"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
07-27-2015, 03:29 PM (This post was last modified: 07-28-2015, 10:41 AM by Wichita.)
’No time like the present,’ she thought to herself trudging through the winter covered plains. The world once green and fresh, now stark and cold. It was uncomfortably silent too, save for the crunch of their hooves, the far and few between chatter. Traveling through the snow drifts, was a task in and of itself for the rather small mare. Add pregnancy to that, and well, she had made wiser decisions.
Wichita was all of 14.3 hands, her frame was what some might consider small or petite. Pony like even, if you were to take consensus. Still though, it might be hard to lose her dark form against the blinding white of the frozen landscape. Her coat had come in thick and coarse, a shaggy unbecoming thing that she did not care for. Parted from its life saving warmth, she might think differently. Tiny ice crystals drift peacefully down from the sky, covering the world in their white cloak. Any other time this might be a welcome and beautiful act of nature to the woman, but today she was of a different opinion. Each time her daggers hit a slick patch of ice, she recovered, looking around to see if Rapscallion had noticed. Hoping to spare herself some dignity that she lacked, and some embarrassment that she swam with. That was another thing!
She hadn’t quite figured out this unfamiliar buckskin, he had just shown up, offered to accompany her. The silver dapple had a hard time finding the words in her anxiety to tell him no, so instead she had stuttered an ‘all right.’ She kept herself wary of him, as time and time again, she had shown to be a poor judge in character. A state of unease found her at their interactions, but then again, when it came to males she was at unease in general. The time had passed slowly on this trip, she tried her best to offer faint conversation when goaded, but otherwise she was silently watchful.
Upon nearing the borders of the Amazons, the drifts seemed to melt away. The chill that held the air, released its victim from its unwelcome embrace. Ears tuned forward in interest, the mare stopped short at the edge. However curious she might be, she still held true the time old saying ‘curiosity killed the cat.’ Now that she had found her eyes painted permanently with such markings, she held what she felt were justified superstitions. Wichita had met few Amazons, the ones that had visited the Gates some time ago, Sunday and Wrynn. As well as the young filly she had met in the meadow, Ephrelle. Otherwise the Jungle dwellers were a mystery to her. Once upon a time she might have merrily crossed the borders, found the women herself, and greeted them whole-heartedly. Now, she held more reserve, Beqanna was not like her home had been, and she would do well to remember that. Beads of sweat rippled along her skin at the sudden rise in temperature, against the blast of winter it felt uncomfortably hot. Her winter coat was no friend to her here, and she snaked her head around to look uncertainly at Rap.
Her return to the jungle had been mostly lackluster. She hadn’t interacted much with this new generation of Amazons, having yet to find a common link with them besides the home they shared. Nor had she felt quite wanted. Still so tormented with the ever building guilt and despair from everything that had happened when she had left, she didn’t have much to give the jungle. It was hard for the jaguar mare to admit that maybe she was broken, defunct. Incapable of being the great being she had once been. Would she admit it? No, she couldn’t even if she wanted to. It wasn’t in her to release such a weakness out loud. However something needed to happen to stop her continuing downward spiral. It was slipping through her fingers, so far out of reach. To be whole. To find her purpose once more.
The jungle calls to her and she responds. Her dark russet body moving with ease around the large trees and their overhanging burdens. She pauses behind the biggest trunk, her golden eyes watching intently on the strangers that stop on the border. Snorting softly, tossing her head to peer out from the tangled tendrils of black that falls across her forehead. Strangers. She is uncertain at first if it’s her right to even take charge of this situation. The inner jaguar stirs, a flash of irritation courses her body. Of course it is, she was Khaleesi once after all. ”You’re not from here.” She states flatly, still hidden in the humid depths although they may be able to see her dappled jaguar spots if they look hard enough.
Sunday, with her deep brown eyes and her gentle demeanor, is often the first one to wander upon those who visit the Jungle. It's part duty and part hobby. See, unlike many of the warrior women in the Jungle, Sunday genuinely enjoyed others company. She was a true extrovert, born from a serious introvert, finding that the solace of another far outweighed her horrific memories of her past. Initially she'd been so shy! Crowds, meetings, anything brought a wave of anxiety through her like she'd never felt before.
