• Logout
  • Beqanna

    version 22: awakening

    COTY

    GHAUL -- Year 209

    QOTY

    "(souls are not meant to live more than once — death was not meant to be temporary, and she is so sure that every time her heart starts to beat again that irreversible damage is further inflicted)" -- Anonya, written by Colby


    [mature]  the girl she's hiding horns; brunhilde
    #1
    Bug 


    she got blood cold as ice
    and a heart made of stone

    There is no explanation for where she has been. If the days could be accounted for there would be no good reason for her to not know exactly everything about the girl with the fire wings. At least the things she could see and smell and hear. They both live in Loess whose every inch she knows in detail, perfectly remembered. So one must simply expect that for a time Leokadia was not and then suddenly was again on day. Today in fact. 

    The forest and the river are familiar. As a child she had played among the trees and alongside the water, the kind of games little girls play; crushing tree frogs underfoot and savaging fledgling birds who hop-hopped along the ground  trying fruitlessly to use their untrained wings. Those same feathered appendages on her own back had been underdeveloped for much of her youth though one would not know it now. That intolerable frailty is behind her, outgrown like mothers and fear.

    From her own side of the river Leokadia watches another woman who’s wings burn upon her back without smoke or tinder. It reminds her of a woman who interrupted her when she’d been trying to catch snowshoe hares once, with wings made of light that she had found interesting enough as an infant. Now the flames rippling and twisting are a different sort of glow, impressive and constantly changing so that there is something new to see each and every moment. Of course she doesn’t need anything from the ombre woman and so just watches her make her way along the river’s edge. The water is very fast in some places. Perhaps she will go in and Lo can see if the wings go out, if she gets washed away, how someone drowns. 

    Her head tips slightly, ears flicking atop her bare head. Her mane never returned after the plague and she does not miss it, her neck is short and strong does not require that particular decoration. Wings shift, worn loosely against her sides so that the long flight feathers nearly brush the ground. Her cremello coat is dingy, a winter’s filth that she has only occasionally bothered to scrub at with a bit of grooming or a roll in the snow but she has always rather enjoyed being muddy or bloody, or otherwise. 

    The high strung flame stops beside the river not too far from where Leokadia lingers. Stepping from the brambles to the opposite edge her pale eyes drift over the stranger and then she speaks and her voice is low, and sweet with very little inflection when she says. “Why don’t you go in?”


    but she keeps me alive
    she's the beast in my bones

    Leokadia



    brunhilde
    Reply
    #2





    and all the quiet nights you bear, seal them up with care
    no one needs to know they’re there, or i will hold them for you


    Had Brunhilde known her strange dance with the river would be interrupted, she might have avoided the water all together. Instead, she finds herself caught in an anxious moment of insecurity, peering wide-eyed down at an element that, while opposite to her, cannot harm her. The noise of the approaching woman does not go unnoticed, but the little flame just continues to stare with her lips pursed at the liquid.

    “You sound like a siren,” Brun returns, finally lifting her head to study the cremello opposite her. From the tip of her nose to the base of her tail, a thin and inch-high line of flames begins to ripple angrily. She tilts her head to the side, red ears swivelling irritably. Cremello like my father. Her mind’s tone would not be so chastising if she did not find herself drawn to the low hum of Leokadia’s voice. Too damn much like my father.

    The slow crackle of her wings interrupt the circle of her thoughts. Brun tucks the fiery appendages tightly to her side, casting a wayward glance to the bones that somehow never succumb to ash. Sunlight glints blindingly off of the yellow-gold of her head when she straightens, eyes highlighted and piercing when she settles. “Have you ever considered a simple ‘hello’?” Bitchy but to the point, and with absolutely no thought of how Hildy behaves herself. If she knew anything of her own mind, she would shrug her shoulders with an apathetic laugh.

    “Since you’ve asked, why don’t you meet me halfway?” There is a dare in her voice and in her gaze. Hildy takes a step, then another, flaring her wings to her sides in an attempt to save them from the river. When she finds the middle, her hooves struggle against the loose pebbles. The very bottom of her wings sizzle in indignation.


