"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
It felt smooth entering the portal, like silkened butterflies wrapping around bare legs. Soft white feathers dripped into her eyes and scattered down her back and along her legs in waterfalls where her mane and tail should have been. They tangled into her snow white wings tucked smoothly against her sides. Her coat was now a pure white that reflected like a freshly polished diamond, save for 4 long coal black stockings. Her muzzle blazed a deep orange as a black mask traced her sapphire blue eyes.
Upon entering the festivities her attention was drawn to the lurking, beautiful, wavering curtains of inky blackness. She would never forget their touch. A smile caressed her pouty lips as she wondered deeper into Hyaline, she had not been here before but if this was any indication of what it was like she didn't think she would mind her night here. It was beautiful in every sense of the word.
Her now opal hooves decorated with intricate lines of obsidian black stepped curiously through the beach's shoreline. She bobbed her head slowly, swaying it side to side, to the music that danced through her mind. She was always up for a good time.
"We all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls." (Robert McCammon) she had heard these words worlds ago before she found herself amongst Beqanna and now here she is standing ankle deep watching, as she swayed, her white hide and white feathers mirage away into a deep black and then back again to white.
oh, this my weapon, this my loam. this my blood, this my bone.
He doesn’t know what draws him here except the faint echo of loneliness that continues to beat against his chest. He still has yet to untangle everything that wars within him—the fear and the rage and the crushing feeling of self-defeat. Perhaps he can lose himself within the party. Perhaps he can find some sort of peace—some inch to himself—within the bodies and the noise and the peeling away of self.
He walks boldly through the curtains and then the archway of flowers.
It is a relief to feel himself dissolving, to feel everything that makes him, well, him just fall away. When he blinks his eyes open, he is next to the lake. His body is heavier than usual, draftier, and the deep red of his coat has been replaced with the color of eyes: storm and steel. But he hasn’t lost the red completely. His mane ropes down his thick, dappled neck in the shade of bloodshed and falls haphazardly across his broad face where a swath of black paints across his eyes in a rudimentary sort of play at a mask.
He blinks into the light before his eyes focus on the woman before him. She is white and black and a play of colors and he finds it is a welcome distraction from everything else within him. His face remains locked into a stony expression—even the magic cannot bleed away the serious, studious intensity of him—but he feels a slight loosening in his chest as he watches her moving to some internal music.
When she is near enough, he exhales a little, a soft snort the only kind of greeting he can give.
There are other words within him—words that want to climb up his throat and reveal themselves—but he feels as if there is a cork, some sort of physical barrier that keeps them at bay so instead he remains silent.
06-02-2019, 09:49 PM (This post was last modified: 06-02-2019, 09:54 PM by Nimue Isolde.)
She didn't know how she did it but she could always sense when another was approaching, call it intuition or what ever. The small hairs along her back tingled with anticipation as she felt the other approach her.
Her curiosity pulled at her nerves as a soft snort escaped into the air, mixing and stirring with her self made music. She fought the curiosity and instead a playful smile teased her lips and her eyes remained close for a moment, letting the other take her in for a second longer.
When she felt satisfied with her display of shifting colors she opened her eyes, her coat settling into the pure white she had entered in. The black mask that adorned her face made her blue sapphire eyes look like two precious gems settled into the crevouses of her face.
"Hello, she said, her voice sounding melodic in tone. A swans voice to match her perfectly ensembled facade, "you look like you could use a night like tonight". She could sense the stress of the day, maybe the last year, or even his whole life time, resting on the storm whethered stallion. She gave him a playful smile hoping not to offend him. She was here to have some fun, if she could help another have a little as well then she would sure try.
"Would you like to take a walk?" she said her curious blue eyes slowly taking in the blood red tresses that framed his body, and the muscles that tendsed beneath his skin. His coat reminded her of a wayward storm, whose only purpose was to cause trouble. She could definately do trouble right now.
oh, this my weapon, this my loam. this my blood, this my bone.
He wants to relax. He wants to simply enjoy this moment. He tells himself that he should when he looks into her dancing eyes but her joy and relaxation only makes him more tense, only makes him want to put his walls up more. “Hi,” he finally answers and his own voice is gruff, the gravel of it darker than usual as he fidgets slightly in this larger body, the skin twitching beneath some imagined pest.
Brigade knows that her jest is all in good fun, but he still bristles beneath the implications of it. Perhaps he is simply looking for any excuse to lash out. Perhaps he is simply pushing back against the forced joy of this event—even though no one made him come. “What makes you think I need anything?” His voice is a little more clipped than usual, a little more harsh, and he closes his eyes when he hears it.
Brigade takes a second to gather himself, to focus on his breathing.
When he opens his eyes against, he exhales slowly, rolling his massive shoulders. “A walk sounds nice,” he finally admits and then takes a step forward, wondering at how she could be so calm and so relaxed in a sea full of strangers. Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t he simply enjoy the moment?
But it doesn’t matter.
He had come here to forget everything else and he wouldn’t drag all of his baggage behind him. He wouldn’t force someone completely innocent to deal with his own self-loathing and hatred. He falls into step beside her and curses himself for the awkward silence but again, can think of nothing else to say.
