"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
08-09-2019, 01:26 AM (This post was last modified: 08-09-2019, 01:27 AM by brunhilde.)
i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly
If Brunhilde could read Brigade’s mind and see that his apology is barely there and sincere for only one of the women, she might set his lovely set of antlers ablaze. Alas, it is quite a missed opportunity, for she cannot read his mind and must sit in her hesitant suspicion of his insincerity. Not that he offered a verbal apology in the first place, but the butterfly-clad mare knows an asshole when she sees one.
The age old saying “takes one to know one” certainly finds its place among these four.
Lilliana’s sweet voice (sweet to Brun, even if the words may not be) drift into the little flame’s ears, and she casts flashing topaz eyes in the chestnut’s direction. Her mouth turns down with the slightest inkling of worry: their last companion may be the most ill-suited to their personalities, this the flame-weaver knows just from first impressions. She suppresses her concern with the hope that she will be proven wrong.
Brigade. Pah. Her thoughts are not kind, for she has never been one to step back so easily from a challenge. Brigade, stupid name, she thinks, even as she knows she actually probably likes it. He has made her shit-list far too quickly for her to admit any sort of pleasure or comfort. Even as Vastra folds into some form of surrender, Hildy bristles, telling eyes too cold for her own good. Funny how the older she grows and the more horses she meets, the more her mouth grows bitter at the sight of men.
Poor Brigade. He probably does not deserve the whirlwind of ferocity Hildy holds in her chest.
“I cannot say it is a pleasure for me.” She does not regret her cruelty, even as she knows she should. A childish part of her thinks Vastra owes her more defense, but the little flame has just enough self-awareness to shut that train of thought down quickly. “I’d probably like you better with an actual ‘fuck off’ sign. The broody boy thing just doesn’t fuckin’ do it for me, ya know? You probably don’t know, though. Broody boys never do.” She smiles, pushing at what buttons she can find.
Perhaps the other two will run off in disgust and leave her to tear her prey limb from limb.
and hear the harmony only when it's harming me it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough
Brunhilde
@[lilliana] she has a mind of her own and that mind is rude as hell
This crowd might be entirely too “fast” one for a girl like Lilli.
She is naive, very innocent and still learning so much about the world around her. It can perhaps be blamed on her mother who had been so intent on shielding her from the world's horrors. Maybe, if there is any blame to be had, it can be laid at the hooves of her elder brother who wanted so much to protect her from anything that might dim the light she carries. Lilli has always been sheltered, barricaded away from the wide world that could do her any harm.
Even in a place like Murmuring Rivers, a place her mother had hoped to be too small to be of any particular notice, the wide world had found its way in.
It doesn’t take much for Lilli to give up the last of her hesitance towards Brigade. Perhaps there should have been more resistance there, perhaps she shouldn’t forgive so easily but she does. The moment his gaze meets hers with the reflection of an apology, Lilli is able to find a tentative smile for the dark red stallion. The smile is a ghost of the one she usually wears but it is still there, quiet and soft in the obscurity of night. At his comment, it grows a little and Lilli is even able to find a muted form of her laughter. It is short and light, a response to his own repentant joke.
Of the other three she has met this night, it is Vastra who earns the respect in her blue-eyed gaze. She observes the mare as she offers a polite reply to Brigade but interestingly enough doesn’t offer her own name. This ripples across Lilli’s face in shades of curiosity as she tilts her head to the creamy Vastra, trying to regard the winged-mare more clearly. It is only the harshness of Brunhilde’s words that take her away from the other mare and her attention is immediately held by the sunset mare as she speaks with a ferocity, an intensity that Lilli can’t quite comprehend. The mare speaks coldly, cusses and them smiles with all the warmth of a viper.
Any understanding that Lilli has vanished and she turns those blues eyes to Brigade, partly horrified by Brunhilde’s words and partly curious as to how the stallion will respond to them. All it takes is one sweeping glance at the antlered stallion and the crimson girl is immediately reminded of a palomino filly, recently orphaned and arrived at her mother’s borders. That filly might have been defined as ‘broody’ as well. The chestnut doesn’t know a thing about Brigade. She doesn’t know his history or upbringing, what pains or haunts him. He might not be afflicted by anything but Lilli finds herself believing that whatever makes Brigade this way, he is entitled to those emotions.
”Well good thing this isn’t all about you then,” she retorts, the words coming out before she has had time to process them. Her blue eyes move away from the stallion and regard Brunhilde, taking in her beauty and hostility as they meld together. Lilliana holds her gaze firmly, refusing to look away. ”Lilliana,” she offers to the trio, realizing that she is the only one to offer her name besides Brigade. She finds herself intrigued by the fire mare but Lilli holds her tongue, not wishing to incite any more wrath that might set them all ablaze.
Brigade is a contrary soul so the more than he is provoked, the more he continues to shut down. Perhaps he should simply leave well enough alone, be thankful that he still has his head attached, and then go on his way—but that would be too simple. So although he does not rise to the bait, neither does he slink into the shadows, leaving them their company and lukewarm friendship. He rather says there, quiet and still with the darkness barely creeping around his heels, his grey eyes sullen and his mouth straight.