     

    brunhilde

    Leokadia <3 i love you
    Reply
    #3


    she got blood cold as ice
    and a heart made of stone

    Small, pretty, dainty Leokadia stares with rude interest at the flame. Tongues of fire erupt along the girl’s midline. Angry thing. You sound like a siren. The cremello frowns thoughtfully at this reply before keeping a smug silence. It is a rather complimentary accusation and she has nothing to return for it. The river between them hums its complaints about being confined between the two banks on which they stand but Leokadia is not distracted by the twisting splashing song, she remains focused upon the other girl. So much color, vibrancy and feeling to oppose Leokadia’s own pale and placid presentation. Were it not for the mud stains and the haphazard drag of her wings she might be considered angelic. Almost anyway. Her eyes are frequently narrowed just the tiniest bit, a look of restraint, amusement, or calculation, behind which blue-white irises are too intense for her refined and beautiful face. 

    “Hello.” Is her only reply, and she does not even give it an edge of smartness. The same low lovely smooth tone only. Of course she knows how to introduce herself, she can be very complimentary when she wants to be but her only real interest in showing herself was seeing what would happen if the mare went into the water. “I know what happens when I go into the river.” Bored with the idea or so she puts on. Sighing she does as she is bid, wading in downstream of the other woman. A dare it might have been but she is not frightened by flames no more than she was frightened by plagues, or dark gods, or dragon kings. Leokadia is nearly in the middle of the river when she notices the way her companion’s body shifts and slips as her feet try to find purchase on the bottom. Lo slips too, some, but she isn’t in danger of drowning or of being extinguished. She has crossed and swam many times.

    It is probably a bad idea to put herself in the way of being swept downstream by the other girl but she does it anyway, her own wings clutched tightly to her side. Where the water touches Lo’s skin the mud is washed away, leaving her only have filthy.She edges up to face the fire-winged woman and plants her feet. ”Here I am, Fireball.” She says flatly, glancing at the sizzling edge of flaming wings and then back to the topaz eyes in the saffron face. “I’m Leokadia.”




    but she keeps me alive
    she's the beast in my bones

    Leokadia




    brunhilde @[Brunhilde]
    Reply
    #4






    and all the quiet nights you bear, seal them up with care

    no one needs to know they’re there, or i will hold them for you



    She is of fire and perhaps of ice. Brunhilde, a spitting back alley cat in the body of a frigid queen, heats herself to whatever boiling point she has - if she even has one. It is painfully possible she may burn herself to ash. Lo’s little hello sends a furious chill down the mare’s spine, a chill that may be the only sensation keeping her from imploding.

    A smile, shark-like in its biting capacity, flashes across Hildy’s lips as her new companion wades closer. She was not certain if one so seemingly apathetic could be baited to her side, but her pleasure has no bounds when the cremello comes. Embarrassment comes and goes quickly for the little flame: her stumbling hooves and obvious uncertainty blooms a searing fury in the pit of her chest; still, she masks her discomfort with that unwavering smile, golden eyes gleaming with the cutting curiosity of one never sated.

    “How do you know I don’t know what will happen when I step into the river, Leokadia?” The cremello’s name is sweet and pretty on her tongue. Brun likes the way it tastes. The predatory smile has faded, but a flirty smirk she cannot deny quirks the corner of her mouth. “My name is Brunhilde, but I don’t mind the nickname Fireball.” She pauses, tilting her muzzle forward just a bit closer to bump Lo in a greeting. “It’s cute coming out of your mouth.”

    Some might call Brunhilde a goddamn idiot - or even out of fucking control - with her perpetual ability to go from angrily ashamed to sexual deviant in an instant. If she could respond to those that might criticize her, though, she would offer that alluring smile and a bat of her eyes - and maybe even a few words on how she has just discovered her sexuality and just cannot help herself.

    “What else is cute coming out of your mouth?” She blinks wide, girlish eyes. Ever innocent.
     





     

    brunhilde

    Leokadia i am shipping them very hard now. plz break her heart
    Reply
    #5


    she got blood cold as ice
    and a heart made of stone

    Leokadia is quite certain that the ombre girl did not know what would happen when she got those wildfire wings wet so she just watches her with a steadily unreadable expression until she introduces herself. Though there is a flicker of response at the way her name rolls off the Brunhilde’s lips without any comment on its complexity or ungainliness. Of course the girl soon reveals she knows all about cumbersome names herself. “I could call you quite a lot of things I imagine, but tell me what people normally call you. Mostly I’m just Lo, for example.” Its a clumsy flirtation that naturally rises in response to the Brunhilde’s quips but Lo is unaccustomed to such things.

