12-07-2019, 11:19 PM
<center><img src=https://i.postimg.cc/SQGSDvH2/agetta-by-yoricade-small.png></center><center><table bgcolor=171b36 style="border-color:#232745; border-width: 3px; border-style: solid; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: -80px"" cellspacing=15 cellpadding=15 width=500><tr><td><p align=justify><font color=60658b face=times size=2><br><br>Agetta slips into the oasis, wincing a little as the cool fresh water comes in contact with the sand snake bites she had received just moments ago. Flecks of shimmering sand are washed out and she relaxes, but only for a moment. Of course this could not be just a hallucination - a strange dream bringing her to the Deserts instead of the Gates to tease her. This is something else entirely.
A gasp escapes the white mare when she can feel the tickle of memory when she sees the mare standing on the cliff, standing entirely too close to the edge. <i>Anatomy</i> is the name that rings in her mind, though she has no idea if it’s really the black mare’s name. It’s little more than an echo from another life, back when Agetta was another black mare, but the idea that she knew this mare is so strong - and the fear that she is standing too close to the edge - that she could drown under the weight.
A noise of distress escapes her when the vision changes, removing the black mare from view and Agetta wishes it would come back, wishes to call to her and coax her off of the ledge.
But all thoughts of that vision come crashing to a stop when the next settles in.
She does not recognize the palomino mare, but she does recognize the stallion. They had met just recently, two passing ghosts in this new world, and she had liked him. He seemed like her, heavy under the weight of lives already lived.
Words cannot convey the horror she feels when she watches him murder the mare and it only grows all the more when he digs out his eyes - those beautiful, bright orange eyes she remembers being fascinated by. She hears his words, realizes that this is his mother - the mother who gave him his name, and though she had just witness a murder very much like her own, she cannot help but feel her heart break for him at the same time it does for the mare. It is difficult to imagine anyone who deserves to die - just as it is difficult to imagine a young foal deserving the name Garbage.
And then, cruelly, she feels the whispers of a thought telling her she needs to choose someone to save. The mare on the cliff or the mare in the desert. It’s an impossible choice. No matter who is involved, whether they were completely unknown to her, Agetta does not think she has enough iron in her heart to make the decision that is needed.
Though her mind whirls, she forces herself to move. Forces herself to act out of instinct.
She lunges, ignoring the pain in her legs from the freshly cleaned but still bleeding wounds. She shifts into her favourite form, that of a silvery snow leopard. When she lands, her paws are on the sandy floor of the desert, and she is charging towards the golden and black pair before Garbage can strike. What she had seen before seems to have rewound. No bones have been broken, no eyes are rolling along the golden sands.
Of course, Agetta only means to stop him as she moves forward. To save this palomino mare, to save him, to save herself from this heartbreaking scene. But she would, without hesitation, offer herself as a replacement. Better she should die.
She’s already a ghost, after all.
“Stop!” She shouts, sliding between the pair. She’s supposed to save the palomino mare but her attention is on this younger version of the stallion she barely knows. Can she save him too?
There’s surprise all around, the thick-coated feline is hardly a usual feature in the desert. If it is not enough to entirely diffuse the situation, it’s certainly enough of a shock that things stop in their tracks. She suddenly wishes she had gotten to know him better, so she might know exactly what he would need to hear in this moment. If this is a vision of the past, which she suspects that it is, then she hopes she will see him again in the future.
Even though knowing this piece of him, without his permission, feels like a violation of his privacy.
“You’re better than this.” She looks right at Garbage, her midnight blue eyes burning with her belief in those words even though, really, she doesn’t know that. She barely knows him at all - and certainly not this younger self - but she believes it all the same.
She’s posed between them, ready to pounce and push them apart if the need arises. Her gaze flickers to the palomino mare, checking to see if she will retaliate for the almost-attack her son, but she still seems to be in shock. Agetta focuses her gaze back on Garbage then, her voice soft and encouraging. The voice she would use on her own children. “Walk away from this, and be better for it.”
It’s stupid, her reaction to this event - and surely it makes no sense.
And yet. She’s sure she would do it again.
