• 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


    [open]  like atomic bombs in reverse
    #1

    She is young, but that does not keep her from venturing out on her own.

    It’s odd to see the golden and onyx filly by herself, as she is normally accompanied by what look like duplicates of herself. Her sisters, however, did not know of Sunlight’s escapade and so she wanders the stillness of the forest without them.

    Autumn is unforgiving in other parts of Beqanna, the filly quickly realizes. The chill bites into her onyx flesh, grating and unrelenting. She is used to the smoke and heat of Tephra, where she flourishes, and quickly finds herself regretting coming to this place. The pine trees are still and indifferent as they stretch above her, scraping at an empty, blue-scrubbed sky. She wanders somewhat purposely beneath the canopy, where sunlight plays golden patterns on her skin but does nothing to warm her. Dusk is close at hand and Sunlight shivers slightly at the thought.

    So, instead, the filly takes matters into her own hands.

    She slows her movements, focusing carefully at the space before her, and watches with a delighted smile as a lick of flame erupts from seemingly nowhere. It floats gently before her, dancing and wavering despite the lack of wind, completely at her own control. Her golden eyes are alight with the orange and red of the tiny flame, being careful to take caution to overgrown roots and large boulders as they come across her path. When she is assured the flame is held steadily, she allows it to grow, painting her in its smoldering glow and warmth.

    Satisfied with herself, the filly continues to explore the forest with much more curiosity now that she had something to light her way and keep her comfortable.

    sunlight

    Reply
    #2
    throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
    leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

    It is not often that he wanders far from the river.
    He has so little desire to expand his horizons. He is comfortable there by the water.
    Especially now that he has left his mother’s side for the last time. Left behind the glass stallion and their two glass daughters. There is no one expecting him to be anyplace else, least of all the meadow where they had lived together.

    But he drifts away from the water’s edge now. He does not know what beckons him, but he goes willingly into the forest. There is some thrill in the darkness that reminds him of the way he leans into the river’s current, daring it to take him. But it never does. And the darkness tries but cannot swallow him whole.

    He is drawn through the shadows by a light in the distance. The steady flicker of a flame. It piques his curiosity, carries him across the soft floor of pine needles and rot. And when he finally reaches it, he is surprised to see the girl that wields it. Commands and controls and shapes it.

    He smiles. He smiles and moves easy from the shadows, into the flame’s pulsing light. “Hello,” he murmurs, head tilted as he considers her dark face, lit up in orange. “What a gift you have,” he says, smooth, thinking of the glass stallion’s ability to conjure water from nothing.

    The smile deepens as he turns his attention back to her face, feeling that same glimmer of a siren song just beneath her surface. It draws him closer. “Absolutely spectacular,” he adds, breathless.


    isakov



    @[Sunlight]
    Reply
    #3

    The onyx and gold-laced filly has no understanding of danger or the fact that it could be lurking in the depths of twilight, hiding in the cover of nightfall and watching her every move. Danger is foreign to her, at least when directed to her, because she herself is dangerous. She is wild and fierce, without even knowing it. There is no second thought when she parted from Tephra and its volcanic terrain; there is certainly no second thought now as she moves her way deeper into the forest’s belly. Her eyes are all alight with her sparkling and snapping fire, the soft crackling echoing in the solemnly empty canopy that rises silently above her. She is exploring but she is more enraptured with her dancing flame and the gentle comfort the blaze gives her than anything else, making it come so near to her that she could nearly feel the heat singe the delicate hairs atop her skin.

    There is movement from the shadows - sudden but graceful, like a wave across the black sand beaches of her home - and with a swing of her head, her softened and gentle features harden into a furrowed brow and her lips into a thin line. Her gold barred ears flick back into the equally gold of her sparse mane, a sharp snort leaving her white and black nostrils. Stupid, she thinks angrily to herself. Her fire had become a beacon to others who wander the forest just like her and now she finds herself no longer alone. She often forgets that her power draws them out by their curiosity and she wonders mildly what kind of moth flutters to her on this still and cold night.

    He had greeted her and his voice had been smooth and luscious, reminding her of the molten lava that spills slowly from the volcano’s opening. He’s complimenting her, this white and starry boy, and though there is the heat of pride that swells in her chest (and in her cheeks?), she dislikes how enamored he is with her gift. Little does he know that she boldly is rifling through his thoughts, her stomach flopping slightly as she realizes that he believes what he says. Selfishly (and perhaps hoping it would unnerve him) she distinguishes the beautiful flame into nothingness, a single puff of smoke rising into the air before and then above them as the night wind catches it.

