"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
07-29-2015, 05:19 PM (This post was last modified: 07-29-2015, 05:19 PM by R A P S C A L L I O N.)
I'M NOT SOME BOY THAT YOU CAN SWAY
Here he was doing the grunt work when only two years ago he and Mountain were overthrowing a missing King in a dead kingdom...and then Rapscallion got swept away by women and his dark inner thoughts. Youth is wasted on the young but he was still young, just wiser now as a five year old.
Wichita and he were due to travel to the Dale, he felt more comfortable going forward without her; their last assignment had been the Amazons and as a man he wasn't sure of their policies. He was brave but he wasn't brave enough to be kept as a torture mechanism or killed on an instant; he would be okay being a sex slave he thinks. Rapscallion cannot remember the women he has slept with, they wanted a child and who was he to deny them? He is so indifferent about it all. The winter had been kind to him compared to constant crippling winters of the Tundra; their warmest days were slightly above freezing. The buckskin had grown quite a shabby coat and seemed to be the only traveler on the path, through the valleys, to Forbidden Dale. He didn't mind being alone, he had spent most of his life as he knew it alone - it was comforting. His pale green eyes came to an opening, seeing a few horses huddled together for extra warmth he slinks towards them. First, he neighs to give them a formal acknowledgement of his presence; words weren't his forte.
He waits for someone to speak to him, he can't be missed - he rather handsome despite his coldness, a long lean neck and strong shoulders like his uncle and father; both former King's of long ago. Genetics can only pass down so much though, he got looks from his father's side but his heart and diseased mind from his mother. He wonders briefly if Wichita is safe and if perhaps she has birthed her child, if the child will be coming too - Rapscallion has never been around a child to know the etiquette.
07-29-2015, 10:45 PM (This post was last modified: 07-29-2015, 10:48 PM by Elysteria.)
love is a temporary madness...
It is not uncommon for her to be drifting through the upper reaches of the sky. Not only is it comforting for her to be in such distant heights, but the vantage allows her to easily monitor the borders of the kingdom. Today is such a day, where the cold winds of the heavens soothe, whipping her dark mane into a tangle. Her russet eyes scan the hills and valleys far below. The kingdom has long been a quiet one, so she does not expect much. She is here more because it is a comfort to linger rather than any real need to patrol. But as it happens, it is good that she had chosen today to do so.
She sees him shortly after he has passes the borders of the kingdom. Her russet gaze fixes upon his lone frame as he traipses over the snow-covered hills. He makes his way inevitably towards the center of the kingdom. She does not detect any immediate danger from him. Her burgeoning gift of reading emotions will be a decidedly useful one, she has decided. And though it is still developing, though she can only read the barest hint of emotions as yet, she knows that the ability will one day be invaluable.
As he approaches the heart of the Dale, she drops swiftly from the gray skies. Her bright red frame is immediately visible against the pale expanse of the overcast heavens threatening snow. She does not try to hide, nor does she have any need to. She lands silently on the thick cushion of snow, her bright, cinnamon gaze fixing upon the yellow stallion. A small, welcoming smile touches her lips, for though he had not waited before passing their borders, she could sense no danger from him. And though she would not hesitate to defend her kingdom with her very last breath, if need be, it is not in her nature to be less than kind and welcoming unless strongly provoked.
“Welcome. I am Elysteria. Is there something that I can help you with?”
He, too, has taken to the skies on this threatening winter day. Unlike Elysteria, however, he is far less graceful.
He had discovered the ability quite by accident. One day, as he practiced his ghost-shifting (drawing out the metamorphosis as slowly as possible, testing the effects of it) he became distracted by the flight of a vulture. It rode a thermal high above his head, not needing to flap its great wings even once in the time that Ramiel observed it. He wondered why it was alone. Turkey vultures were unusually social raptors, after all, and the presence of a flock somewhere in the Dale was typical. He thought maybe this one had broken off from the others to scour the land for a kill. He wondered how high up the bird was, nearly at the bottom of a cloud…
He felt himself rising, then. The greying stallion looked down and saw the distance between the ground and his hooves increasing. His thoughts unconsciously fueled him higher. Panic and nausea nearly overtook him then, and he closed his eyes. As soon as he stopped thinking about the bird, though, he felt his ascension stop. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. The land was distraction enough, spread out in unparalleled splendor as it was. Fall had bathed the Dale in reds and oranges and yellows, and the warm light set it aglow. The rivers cut through the hills, nearly turquoise from his vantage point. If anything could squelch his fear, it was the easy beauty of this place.