</font></p>
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cormorant+Garamond" rel="stylesheet"><div style="font-family: 'Cormorant Garamond', serif; font-size: 14px; color: #b3b7d1; transform: uppercase; line-height: 105%; text-align: center; text-shadow: 0px 0px 4px #d1d4ef;"><i>we are made of starstuff</i></div></tr></td></table></center>
<center><a href="https://www.deviantart.com/yoricade/art/YHH-littlewillow-art-818815908">artwork by yoricade</a></center>
#teamgarbage
A gasp escapes the white mare when she can feel the tickle of memory when she sees the mare standing on the cliff, standing entirely too close to the edge. <i>Anatomy</i> is the name that rings in her mind, though she has no idea if it’s really the black mare’s name. It’s little more than an echo from another life, back when Agetta was another black mare, but the idea that she knew this mare is so strong - and the fear that she is standing too close to the edge - that she could drown under the weight.
A noise of distress escapes her when the vision changes, removing the black mare from view and Agetta wishes it would come back, wishes to call to her and coax her off of the ledge.
But all thoughts of that vision come crashing to a stop when the next settles in.
She does not recognize the palomino mare, but she does recognize the stallion. They had met just recently, two passing ghosts in this new world, and she had liked him. He seemed like her, heavy under the weight of lives already lived.
Words cannot convey the horror she feels when she watches him murder the mare and it only grows all the more when he digs out his eyes - those beautiful, bright orange eyes she remembers being fascinated by. She hears his words, realizes that this is his mother - the mother who gave him his name, and though she had just witness a murder very much like her own, she cannot help but feel her heart break for him at the same time it does for the mare. It is difficult to imagine anyone who deserves to die - just as it is difficult to imagine a young foal deserving the name Garbage.
And then, cruelly, she feels the whispers of a thought telling her she needs to choose someone to save. The mare on the cliff or the mare in the desert. It’s an impossible choice. No matter who is involved, whether they were completely unknown to her, Agetta does not think she has enough iron in her heart to make the decision that is needed.
Though her mind whirls, she forces herself to move. Forces herself to act out of instinct.
She lunges, ignoring the pain in her legs from the freshly cleaned but still bleeding wounds. She shifts into her favourite form, that of a silvery snow leopard. When she lands, her paws are on the sandy floor of the desert, and she is charging towards the golden and black pair before Garbage can strike. What she had seen before seems to have rewound. No bones have been broken, no eyes are rolling along the golden sands.
Of course, Agetta only means to stop him as she moves forward. To save this palomino mare, to save him, to save herself from this heartbreaking scene. But she would, without hesitation, offer herself as a replacement. Better she should die.
She’s already a ghost, after all.
“Stop!” She shouts, sliding between the pair. She’s supposed to save the palomino mare but her attention is on this younger version of the stallion she barely knows. Can she save him too?
There’s surprise all around, the thick-coated feline is hardly a usual feature in the desert. If it is not enough to entirely diffuse the situation, it’s certainly enough of a shock that things stop in their tracks. She suddenly wishes she had gotten to know him better, so she might know exactly what he would need to hear in this moment. If this is a vision of the past, which she suspects that it is, then she hopes she will see him again in the future.
Even though knowing this piece of him, without his permission, feels like a violation of his privacy.
“You’re better than this.” She looks right at Garbage, her midnight blue eyes burning with her belief in those words even though, really, she doesn’t know that. She barely knows him at all - and certainly not this younger self - but she believes it all the same.
She’s posed between them, ready to pounce and push them apart if the need arises. Her gaze flickers to the palomino mare, checking to see if she will retaliate for the almost-attack her son, but she still seems to be in shock. Agetta focuses her gaze back on Garbage then, her voice soft and encouraging. The voice she would use on her own children. “Walk away from this, and be better for it.”
It’s stupid, her reaction to this event - and surely it makes no sense.
And yet. She’s sure she would do it again.
</font></p>
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cormorant+Garamond" rel="stylesheet"><div style="font-family: 'Cormorant Garamond', serif; font-size: 14px; color: #b3b7d1; transform: uppercase; line-height: 105%; text-align: center; text-shadow: 0px 0px 4px #d1d4ef;"><i>we are made of starstuff</i></div></tr></td></table></center>
<center><a href="https://www.deviantart.com/yoricade/art/YHH-littlewillow-art-818815908">artwork by yoricade</a></center>
#teamgarbage