"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
Delicate things are pretty - cute, even, but you are not delicate. You are wild and lewd and unpredictable. You are breathtaking. You are beautiful.
It's the middle of the day. A warm, sunny day that pokes bright rays of light through the thick canopy, gilding the edges of leaves just beginning to turn rich shades of rust and deepest ruby. It's the middle of a very fine day, and I'm tired. I don't know why, but just as the thought crosses my mind, another yawn splits my jaw.
I am ambling along at a leisurely pace, not paying too much attention to where I am going. Other than considering perhaps finding a cozy place to curl up for a nap, I haven't thought about too much beyond the pleasantness of the day. Occasionally my dull black hooves clip against an exposed it root, but even this is but enough to perturb me much. Indeed, it's not even enough to rouse me from my drowsy half slumber. My feet move automatically, my body wending almost instinctively through the dense trunks of the forest, all despite the fact that my peculiar (peculiar not because of their color or any such mundane things, but rather because the number - the extra one in the very center of my forehead) amber eyes are half lidded in near sensual slumber.
It isn't until I nearly stumble into another body that I take any notice of where I am headed. Well, actually, there is no ‘nearly’ about it. “Oh!” I gasp, eyes flying wide, any hint of exhaustion fleeing my body. “Oh goodness! I am terribly sorry. How clumsy of me.”
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
The puzzle is nearly complete. The bear is merely an emotional being that rattles it’s chains and roars in his chest. The brand on his side means nothing. It’s strange how much he misses this power. This curse that he had hated and could barely control. It had become a security blanket, a way to protect himself when he had never been able to before. That’s why he misses it, a shield. A defense.
A mountain looms in the distance, he’s torn. Distracted. Does he want it or not? Moving his scarred and disfigured torso from the heat of the sun to the coolness of the forest, he battles with himself. Fall has come but the weather is still warm. It’s interesting to have a literal heat within him (for testosterone was hard to avoid) while also physically sweating. He was more uncomfortable then ever and had no way to displace his feelings. Not like he knew how anyways.
A sigh escapes from parted lips as relief is found in the shade. Minor relief but it helps nonetheless. His good eye takes in the others that have also sought out shelter. It’s as he is looking about that he doesn’t see her coming (how can he with that mangled hollowed socket) and she plows right into him. He startles easily, always has and always will. Whirling around to face his attacker, lips pulled back as his ears flatten to his head and become hidden in the mass of tangled flaxen forelock. A soft defensive snarl dying on his tongue as the golden flecked eye takes her in. Instantly landing on her third eye.
He remembers Adaline. Her translucent skin, her glass bones. How delicate she was. Vulnerable. How she had been devastated by the shock in his eyes. She had been horrific but beautiful. He would not make the same mistake twice, not when he was a far more ugly thing to behold. She’s apologizing and he curves his neck, muzzle dipping to his chest as he breathes in deeply. Curved ears swiveling back towards her, forcing himself to relax his taunt muscles. ”It’s fine.” It’s not, not really but she’s a beautiful unique thing and he doesn’t have the heart to lash out at her. Any second she will see his disturbing face and appearance and would hustle along. Then he would once again be alone with his thoughts and the unsavory situation before him. To bring the bear back or not?
Delicate things are pretty - cute, even, but you are not delicate. You are wild and lewd and unpredictable. You are breathtaking. You are beautiful.
You would think, with the eyes, I might have a better idea of where I am going than most. Of course, I hadn't really been paying attention. Perhaps it had been the heat making me slumberous, perhaps the lack of any true problems or considerations. Whatever the case, even with my expanded sight, I had managed one of the worst social faux pas.
How embarrassing.
It isn't until now that I truly notice him. Notice the way he tucks into himself, the way he strains for control. The way he bites back the angry, frustrated snarl the comes to his lips almost without thought. Had I been less brave, less outgoing, more sensible, I might have shrunk from him. Probably should have.
But I don't, I can't. You see, despite all my other foibles and vanities, I have a tender heart. And a single sight of him causes it to squeeze in my chest. Not pity, per se. More like regret.
I consider him for a long moment before a soft, apologetic smile curves my lips. “It's not, but thank you for being kind.”
My gaze shifts then, landing on the scarred, missing eye. With a gently teasing, self deprecating edge, I add, “I'd give you mine, if I could. I wouldn't miss one too much.” I pause for a moment, debating, before giving up all sense of decorum and asking “What happened?”