Ramiel had enjoyed the experience of flying after that, and every day he tried to practice at least a little. One step closer to mastery, he told himself, knowing that it would still be a while until then.
Today is another step. He hovers over the river, a new challenge with actual consequences should he fail. He is almost invisible – able to see through his own dangling legs to the winter-weary land below – but not quite. The air is even colder up here, but he’s learned how to deal with that too. It passes through him so that he can feel only a slight chill proportional to his solidness. The young king is about to fly higher than he’s attempted so far when movement catches his eye. A red-bay streak glides quickly across his line of sight, in obvious pursuit of something. Ramiel lowers himself to the near side of the river, hits the ground with a jarring force that speaks to his lack of concentration at the action, and takes off after Elysteria.
He isn’t terribly worried just yet, but his senses are alert. It could be a new recruit simply unused to the proper etiquette of waiting at the border, or it could be an enemy. He frowns at the thought. When he rounds the corner of trees, though, he sees that it’s only one man. Of course, these days, that doesn’t diminish the possibility of danger. A sole magician had been responsible for the roving werewolves that had ravaged the Dale just before his birth. He doesn’t doubt the power of one, but this man seems harmless enough, if a bit quiet so far.
“As Elysteria said, welcome to the Dale.” He smiles easily at both once he’s reached them. The sunlight is weaker this far into the season, and the air has a bite to it. Ramiel can’t determine the stallion’s origin by scent – he’s never been to the Gates nor met anyone from there – but he can smell a trace of plant life even in the midst of winter. Not the Jungle, he thinks, not nearly pungent enough. He doesn’t know that the Gates has an eternal garden just in its blossoming stage. They have been gifted as the Dale has, but fortunately, the mountain kingdom’s source of power is far less revealing. “I’m Ramiel,” he adds, leaving out his title for now. If it becomes necessary, he will share it, but not before then.
Though the heat of the Jungle was best described as unpleasant to one whose winter coat had come in full, she found herself lingering. The vivid foliage, and exotic inhabitants an alluring amusement. Rapscallion had already headed off, intent on making the passage to the Dale. Why he was in such a hurry she couldn’t be sure, perhaps it was the temperature, his coat was just as thick. Maybe it was the company. Wichita found it pleasant, and welcome. Then again, to a male in the matriarchal society, one might feel unwelcome or out of sorts. If that was the case, she was surprised, he didn’t strike her as one to concern themselves with the opinions of others. No, that theory was at the very bottom of her list. She wasn’t even sure why she had fretted about it, though it may be because their time together hadn’t been all that bad. It was rather uneventful to be true as he had been left to his own devices.
She herself had a good excuse for her dawdling, foals couldn’t be rushed. Though the tot had been born early, just skirting the end of winter. Wichita had taken her time to rest and recover, to allow her young filly to gain some functioning use of her limbs. This child had been born in the dead of night, the navy sky dotted with sparkling spheres. Her coat had shone silver, a blanket of stark dotted white adorned her rump and hips, and a bold star sat distinct on her forehead. Wichita had decided to call her Bly, and the two had journeyed slowly to the settled valleys of the Dale. Though the child was not in her opinion well suited for the chill, she didn’t seem overly bothered by it. Besides, spring would be upon them shortly, stray viridian blades of grass showing through the hard ground.
Rapscallion was already there, standing stagnant in front of two other equine, she paced slowly into their midst, finding a spot opposite of the strangers. Greeting with a soft whicker, the silver dapple made her approach known, though she had been preceded by two resident Daleans. One was a steely gray male, who had followed the approach of a lovely bay. Her breast marked by a sphere of white, though it did not diminish her beauty. One was obviously older, more mature than the other, though the youngest held himself with a proper air. Something commanding and refined in his stature, though Wichita decided not to comment on this. ”Sorry I am late, had a lil’ bit of a setback on my departure,” gesturing with her dial to the newborn filly clinging to her side. The child’s aqua gaze curious but guarded. ”Sorry to interrupt. It’s nice to meet ya’ll I’m Wichita, and this Bly.”
