"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
The pink woman sparkles as she slinks from the volcanic kingdom, her first venture from her comfortable homeland in - what is it now? Two years? She truly cannot recall. Cosmos and Myrkari disappearing took its toll. Jude holed herself away, becoming unkempt and perpetually upset. There were shoulders for her to lean on, but she turned away when she saw them approaching.
And Aysel - Jude refuses to dream of her once-lover’s arms. There is something about the sensuous love of a woman that she now craves, having never felt it so deeply. Unfortunately, most love does not last in the woman’s life: Aysel, too, disappeared - leaving the tired pegasus to care for their fairy-gifted child.
Though Xaligha was a calm and uneventful babe, Jude quickly found she did not care for motherhood when the weight rests solely on her shoulders. The beautiful filly did not appear to mind her mother’s absent, fearful face - though she doubts her child would ever admit any harm she had inadvertently bestowed. Despite her restlessness, the woman appreciates that Xaligha did not disappear - her daughter frequently checking in when she runs off and sticking by her side when she remains.
Still - still, that need to run haunts her. What can the Beqanna outside of Tephra offer her? So much, she thinks; yet, hesitation held her within her own dark clutches for too long. Today, though, she breathes a heavy sigh of relief when the cool air above Sylva lifts her wings.
The meadow is her least favorite of the Common Lands, but she arrives there first. She allows the wind to take her anywhere, because truthfully she is too afraid to steer on her own. Jude lands beside a creek, the force of her drop causing her to stumble into its water. She lingers there for a moment, casting nervous eyes around to see if anyone noticed her misstep.
04-07-2019, 07:38 PM (This post was last modified: 04-07-2019, 07:38 PM by Vadar.)
Vadar
Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one
He’d waded out into the middle of the green water and trained his eyes on something nonexistent in the distance, until the stumbling splash of someone else arriving at the creek interrupted his solitude. Perhaps the old version of himself would turn around hastily to look and prepare for escape, but presently he was interested in the way the current carried bits of flotsam downriver and less concerned about who or what might be behind him. They could see him like a great black smudge in the water, hairless in most places and his tail nothing but sprouts of flyaway, black strands. There wasn’t much of a mane to look at anymore.
He was practically sitting on an oddly-placed boulder, clearly enjoying the shallow stream but after a moment of quiet contemplation he finally turned to peer over his shoulder, glancing casually towards the brightly-colored horse that stood out from the tangle of green around her.
For what felt like the millionth time, deja vu struck him.
Vadar sighed. Lately he’d been having those sort of moments when he least expected them. It stemmed from having woken up in a sweaty mess not far from the foothills of the Mountain, where he’d tried so unsuccessfully to piece together the months of a fever dream that’d been his life prior to this moment. Having suffered so long from the plague was like having someone take an incomplete puzzle and shifting all the small pieces around until they no longer fit; he knew facts like his name and who his mother had been, but most things like his fear of strangers and his disgust at his own appearance were gone.
They’d been replaced with the knowledge that he had powers now, and that somehow his brain had been shielded from the death grip of the plague. Someone had come along and helped but he doesn’t remember who. He doesn’t even remember the star girl or the pink pegasus that stands upstream from him now. He only knows that he is a creator of sorts, and that he won’t succumb to delirium anymore.
“Don’t worry, I don’t judge.” He said aloud eventually, noticing the hint of unease on Jude’s face. “And yes, I’m sick. So you might not want to drink from this particular creek.” He told her bluntly, feeling like she might’ve asked anyways. At this point the plague was as common as sand or grass around here; if she wanted to stay away from the leprous kind he was giving her fair warning. Not that his particular case wasn’t obvious enough. “Sorry to spoil the water but I was here first.” Vadar laughed, and the white line over his mouth grew wider.
