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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


    [private]  Purpose and Pain
    #1
    Melinoë

    Time was odd in the mortal world. Each day the sun gave way to the moon, signifying another day gone – a steady rotation that gave evidence that time was more than a made-up concept. Back home, there had been no such events and each day melted into the next. Melinoë had slept when she grew weary and woke when she’d had her fill. Life had almost been lazy, allowing her to be able to fulfill her whims as they surfaced. Now she was left to wander and roam aimlessly. Forbidden from ever venturing into the land of the mortals, it was the smallest of things that surprised her.
     
    Wind, as it blew through the trees, startled the dead silence of her mind, birds’ nests in the tree’s canopies held endless fascination for her, and the many different paths her feet could travel were overwhelming. Freed from the grips of the forest, Melinoë found herself in a lush meadow. Winter had browned the grass some, but there still seemed to be plenty to eat if one was willing to hunt for it. Not particularly requiring food to sustain her, she ignored the food source as she stopped a moment on the meadow’s edge. There was not much to be seen besides the occasional tree and hill-top rise to interrupt the dense flatness of it.
     
    Not a creature belonging to the living, she exhaled sharply. There had been a few faces she’d met since her arrival. Her opinions on them were as apathetic as they could be. Naturally cold, she almost appeared as a product of the season. Perhaps that had been her father’s vision for her? Her mother would bring the spring while Melinoë carried the winter upon her shoulders. Not particularly caring to return to the underworld, she was not yet fond of the new land she’d been forced to adopt as her home. It was bright and the colors were almost painful to observe – still, her choices were limited. Soon she would be able to settle, she hoped, and soon she would find a meaning for her life once more.



    "She Talks."


    Peracles
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    @[Kensa]
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    #2
    KENSA
    we were golden. we were fire. we were magic.

    The days are endless, cold, one into another just white and gray and evergreen. She has never loved winter but this is the coldest of her life, lonely, empty. The child in her belly is at times the only fire burning against oblivion and it is yet a small flame that barely stirs beneath her ribs. Even when her every moment is altered by it’s presence, she will require more to survive than all the hopes that are wrapped up in the innocent promise of an infant. There are those who have tried to give her comfort but she pushes them back, refuses kindness undeserved.

    In the meadow she digs for acorns at the forest’s edge. There are plenty of acorns at home but they are buried deep in the alpine snow and she will find herself with assistance from one of her children or someone else. She cannot tolerate the helpfulness or kindness today, and she has yet to turn on her friends so in this mood she exiles herself from home. The digging is an almost pleasant exertion and the monotony of it turns her thoughts to a base quiet, reward and work and little else. Until she moves on to find a new trove of treasures and has her attention captured by a naked winter-berry heavy with is beautiful crimson fruit.

    Kensa draws near the poison shrub, inspecting it absently. Though she reaches out to touch the berries she has no intention of eating a single one. She knows them to be a bitter poison. Still she has always been a tactile creature, eager to touch and know even when she should not. From there her eyes—topaz cabochons—flick to the dark shape of a stranger, a lovely cold thing. Made of winter in the same intangible way that Kensa is made of summer. In spite of all the emptiness that the chestnut has poured into herself she has a fleeting appreciative thought that sticks in her mind and makes her stare too long.



    @[Melinoë]
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    #3
    Melinoë

    Just as time seemed odd, the mortals who roamed that plain also held a peculiarity. Though, and she regularly caught herself forgetting this, not all who lived there would fall into her father's realm. Life had proven itself to be a complexity and, though most did not share the same lineage that she did, there were many who were endless. That, however, was not the only aspect of life that continued to surprise her. Grown used to the appearance of death, the full opacity of existence remained startling.

    The chestnut mare was one such feature that took Melinoë by surprise. The dark mare had never considered herself to be ugly, but she paled next to the stranger. Her beauty reached into Mel's chest and pulled her tight, making it hard for her to breathe. More beautiful than the goddess of love herself, Melinoë felt completely enraptured at the sight of her.

    Taking a step forward, she tilted her head in consideration of her. Perhaps, she had been blessed by the gods - or was a child of one just as she was. Eyes narrowed Melinoë set aside her hesitations and approached the stranger.

    "Good afternoon," she ventured bravely. 

    It was not in her nature to be the first to approach a stranger. She preferred the silence of her thoughts to the lulls conversation often provided. A touch antisocial, thanks to her years spend playing with ghosts, it was a mental stretch for her to date her curiosity. 


    Peracles
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    @[Kensa]
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    #4
    KENSA
    we were golden. we were fire. we were magic.

    It is not often that she is the one standing in place and staring. Though she frequently turns an openly interested look on strangers that catch her eye, her attention span tends to be short. There is something about this other woman that is just different enough to hold her attention, to make it tumble to a stop, really. “Hello.” The greeting is off her lips before she realizes it, the syllables clean and clear, if a little surprised. Kensa is often the first to approach, charming and direct, disarmingly down-to-earth despite her appearance. Usually she is off and going in a conversation before the object of her interest can manage to process that she’s hurled her name at them or even taken their eyes off the gold freckling her skin.

