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@[brunhilde]
Beqanna
Assailant -- Year 226
"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] past and future
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@[brunhilde]
01-19-2020, 04:43 AM
BRUNHILDE I BET ON LOSING DOGS There are plenty of red flags waving loudly and brilliantly in Brunhilde’s face. She blinks at them, thinking they look like the red and orange that she bears—she thinks these red flags are so similar to her that their meanings change entirely. Every warning that arises only solidifies her adoration. Because she does not deserve to be loved fairly, or to be loved well; no, when she finds her lover’s red flags, she simply lets them ride proudly on her back. Brun becomes the monster she hides behind. The early spring day begins to wane, bright sun fading into the dark twilight of afternoon and night. Hildy’s glow splashes around her, accentuated by the hissing light of her fire wings. She casts sullen, golden eyes across the blooming flowers of the verdant meadow. The rise and fall of shadows across the foliage distracts her for a time—every now and again she will shift her body so that her light changes the shadows. Brun lifts her head to study the descent of a pegasus, finally torn from the mind-numbing studying of her flowers. Her eyes grow sharp with recognition, and they grow even sharper as she realizes the familiar face is approaching her. Shame changes Hildy’s demeanor. Where she once might have been slightly delighted to see her acquaintance, her face grows dark and dismissive. Brun is starkly aware of how her once supple frame is too-skinny, and how her once lusciously tangled mane is mostly knots. Vastra looks different, she notes. Healthier. This makes her even more self-conscious. “Hello,” Brunhilde parrots, voice terse. She blinks once, studying the cream of Vastra’s wings, then twice, studying curve of her face. There is nothing particularly kind about the shapeshifter; still, something in Brun’s chest melts. Her eyes soften and she releases the cold breath she was holding. Hildy wants to divulge of all of her suffering, to let flow the pain and fear she lives in; instead she sputters out, “I’ve missed good company.” She doesn’t know how to express her fondness, and she simply sits in the desperate hope that Vastra will not leave. @[Vastra]
01-21-2020, 06:39 PM
@[brunhilde] BRUNHILDE I BET ON LOSING DOGS I’m not sad, Brunhilde repeats to herself as she looks into Vastra’s eyes. She is just so alive, so alive and teeming with everything Brun wishes she is. The little flame sits in her assumptions, imagines her companion taking flight with all the confidence their world can muster. The tangles of her mane, the smooth cream of her coat—how beautiful she is in her feral, stoic nature. Brun knows almost nothing of this woman, but she paints such a beautiful picture of her in her mind, images so incredible that her pulse rushes and her legs itch to get away. “Wanna—” Brun begins to ask if Vastra wants to take to the skies when she cuts her off. Hildy’s glow dims and the butterflies that flutter around her spread out their orbits. She looks naked, shocked. “Must just slip my mind most days,” is her noncommittal answer, followed by a weak smile and a roll of her shoulders. She knows this is a blatant lie, that anyone with half a brain will see through her excuse—but she can’t bring herself to come up with a good lie, and that simply leads to— “Actually, uh,” Hildy pauses, swallows back her hesitation, “I’m sick.” It’s not a lie. She is sick (sick to want him, sick to miss him, sick to punish herself even as he punishes her). “Yeah,” she kicks a hoof into the grass, now, attempting nonchalance, “I just haven’t been able to kick a cold . . . or something.” Brun laughs, then sighs, then returns her downturned eyes to Vastra’s. Stupid, she thinks, so stupid—she’s going to know something is wrong because you lied. Stop fucking lying. “I never caught your name before,” Brunhilde quickly adds, desperate to change the subject. “Wanna tell me now?” @[Vastra]
02-06-2020, 10:10 PM
@[brunhilde]
02-17-2020, 09:43 PM