Vadar is certainly a sickly thing when Jude runs into him again. Sores cover his body, fever coats his eyes - he is almost unrecognizable. The pegasus quickly clears the gentility from her gaze and rakes him with an analytical stare. Is it truly Vadar? The way he speaks to her tells her otherwise.
A wary wave washes over her, even if the plague covers all of Beqanna now. Almost no symptoms show up on Jude, a funny quality that quite matches her personality. She wonders if being around one so ill can further her own sickness. The mare takes a few hesitant steps forward, peering with that same analytical stare. Her lips purse, not seeing him fit for a response just yet.
If it is her friend, she wants to help him. If it is one that looks a lot like him in their plague, she wants to turn tail and run. This is not exactly the best meeting for her first time out of Tephra in so long.
“. . . I was here first.” Jude cocks a brow, rears her head, and snorts in indignation. The cold glaze over her is eyes is just a film to protect her vulnerability. The white line on his face rises, a line she finally notices, and she realizes it is in fact the man she still thinks about on occasion. First offense passes over her face, then hurt, then irritation. He is acting as if they have never met, an insult the pegasus is not used to in the slightest.
Water splashes and glimmers upon her legs when she stomps through the water to face Vadar. She is just a notch below seething.
“I thought we hit it off pretty well, Vadar,” she snaps, southern lilt cutting in that way only that accent can be. “Guess not.” The last syllable is final. A little hmpf follows, high pitched and agitated. “You look like shit,” is an afterthought, one she instantly regrets. Her anxiety about being out of Tephra is clouding her judgement. She has a slick tongue but it is kinder on those she likes.
She huffs. “I’m sorry. Do you really not remember me? Do I need to be shimmyin’ in some snow melt like the last time we met?”
Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one
Certainly she’s beautiful; he can see that much, even through her anger. Twisted at the neck so he can hear the undignified snort she replies with, Vadar tries to stifle his grin and control himself in the face of her sparking fury. He can’t really help himself, watching her long legs dash through the green-tinted creek, wings bobbing by her sides as the noise sends a flutter of resting birds up and away. The loose smile contorts and twists on his lips the closer she gets.
Until she’s looming over him, casting a long shadow and blocking out what little sun could filter down through the canopy above. The water which had been calmly making its way downstream ripples around his legs and a few, flickering aquatic animals dart to more peaceful cover. Listening intently, hearing but not quite understanding the strange mare, Vadar’s expression softens and then falls flat.
He looks like shit is when he starts to rise from his awkward seat, lurching forward onto his forelegs and then turning around calmly to peer up at her. “Look here, flamingo. We could be in a black void, I could be blind, and you’d still make an impression.” The pony stallion explains, sticking to his earlier mentality. At his feet the boulder rises too, sucking itself free from the creekbed to turn and look at Jude. Its shape seems hunched like a small, round ape and there’s no real expression on the golem’s face save for two empty sockets that could be eyes, but look more like shallow divots instead. Both look equally unimpressed at her apology.
“However,” Vadar sighs, “I don’t remember much since the Plague started. I’m assuming that includes us ‘hitting it off’.” His shoulders jerk, dispersing a few insects that buzz around him like small, illuminated dust motes. The dark folds of his eyelids blink shut for a second and he makes out like he’s trying to recall whatever she’s talking about for the sake of her enjoyment. “Nope.” He comments smartly, opening them up with a red flash. “Nothing.”
Grinding, his pet boulder turns away from them both to roll through the silty water and place itself behind the bare-assed horse just as Vadar lowers himself to sit again.
“But you could try and help me. Was it a good encounter… ?” Trailing off, hoping that she’ll supply her own name since it appears his was already old news.
The babble of the water beneath her is the only thing holding her back from giving Vadar a firm kick in the legs. Jude’s ears twitch as the water rushes by. She bites the inside of her mouth to keep from spitting vitriol buried in the cruelest parts of herself. This is not the charming man she met at the River some years before, that much is sure. Perhaps it is the pegasus’ fault for having such expectations on one she met once, but for now she sits in the discomfort of swallowing anger.