Late? Weir does not know late. He knows now, he knows then, before, after. But late, no, never late.
He watches lazily, as the others take to the sky, swimming through air currents as he munched on dying grass. Amber gaze following the patterns before they are turned to the attention their directions take. It wasn’t often that he greeted newcomers, there weren’t really many to greet. Today would be a treat, though it did not persuade him to move any faster than normal. He crept along, taking his time, arriving long after the others. Most of the others. He caught the tail end of the conversation, the last bit of the silvered mare’s exchange.
He would have preferred to start the conversation with a name, but her sentence ruffles him. Had she been pregnant? So he had just left her behind to find for herself and the child? He felt his temperature creeping up, had he been a human man his face would be flushed in anger. The little mare was very slight in structure, the little whelp barely born, melting into its Mother’s side. Weir absolutely adored children, he thought very highly of them, prioritized them at the very top. This, this was enough to set fire to the docile stallions nature.
His russet dial falls, dipping itself to the pony-sized womans level, eye to eye. ”Excuse me dear, you say you were left alone? Birthing your child?” His eyes jerk up rather pointedly at the stallion whom she appeared to have followed after. He gruffled, the situation entirely preposterous. ”I say that is now way to treat a lady. Just left her behind, and your daughter!” Ridiculous! He turned his head, neck twisting, peering to both Ramiel and Elysteria, nostrils flared.
09-06-2015, 07:28 PM (This post was last modified: 09-06-2015, 07:31 PM by R A P S C A L L I O N.)
I'M NOT SOME BOY THAT YOU CAN SWAY
Rapscallion is puzzled at the group that has gathered here in the Dale, Forbidden Dale he questions himself. He is too literal at times. As they pour in, first Elysteria, Ramiel, then Wichita and her new babe find themselves in the crowd. Rapscallion has not been noted for being a man of many words but as he was about to speak his peace, another man joined who was full of words.
Rapscallion can't know if his reputation will follow him or if he was so quick to overthrow the Tundra's King and just as quick to give it away to his right hand, that perhaps others will forget. Rapscallion is mourning, if he knew what mourning meant - his only friend in this life was murdered. The anger has subsided for this time period but this recently joined man is slowly turning the heat higher on the buckskins internal thermometer. All emotion is not lost on Rapscallion, though he lacks feelings himself ninety percent of the time he's good at reading others. "Thank you Elysteria, Ramiel for meeting with us, Wichita and I (and Bly now) are here on behalf of the Gates. We want to know of the happenings within your king-" the buckskin cannot stand the lack of professionalism...it's irked him and nothing has truly irked him before. He does his best to bite his tongue, it's truly a serpent coiling ready to strike at this Weir. "with your kingdom. We are looking for who we may want to be allies with, whom we want to stay clear of...particularly the assumptious type." Rapscallion was doing his best to keep the situation calm, collected...to remain not a psychopath like he has running through his DNA structure.
"My daughter? I just met this woman a week before she gave birth, now if you could kindly take your nose out of my personal life, or lack thereof, I'd like to continue our business here," he says in a gruff, irrirated tone knowing he's outnumbered but surely these others would understand that they came here for knowledge, not for family planning. The buckskin stallion looks to Wichita, he musters the most apologetic look he can which isn't much but he tries. Rapscallion has officially said the most he's said in his entire life, to a complete stranger but some assholes need a plug.
Oh lawdy. *slow clap* Rapscallion is actually capable of being irritated. It's amazing, he is a real boy! LOL.
