• Logout
  • 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


    there are other worlds than these; brine
    #1
    Gun cannot fathom why he is there.
    It should be an open sky, thousands of stars, a bit of moonlight and the way strands of oily hair blow across her face that summon him forth. Yet it is none of these, and the spotty stallion finds him weaving his way through the tight cluster of trees with no clear reason as to why. 

    His best guess is that it is a need for something, and naturally he thinks it is her that has drawn him out. Gun always seemed to know when she came back but this feels different, and not like her at all. Their daughter perhaps? But no, that child had been the best blend of them but she chose her own way. 

    So he snorts, clearly perturbed because he has never truly belonged amongst them. Their ways were never his own and he preferred to remain a creature as solitary as the best of them. Knowing this, he pauses on the wooded path and scouts the breaks in between the trees with his dark eyes.

    That’s when he sees her - speckled blue, and he’s not sure why he goes over to her. It wasn’t his way, but he tipped his head and said, “Ma’am,” in a quiet drawl. He looked her over, appraising and struck by how delicate she appeared even though she matched him in height. 

    There was something about her that made him look at her in a way he’s never looked at anyone else but Caw. That thought alone should have stopped him cold but it didn’t. He knew of her other discretions, despite how he’d always remained faithful to her for no reason other than that’s all he had to offer but he felt a new hunger rise in him. 

    One that tasted like hope after a long time being lonely.

    @[Brine] as promised! ❤️
    Reply
    #2

    Brine

    Brine is not entirely sure why she is here, either. In fact, what is most surprising is that she has finally found the courage to leave the borders of Nerine without instantly running to Taiga. Where, conveniently so, Ruthless is likely adapting to her new life well.

    And here our saddened mouse sits, a gloomy cloud of loneliness hanging over her with a permanent aura.

    She tugs at the outer corners of her wings, pulling them in closely and hugging herself tight. A physical touch she had grown used to, after months of flinching at any sort of physical gesture or accidently brush. After months of internal reassurance, silent affirmations, and embarrassment, our jaded Brine had finally accepted the thought of her own touch.

    It is true that, after baby Ruth had blessed this land, Brine had never truly adapted to even her touch. The way she would nuzzle into her flank before moving to eat. The way she would sometimes accidentally stumble into Brine’s ribs while jumping over fallen branches, or tripping over exposed roots. All of these completely natural forms of touch that children need, Brine could not process.

    Her brain could not seem to tell her that this touch, and his touch, are in fact very, very different.

    She doesn’t see him, not like he sees her. Though she hears him, and his low toned voice as if resembling a baritone sax. He is golden, a light child. Her mind flashes back to her own golden child, the way the moon ignites her yellow tones like what is happening to his, right now. He is mystical and absolutely frightening all rolled into one, low drawl of ma’am.

    But, he is a light child. The sun saw him cradled in the womb of his mother and decided that he, and eventually Ruth, were worthy of their golden tones. Unlike the blackness that had found Brine, coated her in a blue-toned ebony. Light fought, though. It fought hard. And, as a result, left a blend of randomly placed white hairs to form a vibrant blue roan.

    “Sir,” she allows herself to speak, all of the sudden coming to the realization of how long silence filled the air. Did he notice her hesitation? Did he know it was about him? Shame crosses over her forehead and lower neck, a flush of heat pouring across her skin as if to camouflage her completely into the forest abyss. Though, it doesn’t. It lingers there like a blaring siren of awkwardness.

    “I apologize,” she lets out a laugh, a fake one but an attempt, “you look like my daughter. She was… Excuse me, is… a palomino roan.”

    Oh the awkwardness, the horribly structured sentence, the obviously inappropriate comparison. How wrong she had gone in the last few seconds, and yet she cannot leave to let the damage burn into ash. She must hear him tell her how much she has failed, so at least she can leave with no doors being left open.

    The endlessness of opportunity is frighteningly more terrifying than the thought of opportunity itself.
    .

    take notice of what light does—to everything

    [Image: Brine-Signature.png]
    Reply
    #3
    Misery loves company, and they must be two of the most miserable creatures in existence to have found one another. Does he care though? No, because she is beautiful to look at - like a raincloud at dusk, and for some reason that he tries not to look too closely at, he just can’t seem to take his eyes off her. 

    In his heart, he feels just the slightest pinprick of betrayal but when had Caw ever actually said she loved him? She might have but it was easily said, perhaps too easily and he’d never looked at someone else before her or after her. Until now and that factors heavily in how he stands there, almost posed for flight but knowing that deep down, he wasn’t actually going to run.

    Gun stayed put, frozen to the spot and mesmerized because she was a little thing and to be that sad? It broke his heart and all he wanted to do was comb the tangles out of her hair with his teeth but they added to her allure, to that wild sad untouchability she seemed to possess. Being a wild thing himself, he had an inkling of what it might be like to touch her: explosive, reactionary, and probably not at all in his favor. 

    Little mouse, that’s what she reminded of him. Timid and small, scampering for cover beneath the shadows or those pretty wings of hers. He never seemed to quite fall for anyone that was just as normal as he was. Gun always seemed to reach for what he couldn’t and shouldn’t have - dragons and angels. That thought alone almost made him sigh but he bit it back, not wanting to have to explain that part of himself to her quite yet.

    He didn’t mind the long silence that stretched between them or her late reply. Gun appreciates silences, awkward or profound, and finds them telling enough about who he shares his company with. Her shame is not noticeable to him but her awkwardness and discomfort, of which he doesn’t realize he is the cause of. Had he known, he’d have taken his leave of her just enough to see her maybe relax and let loose those feathers from the tight tuck against her body.

    “No need,” and there really wasn’t any need for her apology. She had done nothing wrong, committed no faux pas that he was aware of but then, he also lacked enough social graces that left him constantly wondering why he’d even come back. Not for the one he thought he loved and not for his own daughter whom he loved above all else, even life itself. 

    The correction between was to is left him curious though. Curious enough to surmise that the girl must have finally reached an age suitable enough to be cast out from her mother’s side, only mom didn’t look too happy about that. He tried to smooth it over either a whiskey-flavored chuckle, “No ma’am, similar but not the same. I’m just a regular old appaloosa with some spots. You roans sure are pretty though and I’ll bet she’s as lovely as you are.”

    Yes, he dared to slip a compliment in there and could only imagine that the daughter was a slip of cloud-speckled sunshine just as her mother was cloud-speckled dusk. He started to envision just how pretty a pair they’d make standing up on a ridge with a sunset in front of them and it sure made pretty picture in his head. Until he realized he had initiated this new silence and found himself looking at her bright appreciative eyes.

    “Do you call these parts home?” ah, he’s a touch awkward too and not all that good at conversations.

    @[Brine] ❤️
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)