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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


    have yourself a merry little whatever; any [holiday party]
    #1
    Ichor goes west —

    She crosses the river into the forest then begins the long arduous trek towards… well, she has no true destination or purpose in place. There is a land of hills and plants that are familiar to her and after that, more forests and the unknown. Until she faces the sea and decides to let the tide go out before making her next move to the island sighted across the way.

    The mare knows she cannot fly. Not even with the wings on her back. They are large and mostly useless except in warning off predators. Decorative mostly, and she’s okay with that. Ichor is used to the whispers and stares - it comes from being a genetic oddity. Six legs and a pair of useless wings is enough to cause quite a few stares. Same with the big compound eyes that reign over her face; the kind of homely could-have-been-beautiful face that only a mother can love.

    She hadn’t seen it at first since it takes a while for her eyes to bring everything together into one unjumbled picture. But there is a bridge, looking insubstantial and beautiful as it is crafted out of twilight. Naturally she is drawn to the soft clean light of it. More moth-like impulse than horse. So the mare maneuvers down the shoreline until she tests the bridge with one of six hooves and it seems to hold. Then with a leap, she is on it and trotting happily across.

    Before her is a strange peeling relic of wood in a shape that she doesn’t recognize. Give her a flower and she can tell everything about it, but some back-arched and spouting aquatic-looking thing? No, even with the gills on her neck that flutter so delicately like small fins on occasion because of her proximity to water or some kind, she remains land-bound most of the time.

    (she’ll take the familiar bends and crooks of the River and that’s the extent of it; no seafaring for her because it scares her and she still doesn’t fully trust her own unnatural quarks that make her so odd)

    The moth-mare moves slowly and cumbersomely through the snowy-sands after having stepped down from the bridge made of twilight. Palm trees sway in breezes clipped and cold - but not too cold! Just cold enough to make one’s breath steam in the air and make one want to lean against someone else for some shared warmth. Not her though; she’s drawn to the small twilit-lights twinkling amongst the winter-painted tropical vegetation. It’s like paradise but contained, neither blistering hot nor freezing cold.

    It stirs her wings until they flare full and beautiful off her back, displaying the atlas moth pattern so vividly for all to see. That same chilled breeze toys with her hair, blowing it around until it’s bisecting her compound gaze and everything is an incoherent jumble of color. Hesitant, her proboscis unfurls from her mouth as if casting about for some fine flower’s elixir to imbibe.
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    #2
    Ivar had come back to retrieve his belongings, but his early evening arrival to the Island Resort has been unexpectedly crowded. The kelpie knows the island as a quiet place, and yet there is more movement between the palms than he has ever seen. The kelpie sets aside his initial mission in a heartbeat, intrigued by whatever this might be.

    The last time he'd been to a party like this, he'd charmed his way into the queen's bed and hours later left the body of a princess on the ocean floor. A rather delightful evening, all in all.

    Perhaps this one will be even better.

    Finding Ichor is simple. There is simply nothing else like her, and Ivar greets her by placing a gentle touch on the edge of her hip just as he starts to slide around the champagne mare, knowing that approaching from behind was dangerous and clearly caring not at all

    "These flowers aren't as nice as mine, He tells her, having caught the slow flick of her impossible tongue. "I thought Loess was nice, but Ischia is much better. Flowers as big as your head." This is said casually, as though the size of a horse's head was a standard unit of measurement, and as though Ivar couldn't possibly be exaggerating their diamter. "Bigger, even. Hibiscus."

    @[Ichor]
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    #3
    Her tongue does not touch upon a flower’s delicate and intoxicating scent, but a scent most intoxicating all the same - his. She would never kick him as he glides up from behind her, his nose to her hip in greeting. His touch - so simple! - makes all six of her legs quiver from things remembered, like all his small but meaningful kindnesses. 

    Ivar has never once treated her as the freak she thinks she is. He has always maintained an aura of decorum that comes off as kingly and kind. That could be his kelpie-powers at work that she has no knowledge of but she accepts it for what it is - kindness, rather than pity. It is why her proboscis tucks itself back in her mouth to make way for a smile full of familiarity and happiness.

    She rubs the side of her face against his scaled knee, smelling sea-salt and strangeness upon his skin. Ichor cannot place the strangeness, but then… he has always been so otherworldly and beautiful to her. Her antennae bob and nod, especially as he talks of flowers and some place that she guesses to be a name. It does not surprise her that he’s laid claim to another land, but it does ignite a dangerous spark of curiosity within her.

    If she had but one weakness besides being drawn to light, - it was him. Also, hibiscus. Ichor could have swooned at the exaggeration of size but that mere name of such a delicious bloom is like an enchantment easily laid upon her. Her compound eyes find his face and put it together until the scaled brilliance of him - blue and gold now, like oceans and treasure instead of the familiar obsidian and pearl he used to be - dazzles her like it always does.

    “Ischia?” she asks him, hopeful and way too trusting.

    @[Ivar] mwah! love them and hope i remembered his original color right lol
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    #4
    The flickering of the light at the corner of his eyes is distracting. It reminds him of the reflection of sun off scales and makes focus difficult. It’s easier to forget to be especially charming when he is like this, yet despite his demands, the kelpie’s touch on Ichor’s side remains gentle as he speaks.

    “We should go. I’ll show you the island and the flowers.”

    Pressed in with his soft touch is the hypnotic demand that she agree with him, that she want to cross the expanse of water between the islands far more than she wants to stay here in this too-busy woods. There comes a roar from the north and the kelpie suddenly grows more eager to return home, though the commotion is far in the distance. Island Resort is not his territory. Ivar’s interest in self-preservation will always remain his strongest emotion, but the appeal of the moth-winged mare beside him does not diminish in the face of it.

    “There’s all sorts of colors,” he adds, aided in his conversational skills by the lack of water in his lungs. “Red and yellow and pink and some that look like sunsets.”

    @[Ichor]
    you did <3
    he was a smoky grullo tobiano
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