features of his face, uncertainty and a shadow of disdain etched into the tense ridge of his jawline and the hollow of his cheek. Though he is tucked away within the thicket, with the dry and brittle branches of the many trees around him enveloping him in their shaded comfort, she is clear and fully visible to him. The light breeze that weaves through the vegetation carries his scent downwind along the ravenous path of the rapidly moving water, allowing him to remain hidden away from sight, as his gold flecked eyes observe her.
Tall, feminine, and no longer burdened with the spindly, gawking legs she had been born with, Magnificent is nothing less than as her name describes - but still, a small part of him dreads her presence, wary of what will become of it. She had never spoken so much as a neutral word to him, her tone often biting, and her words spiteful and terse. Yet when he had last seen her, not a word had been spoken at all. Nothing but a long, lingering glance, his hazel eyes boring into hers of amethyst, the weight of time and long buried memories rising to the surface shared between them.
With a soft sigh, he finally emerges from the thick brush, several wayward leaves tucked into the tangles of his dark, two-toned tresses.
"Magnificent," he begins, but he pauses, the ridge of his browline furrowing. Was there a stain of salty tears across her cheek, or were his eyes deceiving him? "your face is not one I expected to find. What are you doing here?"
She finds it soothing, the chaos and violence of the thrashing whitewater rapids. That is no surprise and in this way she falls right in line with the rest of them, that which destroyed brought her peace. It was volatile, the river, and in it she found some comfort for her warring thoughts. It was, for now, good medicine.
It was good that nothing was still, if faced with her own reflection in this moment she would have broken. She would have crumbled like the earth that was washed away, the river too hungry to give it mercy.
It is good that she is who she is. Though her time in the Cove was short spent, the lessons she was taught as a small child were embedded with barbs. They were not easily swayed or removed, it might be that for brief moments she smothered them but when it came down to it- she was not so magnificent.
Even her name spoke volumes of her people, her Father elated by the mere sight of her had dubbed such a calling. ‘Magnificent’ he whispered and his voice was thick and hungry like the river, yet she expected he was an ever starving man. He had to be, her Mother was his Grandmother and yet this was not something to be gawked at or spat upon where she was from. This was an ideal, something upheld with certainty and respect- it was praised and congratulated.
She doesn’t hear him approach, she wasn’t listening and over the crash of rushing liquid she would have been hard pressed to anyway. ‘Magnificent’ that simple word could crush her.’What are you doing here?’ Her jaw is tight as she looks over the water, a breath must be taken but she sends with it irritation- she must.
“Me?” she asks, her voice is scoffing, as if she can’t believe he didn’t know. “Came to grab a piece of the glory but looks like you beat me to it.” She turns, twisting her dark body to find him, her gemstone eyes digging. “If this is yours then you’re going to need something sumptuous to counter that atrocious stench you reek of.” Her lips spread to a smile, this was her thought of play, a jab here, a joke there. It kept the distance she didn’t think herself capable of otherwise, her words built walls to keep him out- to keep her in.
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
A grunt of discontent rumbles within his throat at the bitter way her words cut into him, slicing through his resolve with ease – he should expect no less of her; it had never been any other way. There is a shadow of disappointment lingering within the dark depth of his hazel eyes, which search for any semblance of benevolence within her wry smile, or her glowering gaze, but he does not find any.
The heavy echo of the rushing, pounding water against the boulders is almost loud enough to drown out the plethora of thoughts burdening his mind in that solitary, quiet moment, but there is nothing that can keep the resonance of her words from etching their way into his memory. A weary sigh arises as his heavy lashes close for a moment over his eyes - there is not much that can manage to crawl beneath his skin, and yet she is the undeniable exception.
The disappointment is evident in the tension of his jaw, and there is almost a melancholy glint in the golden rim of his stare – but it is fleeting, and likely unseen. Though he had once reveled in their playful banter, it had somehow become bitter, interlaced with ire and provocation. Time had done little to ease the strain, which has become apparent by the palpable tension that is almost suffocating.
”I should have known,” he says, the tone of his voice heavy and laden with weariness, though there is an undertone of irritation woven in between each syllable. His drawl is slow and deliberate, and as smooth as a worn river stone. ”you weren’t quick enough, it seems.” A pause. She had always been driven by something innate; something tucked away deep within her spirit that had always urged her to be more – to do more. While her words were biting, he knew he could more easily unnerve her with the suggestion of failure – a word foreign and vile to her.
”It may be mine, but it is as much your own,” his stare is intently set on her now, observing the glimmer in her gaze, unable to find the mirth within them that she too easily forces into her tone. His frown deepens, wanting to pry, to attempt to tear down the carefully constructed wall built around her – but he shies away from it, knowing it will only provoke her further. ”should you choose to stay.”