Now? Now she sought out these moments, diving headfirst into them.
She's trotting the border when she sees two - one of whom she recognizes from the Gates. It's simply second nature these days for her to see the colors that coat the horses, and she's learned to read them carefully. The other...she is shrouded in the jungle foliage, her dark dapples hiding her nearly perfectly. Unfortunately for her the color that surrounds her gives her away to Sunday. Before this sudden gifting of...whatever it was...Sunday only had invisibility. She knew a lot about hiding.
"Wichita!" she greets, pulling the mares name from the air. Another of her talents, though this one isn't magical "Welcome to the Amazons, what can I do for you?" She turns quickly to the mare in the jungle, nodding her own hello. "I am Sunday, I don't believe we've met before..." she trails off, her eyes searching the barely visible form of the other mare. Something about her colors resembles Scorch, resembles previous Khaleesis Sunday has known. Could this be...? She shakes the thought away, not wanting to blow anyone's cover.
07-29-2015, 04:46 PM (This post was last modified: 07-29-2015, 04:48 PM by R A P S C A L L I O N.)
I'M NOT SOME BOY THAT YOU CAN SWAY
Perhaps what he was doing would be viewed as cowardly, Rapscallion had betrayed his only friend and even though unintentionally, he dare not return to the Tundra. Instead, he picked at random and that lead him to the Gates. Rapscallion wasn't sure if he was looking for redemption or if he was just bored and needing something to do. When you grow up without any beliefs and are born to keep the bloodline going you aren't typically loved. He wasn't a man of many emotions but he had a hunger to fulfill and he wasn't sure what it was but he was sure it wasn't dethroning a King from a dead kingdom.
He thinks again of Mountain, no homo though.
It is within minutes of his arrival in the Gates that there are assignments given, he pipes up when an attractive female offers her assistance. He knew nothing about the Amazons other than they were an all woman tribe and although he wasn't necessarily curious, he found himself enjoying the warmth. His buckskin coat was thick with winter fur, he was so accustomed to the Tundra that this felt almost suffocating but he enjoyed that feeling. He kept a distance behind Wichita and keep a wider view of potential predators; she was pregnant afterall. He liked to watch from a distance and keep quiet; traveling was no different. He would be the person to put headphones in and listen to a metal track with no facial expression while everyone else sings a top 40's radio hit. That is until the car is stopped and attentiveness is required it comes in two forms; a mare who states the obvious that Wichita isn't from "there" and lastly a mare who seems to have almost appeared without any noise. Rapscallion is perplexed by the dappled mare knowing Wichita's name and her pleasing demeanor; he has never been with a woman or in the presence of one he's so drawn to. Not the time he files away in his mind, his pale green eyes scanning over the area as he approaches closer to Wichita. His muzzle lightly touching her withers, although they have literally just met, he wanted to assure her he was there and not an intruder to the others. When you're alone, you learn to be more cautious...and perhaps growing from a young stallion he's learned diplomacy. "If you weren't sure she wasn't from here, you're certain now I hope," he says without a smile, just a ghostly stare, "I'm Rapscallion. Wichita and I are from the Gates." It is awkward, forced almost because he is not diplomatic and has always only spoken of war and power. His attention is drawn back to Sunday, "I'm sure our assignment is not a rarity; we want to know information about your kingdom. I have never been here or known anyone from here so perhaps my inquiry is for personal gain."
Was Rapscallion flirting? He wasn't sure what that really meant he has always just saw something he wants and taken it. He is wise enough now to know better than to take anything of that nature, he may be an asshole but he's not a rapist.
07-29-2015, 06:52 PM (This post was last modified: 08-25-2015, 08:04 AM by Wichita.)
The first to arrive flushes her with unease, sure she was uneasy most of the time, but that wasn’t the point. She couldn’t see the female that’s voice snaked from the foliage, just out of sight. The light falls across leaves, over vines, and through webs of stalks and branches. The smallest glimpse of spots rakes discomfort across her pelt, no matter what they belonged to, she associated them with cat. Though she had never seen a jaguar in her lifetime, she knew the marks. The only type of cat the small silvered mare had sighted herself, were mountain lions, sandy haired monsters. What little confidence she clung to was withering rapidly in the unknown creature’s presence.
