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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


    [open]  no dreams of sunshine and rainbows
    #1

    they promised that dreams can come true

    She’s know for a while that she wants to stay, though she’s done little about it. Her sentence, she thinks, it probably up by now or close enough, but she’s stopped bothering with keeping track of the time as it passes. Silver Cove is not home, was never home, and she had no desire to return to her birthplace, no desire to live within the shadow of the place where her mothers had abandoned her. The sting of it is less now, time softening the raw edges, the return of Solace changing her growing mind anyway. She blamed Solace, sick as she had been, far less than she blames Kagerus anyway. Kagerus did not have to go, Solace did.

    Still, it doesn’t seem to matter much to her anymore. Illusions of her mother’s plague her less and less, though the illusions are still relatively uncontrolled. She can control them, when she chooses, but when her mind is elsewhere they simply appear and disappear, the world changing around her at her whim. It seems likely her power may always be this way, shaped to the fancies of a girl who had no dreams of sunshine and rainbows, though she painted them from time to time.

    She doesn’t seek anyone is particular today, but it seems as if she ought to get to know the others in order to decide if this truly is her home. Maybe not a forever home, but a for now home. At this point she knows only Castile and Petron, both of whom she liked, and she vaguely knew other faces from the burning maze though that had hardly been a time for getting to know someone.

    She wanders aimlessly, her shadow creeping along beneath her with a strange mind of its own. It doesn’t quite follow her, slipping about as if scouting ahead and behind, though she cannot actually see anything that it may encounter. No, it’s simply a trick, practice as she walks, to see how much she can control the illusion on the ground. It is particularly difficult, keeping the somewhat transparent nature of it in tract, making sure that the landscape behind it is still accurate. There are moments she screws it up, but she keeps at it, working to master the technique.

    Oriash

    but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too



    @[brunhilde] I have this lovely open post I forgot about if you want to reply here maybe?
    #2

    i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
    hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly

    There is little hope left for the little flame. She wanders through the yellow grass of Loess, kicking at the occasional cactus. What pride she has twinkles like the last embers of a fire one forgot to douse, potentially dangerous while dangerously close to disappearing. At least my head is held high, she tells herself, weaving between the trunks of a small copse of trees. Even in her somber mood she is beautiful, long legs ending below a slim and shapely barrel, which rolls into swaying hips and an elegant neck.

    For a moment, Brunhilde is terribly self-aware. The stark realization that if someone, anyone, had the foresight to show her that her beauty is not a weapon, she may be content in her solitude; instead, she wields her twinkling eyes like swords and swings her hips to the side like shields. This gives her pause, a quiet stumble upon snapping twigs. She gasps, oh, holding her breath on the feminine noise. The familiar ache to slash through the lustful eyes of another settles sorely in her chest - an itch that she may never be able to scratch.

    Butterflies flutter and crowd her face, sending the heat of her repressed anger into her cheeks. She blows a half of a foot of fire into their trajectories, singing their colorful wings into complete ash; still, they are replaced with magic she cannot control, and she wishes not for the first time that she could rid herself of these delicate creatures. Fire burns down her spine and along her mane as she walks, the occasional butterfly flying haplessly into her spite.

    When she spots the pretty antlered filly, she recognizes her immediately as the once-prisoner. A vengeful smile begs to curve her lips, thoughts of how her fate is an exact replica of her father’s. Who would have dreamt that daughter of Kagerus and Solace chose to remain within the claws of the East’s once enemy? Certainly not Brunhilde, after the way her father spoke of the past-queens; still, to her delight, she finds the girl alone. Perhaps an opportunity lies within the filly’s reasons for staying.

    Brunhilde approaches slowly, allowing her flames to fall to pale simmers. Her golden eyes fall to the shadow that does match its master, a curiosity and quiet lust building in the back of her throat.

    “You’re very beautiful,” she murmurs once within earshot, head tilting to the side. “You wear your leopard markings better than your mother.” A bold statement, even if Brun has never seen Kagerus with her own eyes.

    and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
    it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough

    Brunhilde

    @[Oriash] sorry this took me so long!
    #3

    they promised that dreams can come true

    Beauty is a weapon, is it not? When wielded properly it can both start and stop wars. When wielded properly, it is power without anyone realizing it, protection with only the bat of an eyelash. Beauty is a power Ori does not know how to wield, something that she is likely not capable of wielding. As herself, though pretty, she is nothing special. She is certainly not a walking flame, and she does not carry herself with any semblance of grace. It is a weapon she could so easily wield if only it were in her DNA to do so. After all, Ori is not limited by her true physical appearance, but can be anything to anyone, can twist and shape the perception of herself to others, can wear a new face.