What a curious man.. she thinks as he snaps at her in harsh, hushed tones, she watches in fascination as he takes a moment to calm himself before accepting his invitation to join her. As they walk his mood settles between them, only making Nimue that more curious. She was never one to beat around the bush, some may call it rude at times, but something told her she should be gentle with this man. Like stepping on shards of glass.
The idea didn't bother her any as her blue eyes watched him carefully for a second and finally drawing back to their path along the beach.
Everyone needs something. Maybe it's not the fancy costumes or the magic that swirls through the air that pulls you here tonight. she says softly her voice seeming to linger a moment to long, but something somewhere told you to walk through that portal her hide and feathered wings shift to black as she motions to a n unoccupied corner of the boundary curtain far enough from the pressure of others but close enough to enjoy the company of others if they so choose. Golden lights dance in the shadows, a welcoming comfort compared to the loud suffocation of the party.
Why don't you tell me something worth talking about? Nimue wanted to know what made this man tick. What inspired him through life? What does he stand against? She could already sense he was a man of few words, but she had learned in her life that all you needed to do was to get them talking about the right thing.
oh, this my weapon, this my loam. this my blood, this my bone.
When he was a boy, Brigade had imagined the kind of man that he might grow up to be. Someone who was fierce like dad, smart like mom—someone who cherished his loved ones, protected his pack, and always managed to do the right thing. How disappointing then to realize that he would grow up bitter and isolated and so full of self-hatred that it manifested in actual cruelty to those who did nothing wrong.
It only serves to spark the same cycle, the shame and guilt eating away at him, making him even more sullen and quiet—snapping out to anyone who happens to be near him.
But this is a party. It is a party and he is determined to not completely ruin it by being him. After all, it is the only chance he has to not be him. The only chance he has to maybe escape from himself.
So he doesn’t lash out anymore than he has. Instead, he walks quietly next to the mare, just frowning when she points out that everyone needs something—that everyone had some reason to come here. He can’t exactly deny it, although he knows that he wants to, so instead he just gives a tiny roll of his shoulders and a soft grunt. When she asks him further questions, he scowls. “I don’t know if I have anything worth talking about,” he says and then takes another deep breath, trying to soften his tone.
“I’m not very good at this,” he admits, pressing steely lips together, his back stiff as they continue to walk. He thinks for a second—trying to think of anything worth sharing with her—but when he comes up empty handed, he just sighs quietly. “You should probably go find better company.”
06-08-2019, 11:03 PM (This post was last modified: 06-08-2019, 11:26 PM by Nimue Isolde.)
She's rather enjoying herself as they walked. Brigade was a puzzle she couldn't quite finish, a challenge in comparison the those she had already met.
He says he isn't very good at this, she assumes he means socializing, and that she should find better company. She wasn't going.to let him off the hook that easily. I probably shouldn't have even bothered coming. he says closing himself off.
I'm rather glad that you did, and I don't have any intention of finding someone else to talk to she replied with a small smirk, lifting a wing slightly away from her barrel to stop him from walking away, but not so intimidating that he couldn't leave if he really wanted to. She wanted him to stay, and she wanted to make that clear.
Tell me where you are from? she settled on, starting off with small talk may be the best right now. Her ice blue eyes sparkled with pure curiosity, as her orange muzzle took in his scent placing him among her memory. A strong scent indeed of mystery.
He wishes that she would just let him go—would stop looking at him with questions in her eyes that he would never be able to answer. He wishes that he could explain to her the bruises that won’t just go away or the way his heart has turned into a mangled, ugly thing. But he can’t and he doesn’t even know where to begin and the more that they walk, the more he begins to feel a sense of panic rise in him.
That instinctual need to just run.
That lighting of nerves on fire that tell him to go, go, go.
But before he can take his leave, she is stopping him and it only serves to set his temper. His eyes go hot and he bites down, his steel grey head swinging in her direction. For a second, he is still—too still—and then he takes a step back away from the brush of her wings, from the touch he had not invited.
“I don’t take well to being told what to do,” he answers from between gritted teeth, his lips spreading into a smile that has no warmth. “And I think I have had my fill of parties.” Another step as he fights against his own temper and fear and confusion—everything within him that he loathes.
“I think I will take my leave.”
His nostrils flare as he feels a small slip of relief at the idea.
“I hope you enjoy the party.”
And then before she can ask any further questions, he turns on his heel and walks toward the portal.
the world was on fire and no one could save me but you it's strange what desire will make foolish people do
She can tell she had pushed him to far, can sense his body tense and his anger and frustration seep between them like a blanket but she does not move. She does not falter, her face bright and intrigued.
He begins to take his leave telling her he hoped she enjoys the party, and then turning and leaving towards the portal. Her blazing orange muzzle opens after him, her words floating effortlessly and delicately across the air, Oh I enjoyed it very much. It was a pleasure to meet you. and with that she closed her eyes and began to hum s wa saying to the music in her head once again, her coat shifting back a d forth between white and black.