A chocolate-brown mare with a newborn foal at her side follows a good distance behind the first stallion. They do catch up, eventually, but the newness of the child seems to greatly slow their pace. Ramiel smiles warmly at the pair of them once they are close enough to see. He’s not so far removed from his own childhood, after all. It’s still shocking how quickly time has passed for him. Only two years ago, he had taken the crown and all the responsibilities that came with it. A year before that, he’d been a young boy playing pretend with his boisterous sister in the forests. Surely it will pass much the same for this filly as well: fleeting and cause for nostalgia. “Welcome Wichita and Bly,” he nods to each of them in turn before settling his gaze on the buckskin stallion again.
Rapscallion dives into his kingdom spiel, thanking the two Daleans for their attendance. Ramiel settles in quickly. He even cocks a hind leg out, resting the tip of one hoof on the ground comfortably. He’s given a lot of thought into their alliances as of late. It’s been two years since his coronation, and while there had been a span of time necessary to settle into his role, the young king thinks that time has long since expired. Action is in order. The time to flex his muscles – to see where the Dale stands in the grand scheme of things – is upon them. He’s not sure where the Gates will fit into this new strategy or if they will at all. They’ve historically been on friendly terms, he knows – perhaps their future will be much the same.
Ramiel is trying to think of a way to eloquently phrase his thoughts in response to Rapscallion when he is soon interrupted by Weir’s approach. He doesn’t turn his head towards the man at first, assuming he will fall in line with Elysteria and himself. But his outraged words soon have the grey stallion’s head on a swivel. He’s too shocked himself at first to comprehend what has gotten Weir all up in arms, but he quickly understands. So, too, does the Gates diplomat.
Rapscallion tries to continue on as if nothing has happened, as if the Dalean hadn’t practically shouted and accused him of something he hadn’t done. It is to his credit that he’s able to carry on, but the peace only lasts for so long. Ramiel agrees with his own student that, father or not, the man should have waited for his kingdom mate if she was so close to delivery. But it is not his judgement to make aloud, and he expected Weir to understand it as well. Of course, Rapscallion doesn’t know that Weir has recently lost his own child. He doesn’t understand how heavy that burden had weighed on the eccentric but well-meaning man. It’s not his place to tell this, either, but he will remedy the situation as best he can.
“Our apologies for being presumptuous,” he says, looking as solemn as he can at the buckskin and then the new mother. “Weir is not from Beqanna. The unique bands we form and traveling companions we choose are still new to him.” He references the wilder, ancient herds that exist outside of their lands. The king is not sure it’s the entire truth, at least for Weir’s experience, but he gives the red stallion a hard look, hoping he’ll take the hint and agree. I’m doing you a favor, his golden eyes try to say, don’t piss all over it. He rolls his shoulders, trying to roll the incident off as well. When he turns back to the Gates congregation, it’s with an apologetic smile.
“We are also in the process of considering allies,” he says honestly, looking briefly at Elysteria with a measured gaze. He’s not sure how much to divulge to these horses and he wonders what the more experienced mare knows of the once-light kingdom. “As for the Dale’s well-being, it is growing every day.” Growing, but still slow in the process. The story of their lives in the mountain land. “How about the Gates? Are they still ruled by Mast and Fiasko?” The last his mother had told him they were, but things could have changed by now.
Shortly after the yellow stallion arrives, a mare with a small filly trailing her follows. Russet eyes warming, she dips her head to the newcomer as a soft smile curves her lips. Just then, Weir arrives. Elysteria has always adored children as well, and she knows all too well the pain of losing a child. Weir’s presence is unsurprising (and even expected). His words, however, catch her off guard. In hindsight, they should not have. She knows how hard the loss of his child had hit him, could understand it even, but to berate another kingdom’s diplomat?
Stepping forward, she presses her muzzle into his should briefly, drawing his attention to her as a means of cutting short his blistering tirade. Rapscallion is quick to defend himself, clearly irritated. She did not even need her empathy to figure that one out. Even so, she is not about to throw Weir under the bus, so to speak. She knows where his words are coming from.
“Wichita appears to be quite all right.”
She says these words for Weir’s benefit, pointing him to the fact that the dappled mare is no worse for wear.
“Besides, mares have been giving birth for centuries with little help from men. I for one would just like to say that, when it comes to protecting my child, no one should underestimate me. I suspect the same is true for most mothers.”