    She has always been attentive to how she is meant to behave, reading the cues she gets from others to adapt herself into something more appealing and better suited to survival in this environment or that. A great deal of it makes sense, fits into her puzzle somehow. For some reason she is in this moment thinking of her arrival in Loess, meeting Castile and thinking that he was very attractive and she was meant to notice such things and yet no tendril of reaction reached out to snag on to that idea and turn it into a feeling. Not even a shred of something to mimic until she learned it for herself.

    Just now her soft muzzle is tinglingly aware of where Brunhilde had bumped it and Lo finds herself just staring. “What does that mean?” The cremello asks, tipping her shorn head to the side, her very light eyes narrowing thoughtful, confused. She does not understand seductions of any kind, but she hasn’t even the slightest frame of reference for the Fireball’s question. Or the way her cheeks warm a bit when Brunhilde’s topaz  eyes widen and blink with an innocent expression, an expression that is familiar to her but not in this context. “You are very strange.” Lo says, without judgement as she herself is very strange. “Are you done trying to douse yourself?” She says then, motioning towards a quieter inlet in the river where Brunhilde is not as likely to be washed off her feet.




    but she keeps me alive
    she's the beast in my bones

    Leokadia




    brunhilde mom, whats a lesbians?
    Reply
    #6





    and all the quiet nights you bear, seal them up with care
    no one needs to know they’re there, or i will hold them for you


    Pretty, she thinks, tilting her head and flashing those daring golden eyes. The river washes Brunhilde’s companion’s filth off, revealing a coat somewhat shinier than before. It is still dull and dirty, the water insufficient in its job, and the little flame wants to nibble at the mud until Lo’s coat is gleaming.

    “Brun,” she answers, voice falling into a throaty cadence she does not mean to take on. She could have answered “Hildy,” but the nickname her mother gave her is not something she wants to hear out of a striking woman’s lips (at least, she does not think so).

    The water tumbles and rolls around them while the ombre mare’s wings grow tired. She strains to keep them level, as far from the water as she can, but soon her burning muscles will give out and the water will take her lifeblood. Brunhilde gulps at the thought, casting nervous eyes down at her warped reflection. She sees her mother’s fierce want in the sharp edges of her face, even while fearing the dousing of her wings. The way Kensa’s eyes stare back at her force her face back up, and she smiles, wondering if the punk woman will notice her strange blip of emotion.

    “No, I’m not done, actually,” she replies and then plunges her wings into the water. The immediate sizzle causes her to gasp, and she is surprised to find no pain when the fire burns out. While she is distracted, she loses her footing, and stumbles directly into her companion’s chest. A devilish smile twists her mouth as she finds her face slamming into Lo’s neck, a sensation strong enough to distract her from the strange impulse of before.

    Ever bold and daunting, Hildy pinches the cremello’s skin between her teeth before forcing her hooves down and struggling to shallow water. Her impossibly long mane hangs to below her chest in wet, dripping locks - a look that would be dazzling if the genuine innocence on her face was not so charming.

    “I didn’t mean to do that. I mean, the stumbling. I did mean to nip you. Do you like girls?” She tilts her head and finds an honest vulnerability in how blunt her question is.
     


     

    brunhilde

    Leokadia this is why donald trump hates the gays
    Reply
    #7


    she got blood cold as ice
    and a heart made of stone

    The nickname does not surprise her, but the change in the girl’s voice is intriguing. Lo has never missed much, her pale eyes and small ears constantly making the most infinitesimal movements to collect every scrap of information to be stored by the steel trap in her skull. So she watches the strange girl look at herself in the water, taking a moment that another would miss but Leokadia observes with alien and clinical interest, tracking the minute changes in Brunhilde’s features.

    Brunhilde must be getting worried, she cannot be comfortable. Leokadia is certain that she will agree to move into the shallows.

    It pleases her to be surprised.

    The wings of living flame sweep down into the water and the steam that rolls up from them billows up hot and startling between them. It is lucky that when Brunhilde loses her footing that Leokadia is not unsettled and swept from her feet. She is the more petite of them, lighter and shorter but not by enough to matter when they collide. Her hooves strike the river-stones dully but does not slide on the slippery bottom. Something she is only slightly aware of being that they are chest to chest and Brunhilde’s face is falling against her neck. The girl’s slender body is so much warmer than the water, her skin and locks bright and clean…

    Leokadia squeals (unexpectedly, regrettably), surprised once again. This time by the pinch of teeth during what seemed like little more than an awkward collison. She takes a moment to push through to the shallows herself, watching the fireball go while her heart pounds several times in her pale chest. There in the shallows the flames are returning to the wings, flickering to life along Brun’s sides like someone’s painted gasoline onto her wet skin. The firelight makes her wet pelt iridescent, and the water has put a slight curl into her long locks but Leokadia would not remember to miss her own even if she ever did. “Girls?” The cremello asks dumbly, with an unexpected innocence of her own, soft and confused… and desperately curious.

