"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
Sunday does not hesitate to leave the kingdom on her mission, feeling entirely like she'd abandoned the Amazons as of late. What was she so preoccupied with, out there in the world? What was so important it demanded she be dragged from her sisters - her salvation! - for so long? Had she forgotten the meaning behind her tattoo?
These words, thoughts, emotions - they plagued her. And while Sunday is a great diplomat, she's great because she is so open and unabrasive. She's rarely without a smile, without a compliment, without some way to steady someone's nerves. She speaks plainly, but also with feeling and depth. Sunday is known for all of this, so it would be no great leap for Wrynn to suspect something was troubling the magical mare. I'm sorry, magickal mare.
She heads off with her sister in tow, deep in her thoughts, before hesitating at the border of the Gates. "I'm sorry for my silence," she says, truly and honestly apologetic. "I haven't been myself lately." A sad, slow sort of smile creeps over her face then. "But I am really looking forward to this meeting, and not just for my own curiosity."
The soot colored mare hadn't resided long in the Gates, no, not long at all. She had busied herself mostly with grazing, exploring, and for the most part had kept to herself. It was a rather dull spring day if anyone asked, though if today was like most days, they wouldn't. Of course the trees were budding, or outright in blossom. The grass had turned from its flaxen, sun deprived dryness, into lush blades of emerald. Wichita's mane had finally rid itself of the last trapped burr and fell in curtains over her nape, finally making her more presentable.
She was simply moseying about the border of what was the domain known as the Gates, when something new occurred. At the border she sighted two mares she had never before seen, or met for that matter. They were simply standing there, conversing it looked like, but about what? She didn't know. She wasn't exactly sure what she should do at that point, could they be friends of this realm? Were they perhaps kinfolk of one of the resident equines? Maybe they were looking for a place to stay. Of course there would only be one way to find out.
She made a rather slow approach, taking her time to observe the visitors, while also hoping that she wasn't the only one awake this early."Mornin' what can I do ya for?" She did her best to sound pleasant, she even gave them a warm smile, it was early an she couldn't say she had had time to properly wake. She was however, accustomed to being with a herd of mares that were rather friendly and open with each other, certainly not stingy with their affections. So without further hesitation, she sided right up next to one of them, lazily flicking her tail. Her maw extended in greeting, reaching the nearest nose. "Glad to see new faces, I'm Wichita." she offered as she pulled her nape back in a fluid motion, the picture of relaxation.
Sunday is unsure how long her and her companion have been waiting, but it doesn't seem like too long. The weather in the Gates is a direct opposite to the jungle's endless humidity and lack of winter. Winter clearly just passed here, and spring is peeking its head out in the form of lush grass and beautiful foliage. Sunday can always appreciate another kingdom's greenery - it feels a part of her these days. She can feel the vibrations and hums of its life.
The mare that approaches has an aura the color of a friend - Sunday has learned this from studying her sisters. It is genial and glowing, and matches the mare's smile. Sunday nods her head to her companion, "This is Wrynn, and I am Sunday. We're from the Amazons." She gives that a moment to set in. "We've come to pay our respects to the new king or queen, on behalf of our kingdom, and see if there's anything you need." Sunday's smile is genuine - unlike others in Beqanna she hasn't allowed misfortune to turn her into anything less than a gentle, nice soul.
06-07-2015, 06:44 PM (This post was last modified: 06-07-2015, 06:44 PM by Wrynn.)
Oh look, oh my star is fading
To Wrynn, Sunday is something of an unknown quantity. Not a scary one, certainly – although Wrynn isn't easily scared – but simply one that she isn't familiar with. Mind you, that describes the vast majority of all horses in the world; Wrynn is still very young, not even yet a yearling, and she's been something of a quiet girl, something of a loner ever since she'd been born.
But for all of that, she's got a lot going on, she just tends to play it close to her chest. Like, for instance, the fact that she's recently made a bunch of new, very close friends. They just happen to be dead.
She'd met them in the depths of hell, at the end of a quest that took her through horrors of the world that would have broken many others. She'd done it all for love, for someone else's love – Carnage's love, although she is too much an innocent in Beqanna to understand just how ironic that statement truly is. She doesn't know him, doesn't know that he doesn't love, all she knows is that love is good, and that he lost the one he loved, and that therefore she was going to help him get her back.
Ultimately she did, kind of.
"And you met us." she's not startled by the way the words appear in her brain, not anymore. She's used to them now, the friends who had sent her home. She welcomed them into her mind when she discovered she could talk to them. She'd have gladly given anything to welcome them into her world. She likes to think, sometimes, that they can see through her eyes, or feel as she feels. Even just a little bit.
It almost startles her when Sunday speaks, but the small girl is quick to smile. "Oh, it's all right. I'm fine with quiet." Not that it's ever really quiet in her head anymore. But she doesn't mind, she'd want someone to talk to too if she were dead. "I do hope you feel better though." she says with the same gentle smile. Her voice is almost painfully earnest – Wrynn is gifted (or cursed) with a remarkable ability to care about everyone and everything. So very much the opposite of her mother.
It's not long before a mare comes to greet them, and little Wrynn watches her with gentle curiosity. When the mare extends her muzzle, she happens to extend it to Wrynn, and the little girl is thrilled to reach back and mirror her gentle greeting. The girl doesn't speak immediately, and Sunday eventually beats her to it, introducing for them both. Wrynn nods along.
Once Sunday is finished, Wrynn speaks up, her voice small and gentle. "Hi Wichita. It's nice to meet you." her smile is genuine. She is still very obviously young, her body petite even for a yearling, but there is a strange wisdom in her nonetheless. She's bay, but she will grey with time, and her eyes are a strange mood-ring rainbow, changing colors at their own whim. And with that she's quiet, letting Sunday take the lead, enjoying the tranquility and sunshine of the Gates and waiting to see how its denizen answers them.
06-09-2015, 04:56 PM (This post was last modified: 06-09-2015, 04:59 PM by Fiasko.)
fiasko
It’s been strange, trying to get used to the idea of her new role. In the world of Beqanna, she is no longer a nobody. She is Queen. Queen Fiasko of the Gates. But, she feels the same. She still feels like that same malnourished little girl that had arrived in the Gates so long ago. Only now Beqanna is looking at her to make a difference.
She is relaxing under the shade of the Mother Tree (a favourite spot of hers), when an unfamiliar scent reaches her nose. Once upon a time she would have ignored it, or even retreated deeper into the kingdom to avoid the strangers, but not any more. She rouses herself and strikes out, heading for the direction of the border, where she is sure the scent must be coming from. Even though they are weak, diplomats still tend to extend them at least that basic courtesy.
Within minutes she finds the party, and is quite pleased to see that the newest member of the Gates, Wichita, has already beaten her there. She smiles pleasantly at the silver dapple mare before turning to inspect the newcomers. A bay mare, and a young bay filly. Fiasko takes particular note of the tattoos adorning the older mare. She’s heard of such markings, though she’s never seen them before. An Amazon. Interesting. She wonders what the sisters want with them today.
Unfortunately she’s missed most of the conversation, so she has to interject. “Hello there, I’m Fiasko.” She does not intentionally omit her title, she’s simply not used to introducing herself as such. “What brings you to the Gates?” For once, she feels no fear of rejection because of her face. In fact, the thought doesn't even cross her mind. She's grown more than she realizes.