She smiles, a hint of humor in her words. She hopes that this will be enough to put the situation behind them. She shifts closer to Weir, placing herself in a better position to intervene should it be necessary. While she could sympathize with Weir’s emotions, she is also a woman. She has not needed a man to protect her in a very long time. She simply hopes his words had not offered even more unintended offense, for there are many women who would be strongly affronted by the implication that she might need a man to protect her.
She is grateful when Ramiel draws the conversation back to its trajectory. They are here to discuss diplomacy, after all.
elysteria
image c nadyabird.deviantart.com; html c Insane
Sorry this took so long, I completely forgot about this thread :/
FAMILIAR BREATH OF MY OLD LIES CHANGED THE COLOR IN MY EYES
Could she crawl under a rock? And if she could would they let her? Oh goodness me, how embarrassin’ If Wichita could blush, she would be three shades brighter than a tomato right about now. She had barely met Rapscallion, honest to truth was that he didn’t quite make her comfortable.
As an outsider looking in she could see how the mistake had been made, how odd it must look to the roan male. She herself had come from lands outside Beqanna and sometimes new places had strange customs and ways of going about things. She also felt sorry for him, she hadn’t met many men that took such an interest in their children. It was nice he felt so strongly, he would have made an excellent Father she was sure. He would need to make a little time to practice directing his sadness, or anger. She wouldn’t be telling him that of course, but she hoped someone would.
”Why, I didn’ need no help, honest Sir.” Sir, because she was respectful, and could see the red was much older. She also knew that, at least in her experience, that older males tended to become quite grouchy. ” Can’t expect everyone to go aroun’ bein’ held up by some pregnant ninny. We’re okay, got here just fine, ain’t seen trouble the whole way. Now that’s a good sign don’t ya think?” It was rather odd, her hopeful voice accompanied by the fact that she would not lift her eyes from the ground. She appeared to be avoiding eye contact with whom she was speaking, all this fuss over her, maybe she should have just stayed behind.
When the conversation becomes expertly redirected, she is thankful, looking at the small group again. She can’t say she entirely agrees with them all, she truly wasn’t much of a protector for anyone. Oh, she would try, but she would more likely fail than save anyone’s life. It’s kind of nice though, that anyone would pay her such a compliment as Elysteria has.
It seems he has overstepped some line, his harsh questions met with equal responses. For the most part. Ramiel is quick to give him a firm slap on the wrist, he hadn’t ever expected such a pointed stare from his King. Maybe that was because he still thought of him as a boy, and boy he was not. His King was a man now, had been a man for some time. Had he failed to see it? Lately he had been so caught up with his own life, his own trials, how much change had occurred in his daze? The stallions ears fall as he takes a step back, he had approached rather intrusive to the whole thing. “Of course,” he nods, and graciously takes his chastisement, “I forget myself.” This is what he says, but he thinks that the situation was still horribly rude. Maybe she could take care of herself, maybe she could not, it was simply the principal of the matter. His words offer an acceptable though half-assed apology.
He is beguiled by Elysteria’s response, he should thank her sometimes, for being so understanding. She sweeps the situation under the rug, placing herself nearer, as if he would further lose his mind. Well, he hadn’t gone off the deep end quite that far, but he appreciated the gesture. He felt a bit embarrassed at talk of birthing, he hadn’t meant to imply the woman didn’t have that aspect under control. Only that labor made for a pickle of a predicament if trouble found you. One could not simply stop the birthing process to flee an attacker, he put it behind him though, it was not a conversation he would win. Besides, the buckskin was rather put out, his hackles raising. Sure, Weir could have said it nicer, could have found a more tactful way of broaching the subject, he probably even should have. Strange though, this one, awful temper he reflected.
What is most concerning is the response from the woman in question. A little thing, barely bigger than a pony, the poor dear. She was all too quick to apologize, as if the whole thing had been her fault. She had a rather defeated disposition, quick to submit, eager for it even. She even foul mouthed herself, not daring to bring her eyes up from the ground. Now he felt truly rotten, doing his best to give her a hopeful answer. “Why, yes that seems a good sign to me. Most fortunate, very lucky.” He did his best to smile, to make it sincere