    “How would I know?” This as Lo puts herself back before Brun, looking at her carefully. Leokadia has been a savage almost from birth so the glimpse of sweet confusion subsides and the calculatiing hunger makes her tip her head just a little to the left. “You like girls. Why?”


    but she keeps me alive
    she's the beast in my bones

    Leokadia




    brunhilde
    Reply
    #8





    and all the quiet nights you bear, seal them up with care
    no one needs to know they’re there, or i will hold them for you

    How she wishes that she burns just as her body indicates: sizzling and confident, a force to truly be reckoned with; she is merely a facade with a sharp tongue and no ambition.

    She is much smaller than she seems.

    For all of her pretty wiles and fluttering lashes, Brunhilde is terribly inexperience. She spent most of her childhood obsessing over her parents’ split, constantly hoping they will find each other again. Thoughts like those - the vulnerable, the wretched, the sad - kept her from straying much further than Loess and Hyaline. Oh, she had a tryst here and a flirtation there, but those experiments are nothing like what she faces now.

    Pretty.

    That is what she thinks as the maneless woman stares dumbfounded in the little flame’s direction. The way her eyes fall into a puppy’s stare and then snap right back to attention draws a gasp from Brun’s mouth. The ghost of a smile twists half of her mouth, and her eyelids droop in pleasant surprise. I like that. And she certainly does: the soft curve of pearly fur against the wolffish hunger in her eyes. Lo’s duality splits and surrounds Brunhilde, then molds back together as one around her skin. Familiar.

    “How can I not like girls?” is Hildy’s simple counter before she splashes closer to the cremello. She arches her neck and peers with one glittering eye. “You don’t know if you want to fuck me?” The gentle line of her lips and devilish glint in her eyes dare Leokadia, dare her to rebuff the little display Brun has put on - until she relaxes and lets out a carefree laugh. “The whole maneless thing you got going on is hot. Has no one ever told you that?” She turns to face the cremello head on. “That you’re attractive?”
     


     

    brunhilde

    Leokadia
    Reply
    #9


    she got blood cold as ice
    and a heart made of stone

    There in the shallows she wants to reach out and touch Brunhilde, and the flame comes closer like she knows. Leokadia rarely touches others, only when it serves a purpose, gets her something she needs. It is now, when she is looking steadily into those seductively hooded golden eyes that she realizes she hasn’t touched another horse in years beyond the meaningless bumps of one muzzle against another or a bit of violence to warn away the unwelcome. You don’t know if you want to fuck me? There is an unfamiliar ache in low in the cremello’s belly and she turns her ears back but they flick forward again immediately. She’s drawn a sharp breathe but steadies herself, her heart stuttering again. Brunhilde moves on before she can say anything but her mind has closed around that moment and turns it over and over as they continue to speak.

    A missing mane does draw attention, so she is unsurprised that Brun brings it up. What is strange is not being asked where it is, where it went. “No.” The single word without inflection or hesitation, and then Leokadia absently arches her short delicate neck to better display its absence. “The plague took it when I was a child.” Then, pulling her focus from her strange bare-headedness she looks steadily at Brunhilde. “I know I am attractive. No one has told me before.” She looks like her mother, she knows that her mother was beautiful. It has been meaningless until now, a tool she has not learned to operate. “What else do you like? Why am I attractive?” Curious, probing, displaying that almost vicious hunger for information. Too she wants to hear her it, to listen to the rise and fall of Brunhilde's voice and find out how much she likes. Wading closer, water lapping softly around their slender legs. “You are more than beautiful. Do a lot of...do a lot of girls want to touch you?”

    Brunhilde hasn’t even answered and Leokadia already feels a clench of jealousy threading through her curiosity. You don't know if you want to fuck me? No, but she wants to find out. Whatever happens between her last question and the moment Leokadia decides to reach out only makes her hungrier for the taste of the flame colored cheek beneath her lips, warm, soft, no more yeilding then her own. She nips the curve of the other girls jaw, unable to help herself. 


    but she keeps me alive
    she's the beast in my bones

    Leokadia



    brunhilde
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)