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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    whatever; any
    #1

    Can you please sit the fuck down?

    He is fucking FURIOUS! Why does nothing work? He has tried and tried and TRIED and still NOTHING! He still remains the same!

    A dig of pain rips in his belly for the hunger of flesh but try as he might, he can not turn. Yellow eyes are burning, burning, burning. The savagery of this all beckons the stallion to simply screech in a fit of rage. Everything had changed and so had he.

    Some time passes before Phynn is able to get his shit together. The feral beast still lived in him, still yelped and howled and gnashed with yellow teeth. It burned and clawed but the dark stallion is unable to release it. Lids fall over his eyes as he sighs, angry and boiling like a vat of hot tar. He does not know how to function.

    From the day he fell out of his mother's twat as a cub, the stallion is more hyena than horse. This sleek dark pelt was too tight...too clean. A tongue runs over flat teeth with a sneer but the ripple of hunger breaks his thoughts and so he must humble himself to eat blasted grass. Anger seethes from every pore as he forces the vegetation down his throat with disgust.

    Damn you Beqanna, you fucking fickle bitch.

    P H Y N N

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    #2
    The stallion had been hoping for some peace and quiet but then he heard a screech of rage and muttered, "What the hell. Nowhere's quiet anymore after that stupid f-ing change-up Beqanna decided would be fun." He called to the stallion, his voice a taunt. If the man wants a fight, he's got one right now.. Passed through Real's mind before he could tame his thoughts and fall back on the reserve he trained so hard to keep when alone in public.
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    #3

    Can you please sit the fuck down?

    Phynn, as pleasant as you please, was chewing at a small lump of greenery when a voice catches his attention. It was rather pissy and menacing. Yellow eyes roll in their sockets as he lifts his skull to look upon a mousy gray stallion with glaring eyes. If horses had brows, Phynn's would have quirked curiously as the other seemed to just be looking for trouble.

    A low sigh follows after Phynn finished chewing the vegetation. Black lashes fall over the glittering yellow pools briefly before lifting. He is annoyed and does not hesitate to hide is as he snorts in a small chuckle. "Well perhaps you should go someplace a bit less populated...maybe the beach?" A smirk crawls over his lips after he punctuates the cool reply.

    How absurd this stallion puffs out like a proud territorial cock. Phynn has simply been minding his own business and it is the other who seemed to exude a poisonous air. Phynn does not move from his place as he measures the other casually, calculating. In no way, shape, or form was Phynn seeking a random fight but the way the unnamed stallion strutted Phynn could see he felt like he had something to prove. With a blatant snort, Phynn drops his skull to continue his grazing.

    P H Y N N

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    #4
    "I don't care much for walking on the disintegrated bones of those who have passed, thank you very - not." The stallion sent back, annoyed by the other's chuckle and his already disheartened mood flared at the smirk.

    "Not like I care, though I might just be in a bit of a mood, do you care for my name?" He asks blandly, his voice distant as he slipped into the familiar reserve he used as a protective shield. His ears locked in a neutral position, and his eyes took on an emotionless expression - he'd become the warrior he used to be in appearance.

    One could find signs of his hiatus from sparring and patrolling in his slightly loosened muscles, his usually tight, fit form almost soft from the sudden change in everything around him. He never did deal well with change..
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    #5
    “I highly doubt he cares what your name is one way or another.”
     
    The magician had stepped out of the shadows, his dark red buckskin gleaming in the light. He had wings that were perfectly tipped in blood, dripping as he walked. Ashley’s mood was black, as demonstrated by his theatrics, but the old King did not hold much stock with the ones that ran around thinking highly of themselves. Not everyone cares who you are. Not everyone wants to know your life’s story. Because guess what? You’re not special, and there are people that matter more than you do. It is just life’s reality. Get used to it.
     
    Ashley shook his head and let the cockleshells clink and fall where they may. The ginger stallion was most at home by the sea, but recent events have brought him back to the mainland to seek something which was lost to him an age ago, and he was here to find it. Having to happenchance walk past this rather dead encounter, Ashley took it upon himself to liven up the situation by presenting a few truths from the school of hard knocks. He carried his sorry ass to where the rabid dog-stallion was, and did not bother with introductions.
     
    “Life’s a bitch and then you die, Kid. Your powers will return in time if you have the balls to do what it takes to make it happen. Or else you can sit and cry like the rest of them. Your choice.” He was gruff, and matter of fact. No need for pretty words with this black fellow. It seemed that with Phynn, what you see is what you get, and Ashley had an instant respect for him. As for the other…“Your aggression is unwarranted. Why attack an obvious threat and then ask him for pleasantries as if it is your due right? If you wish to make your appearance to the beach this day, I have no problem making a wave of you. But the hyena is obviously out of your league. I would go find a fight somewhere you can win.
    ashley
    I walked the path, it led me to the end.
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    #6
    The dark yearling left her side with great reluctance. She'd been the one to care for him, the only one. She always would be. But her perfect ears did not deserve to be assaulted with this rude chaos. So he disentangled from her embrace to correct the situation. His muscled frame was abnormally bulky for a colt. Not yet a stallion, but looking the part well in advance, he approached the gathering of males.

    It was a new experience for him. He'd always been with Cerva, only Cerva. They preferred to be on their own, alone. Now he was among his own gender, not all that much shorter than them, in fact, and the only thing he could think of was returning to her.

