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    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


    [private]  how simple my heart
    #1
    DON'T KNOW HOW TO KEEP LOVING YOU
    NOW THAT I KNOW YOU SO WELL

    As far as absent fathers go, Mako thinks she could have worse. At least he had witnessed her mother die—she can use that as an excuse for why she has no memory of him. The flash of a pale lion illuminated by moonlight makes the corners of her eyes crease. Litotes. A lion, one fierce enough to put up a fight but not fierce enough to keep Valdis alive. Mako lets herself believe the trauma is what keeps him away.

    As far as absent fathers go, I could have worse. She thinks and thinks and thinks, spinning out in the middle of a dusk-covered Loess.

    A sigh, so loud and disappointed, mingles with the melodies of summertime insects. Mako leans into their singing, twitching two delicately scaled ears in time with the season’s tune. Here, beneath the receding oranges and clawing indigos, the tranquility of childhood summers relaxes her usually prepared muscles. Memories of tossing and turning with Bruxas, of Castile welcoming them into their family’s den—even with how alienated and cold she feels there is no denying the comfort and love that thrums powerfully beneath Loess’ chaotic reputation.

    You’re happy, comes the intrusive thought of a dove. She comes to a fluttering halt upon Mako’s haunches. I wouldn’t call it happy, Mako replies, then turns at the snapping sound of an approach.

    “Castile,” Mako murmurs on a breath, frost upon her hide glittering with the colors of the dying light. “I’ve missed you.”

    MAKO


    @[Castile] :)
    #2
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    The wound is still fresh, still aching, upon hearing of Valdis’ demise. His first daughter. His daughter with Solace. There are so many memories wrapped into it, now shredded and soiled by her spilt blood. ”I’m sorry,” he whispers into the warm air, regretting that he didn’t protect her when she needed him most. ”I should have never been a father,” because if he cannot prevent his child’s murder, then what good is he? Of course, he loves each of them and has explained that he will always be there for them, but they all branch off and build their own lives from afar. ”Come back, please,” he murmurs as he watches her fall to the ground, maimed. All of his other children observe coldly before receding into the shadows.

    A gasp of air awakens Castile from the nightmares, his body rigid. How cruel of his mind to fabricate such things; he wasn’t there to watch Valdis die, so why does he live through it in his sleep? A faint taste of blood spreads across his tongue, bitten in his startle.

    Rising to his feet, he blinks away his exhaustion and hones in on a familiar scent that easily guides him along Mako’s trail until he is in front of her. She says his name, and his breath catches as to how much she reminds him of her mother. ”Mako,” he says, grinning fondly at her, ”I’ve missed you as well.” Bruxas often wanders the neighboring forests, but Castile hasn’t pursued him lately. With the twists, turns, and hurdles in life, he has struggled to keep on top of his family as he so often had. Is he failing them again like he has Sochi? ”Tell me of your adventures,” He asks gently as he reaches forward to press a paternal kiss on her poll. ”I want to hear of all the great things you’ve seen and done.” Anything to take his mind off his own pain and turmoil.


    castile


    @[mako]
    #3
    DON'T KNOW HOW TO KEEP LOVING YOU
    NOW THAT I KNOW YOU SO WELL

    Tsk, tsk, tsk—so melancholy, the dove perched upon Mako’s hindquarters projects to her mind. It takes all of her self control to not roll her eyes, instead settling on a rushed shut up. Salem merely ruffles her feathers indignantly, then decides on further action by digging her talons warningly into Mako’s scales.

    “Nothing much to report,” she replies with a warm grin. It’s not necessarily true—Mako has spent some time exploring what corners of Beqanna she can reach. From the alien guardians of Pangea to the way Salem describes how Mako gallops from above, she has detail after detail to share but they feel like secrets now, looking into the orange eyes of the man that raised her. For a moment, Mako wonders how eyes as warm as the sunset can steer her away, but it is quickly replaced by confused self-pity—she nearly balks, unsure what to offer him.

    Still, Mako is able to settle just enough to briefly describe her most recent trip to Tephra. She smiles shyly when finished, adding a tease at the end, “And Salem says she wishes she was born as beautiful as the colorful birds in Tephra.” The dove twits irritably, fluttering up to tug harshly at Mako’s mane before flitting to settle upon Castile’s back as if to say she’s lying.

    A somber glaze coats Mako’s pale eyes when she thinks of what she is curious about with Castile. His time as a dragon isn’t something she thinks of often, nor is his sudden descension from the throne (if Mako had her way, the dragon family would live deep in the caves of Nerine, endless layers of rock separating them from the rest of the world). She does find herself worrying, though.

    “How have you been doing?” Mako murmurs gently, her tone specifying how she means without having to use the words. How are you faring now that your world has been ripped from beneath you? How much longer will your time here last?