BRUNHILDE I BET ON LOSING DOGS If Brunhilde knew that she had disappointed Vastra with her blatant lying, she would balk. Whatever she finds within the shapeshifter (she doesn’t know what it is, the draw—the desire to curl into her strength, perhaps), she respects it. She sees her as an equal, strangely enough. There are not many that Hildy cares for, much less respects, but that level look in Vastra’s eyes has always soothed her. Maybe it’s the aloofness she observed when they had first met, or how Brun perceives Vastra as so rational—either way, she feels like she needs the respect returned. She feels like if this woman doesn’t hold her in high regard, then maybe her perception of herself has always been a lie. “Vastra,” Brun murmurs with a wistful smile, moving her gaze up to the sky and then gently back to Vastra’s eyes. “It suits you.” She means that, because it is not exactly a beautiful name; but it is certainly a strong one, and what Hildy admires most is the strength she sees in Vastra. Do you want to go for a fly? Hildy starts to ask, though bites her tongue before the first syllable can come out. She’s never been much of a flyer, and in her head Vastra is terribly elegant in the sky. Brun’s wings make her nervous, and she’s always liked them more for their aesthetic than their function. Vastra’s near-pleased expression gives her a jolt of strength, and she finally blurts, “Do you want to fly?” Her crackling wings loosen and a small grin lifts her lips. “I’m not very good at it. Maybe you can show me some tricks?” This admission is difficult, but it leaves her mouth smoothly, like she really doesn’t mind that she’s bad at flight. “I bet you can teach me a lot,” she purrs, surprise bubbling in her chest at the unexpected flirt. She blinks, though takes it in stride, feeling as if a little sliver of who she really is has found its way back to her. @[Vastra]
02-25-2020, 08:02 PM
@[brunhilde]
04-05-2020, 03:23 PM
BRUNHILDE I BET ON LOSING DOGS It didn’t used to be that Brunhilde’s knees folded at even the slightest kind look. She used to hold her head high; she used to possess a gemstone gaze that glittered with the flames upon her back. When Brun digs deep enough, she can remember the day she awoke with wings of fire and thought that the universe was offering her some sort of escape. How foolish she was then, with not a thing to run from. Loess had felt empty compared to the rich history she held in Hyaline, but she would give anything to return to that time, when she thought the only prison to break out of was her family. “Oh,” Brun whispers to herself when Vastra smiles. A jolt of pleasure—like a shot of adrenaline to a stopped heart—spreads warmth through the rushing veins in her chest. What a pleasant, welcome thing she found her friend’s smile. It was different, that smile—Brun finds it wild and alluring. That pleasure races to the rest of her body and briefly reminds her of what it felt like to find Leokadia and Cleave; it’s different again, though. Though untamed, Vastra doesn’t feel frightening or alien. Now Hildy’s heart races with something other than the shock of kindness, a rush she’s never felt in her life. Innocent, unadulterated attraction, perhaps? She doesn’t recognize the feeling for what it is, though it spurs her to race with absolutely no hesitation after the flirty bird. “Anywhere,” Brunhilde calls to Vastra as she shakily rises to her friend. A smile lifts lips that for now don’t remember what it feels like to sit in a somber line. @[Vastra] i'm in love <3333
05-03-2020, 09:41 PM
@[brunhilde]
05-26-2020, 12:48 AM
BRUNHILDE I BET ON LOSING DOGS Even while distracted by remembering how to fly, Brunhilde cannot take her mind off of Vastra. When she forces her wings down, the tip of one comes dangerously close to the shifter's, burning feathers launching up just before sizzling against skin. Vastra seems to swallow the sky as she flies. Her speed and skill greatly outmatch the wildfire mare's but oh! She how could she mind? The sky is clear and blue, her companion the right kind of earthy color that somehow clashes and melds with the bright white and blue. Vastra takes Brun's breath away. Such freedom is unlike anything she has ever experienced. The rush of it nearly makes her dizzy. A pleading and startled utterance of Vastra's name begins to leave Hildy's lips when the shifter draws back, levelling herself with slower mare. A secret smile lifts her mouth - how good it feels to recieve one of those small affections that reminds one they're being thought of. Brun hasn't felt so gently seen since she was a child. How long has it been? Swallowing back a hundred answers, Brunhilde turns her open gaze away from Vastra and out to the open sky. Her lips sharpen to a hard line. "I don't know," she says, quiet, small. I don't know answers so many of those versions of her companion's question. I don't know the last time I flew. I don't know the last time I felt safe. I don't know the last time I saw someone I love. I don't know. "I don't know," Brun repeats, unintentionally, blank gaze turning back to Vastra. "What about you?" she asks, then suddenly bursts into colorful laughter. What about you, what? she thinks. "I mean . . ." is the beginning of some sort of doomed-to-fail explanation, but she stops with no real answer to offer, mouth slightly agape in a semi-embarrassed smile. @[Vastra] | |||||
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