Flamingo! He called me a fucking flamingo!
The woman from a few years ago may have startled back at the shifting boulder; she might have peered at its empty eyes in disgust. Instead, she looks at the little creature with contempt, then rolls her pale eyes up to Vadar’s bright ones. Everything about her stance says “Is that supposed to impress me?” Her disenchantment matches well with the unimpressed tilt of her counterpart’s face. For a moment, they stand off.
Asshole.
The frown on her face dissipates into a blank stare, then a near-crazed smile. Asshole, sure, but the youthful girl of old crawls her way out of her grave. Jude remembers how much she liked assholes.
“Yeah, it was okay,” she says, flicking her mane from her eyes and staring beyond Vadar. Her eyes are as hot as blue fire. “It could’ve been better. You couldn’t really seal the deal.” When her eyes alight on his again, they are as sharp as a cold blade. “Maybe my memory is off. Maybe we didn’t hit it off as well as I thought.” She rolls her eyes in a languid circle, lazy smile decorating her mouth.
The pause is long and irate: the pegasus’ skin boils beneath the sun and her agitation. She wants to frown at how she is drawn to his quick tongue, but cannot find the strength; she folds into the feeling instead.
“I think I like this Vadar, though,” she drawls, arching her neck. Trouble glints in her eyes as she watches him. “He’s kinda hot,” she stops, mouth turning down, “even if he’s ugly as sin.”
Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one
His newfound power was not for show, no matter how much her face tells him that she thought otherwise. It was an extension of himself, a phantom limb he was eager to flex and control. Practice, even for the simplest of things like relieving his aching legs, was necessary to bettering his mastery over the creatures he gave life to, and no one (not even lady Jude) could make him feel small for using it. Though he appreciates the effort of her silently trying to emasculate him, Vadar holds onto his own faint look of disinterest while she quietly contemplates a reply.
There’s a moment of pure composure that washes over her, twinging that side of himself which lingered and made him feel a bit guilty, but not long after her lips are moving and they grow into a smile which suits her so much he feels bothered. The pink mare knew her way around a grin, and she squeezes herself gently under his skin when those hard eyes of hers fade right through him.
Shit, he thinks. Not liking that feeling at all.
The sitting horse pushes that emotion away and waits for her gaze to return, where it settles into his own with a ferocity that makes him nearly beam in satisfaction. Had they both pricked each other, then? Seems like it. Else why would Jude make it a point to bring out his failure in the past? Maybe her intention is to knock him down a peg, or force him to recognize his own shortcomings, but instead he only translates her petty remarks into victory for the current situation. His white grin is lopsided and secure; the moment she falls silent he rises from his seat, water trailing down his puckered skin.
“Fuck you.” He laughs, looking up to her. “You can’t even see me from behind so it wouldn’t matter in the long run.” The white-marked stallion retorts. All-in-all its painfully clear that he’s hooked again, and would probably be hooked a hundred times if he kept forgetting her. You could just see that he was daring her to keep on because he liked it. Vadar wouldn’t pussycat around this one for all the magic in the world, nor would he fall back into the pattern of constantly questioning himself.
That version of the silver black was long gone, and Jude could just get used to it.
“I saw how disappointed you looked when I said I wasn’t familiar with you. I’m not blind.” He smirked. “I’m willing to bet you liked me just as much then as you apparently do now. I’ll also bet you that this time I won’t let you get away without sealing that aforementioned deal.” The stallion challenged, confidently nodding his head. “Are you the gambling type, Flamingo?”
It is a fleeting heat - one that flares so hot and bright in her chest that there is hardly a second to hope it will last. Like a match struck too slowly, she lights up then fizzles out immediately. The pegasus misses that disdain, that anger. She misses emotion, reckless abandon, self-destruction. If she was not so damn disappointed in herself for wanting him to fuck the shit out of her just because he is mean, she would draw blood from his lips in a desperate kiss.
