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  • 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


    [private]  we are all stardust and stories; mesec
    #1

    isn't it lovely all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone

    The night is warm and clear, as most summer nights are. She is learning to appreciate things like this, things that she had not otherwise noticed. Such as the way the breeze is soft when it runs its fingers through her mane, and is not at all sharp and biting the way it could be in the winter. She is learning that in the summer the meadow is more active at night, likely because during the day it was too hot, while in the winter the nights were too cold. It is a strange thing, to be so affected by the weather. Something she is not used to, just one of many things she had to learn to accept.

    She still prefers the solitude, though. She liked to watch and observe from a distant knoll, sometimes close enough to listen, sometimes not. She has had enough interactions now to know that they are not all bad, but they can still be exhausting. It is tiring to pretend to care and to feel. It is tiring carry on a conversation when she rarely knows what to say, and no one seems to know how to take her. She has learned to recognize their confused looks and flickers of surprise; a sure sign that she has reacted to something incorrectly.

    Tonight, it is just her and the stars. 

    The grass is not quite knee-high where she stands, but it bends and sways in response to the wind like the surface of water might. It ripples around her stark white legs, and she glows similarly to the moon and the stars above, bright against a velvet sky. Her eyes are looking up, concentrating on the several orbs of light she has brought down. She moves them, shifts them around to make constellations, some of them easily recognizable, some of them of her own creation. She is, as always, lost in her own world, in a world that is nothing like this one, and she does not notice if anyone is watching her.

    Islas
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    #2


    In order for Mesec to try to make a new home for himself in this land, he needed to actually interact with the horses he found. There was a comfort in isolating himself with his memories even though he knew that was no way to live. At least there was also comfort in the various hues he saw, in the wings and horns and antlers that adorned so many of these horses. Perhaps there were hidden poisons lurking but on the surface, Mesec saw something not very different than the land he had been raised in.

    That familiarity helps with his homesickness but it does not erase it entirely. Part of him wonders if the fresh start he’s been craving is just a mid-life crisis that could have been waited out.

    At least there is still a moon here.

    He does not feel as conflicted when he looks at it anymore - the sting of his mother’s crimes has faded with the years and the weight of his own sins.

    A soft silvery glow surrounds him - Mesec is a creature of the night but he’s not the only one.

    When his gaze shifts, he thinks he can see some stars that have been pulled down from the sky - and they are being shuffled around, forming constellations. He frowns in concentration, watching them, and then looks around for someone who he can confirm what he is seeing. But that’s when he spots her.

    Mesec is laced with moonlight but she is all starlight. Her attention is on the hovering stars and he quickly assumes she’s the one causing them to dance and not some unknown puppeteer.

    For a moment he just observes but, fearing this is creepy of him, he approaches. His voice is sweet and smooth - and gentle enough on the breeze of the night that he hopes it will not startle her overly from her concentration. “Do you name them? The constellations that you make?”



    Mesec


    @[Islas]
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    #3

    isn't it lovely all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone

    She had noticed him, but just barely.

    His presence pressed against her subconscious, caused a ripple of disturbance, but not enough that she felt the need to acknowledge him. They did that frequently, she had noticed; passed close to her, but did not offer to interact, and of course she did not offer either. She didn’t mind. She preferred being able to choose her company, to pick out the ones that caught her attention — that lit even just a spark of curiosity inside of her. She did not smile at or even make eye contact with all who passed her, and had he not spoken to her, he would have been no exception.

    There is a delayed response from her, as though perhaps she did not hear him. Her eyes remain skyward, shifting and adjusting a few of the stars. The shape they make is not discernible as anything in particular; they are arranged in a pattern that seem to only make sense to her, and she does not expect anyone else to appreciate them.

    She turns her head, finally, the starlight highlighting the sharp lines and angles of her face. She smiles, and it is a small, almost mechanical gesture, but her eyes focus entirely on him. “I don’t name them, no,” she answers him, and her voice is surprising light despite the impersonal coolness to it. “But I still know who they are.”

    She leaves the latest constellation suspended where it is, and turns to fully face the man that has approached her. He glows like moonlight, and it intrigues her. “Who are you?”

    Islas


    @[Mesec]
    Reply
    #4


    For a moment, he does not think that she will reply. He even fancies, for a brief fantastical second, that she can’t - as if she’s a manifestation of starlight here on earth and cannot interact even if she wanted to. Did this place have gods and goddesses?

    He could believe it, watching her rearrange the sky as if she were shuffling stones in the sand. Thankfully, she replies before he can say or ask anything embarrassing (“are you a goddess” would certainly be an interesting first impression). Her words inspire a smile that is gentle like the glow around him, and he is thankful for that light tone that softens what he thinks might be cool indifference.

    But she turns to him, dark eyes in a pale face, and Mesec thinks maybe he imagined the indifference. There is definitely something otherworldly about her, more noticeable with her focus on him.

    “I’m Mesec.” His silver eyes shift from her to take in the suspended constellation, admiring them and trying to puzzle out if he can see what pattern she was creating (he can’t). “I’ve always favoured starlight over moonlight. The stars are consistent, but the moon always has her moods.” It’s natural, for him to call the moon ‘her’, and he doesn't pause to wonder whether this is a strange comment to make or completely ordinary.

    It does not take long for him to turn his attention back to the starlit mare, though. The change in his focus not feeling so much snapping out of a daydream as just wading through it in a different direction. “Do you have a name, or are you like your constellations?” Although there’s a small grin, he’s not teasing her - his question genuine and curious. He had met those before that didn’t care for names, didn't think they were necessary or accurate, and occasionally the memory of them colours his interactions even after several years.



    Mesec


    @[Islas]
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