”The stench you speak of must be your own – it suddenly feels so much more like home.”
Words that are biting, but also stem from a deeply buried truth.
She could touch this wall, and all the walls she has built. There are so many she has fortified in her short life, when did they end, when did they begin? If she had hands she could place her palm on the invisible barrier, right against his chest and take a sobering breath as she stood behind its shield. That’s the only way she could ever touch him, by not touching him at all, no, she had the words to touch with.
And she used them to cut, and that was almost worse than him knowing.
Almost.
All the bravado, the turned up nose, for now that was a farce, a show she put on. Sadly she had become a skilled actor in doing so, she doesn’t remember the first day she used this tactic. ‘I should have known,’you weren’t quick enough..’ She smiled, a small and fleeting thing, allowing his own sets to filter through, or at least appear that way, at least seem like they did not crash against her walls like the rocks that lined the river.
“Mmmm, yes,”she salted, tinting her words with vinegar. “Seems I am stuck bringing up the rear with the khaosbedamned fairies running the show.” She was bitter, to say the least, about waking to find she had been left with her horn and not her wings. Even after so much time, she did not let this grudge go, instead she clung to it, clenched an iron grip. “At least that one amazing thing they gave me,” she turned her nose at that, straight up as if to sneer at the sky and she took a few paces away.
His next words made this a good decision.
“Mine? Oh no, we both know that’s not how it works.” That was a sour note as well, she seemed full of them, a bag of lemons. ‘If you choose to stay’ she could hold her breath and pretend he had said something more like I want you to stay with me…I want you to stay, anything to feed her pipe dreams and instead she turned to malice.
“Oh so you want me to stay” another turn, twisting his words with the fluidity that she slunk in circles around him. “Oh you see that must be the riffraff you let in, we both know you will.” Under her breath and more quietly she clenched her teeth, “You always do.”
Jealousy, envy is not always a green-eyed monster. Here it would have eyes like violets, “Lucky for you I think I will stay,” lucky for herself really, “who better to let you know what all you’re doing wrong.” The smile then was large and fierce, as if she took pride in the cutting. With a flick of her tail, “Let’s get started then, show me around, I’m sure you’ve mucked up the place somehow.”
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
He had never known anything different. In the early days of his youth, golden skin gleaming beneath the pale light of a waning moon, he had been carefree, wanton for the presence of someone, for anyone. He had come to know many (the thought of one in particular makes his heart ache; stirring it to throb uncomfortably within the tightness of his chest) within the boundaries of the ash-stricken seascape, and he had given his heart away with careless abandon. His affection, his attention – he had never felt it was something to keep to himself, nor something he should shy away from doing.
While his own mother, biting and fierce in her own way, kept her own foundation fortified and unmovable (with a heavy, seemingly impenetrable wall of her own – hardly a flaw; barely faltering for even those closest to her), he could always still see her. Tucked away within the ceaseless wonder of her wary hazel eyes, there is a softness, a softness he can see and nearly touch.
She had always been reserved, even with him, but hidden within her breast was a deeply rooted love and affection that, when away from prying eyes, she would expose with the affectionate preening of his feathers or by brushing his forelock out of his eyes. With anyone outside of his own father or sisters, she was sharp, frigid, even – there were small pieces of her that would fall away with a scarce few, but he had never seen her as anything less than a pillar of strength, an unwavering force to be reckoned with.
He could not see Magnificent the way that he could see his mother; he could not see beyond the icy, placid barrier that lay so blatantly before him. His hazel eyes search her own again, and when her dark mouth falls away to a brief smile, he cannot see any genuine pleasure within its shadow, and weary and worn, the thickness of his neck shakes to and fro in disbelief as her words seemingly grow more hostile, more piercing with each passing moment.
His unabashed stare moves then, roving over the length and sharp edge of her horn as her words briefly give mention of it, before boring into her eyes yet again, unwilling to break eye contact again. Oh, so you want me to stay, and there is a moment of hesitance in his mind in which he contemplates how the weight of such a decision would affect him. Should she stay, her cutting words would as well, harsh and always searching for some plane of weakness, for somewhere to burrow into to best find the tender marrow of his bones to tuck away within.
You see, that must be the riffraff you let in, and there is a visible flash of anger in his dark eyes. A flickering ember is lit within him, a burning flame that is foreign and strange to him. He is all too aware of who she is referring to, and there is suddenly an acrid, bitter taste within his mouth, lingering on his tongue and leaving him faint with frustration. And it is quiet, so quiet, but at the end of it, you always do.