    MAKO


    @[Castile] <3
    #4
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Nothing much to report, she begins, but Castile brushes off the nonchalance. Surely, there has been excitement, but it’s harbored behind a warm grin that doesn’t quite reach Mako’s eyes. A half chuckle slips from him in amusement and his gaze twinkles with mounting curiosity when she dives into her experience of Tephra. ”A lovely place, no?” Twice he has been there, at minimum. ”I love the volcano,” the sentiment is simple admiration, but many know how Castile acts on his interests. There’s a hunger in him to collect everything that draws him, but not today. Not this time.

    A quieter lifestyle lures him now, a temptation just at arm’s reach. In Mako’s closure, her dove alights delicately onto his back. His head turns, acknowledging it with a grin. ”Salem is beautiful just as she is,” her white feathers are preened, vacant of soiling. Pure, untouched. Observing her rises a fleeting sense of envy before Mako’s somber expression pulls his attention back.

    Telepathy isn’t necessary to know what streams through her mind. It’s normal that her musings drift to his whereabouts.

    Every King and Queen descends the throne one day, but his was sudden and surrounded by fire and ash. They – his peers – will remember that, not the years that Loess held its own with voices actively buzzing through the air. They remember the ending, and so for that – and his sanity – he craves the solitude found in the meadow. Away from Loess, away from kingdoms… Away from even the smallest herds. It may only be temporary, but at least long enough to take a breath and to escape prying eyes. That is his agenda alone, and he doesn’t expect – or want – anyone to fall into a different lifestyle with him. Isolation, he thinks, will be best. That’s the fuel behind the softness in his voice and how he briefly presses his lips to Mako’s poll. ”Well. I’ve been well. I’ve been listening more than I ever have before,” he hears the crickets chirp nightly and the wolves howl to the full moon. The days brim with song birds and with the bleats of newborn fawns. Mothers tend to their children and fathers teach their boys.

    There’s a serene peacefulness in his new perspective, but it’s a peculiar change for those who know him well enough.



    castile


    @[mako]
    #5
    DON'T KNOW HOW TO KEEP LOVING YOU
    NOW THAT I KNOW YOU SO WELL

    "Oh, you would love the volcano," Mako quips with a grin, forelock falling over one of her eyes. She hides there, shyly, peering at her grandfather through wavy white locks.

    Salem shuffles pleasantly on Castile's back, stepping merrily to express her delight with being compliment. She coos and tucks her wings tighter to her sides, eyes closing pleasantly. Mako leans to the side to stare at Salem, the stray hairs over her eye falling to the side. You're such a twit, she thinks. The dove projects the feeling of faux-woundedness, then turns her back to preen her feathers.

    Mako has heard all the stories about Loess burning down Tephra, and visiting the land made her feel a sense of mourning. Studying the colorful tropical flowers made her see Castile in a new light, but not a dim one. She thinks the way she views him now suits this new man, and that leaves a pleasant warmth in her belly.

    "My grandfather? Listening?" the girl teases, then beckons Salem to get off Cas' back. The dove begrudgingly obliges, finding a nice little nest between Mako's ears.

    A gentle breeze blows by as a somber look crosses Mako's face. "I've been listening more, too," she murmurs. Listening to Salem, to the whisper of the trees, to the creaks and groans of a Beqanna aching beneath its major leaders. "It does wonders, doesn't it? Sometimes, when I wander close to the Beach, I think I can hear mom." Mako doesn't know what her mother's voice sounds like, but it's easy to imagine. She's sure they'd sound just alike.

    MAKO


    @[Castile]
    #6
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    A husky bout of laughter rolls like smoke from his mouth, light as air as it drifts into the space between them. ”You know me so well,” he jests in return. There are dragons sprouting more often now – once, he and father were the only ones - but he remains the oldest and most drawn to fire and heat. Clarissa is angelic, Leilan frosted.

    When he curled his body against the walls of the volcano, he had no other agenda in Tephra. It was a brief lapse of control in himself as the draconic lust clouded his thoughts. Trespassing, he huddled against the rocky ledges and drank in the heat bubbling from the magma inside. No one was hurt, and he left quietly when his consciousness returned to his grip.

    A residual smile warms his voice as he looks at Mako. ”Such is the nature of this beast,” it’s a fact he has long since accepted, and once struggled with. If only they all knew of the inner wars that have screamed and rattled through him. If only they knew the obstacles he has faced to understand and take control of himself. Nothing has been easy, and he isn’t perfect; so many mistakes have been made and so many lessons learned. Adaptation, he muses, is a developing skill of his. Listening is another, and Mako makes light of her grandfather’s recent revelation. Castile first watches the dove abandon her perch on his back to return to his granddaughter, still fascinated by the connection built between the pair, before rolling his shoulders in a surprised and accepting shrug. ”I know, right? I have my few winning qualities, believe it or not,” listening wasn’t one of them, but it’s a project he is building on. Reaching forward, he tousles her forelock playfully.