    This realization, like many others, has not yet crossed her mind. She has only begun to master sight and touch, dabbling in the other senses. So far she has only begun to imagine that she might be able to create pain or remove it, though she has yet to have the occasion to try and some part of her wonders what good it would do. Little can she imagine the illusion of pain may be as deadly as pain itself, but then again, Ori imagines little of the real world and vastly more of the worlds she paints around herself.

    She cannot image the reasons behind the vengeful smile that creeps onto this strangers face. In fact, Ori remains entirely oblivious to it. That is how she finds herself most of the time, oblivious, with little purpose in this world other than to be a pawn. Perhaps one day she could care enough to change that – after all, she was vastly more powerful than any pawn, though she didn’t truly understand how powerful she could be, in time. Perhaps one day someone would come along and give her a reason to understand that she could be more than a pawn. After all, she has never been treated as more.

    A mare the color of flame and with true flames dancing along her skin, approaches, snapping Ori from her own world. Her shadow slips back into place, becoming a regular shadow again, no longer animated by her power. The mare calls her beautiful, and Ori simply stares, finding that strange. The mare before her was, in fact, beautiful, and in comparison Ori was plain and ordinary. The second part of the comment throws her for a father loop. “ I wouldn’t know,” she says simply, though there’s no hurt or anger or any discernable emotion behind it, just the matter-of-fact way Ori views her life.

    It is true, she wouldn’t know. She remembers Kagerus as a child remembers things, far more perfect than they truly were. She is sure that the spots are all wrong on the illusion she creates of her mother, that the color of their eyes has been lost to her memory entirely and changes periodically in her memory now. She knows only that the spots belong to Kagerus, and their color belongs to Solace, and that their existence marks her as their child and absolutely nothing more. Yet still, the idea to conceal them never crosses her mind, and even if it did, it is unlikely to do so. After all, what identity does she have but as the prisoner child of two ex-queens?

    Oriash

    but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too



    @[brunhilde]

    Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission

    #4

    i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
    hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly

    If she were ever to truly think about what she is saying, perhaps she would have passed Oriash with a little shrug of her shoulders. She would know that the daughter of her father’s once-enemies has little to do with her. She would wander back into the shadowed trees of Loess and mind her damn business. Alas, she hardly ever realizes her tongue is a swinging sword and her words the resulting bloody laceration.

    Brunhilde’s eyes rake over the sides of the young woman, glittering with what might be anticipation. She thinks that Loess suits her more than Silver Cove ever could. Ori’s tucked tri-color wings and dangerous-looking antlers blend perfectly with the wild scenery of their kingdom. A territory as silky and calming as the Cove might chew her up and spit her right back out. Hildy, at least, thinks that is what the East does to those that do not suit their image. Perhaps they both would fit better beneath her father’s rule, perhaps not.

    Her mind wanders a little too much, and the short reply Oriash offers barely draws her back to reality. The flame’s distant gaze clears to focus steadily on the quiet blue of her new companion. She cocks her head, just a twitch, in thoughtful curiosity. It does not surprise her that Ori does not know her mother, considering she has remained in Loess after her imprisonment; still, she finds such a fact fascinating and chews on it to savor its full flavor. “I wouldn’t know either, actually,” is the concession she finally settles on. She offers no elaboration.

    “Why Loess, then? Do you wish to seek out your mothers?” The answers to these questions are none of her damn business, but Hildy has yet to learn how to deny herself.

    and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
    it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough

    Brunhilde

    @[Oriash]
    #5

    Oriash

    they promised that dreams can come true

    The mare tilts her head, almost curious at Ori’s response. She had thought her mothers disappearance from Beqanna common knowledge. Not that she can read minds, so maybe it’s curiosity at something else. Of what though, Ori isn’t certain. Maybe much of Beqanna thought that her mothers stuck around and raised her as they should have until she was stolen away. But then, wouldn’t it be strange that they did not try to reclaim their stolen daughter? It makes more sense that they never knew what became of the child they abandoned.

    Solace had found her, once she was well enough to do so. Delirious and still half sick, covered in leaves and brambles, Solace had found her. If Solace had found her though, where had Kagerus been? At this point, Ori has no interest in finding Kagerus, no interest in seeing the woman that had so clearly abandoned her. Her relationship with Solace was rocky at best, but not bad and not unwanted. Kagerus though. Ori wasn’t sure she had enough forgiveness in her heart.

