ignore the messed up html i broke it but i love you. whoever you are, reading this.
version 22: awakening
LILLIANA -- Year 206
"There is still something of himself - something of the Wolfbane who would always love her - that rallies against the slime. It says, 'lie in the bed you’ve made'. So he gathers the covers and tucks himself in." -- Wolfbane, written by Calcifer
is there a part I haven't found; any
When you see a woman commanding the dead, it is best to not approach her.
The sweat from his morning workout still dampens his coat as Clegane lazily grazes, content and ready for a swim after this quick meal. But his plans are forgotten as he hears the clacking approach of the strangers. His soft grey wings rustle above his top line as realizes he should probably leave, as she draws closer, but he makes the mistake of truly looking at her first. Maybe it is the hardness in her eyes that causes him to linger - the way she looks out across the empty meadow as if she were face to face with a would-be rival who wasn't worth her time.
Like the world is against her, but she doesn't mind.
She reminds him of someone, someone he misses even if he doesn't allow himself to think of her. So he doesn't do what a smart young stallion should, instead he remains.
He was a child born into the tribulation; he had known death at an early age. Puckered and gruesome, the face which had been made for him would never allow him to put that past cleanly behind him. He worked to separate himself from his first years, their darkness, and most of the time he was successful. But this stranger and her creatures hold his silver gaze.
She turns his stomach and reminds him of things he would rather forget, but he can't look away.
11-27-2019, 05:25 PM
It's rude to stare.
This he knew, better than most. It was more than just a lesson handed down by a parent; neither of his guardians had needed to explain it. He hadn't had anyone to stare at in those formative years, back when he was an afterthought, dragging behind powerful women.
But he had felt the truth of it when the fillies stared at him for all the wrong reasons. No, not because he was handsome or someone they wanted to make fall in love with them.
(That would have been a game he willingly played)
He had wanted them to like him. He wouldn't have minded their stares if they had been admiring his powers or the handsome turn of his brow. But any second looks he was given were once he would have rather not had.
They were afraid to let the monster boy out of their sight, of what he would do if they turned their pretty little backs to him.
But he had never done harm, never tasted blood other than his own. Even then, it had only been that one time: the time his mouth and eyes and ears had been full of it. The time they all wanted to know about.
But they never stayed long after he told them.
He tastes the bitterness on the back of his tongue and wonders who she is, who has stirred up these feelings he had so carefully hidden. He wonders if he can swallow them down one more time before they get the best of him, but when he finds his voice the bitterness had already spoiled them.
"Haven't you ever found yourself unable to look away?"
12-09-2019, 05:20 PM
His silver eyes travel across the edges of her face as she purrs her response. She seems to be near his age, but something about her whispers to him that this is a lie. He even doubts the confidence of her answer, but he doesn't contradict her. Clegane had no reason to expect honesty from a stranger, and the fog of arrogance which surrounds her intrigues instead of offends him. He had spent too much time in the shadows of powerful women to curl his lip at signs of strength. But the sound of her drawing breath to speak again causes his roaming eyes to lift, his gaze leveling on hers and he isn't afraid she will look away.
He nods, wondering if it is one she has chosen for herself or was given, wondering if this is something he should ask her. But the skeleton clatters quietly beside its master and his attention reluctantly leaves the beautifully proud face. The usually talkative nomad inspects the collection of bones, assembled artfully to mimic the living, arranged in such a way to be unique even for Beqanna.
"I'm Clegane," he finally says as he looks into the empty place where a horse's eyes once had been. Then his face, scarred and raw as it is, turns again in her direction as he steps aside. "Don't let me stand in your way."
12-29-2019, 12:09 PM
It was a given name – odd, perhaps, to an outsider, but normal amongst her family, all named for monsters or other terrible things. She likes the name, the sharpness of it on the tongue, how it is cruel and fitting both.
He gives his name, then - Clegane - and she nods, though the name means nothing to her. Still, it is useful information, perhaps – they soften, sometimes, when their own name is repeated. A false familiarity. He moves for her, and she considers going on her way, but she still has questions about him, curiosities she thinks can be satisfied with a little bit of prodding.
He doesn’t strike her as exceptionally strong-willed, though she bases this on nothing but brief assumptions. She doesn’t touch at his mind, not yet, but the temptation is there, mulling in the back of her mind.
So she doesn’t move, instead, she stands, watching him. The bone-thing watches to, empty sockets fixed on him in mimicry of Violence’s gaze.
“I have nowhere to be,” she says, and this is more honest of her. She is bound to no one, to no kingdom. She doesn’t even see her family much, anymore, they are boring and stupid and scattered.
“I’d hear your story, Clegane,” she says, “if you’d tell it.”
She hopes, of course, that the story is full of her namesake, and that he will share it, the gory details that left him so scarred, But even if it doesn’t, she wants to get him talking, to see what he’s like, and what, perhaps, she could do with him.
01-17-2020, 05:53 PM
The force of her attention is unsettling. Yet as she deflects his suggestion, and tells him she has nowhere to be, his heart beats a little faster. The intensity of her presence had led him to step aside for her, but she lingers. It makes him wonder what there is about him that is deserving of her notice.
To wonder what she could see in an awkward, ugly colt.
To wonder what he has to do to make her stay.
Then she asks what he knew she would, asks about the one interesting thing about him. Someday, maybe, he will be a man who knows his own mind, who shrugs off such questions, but not today. Now he is a boy looking for connection, and more inclined to please than to resist. So when she asks her questions, he nods, thinking back over his short life with true thoughtfulness.
The frost along his topline crinkles softly as he shifts under the weight of the brief silence. The two sides of himself snap and pull at each other, wrestling for the spotlight. He thinks he knows already which side she wants to see, though how he knows, he can not understand. So, he asks because he doesn't want to disappoint her.
"Which part do you want to hear," he says, unsure of where to start, "the happy or the sad?"
violence so sorry for the wait!