06-26-2017, 12:34 AM (This post was last modified: 06-30-2017, 07:41 PM by Ledger.)
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
Kindness, it exudes from her every orifice. He can’t imagine her ever being angry or giving a stern look. He doubts that she’s ever unhappy for long and wonders what that must be like. Her distress doesn’t suit her and soon the cloud passes and a soft smile graces her lips. He expects her to move along, to continue towards wherever she was going. He is already withdrawing back into himself before he notices that she’s still there, looking at him.
Her joke shouldn’t hurt but it does. It stings like a wasp, burning and swelling. However he finds a ghost of a smile passing over his features. It feels strange and awkward, the corner of his lips don’t usually pull that way anymore. She’s noticed his ravaged face and she’s trying to be kind. Nothing more he supposes. ”I appreciate the thought.” He gently responds, not expecting her next question.
It’s not often that anyone flat out asked him for his story. In fact he can’t remember the last time anyone asked, that anyone even cared. He hesitates, unsure. A wary look crosses over the gold flecked eye, grimacing slightly. He has guarded himself for so long, it’s difficult to unleash the flood. ”Too much to tell.” He finally manages, a weak answer he realizes but the only one he feels comfortable giving. ”Why do you ask?” He adds out of mere curiosity. Surely she had better things to do then talk to a mottled soul like himself.
Delicate things are pretty - cute, even, but you are not delicate. You are wild and lewd and unpredictable. You are breathtaking. You are beautiful.
I know what it’s like to be the odd one. What it feels like to have everyone staring at you. Sometimes it’s just curiosity, but sometimes it’s mockery or disgust. Those ones hurt. A lot. I should be used it by now, but I don’t think that is something anyone ever gets used to. I don’t mind the curiosity so much though. It’s nice to be special, different. And even nicer to have someone appreciate it, even if it is only in a small, simple way.
So I hadn’t expected my simple teasing offer to be met with pain, but I should have. I, more than anyone, should know better. The flash of pain across features burns my conscious like a cross would a vampire, and I wince internally. Even the small, fleeting smile he offers by way of balm does little to soothe the sudden guilt. But, well, I’d already stuck my foot in my mouth. There’s no taking that back.
My specialty, it seems.
At least he doesn’t seem to take offense at my rather bold question. I know I don’t usually mind questions, but I should have considered he might. I can be a bit thoughtless sometimes. Unfortunately.
Even so, it doesn’t really surprise me when he declines. I still can’t help the sudden flash of disappointment, even if it’s not surprising. When he asks why I would want to know, though, I blink in surprise. I stare at him in wide-eyed confusion for several moments as I struggle to find the answer to that. To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it. I’d just asked. Finally, I offer a small, equine shrug before saying simply. “Curiosity, I suppose.” But then I glance away. It’s the truth, but there is more of it burning at my lips. “And… I guess it’s just nice to know that… I’m not alone. That there’s someone who could, maybe, understand.”
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
It’s not something one ever truly gets use to. Being the odd one out, the one everyone stares at with pity or disgust. While he has become accustomed to it, he hasn’t really accepted it. That he was disfigured for life, brutalized inside and out. It would never go away but he doesn’t want to admit it. He wishes he could find hope to cling to, that things would get better than this. They never had, how could they now? At least her oddity was more appealing then a missing eye, claw marks raked over his body, the bright brand carved into his flank. Much better to have a third eye, less alarming.
There’s not an ounce of spite in the girl. Her features contort, pondering on his question. Curiosity, simple curiosity. Nothing more than that. His muscles slowly unwind and relax as he exhales slowly, trying to ease the tension he feels. His own gaze is more curious now, the good eye taking her in before finally lingering on that anomaly in the middle of her forehead. He senses slightly what she means, surely her extra eye made her somewhat of an outcast.
However they were so very different, their pain was so very different. He would never be able to fully relate to her just as she could never completely grasp his own anguish. It was a bottomless sea, filled with death and destruction. Everything about her is soft, speaks of a much brighter upbringing. She will never understand him.
Still, he tries to lighten the mood. It’s the least he can do now since he has already infected this chance encounter with his depression. ”What’s your name?” He inquires softly, giving her what he assumes is an encouraging look. Sometimes it doesn’t come off right when you’re missing an eye.