Her voice fades then, somehow fall away to the roaring fury of the rushing water behind her, and the ire eases away from him, leaving something more familiar in its wake. The frown along the hardened line of his whiskered mouth deepens still, as his eyes observe the tension in her face, the fierceness of her eyes, the sneer looming in the shadow of a smile that had once been.
And finally, almost shakily, he finds his own voice, rumbling and hoarse.
”What have I done to you, Magnificent?” he nearly murmurs, only just loud enough to be heard. The disappointment, the ache, it is all there to see in his strong features, and his eyes are morose and uncertain. ”I don’t understand. Why do you hate me so much? What have I done?”
The river is a blessing, an addition to the walls she builds with sharp words and bullet stares. A blessing but the river is fluid, it moves and flows and in that respect it is changing, it has flaws. She could not teach the water defense, it could not learn sharp corners or barbed wires. It did not submit but rather she would be made to surrender to it- she just didn’t know it yet.
First it led the dance by eating her words, swallowing them and drowning them in its splashing wake. He could not hear her last, the sentences erased by the current and perhaps that was for the best. Anyone could use a breath from her taunts, maybe him most of all.
As children it had been much the same, teasing and games where she always ended up the bully. Every good story needs a villain and when it came to roleplay she never chose the hero, she was not drawn to the part of the princess. Magnificent was the traitor, the bad wolf, the huntsmen. Anything but the one who garnered praise, who took responsibility, never a savior- she was a sinner, no saint.
It was all the same then, her closed doors and locked windows. Yet here he was no matter how hard she pushed, she loved him for it, it was his way and though she relentlessly lashed out he always gave her company. Was he a glutton for punishment? No, probably not but that had ended in her mind, she took it personally when he had left without a word.
Why did she expect a goodbye in the first place? Why should he even know she wanted one, let alone give it.
A tear rolled down her face as she looked away from him, the water always somewhere to rest her gaze when she could not face him. “You just left me there,” the waver in her voice was unintended but the hurt in the words was real. She bit her cheek, moving her eyes from the water to the ground, she had slipped just now, how could she recover her fences?
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
You just left me there.
The burden of her words envelope her, crushing her beneath the weight of a deeply guarded secret, yet he is caught unaware and ill-equipped. The soft echo of her angst stricken accusation lingers in his mind as the disappointment falls away, leaving him stunned and bewildered. The anguish that festers within each bittersweet syllable and the single tear that leaves a dark stain across the indentation of her jawline is almost too much for him to comprehend, too much for him to bear.
She had never been less than impervious to emotion – often mocking at anyone bearing any weakness, callous and easily amused by the faltering will of others, yet now it is the very same thread that has somehow found itself caught within his grasp, unraveling before him. It is only a small piece – the slightest fragment, broken apart from the whole – but somehow, it is enough for him to see, for him to know. His heart, once lumbering, now pounds roughly against the iron bars of his rib cage as he is becomes wrought with the onslaught of once distant, dormant memories.
Her bitter words, her careless disregard for his own emotions, and the subtlety of her burning, scornful hatred for the vegetation resting in his belly and the oxygen within his lungs – her loathing for everything he is, a ruse. A lie. An ever-present falsehood, etched into her every word, her every action, yet –
Yet.
She had followed him.
Not to sate her hunger for something of her own, not to make stake into the damp soil or the thunderous rapids that rampantly pounds along the tired old river rock with a ferocious fury.
You just left me there.
”I,” he begins, but the words soon die away, leaving him empty and void of the million and one thoughts racing through his mind, fighting against the iron will of his tongue, aching to be said, needing to be asked, but no. She has turned away from him now, but he can still see the tension in her jaw, the hollow of her cheek where her teeth have taken grasp of the delicate skin within. He can still see the way her deep, amethyst eyes have become overwhelmed, brimming with burning, unshed tears.
There is a trace of uncertainty and hesitation in his movements, then, but he cannot allow her to drift away from him, not with some semblance of an answer left in the open air, exposed to the elements and to him. With a step taken forward, his whiskered mouth touches slightly and briefly to the slender length of her neck, and he can sense the familiar scent of pine and lavender tucked away within the tangling of her mane.
”I didn’t think you would care,” he confessed – a blatant truth, raw and unfiltered. ”I couldn’t stay. It was never asked of me, but I couldn’t be what my mother is, what my father was.” There is a faint frown tugging at the corner of his mouth as his head is tilted, searching the plane of her usually wry, sneering face.
”I had to find my own way. I didn’t think you would care,” he murmurs again, as if unsure that she had heard him. And then, ”I didn’t think you would notice.”