When the first mare, predatory as she is, does not offer her own name in return, it barely registers with him. Instead he just watches her, feeling that instinctual feeling of meeting another wild thing and not knowing exactly how to navigate it. It leaves him feeling seen and yet threatened and he is not sure how to respond. At her teasing words, his red lips quirk—a hint of a humor well hidden—and then still.
The second mare is hardly as forgiving as the first. She burns as bright as her flames and the wolf in him rises in his chest, snapping its jaws and biting for purchase. She is an adversary and everything within him desires it—he wants to rise up against the ocean waves ad let him drag it into the undertow. But he doesn’t. He feels restraint like a vice around his lungs and the only indication that he wants to lash out is the sudden brightening of his gaze underneath the wild, hanging tendrils of his forelock.
He is nearly ready to open his mouth to retort when the third mare speaks up. His head snaps to her in some surprise, eyes narrowing as he studies her with a sudden ferocity. There is something about that so deeply reminds him of his twin that he nearly aches with it; something fiercely strong beneath the gentle beauty of her and he feels his throat tightening with the similarities. His face remains carved from rock for a second before his gaze softens a little and he nods his thanks. “Lilliana,” he repeats her name and it is perhaps the first time that his voice does not sound like razors and thunderstorms on his tongue.
The moment is brief though and he quickly turns his attention back to Brunhilde.
Brigade watches her for a second and then shrugs.
“Your pleasure isn’t exactly at the top of my list.”
There are other words that simmer at the back of his tongue but he catches the red of Lilliana and the sandy color of the other mare out of the corner of his eye and decides to not further stoke the fire.
He opens his mouth and then shuts it, frowning.
“Why are you all out here tonight?”
BRIGADE
when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake
For some, bizarre reason she feels as though she has betrayed the fire-girl, who reacts with venom to the shift in the conversation. Navigating exchanges with others was not, this mare was learning, her strength and she’s confused by how quickly the fuses had all died out – all but the fire-mare’s. Should she have stayed angry? Lilliana and Brigade seemed content to move on and her gaze shifts to that brightly coloured mare as she tries to sort this out.
But Brigade doesn’t rise to the occasion to further fight and instead just shifts to asking them why they are all out there on this dark night. Now that things, perhaps, are turning into an actual conversation – the sandy-coloured mare knows she is out of place. She’s already used up the extent of her pleasantries and she’s unwilling to honestly answer Brigade’s question, as simple as it is. This is too large of a group already, the largest she has been in since she has returned, and the idea of showing any vulnerability makes her stomach clench uncomfortably.
She doesn’t even feel any spark or bark in her to toss back at him – she’s been subdued by this strange little meeting and can’t find her way back to the protective anger she had when it began. They’ve thrown her off-kilt with their pleasantries and she feels as lost as she did when she first arrived back in Beqanna with a broken wing and no idea where she was.
If she’s not going to answer, either honestly or with hostility, she’s left with two choices – stand silently or leave. The second option wins, of course, because it removes her from this situation and that is ideal. It doesn’t matter that there’s a part of her that craves contact, it’s still such a small part that it is easily squashed by the lone, nomadic lifestyle she lived as a mountain lion for the last two decades. Herd instincts or no, it’s hard to break such long-formed habits.
She doesn’t even know what to say to excuse herself, so she mutters a soft and quick “good bye.” as she turns to leave. But she does look at them all as she’s leaving – her gaze lingering on the fire-mare, silently hoping that she’ll get to cross paths with this volatile and beautiful stranger again, and soon. She wouldn’t mind crossing paths with any of them again soon, really…
Just never again in a group.
VASTRA
kastiel x nazaire, wanderer
@[brunhilde]
sorry I took forever just for Vastra to peace but I didn't know what else to do with her lmao
09-04-2019, 01:25 PM (This post was last modified: 09-04-2019, 01:25 PM by brunhilde.)
i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly
Brunhilde laughs, and it is a sharp, tinkling thing. It leaves gashes along her throat as it escapes, flinging its daggers out at those that stand around her. What kind of rebuttals are those? she thinks while resisting the urge to curl her lips in a sneer. The sweet woman at her side might have been burned if the little flame had half a mind to, but mostly she is consumed with a need to cut them all down with her words.
The anger is a tsunami inside of her, washing away every redeeming kindness in its destructive way.
Vastra is lucky she is on Brun’s opposite side: when she turns her gemstone eyes upon Lilliana, they are full of God’s own wrath. Little snake, she thinks, though the irony is lost on her. If anyone in the haphazard group is a serpent, it is the wildfire and all of her wicked ways. She lifts her lips in a saccharine southern baptist way, why bless your heart sitting like poison on her lips. For a moment she is of another universe entirely, channeling every vile and fickle energy that might fit in her body.