    “It is,” she retorts matter-of-factly, disliking the way her eyes cannot pull from him, entranced by the glimmering lights atop the darker pieces of his skin. Like little fireflies, she imagines, igniting, and sparking like embers. She does not thank him and neither does she offer him a step closer; her sharp, golden irises remain steady and sure, not even the smallest of smiles on her lips. However, she remains. “Far better than that glass stallion’s water. You should tell him that.” She pauses, not even realizing that her vocalizing his own thoughts could be seen as rude or disturbing. “I could snuff him out like a light, easy. Melt him, even.”

    And then, for the first time, her lips twitch into a lovely smile; even a tiny laugh falls from her throat.

    sunlight



    @[isakov]
    wow i love him
    Reply
    #4
    throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
    leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

    There is some distant twinge there in the center of his chest.
    Disappointment, perhaps, when she extinguishes the flame and they are plunged into darkness.

    But the shadows do not swallow them whole. No, because they are both bathed in the dim light of the galaxies splashed across his skin. And when he inches closer, he tells himself it is only to better see her in the darkness.

    He wears the same smile, half-crooked. On any other face, it might have appeared cocky. (And perhaps it is, but he wears it with a sort of wide-eyed innocence.) She is aware of the brilliance of her magic, he thinks, how refreshing. And the smile deepens with her mention of the glass stallion, the water Isakov had thought so fondly of.

    It is not hard to tell that the fire she commands lives in her chest, too. She is bold, bright. He sinks closer still, head tilted as he studies what he can make out of her in the half-dark. The eyes mostly. Gold like his. And he sees the same in her as he sees in everyone else, the shimmer of something just beneath the surface. Something begging to be drawn out. But he has not worked out how to translate that shimmer just yet, doesn’t even try, just studies her a moment longer, smirking.

    I’ll bet you could, he thinks, concentrates hard, certain that she will hear it. He feels no overwhelming urge to defend the glass stallion who had acted as a father might but whom he had never belonged to. Instead, he lets the smirk shift back into a delighted smile at the sound of her laughter. Perhaps it is a cruel sound, inspired by the thought of destroying, but it still awakens something keen and bright in his own chest.

    What’s your name?” he asks, head still tilted, smile still tying up the corners of his star-kissed mouth. “What else are you willing to tell me about you?

    There is silence then for the space of a breath before he continues, “or would you prefer to remain a mystery that I will spend the rest of my life unraveling?

    isakov
    Reply
    #5

    Shadows dance. Perhaps otherworldly in the way that they are brought to life by the twisting kaleidoscope of stars across his skin (so intricate, the filly muses, as they twirl on their own accord) and though it is not a fireglow, she would never admit that she find the silver glow rather comfortable, especially in the way it brings to life the gentle expression of this stranger’s face.

    When he comes closer she does not give way. She stands her ground, her fierce golden eyes finding his and locking there, challenging and yet, at the same time, intrigued. And when his smile widens as she threatens the life of the stallion he had been thinking of, her dark lips become as crooked as his own. He continues to smile, this starlit boy, and though hers does not fade either, Sunlight finds herself flipping through his mind violently for the reason.

    I’ll bet you could.

    The words are silent within the real world, but the tri-colored filly hears them as clear as a bell. She snorts sharply - a little laugh alights her dark lips - and allows her eyes to settle on his molten irises with confidence. “It would only take an instant,” she tells him without hestiation, letting it settle there gently as if fingers were trilling across flesh. Maybe it was an offer or a promise, filtering through the night air as easily as the autumn wind. She is quick to change her tune and become more harsh when he begins to ask more of her and the young girl throws her head back in a display of defiance.

    “I don’t intend to be a mystery,” she boasts, throwing her chin upwards as her tail flicks idly at her sleek onyx flank. “I intend for all to know exactly who they are dealing with.” Perhaps there is a flame that licks beneath her golden pupils but is gone in an instant. “I’m Sunlight, and there will be no need for unraveling.” Though her head remains thrown upwards, that same fierce smile graces her dark mouth as flames ignite in a close circle around them, threatening and ominous as their heat wavers at their ankles. The orange glow finds each shadow and illuminates them, dancing across the obsidian and white of her coat.