Alas, she has found self-control (if only a little) as she ages.
Bitter and cold, like the autumn wind that swirls around them, Jude laughs in the face of his “fuck you.” The sneer that follows would be sincere if it was not so flirty. Like a school-girl, picking at the boy she has a crush on, except now the stakes are much higher (and the skirts much shorter). Ugly as sin with a power that matches: why does he make her go weak-kneed? He is not nearly the same shy man from before, and yet her chest still tightens at their banter. She remembers the way he looked before the plague: the glow of his eyes, the blood of his lips, the shimmering black of his hide. She remembers it all too well.
“Trust me, Vadar,” she purrs, disguising her confusion with seduction just as she has always done, “I like you a whole lot more now, even if you look like a fuckin’ naked mole rat.” Her eyes are a pair of daggers, her mouth molds into a saccharine smile. The next words out of her mouth first spin in her head then burn a brand upon her tongue: “I’d be the gamblin’ type if it wasn’t so obvious you want to fuck me. And my name is Jude, though I’m sure your spittin’ mouth won’t find the courtesy to use it.”
Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one
Every miniscule reaction fuels him on. Her laughter, frosty and feminine. The way he looks closely and sees her blushing lips sneer, all for him. Her obvious disdain that somehow can’t seem to hide the way she’s still entertaining him. She could’ve gone long ago, ten seconds into this conversation, but she didn’t. He’d made it clear she wouldn’t have to go through hoops or run marathons with a tongue he’d so very much love to taste himself, but there it goes: wagging.
He doesn’t remember anything about her still, and maybe that’s for the best.
However, the pegasus hen reminds him of things he didn’t like about himself instead. Dark nights and cold mornings, lonely evenings of contemplative silence. Wanting to be close to someone, anyone, but seeing the rejection mirrored in the eyes that stared back. Fuck you; Fuck them, because now when he looks around all the others can see the rejection thrown right back.
What’s she expecting, exactly? For him to jump her? Is that what she’s hoping will happen when she slices one way with her words and then cuts another with her smile? Her attitude was cute at first, albeit a welcome reprieve from the mundane. Now it was starting to grate against his last nerve. There’s something inside of him that can’t go back to sleep anymore, it’s too noisy in his head. Jude’s too good at poking it with a stick.
“What, you read minds now Jude?” He mocks her lilt, “How many dusty humps have you spread your legs for that you can assume I’ll be the next?” Vadar snaps, adjusting his expression to match. Then he laughs, something that seems incredulous and marginally disgusted. “Get a load of yourself, you crack. ‘Shimmyin in some snow melt’?!” The dark tenor growls.
Clawing, the thing awakened pulls him apart at the center. He’s trembling, enraged. A breadth of a moment passes between them where it seems like he might actually act on instinct and her sadomasochistic desire for punishment.
“Don’t you fucking push me.” He warns her, chest heaving. Angry and beaming, like sharp points of light that don’t yet cut through her, his eyes jerk away with his head. The rest of him follows, thoroughly exhausted with whatever charade they’d been playing up until this point. Her attitude and demeanor were uncouth and unwelcome; there was nothing about her that seemed to illicit whatever interest he may have had before now.
“Were you this tedious with the old me?” Vadar grunts once she’s out of sight, muttering a choice phrase that could’ve been interpreted as psycho pink tart that’s covered up by the sound of his hooves in the muddy brook. “Because I doubt even he would tolerate a rare breed of bitch.”
05-27-2019, 03:24 PM (This post was last modified: 05-27-2019, 03:31 PM by peregrine jude.)
peregrine jude
i glow pink in the night in my room
Regret builds like bile in the back of Jude’s throat. It is not the entire interaction, or the way she has pushed him over an unspoken ledge, or that she hates how she can find no peace; it is that she wasted even a few seconds wondering about Vadar, wishing he would pay her visit - that she put so much into a short and sweet encounter. Nevermind that most of her interactions are insincere, nevermind her nature. She should have known fucking better.