“If you wanted to scold me you should have tried harder,” is what finally spills from her mouth. Her eyes go eerily still, like the tiny ripplings before an ocean’s terrible storm. “Just a moment ago you could barely stand up for yourself. Do you always realign yourself so quickly? Does it just take apologetic puppy dog eyes to win you over? Or are you just especially stupid tonight?” Her eyes remain on Lilliana’s for a moment longer, flames hissing and leaping out of the tendrils of her mane.
She looks like hell incarnate, like Lucifer himself. She smiles.
“And as for you,” she snaps when she turns, releasing all of the vitriol she held back from the dainty chestnut. Brun takes a pointed step forward, vicious purr in the back of her throat. “Maybe you should think about a woman’s pleasure more often. You look like a shitty fuck, and you especially look like that is all you’re good for. A handsome face and stormy eyes will only get you so far, Brigade. Maybe I’ll get to see you die on this stupid ass hill you’ve placed yourself on.”
With that, she spins to see Vastra has disappeared. A little sound hitches in her throat, but she shakes it off in a millisecond. She trots off in the direction the shapeshifter’s scent leads, only pausing to add, “My name is Brunhilde, by the way. Stop by Loess if you ever want to get your ass kicked.”
and hear the harmony only when it's harming me it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough
Brunhilde
@[brigade] @[lilliana] she is a rotten rotten rotten baby
@[Vastra] tagging you so you know brun is stalking her B)
09-04-2019, 07:55 PM (This post was last modified: 09-04-2019, 08:11 PM by lilliana.)
He had been quick to scold her and Lilli had been quicker still to forgive him.
It was a fault of hers, something that Elaina has lovingly chided her for over and over again. Lilli was too free with her smiles, too easy with her laughter, too open with her heart. In a world of hard edges ready to cut and tear, she is entirely too soft.
When Vastra excuses herself from the group, when she turns to go with a whisper of goodbye on her tawny lips and one last look to the group, Lilliana can feel herself tearing that steady gaze from Brunhilde and looking to the creamy mare who is bathed silver, haloed by moonlight, as she leaves. The crimson mare doesn’t bid her farewell but Lilli dips her head to the Pegasus as she goes, understanding her need to be alone as Lilli had recognized Brigade's apology. There is a wish, a hope behind her blue eyes, that they might meet again one day.
But the departure of Vastra leaves her with the wildfire and the antlered stallion.
Her attention turns back to them, an eerie silence that surrounds them all in the dark wood. The darkness presses against her - it comes closer and closer until Brunhilde finally stills it with her words. She seethes them at Lilli, words as fierce as any wildfire she has ever known. There is a set of her jaw, a flash of winter blue as her eyes rest on Brunhilde again, taking the brunt of her words.
Lilli deserves this. She knows this. She had known it the moment she had let those words slip out of her mouth. They had come at the expense of another and Lilli knows that no matter what the reason, whatever the motive (even if it was in defense of Brigade), it should have never been made. Lilli does find a thread of steel somewhere, something buried deep but all it comes out as is a defiant lift of her chin and those blue eyes flashing that refuse to look away from Brunhilde.
Each word is a well-calculated blow and they do exactly what the beautiful mare intends. They cut and they slash and they shred at what little reserve Lilli has left. They expose her and leave her bare.
The things that Elaina has spent a lifetime warning about, the words that Lilli has so hated being associated with come from Brunhilde’s lovely lips and Lilli lets her speak them without a breath from herself. She would defend Brigade, Vasta, even Brunhilde if she let her. Whatever the world needed of Lilli, she would give it freely and without question because that is just who she is.
But for herself there is not a word.
Because there had been someone out there once who had needed, who had deserved, her kindness and she had denied him that. Each lash of Brunhilde’s tongue is the lash that reminds her that she deserves, at the very least, this.
Her ears are ringing by the time that the fire mare turns her ire on Brigade. If Lilli could have heard the venom in her words, the chestnut girl would have said something. Anything. Enough. But Brunhilde is like a storm and when she leaves, Brigade and Lilli stand in the lull that comes afterward. The silence, the emptiness, the darkness comes again and the young mare can feel the tears sting her eyes.
They are hot, angry things with the fury that she feels at herself. She exhales, a breathe that she didn’t know she had been holding, that leaves her feeling ragged. Her heart hammers and hammers, coming louder and fiercer in its demand that Lilli acknowledge it. Lilli drops her head, letting her mane come swinging down and lets it curtain her face as she presses her eyes closed. The world goes black, leaving her momentarily blind in the wake of everything.
One moment, a few heartbeats pass until she can steady them, until she can feel the earth beneath her hooves again. She swallows and lifts her head to find Brigade. And Lilli does the only thing she knows how to do at this point, the only thing she has left to offer the red stallion: “I’m sorry.”
Another agonizing heartbeat and then she goes. Dissolving into shadow and darkness, letting the very thing that has always terrified her, claim her.
LILLIANA
i left home on account of snow (buried all the things i know)