    Yet, there was boyish curiosity in his big, black eyes. He could not deny that he wished to observe the manner of grown stallions, so that he, too, could act as one. One day he'd even find a way to learn to fight, so that he could better guard his beautiful Cerva. Her life, safety, and happiness was all that mattered. He'd do anything to protect it. So, it was also with a touch of reluctance that he wished them gone. The desire to aquire knowledge battled with his wish to remove the ruckus from Cerva's presence.

    He glanced back at her across the distance, making certain she had remained. She would worry over him intervening between grown males, but he hoped she'd also trust him to return safely to her. Even from way over here she was stunning. Maybe he should just go back. It hurt to be away. But the fact remained, she did not deserve to listen to their petty squabbling, and the conversation of men pulled his bottomless gaze back to them.

    "...do you care for my name?" the loud one mocked. He definitely didn't like that one. Too loud, too arrogant.

    The other was snappy but quieter, with a feral light in his eye. His voice did not need to be loud to portray the threat that he posed. The colt watched him warily, deciding his quieter tone probably only intensified his sense of danger. Like a hungry predator, watching his prey only because he could, he already knew who controlled death here.

    Dovev rather liked that and edged a little to the side for a better view, still too far to be attacked by anyone. But that all changed when the other joined in, as if from nowhere. Simply appeared from darkness.

    "I highly doubt he cares what your name is one way or another." He, too, was quiet. Deadly. The colt's interest only grew. This stallion had massive wings that made him seem even larger, and he felt a stab of envy. Perhaps if he had wings, he'd be larger too. The man walked as if they were nothing though, despite being tipped in blood. It was clear he also knew who controlled death here, and Dovev was not sure whether it was him or the wild one.

    That one, the colorful one, addressed each of the males. Scolding them like children as Dovev had hoped to do. As he spoke, the colt finally abandoned the outskirts and entered their gathering fully. Words were never difficult for him, but he oddly didn't feel a need to speak. He only watched, observed. Absorbed everything his senses told him. He would study and learn, and then one day he would be like them. And so he took his mental notes in watchful silence.

    Be steady and quiet. It is threatening in its own way. Be unafraid. Know who has the advantage and why.

    Teach me more. What else do you have to show me.




    ooc: am so sorry. next ones shouldnt be so long x.x

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    #7
    Not caring to wait for the rabid's reply, he turns to the first to appear from the shadows. "What if I don't want to win?" He asks him, sensing his age from the same feel - but darker - that he knew Offspring gave off from his eternal age. "I've lost my family, my friends, and possibly also my child in the creation of this new landscape. I don't give a horse's mood about it." He says, his voice low, as he queries the man. 'I have no problem making a wave of you' sounds almost pleasant, welcoming to the ruined stallion's mind.

    Hah! As if he hadn't lost it all when he was separated. Sure, he'd visited to see his sister one last time, as she suggested herself for the new army "leader" - but he didn't care anymore. Nobody had stayed to help him down, nobody stayed to be with him while he tried to heal his injuries. The limp would be permanent, but he didn't exactly care at this point. He welcomed the closure, the final, darkness, of death - his mind was, truly, gone.

    He sees the foal, and a wrench hits him. What had become of that mare? Did she wander once more with her growing foal? Real, in his twisted state of mind, assumed she'd left behind all thought of him, telling the foal she didn't know who it's father was. That he's as good as dead for leaving them - despite the fact she so clearly walked out of the Tundra after a few, harsh parting words to him.
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    #8

    Can you please sit the fuck down?

    The dark male is grazing with the least amount of regard to the dull gray stallion, giving a black shoulder to the other's cause. Sharp ears are listening but that is as much attention as he is willing to offer when the other quips up with the question of if Phynn should want to know his name. Th stallion swallows his last mouthful of grass in effort to respond with the single word of 'no' but with a bit of mild surprise, another stallion emerges before him.

    Yellow eyes seem to float against the black canvas of his skull. The words stream like salt water pearls on a silver chair. The first  rack of syllables are aimed at Phynn but the rest was towards the other granite male. A cooked smirk is toying across Phynn's lips and he makes no intention of dispelling it as the tawny winged male seems to know Phynn's alternate form- the hyena.

    The dark stallion makes not move to speak to the ginger beast just yet, only eyes him closely (and perhaps a little admiration circling in the depths) as his hunger is temporarily forgotten. Lobes rotate between both the auburn and ashen males with obvious amusement glittering the hard stones of his eyes. But then a loudly painted boy is moving to chew off a bit of the conversation for his own. Phynn is grinning now with a small chuckle to hear the weighted words from the youth's lips.

    My, my...this certainly was a twist on what was a boring evening!

    The crack of tense neck bones seem to echo like a gunshot as Phynn now hears the first stallion speak again.The feral man is slightly perplexed by his retort. Was the ashen male suicidal? "Now gentlemen-" He begins with a small chuckle brimming just under his breath, "-what brings you all here today?" He is looking hard at them all with dancing eyes and a fixed grin that exposed the stained teeth of his mouth. "Also, if we're all to become the best of chums, I'm Phynn." Though the grin to pull upward sharply, the yellow eyes do not reflect the fooling nature of the unhinged stallion.

    P H Y N N

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