I should have fucking known.
That is why when he turns away grumbling, when he spits insults in her direction, she does not hear a single word he says. Her sight is red, her vision pinpricks - she is furious in the way only irrational emotion can be. Her muscles quiver with the need to kick his back legs out from under him, her jaw clenches at the idea of tearing a piece of his flesh from his hindquarters. The only other miniscule emotion she can feel is relief that he cannot see the rise he ripped straight from the darkest, most shattered parts of her heart.
Jude swallows back the cold realization that she, too, changes to get what she wants. For a moment, she is completely still in her gripping reality: this is Jude in her most raw, seething and betrayed and undoctored. Perhaps this is a piece of her she hid from Vadar; perhaps she truly hid behind her mask for so long she believed it is truly who she is. Either way, this is her, and he is the first to see such ugly pieces of her.
That very fact simultaneously sobers and enrages her.
“Oh, sure, Vadar,” she sneers, honeyed voice remaining as sweet as the first time they met. Her legs are graceful and quick when they flit to his side. She whips around him, swinging her hips to the right to stop his retreat. The look in her lavender eyes is sick with sheer delight.
“I’m just so full of myself, aren’t I? As if your very demeanor and apathetic banter doesn’t speak of the very same thing.” Her teeth click together at the end of her sentence, mouth curved in a smile that refuses to leave. The ground beneath her squelches when she takes a step forward, a reckless fearlessness molten in her eyes.
“Do you want me to walk away from this feeling worthless? Like the worst kind of woman there is? You’ll have to try a whole lot fuckin’ harder, considerin’ you’re the exact same kind of horrible as me. Maybe if you could see through your own charade you’d notice you want under my skin just as badly as I want under yours.”
Jude’s chest does not heave when she is finished, though her body begs for full breaths; and, surprisingly, her eyes do not burn with anger. She is stoic, statuesque, lacking the quiver of emotion she felt before. Vadar can choke and die before her, and she would hardly bat an eye, though she thinks that might be the only way she will leave satisfied.
Seven characteristics are in an uncultivated person, and seven in a learned one
There’s the creek underneath him. Muddy and swirling, softly glimmering because formica is mixed in with the muck and the silt. Vadar watches it lift and blend into a strangely beautiful brown concoction, something mixed up by the two of them walking around so much. Before Jude came it was just clear water running over settled rocks. Who knows how long this ribbon of water had stood undisturbed before they came along and ruined it. Who knows how long it could’ve been before the silt moved downstream on its own to cover new stones.
He sees the bubblegum color of her cannon bone, exposed above the brackish stream and he follows that color to her knee. Up and up over the undulating curves of her forelegs, focusing on the shadows that define her feminine muscles where Peregrine’s leg joint meets the first rise of her breast. Jude is steady, breathing not panting. She’s saying something to him but Vadar only focuses on the sharp V of her neck and the graceful slope of her shoulders that branch out on either side.
Somewhere in between under my skin he steps forward and pushes his lips into those curves, wanting to taste the sunshine that glints off her blushing fur. He drags his nose into the thick tangle of her mane and breaths her in, closing his eyes.
“So then let me hollow you out.” He murmurs, hoping she can feel the words as he speaks them. Prayer couldn’t save them now. Damn it all. He’d been listening, just not paying attention. “Shelter me.” The stallions begs, daring her to retaliate against the warmth spilling off his tongue and over her feverish body.
Everything having to do with this moment is defined by standing on a precipice. The other golem is long forgotten where it lies inanimate in the creek; now the water around them buzzes and shivers from a thousands pebbles quivering under the strength of Vadar’s will. His desire for her erupts in fountains of emotion and unbridled magic, splintering so that it can’t focus but strong enough that it disturbs the natural world surrounding them.