    I wouldn’t know it either, the other mare says after a moment, and Ori finds this strange. Why tell her that she wears the markings better than her mother than, if she had no point of comparison? Had it been aimed to hurt her? Despite the easy and obvious hurts of her childhood, Ori found they didn’t necessarily hurt that much. Not from others, anyway. Not from memories she couldn’t claw her way out of. Kagerus hurt, but only that, and she never saw her mother anyway so it hardly mattered.

    “Why anywhere?” she says, the words, like all her words, simply matter of fact though from anyone else they might sound barbed. The truth was, she didn’t know what drew her to this place and not somewhere else. She had little point of comparison, given that most of her life was spent here and the rest in a place she had no desire to return to. “And no, not particularly. This would not be the best place to seek them from, anyway, I imagine.” They held no love for Loess, though Solace knew exactly where Ori was and gave her no grief for the choice she had made. Then again, what right did Solace have to judge her daughter’s choices now? None, and she seemed to know it, which helped Ori find some respect for the woman who hadn’t raised her.

    She couldn’t blame Solace, even though she might want to. She didn’t blame herself, even though it could be her fault. She still blamed Kagerus, who’d always had a choice.

    The other mare is only perhaps a year older than Ori. The girl studies her for a moment, wondering why she cares so much about Ori’s mothers or if it was simply the easiest line of conversation. The latter seemed the most likely. Ori was inadvertently famous – or notorious, depending on how you looked at it. “Why do live here?” she asks, tossing the question back, not really knowing what else to ask.

    but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.



    @[brunhilde]

    Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission

    #6

    i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
    hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly

    Why anywhere?

    Ori’s question strikes a chord in the little flame’s chest. Brunhilde cocks her head to the side, golden eyes narrowing to contemplative slits. Such a question, one of the types she tells herself she does not ponder often, gives her pause in a face-to-face moment such as this. She can give an honest answer, one that cuts deeply through her molten core; but, such honesty requires a penchant for self-reflection and a vulnerability the woman does not hand out often (or ever, really).

    Litotes is why, she could tell Oriash. Litotes and Kensa sent her this way. Maybe even the brood of children her parents hoard are to blame. Hildy has never been one to share, and her father’s imprisonment left her with an insatiable hunger to please him. Loess is a conquest she can take on, she thinks. Here she will remain while her father takes the East and her mother swallows her tongue. Perhaps when their heads finally pop off, her ability to keep seeking power will finally be good enough.

    “No, I imagine not,” is Brun’s murmured response. Her eyes remain small and pensive. “Kagerus and Solace hold no love for our home.”

    The noise of the flame’s throat clearing follows her companion’s final question. The once princess peers into the distance beyond Ori, focusing only when a butterfly flutters too closely to her face. Finally, she settles a falsely tranquil stare upon the illusionist opposite her. Her shoulders shrug in a smooth, casual roll. “I like the horses that want to watch the world burn, and Loess is full to the brim of them. I don’t know that I want violence, but I know that for now I don’t mind watching it.” Not once does she think she should shut her mouth, even as her response is miles from the truth and paints her in a wild light. “I’m Brunhilde, by the way. The daughter of a man that really does not like your moms.”

    and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
    it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough

    Brunhilde


    @[Oriash]
    #7

    Oriash

    they promised that dreams can come true

    If she knew the inner workings of Brunhilde’s mind, if she knew that so much of what drives her is a desire - to what, to please, to destroy?- all because of her father, she might be glad to have had no parents. Maybe it was better that way, to have no expectation thrust upon your shoulders. Even now that Solace has found her, there are no expectations, no condemnation for the choice Ori has made. Solace wants only to know her daughter and nothing else, something that Ori can work on, something she is willing to give.

    Her mother’s lack of love for this land is well known, and Ori doesn’t need to explain further. Brunhilde simply accepts that statement, and then moves on, taking a moment before finally answering her question. Ori wonders if the answer is the truth or if there is something more, though she doesn’t pry. At the end of the day, if her companion wanted to lie about it, then who was Ori to demand more? The truth was what they made it, in some cases. And sometimes the truth was best left behind some bushes and far in the past.

    Ori listens to the answer with interest, finding that is resonates with her. She doesn’t know that she wants the needless violence, that destruction for the sake of it is what she seeks. Yet still she says, lending power the land regardless. After all, she could be destructive, though she has never tried to do so. “I know what you mean,” she says when the mare finishes. It doesn’t seen wild to her, to watch violence but not necessarily want to partake. Perhaps some would say it made them complicit, to watch and not to stop it, not to rage against it. Maybe it did, but Ori didn’t care if it made her complicit, she cared only that she did what she chose.