    But there is a receding tone in Mako’s voice, a solemnity that chisels away Castile’s paternal grin. Everything in him slumps, his heart quivering. He doesn’t realize he is holding his breath until there’s an ache in his lungs. A cloud of black smoke is expelled from his nostrils while he purses his lips to choke back the emotion that threatens to surface. If there is one thing in life that he wants known, it’s how much he genuinely cares for his family – children, grandchildren, his parents and siblings.

    Sidling closer, Castile presses his side against Mako’s and follows her somber gaze. ”I’m sure she tries speaking to you whenever she can,” through the whispering breeze or through the songs of nature. ”You remind me of her,” he swallows as he takes a moment to trace the colors of her coat and observe the glistening of her frost, ”and I know how proud she would be of you. She would have loved you so much,” there’s a subtle shake in his breath when he sighs as Valdis races across his thoughts. ”I’m so sorry she isn’t here to tell you that or to hold you,” he has tried to keep Mako close, to love her, but nothing can ever amount to the love and nurturing of a mother.


    castile


    @[mako]
    #7
    DON'T KNOW HOW TO KEEP LOVING YOU
    NOW THAT I KNOW YOU SO WELL

    Mako is pleased by her grandfather's touch. In all of her introvertedness, she forgot how soothing her family actually is. A smile lifts her lips, shy, quiet. One she hopes Castile won't notice, one that begs to be strong but still comes out uncertain.

    The dragon pauses for a long moment, and Mako begins to mutter, balking, "I'm sor-" when Cas cuts her off. She presses her lips tightly together, holding her breath and hoping that bringing up her dead mother won't put him off.

    "Do you really think so?" the girl whispers meekly, longing desperately just know an inkling of what brought her mother pride. Mako closes her eyes and leans into her grandfather. Pressed to his side, the smell of smoke is more potent, and that reminder of her childhood slows her heart.

    Mako sucks in a reverent, loud breath when Castile says she reminds him of Valdis. Pride, ballooning too suddenly in her chest, chokes her. She has that piece of her mother, now. Herself.

    "Thank you," she says, dazed. "I've spent so long wanting to know what she is like and . . . now I can see my reflection and know, even just a little bit." That's a gift no one else could give. "It's okay. I -" she pauses, hesitant. "It was none of our faults, but -" and anger wells in her chest, "maybe it was my father's."

    An idea blooms in her head, dangerous and cherubic oleander.

    "Do you know where he is?"

    MAKO


    @[Castile]
    #8
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Holding Mako so close is almost enough reassurance that Valdis is still among them, that his daughter hasn’t been completely lost. He doesn’t want to let go, to let her walk away from him, but he knows it will one day happen. It has always been wrong of him to try hoarding his family in one place, but it’s because of his upbringing and his life experiences. There are reasons behind his actions. Solace had their twins when she fell in love with Kagerus (it was so fast, so soon, that she moved on). There were the first few months that he was absent, but the piebald solidified her place in the children’s life before Castile could reach them. He failed them, failed Solace.

    But he tried hard to be present in the years to come, and to be a grandfather.

    Hugging Mako – so young, still so fragile – makes him feel as though he is hugging Valdis and seeking forgiveness.

    ”I do,” he whispers tenderly into the small space between them, grinning amid the emotions that threaten to drown him. ”She was strong and independent, kind and respectful to those that deserved it – not just to anyone – and quietly fierce,” he wracks his brain for everything about Valdis, anything that Mako can clutch to her heart in her loneliest days. ”Once opened up, she gave her heart,” it took a while to achieve that moment with her, but he would never trade it. It was the foundation that developed into their relationship. Bumpy at first, but worth it in the end.

    With slight reluctance, Castile releases Mako from his heartfelt embrace, willing her to see the softness in his eyes when they meet hers. ”You even look like her,” he pauses to observe the glittering ice, ”frost and all.” A lopsided grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, savoring these moments with his granddaughter, knowing well that she will one day forge a life for herself and forget him in the dust (don’t they all?). Sweeping his tail across his hocks, he levels on her questions and inferences, considering them meticulously and thumbing through the options and scenarios that may arise.

    He cannot speak for Valdis, not completely. He saw her in the end, mutilated and beaten. Two men were fighting, and he almost forgot how well he knew them both.

    Licking his lips, and waiting only a moment more, Castile finally answers with gentle undertones. Somehow, he feels as though he is walking across cracked ice. ”I’ve not seen Litotes in some time,” a shuffle of his wings, a slow blink of his mismatched eyes, ”Nor Sinner – her murderer.” Castile realizes then the parallel he shared with his daughter. ”Your mother gave her heart to two men, and it destroyed her in the end…”


    castile


    @[mako]




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