The touch that falls on her withers is a confusing one. Part of her wished to melt into the male’s side, to seek shelter and refuge in his more opposing stature. The other half wanted to recoil, to flee the closeness they shared at his approach. The whole way they had shared little conversation, and even less proximity. He watched her from afar until the women had shown up, and now he was touching her. Life was confusing. Maybe she was confusing. Pregnancy only added more mountains to climb, more things to overcome. She would catch a break soon, wouldn’t she?
Something soothes her taught muscles; in the blink of an eye a familiar form greets them. The bay colored mare that had once visited her own home, Sunday. She remembers the day, she wasn’t pregnant then, she wasn’t as cautious with strangers either. Nor had she been through an ordeal that left her with strange marks around her eyes. Wichita thinks little of her sudden appearance; she receives a warm greeting, and breathes a sigh of relief. This would make their discussion miles easier, at least for her it would.
Her chocolate spheres glance sidelong at Rapscallion as he speaks, he is so blunt.Manners, she thinks, swallowing hard. ”Hey there Sunday, nice ta see ya again.” she offers, looking pointedly at dusty hued male. As if to show him, or hint that THIS was how you should behave. ”Looks like it’s our turn to do this meet an’ greet sorta stuff. How are ya’ll doing since the changes took place? How does your Khaleesi fair? Well I hope.”She does her best to not come across as nosey, simply conversational. ”Sure is nice to have the magic stipulations gone.” It is then that she notices Sunday’s bare breast, her ears falling flat.
07-29-2015, 07:54 PM (This post was last modified: 07-29-2015, 07:54 PM by Tantalize.)
tantalize
infinity overhead
and i whisper, are you listening?
The stallion’s mouth is what draws her from the trees. ”Clearly.” She responds dryly to him. As if it would only take his presence to know that they had nothing to do with the jungle or the sisterhood. Golden iris’s regard them silently, finding it strange that she feels this protective over mares she doesn’t even know and a land she had longed abandoned. Old habits die hard.
Prowling her way over to stand by Sunday, all mahogany fur and jaguar spots, it’s probably a good thing she can’t hear or see Wichita’s thoughts. The mere image or mention of any species of lion was likely to set her right over the edge, largely in part of that crazy nightmare she had the other night. Perhaps knowing that Lion was rotting six feet under would have soothed her soul… Or make it worse. That was the trouble with Liz, she never really knew what she wanted.
Pointedly ignoring the stallion, she focuses her attention towards the other two. ”Tantalize.” She offers her name in greeting, giving a slight nod in gesture of a welcome and introduction. Then falling silently, for what information of current affairs could she possibly give? Wichita and Rapscallion from the Gates. The Gates…. She has to shake the dust off her memory before the name means something to her. The place where her Uncle had called home. Uncle Magnus. One of the few family members she had ever gave a shit about and who had ever gave a shit about her. Tragedy the way he had died.
”Magical stipulations?” She is drawn back into the conversation and looks questioningly at the other two, not sure what they are talking about. The tattoos had come long after she had gone so when she had returned it had seemed that nothing had changed when in fact everyone else’s world had turned upside down.
Sunday was glad the other mare remembered her. Her colors change the instant Sunday appears, moving to something more relaxed. The jaguar spotted Amazon remained stoic, her colors a forever array of age and experience. Sunday was still piecing together who she was, but if she didn't offer it up herself - well. Sunday wouldn't pry. Being an empath and aura reader was invasive enough.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says to the stallion, who had Sunday not been able to read colors would have assumed was the picture of disinterested stallion. Instead his aura is strange, it lights up in a similar fashion to the way Hestoni does around Scorch. Was this stallion... was he flirting with her? She decides her own ability to read the colors is not accurate at this moment and uses all her mental power to divert her attention elsewhere.
"Oh yes!" she says to Tantalize, glad for the shift in conversation. "Our tattoos are gone. It appears that Beqanna wanted to divide the magical power between all kingdoms instead of a few. We're back at square one, it seems." She shrugs and turns back to the ambassadors.
"The Amazons fair well in this time, we do miss our tattoos but we know that with time those powers will grow strong again. We've always been about so much more than labels and drawings." Her smile is warm, kind.