    The mare gives her name, adding something about her father and her mothers. Ori blinks once, the comment rolling off her. “Oriash,” she says, uncertain if her name is as well-known as her appearance and her mothers. “And I do not define myself by my parents.” That, perhaps, cuts a bit. Though cutting is never her intention, Ori is entirely sick of being defined by her parents and not by herself.

    but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.

    Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission

    #8

    i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
    hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly

    What little self-awareness Brun possesses is redeemed by the flickering candle of kindness beneath her wildfire appearance. She feels that kindness when she looks at Oriash, some slithering and traitorous emotion that gives away how broken she is. Her hope is that the spotted girl cannot see that gentility, or her ridiculous attempts to keep such “weakness” a secret.

    Perhaps there is a kinship between them: both slighted by Kagerus in their own ways, and while Brun might include Solace in that spite, she knows the woman to be more level headed than her dream-weaving counterpart. Of course, she does not know that Ori has found forgiveness for Solace, or that she possesses some bitterness toward Kagerus; but still the similarities are there, just beneath the surface, a topic the burning woman will not be able to resist forever. Her slick tongue will get her in trouble one day, and she hopes it is not with the stolen princess.

    Oriash, Brunhilde’s companion responds, and she merely nods her head in response. That is what she thought her name was, but her only interest has been to catch half-heard rumors. Her familiarity is mostly with seeing the little nightmare around. A quietly impressed smile curves Hildy’s lips at Ori’s protesting her parent’s reputation. She likes that fire, even if it is small and not meant to be rude. A softer soul may have been taken aback.

    “Fair enough, Oriash-who-defines-herself. I can certainly respect that.” Brun does not exactly expect her companion to know why she respects that, though her parent’s seemingly raucous reputations come to her mind. “Do you know what you do define yourself by, then?” The smile on face fades immediately after she asks, realizing the question might be tossed back at her and - well, the woman has no idea how to answer.

    and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
    it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough

    Brunhilde


    @[Oriash]
    #9

    Oriash

    they promised that dreams can come true

    Why is kindness a weakness? Why should caring be considered weak, when it can also be a strength? Not that Ori believes kindness is the only way, and she cannot quite imagine living in a place full to the brim of nice, but she does not find fault with kindness. After all, weren’t they all a mixture of both? Ori didn’t mind violence but she didn’t seek it, she was not a complacent mouse to be trod upon but nor was she a snake to be avoided. To be made up of brick wall upon brick wall is no more strength than to let those walls come down in the right moments.

    Ori doesn’t pay much attention to Brunhilde’s tiny bit of kindness, but she doesn’t find the mare to be all hard edges. There’s a softness there, lurking somewhere that Ori doesn’t seek to touch but doesn’t doubt it’s existence. They’ve only just met, after all, even if Ori finds that she rather likes the fiery spunk of her newfound companion. Perhaps they could be friends, or perhaps they would tear each other apart, though she hopes for the former.

    They are not so different, even if they don’t entirely know it yet. There is kinship to be found between them. Two mares trying to survive beneath the shadow of their parents and the weight of their families. Their means are different, but the ends are the same. Ori lacks the hard edges of Brunhilde, but both could be a force to be reckoned with in their own ways. Together they could be something indeed, better on the same side than not.

    Brunhilde’s response to Ori’s last comment makes her grin, her appreciation for this mare growing. Brunhilde is not taken aback by Ori’s blunt nature, but rather seems to appreciate it. The next question is hard though, and Ori takes a moment to think about it. She is a mare of few words, but her words are thoughtful and honest when they come. “I don’t know. Not entirely. Not yet, anyway.” She could paint worlds around them, but she didn’t yet know her place in the real world. She was trying to find it, though. One day she would.

    Around them, she paints a sunset, washing Loess in reds and oranges. She doesn’t know how else to explain, how else to show who she is and yet how she cannot define herself. The land beneath them changes, recalling how Aegan had built her an ocean, she does the same now. The water feels cool against their skin but refreshing, colorful fish darting in and out between their legs. Everything takes on the hue of the dying sun. Ori is a painter of the unreal and the imaginary, and that is certainly something, but it is not everything. Perhaps it will make sense to Brunhilde, and perhaps it won't, but it's the best she can do.

    but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.



    @[brunhilde]

    Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission





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