    “I’m Kensa. I was staring.” This introduction is followed shortly by a bemused confession. It is her turn to step nearer and her sturdy limbs bring her within reach of the other mare, so that she might reach out and greet her. The chestnut only offers her muzzle to the tall stranger rather than pressing in to touch like she once might have. Physical connection no longer feels as simple or effortless, not to mention it is too fraught. She’s lost too much, destroyed too much in the last year to feel comfortable with herself or the influence of her beauty.  These thoughts have no place in a simple meeting like this and she pushes them back, not entirely sure why they bare on her now except that the differences between the dark mare and herself are an attractant of sorts.

    Drawing her chin in the small sabino tips an ear to the side, listening to a pair of chickadees that have claimed the winter-berry in her absence. Her eyes remain on the wintry-woman, calm but curious. “I am from Hyaline. To the north. The mountains. Where have you come from?”

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    #5
    Melinoë

    The gold splattered mare almost seems startled by Melinoë's approach. Beautifully topaz eyes turn towards the ghostly apparition and, suddenly, she feels wholly unworthy of the stunning creature's attention. The 'hello' that is issued is almost hesitant and surprised, even as the tones of her musical voice ring as clear as a bell. Melinoë is not certain what she had been expecting, certainly not as welcoming of a greeting as she had. She had grown accustomed to being thought of as odd or usual. Time spent surrounded by brimstone and icy death had hardened her - made her not as easily known as she might have been otherwise. 

    A smile gently caresses Melinoë's lips and she dipped her head ever so slightly in recognition of the issued greeting. Not fazed by the startling continuation of the mare, now known as Kensa's, speech - the odd creature's ears sat forward to catch every glittering sound. Of course, she was staring. Melinoë hardly appeared to belong to the land of the living. She very clearly stood out amongst the many markings of life - she caught the eyes of others, but not in the same way that Kensa did. She had beauty and grace dripping from every curve of her. The allure she presented was dangerous, and Melinoë wondered what kind of life she led when she possessed such recognition and power over the senses.

    "As was I," Melinoë admitted with forceful bluntness. Talking to those whose lungs still craved oxygen was entirely different than the conversation she'd endured with the spirits of her father's realm. They had not always been as straight forward as her new friend appeared to be. They were confused and, mostly, not always aware that they were, in fact, dead. Melinoë had exhausted all pity from a very young age. 

    The chestnut mare extends her muzzle forward and, for a moment, Melinoë simply stared - unsure of Kensa's expectation. It occurred to her, perhaps several moments too late, what she was asking. Hurriedly, and somewhat awkwardly, the blue maned mare stumbled forward to meet the greeting gesture. She prayed to the gods that her ineptitude would go unnoticed. Quickly eager to turn attention away from her apparent awkwardness, she listened intently to Kensa's inquiry and struggled to form a coherent answer. 

    "The north," Melinoë repeated thoughtfully. "I guess, then, you could say that I hail from the south - as far south as one could get. I was banished to this land by my parents, though I am not eager to return home to them just yet."

    It was confusing, her answer, but she was not yet certain how her true parentage might be received. Concealing the details of her origins appeared to be the best course of action - at least, for now.




    Peracles
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    @[Kensa]
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    #6
    KENSA
    we were golden. we were fire. we were magic.

    It is no novelty to be stared at, or even to have her company’s behavior hobbled or speech stilted. It has become familiar, the disarray that spreads out around her like a shockwave, and it is easy to mistake Melinoë’s awkward greeting for a recovery from Kensa’s own oddity. The sabino Primarch understands herself to appear a bit alien to some, a shock to the system and she has grown used to giving them time to orient themselves. She does not imagine that her company does not expect a greeting to involve the capturing of scents (Kensa’s of opium and alpine air) or sense that Melinoë is anything other than what she appears to be.

    —as far south as one could get. Another might turn their head to seek the southern horizon with their eyes but Kensa knows there is nothing there but the sea cliffs and vast water separating their continent from everywhere else. The blue maned woman is not from the South of Beqanna, but some other distant place. At the word banishment Kensa’s brow takes on a concerned stitch but she does not wear a look of pity or fear.

    “There are no doubt worse places to be banished than this. You will stay a while?” Of course Kensa’s question comes across as hopeful rather than detachedly curious and the tired parts of her are annoyed by it. Certainly Kensa ought to have learned by now to wear her cold and careful face whenever possible, but she is drawn out-of-doors by some intangible mystery and shows herself once more. Curious, kind, hungry for life. It is a strange turn of events that has someone like her so interested in the company of a being like Melinoë, but of course Kensa hasn’t the slightest idea who she’s speaking with. She knows only that there is something here she does not understand, and that the other woman’s blue eyes seem brighter in the company of her like-colored forelock.
    Realizing that her earlier statement might be tone-deaf considering that Melinoë is in fact banished from the home she has always known, Kensa frowns at herself thoughtfully before she asks “It isn’t too uncomfortable here...in comparison to where you came from?” She does not exactly mean the weather, or the terrain, or even the people of Beqanna. Of course they have only just met, and whatever the blue-black mare’s answer may be Kensa does not expect her to divulge anything at all,  she only means to acknowledge her loss and offer an ear.




    @[Melinoë] Sorry this took me so long. I was away for about a week. I love Melinoë, Kensa is weird. <3
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