    For a moment she had felt as if perhaps she was being hunted, but she is quick to turn the tables, bringing the flames ever closer (and drawing this starry-boy towards her) with every inhale. “What of you? Are you to be a mystery or must I beg for you to unravel for me?” The flames heighten and fall with the inflection of her fiery voice, ready to obey her every whim. She becomes smug, her golden eyes half-lidded as the black of her eyelids fall across them. “I do dislike playing silly games,” she tells him with a shimmer of a laugh in her venomous voice.

    She couldn’t imagine allowing her precious fire to hungrily lick at that beautiful skin of his, but at the same time, she has never been one to listen to reason.

    sunlight




    @[isakov]
    Reply
    #6
    throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
    leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

    How terribly fond he is of her already. There is nothing left to wonder about where the fire she wields is born from. He knows now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that it is born from her chest. From her belly. From the lungs that also wield that haughty laughter.

    He watches her display of defiance with a sense of wonder. The way she tosses her head and flicks her tail and meets him with an unspoken challenge. What a glorious thing she is, he thinks, and doesn’t mind if she hears it. Not that his opinion matters because she already knows. It is no secret.

    She will be no mystery. He smiles, though it is nothing like hers. It is a kind of wistful thing, barely there at all. “Sunlight,” he echoes, a fitting name for such a stunning creature. Even if she is the same deep black as twilight. He knows, in the same way that all things know, that the sun is some great ball of flame. Fire and fury. It commands fire just as she commands fire.

    He could ask who he is dealing with, but he suspects he knows. And she answers with her actions anyway. They are suddenly encircled by a brilliant ring of fire and he turns his fine head to study the flames. They are both set ablaze by their flickering light and he shifts his focus back to her face again, smiling something secret. The pulse of his fondness strengthens as the flames close in on them, draw them closer together.

    There is some flicker of fear, too. Because there is nothing to protect him from the flame. But there is some dark thrill in being at her mercy, too.

    My name is Isakov,” he tells her, acutely aware of the heat. “And I’m afraid that there would be precious little unraveling to do, even if I did intend to be a mystery.” He exhales a shuddering breath and glances between her face and the flame. “I do not wield the same power you wield.

    isakov
    Reply
    #7

    Perhaps her defiance would one day come back to haunt her. Though, even with her youth, she finds the chances slim that any would challenge her. Not when flames bow to her will and creep across the ground at her very whim, brought to life by her breath alone. 

    She watches as his eyes turn to the fire that encircles them, pulling him closer to her - she didn’t care if it was a blatant and obvious thing; she is curious and he will quickly find that she is not one to hesitate on her desires. Her golden eyes are bold and brass in the flickering of her flames, the white of her feathered legs shifting slightly as she bounces nimbly from one to the other, her rather calm demeanor now flourishing to match the intense heat that dances around them. That same mischievous grin finds her again as he says her name with something like affection in his voice, causing her prancing stop so that she may instead take one sweeping step towards him. 

    Sunlight recognizes that flash of uncertainty in his eyes as his gaze comes to hold hers again (good, she thinks, as he refocuses on her instead of the flames), a pleased look falling across her expression, those white and gold badger markings sharpening the angles on her otherwise obsidian face. She nearly purrs with delight at his confession as it falls from his starlit lips, “Don’t worry, Isakov,” comes the gentle, reassuring reply, “I won’t let them hurt us.” But then there is a glimmer in her golden eyes that reveals that she may not exactly be telling the truth. 

    The young girl tilts her head quizzically, the short tangle of golden mane twirling beside the curve of her onyx neck. “No one is a mystery to me,” she admits with a tiny smile, referring to the fact that all thoughts are laid open before her. “It gets quite boring,” her tone is flippant; the thoughts she hears are hardly any of use or value, mere simperings of wayward travelers or the accompanying thoughts of her sisters (he should be lucky that he’s only met one of the three, he might one day realize). His, however, only stroke her ego and embolden her all the more, so she is filled with curiosity and wonder about the galaxy-strewn boy before her.

    “That may be true,” Sunlight replies thoughtfully, her golden eyes unabashedly glancing up and down his body, “but you wield something.” She smiles, dark and curious. His thoughts have not yet shared with her any abilities he may possess and the fire-dancer wonders what lies beneath the deep purple and black of swirling stars on his skin.

    sunlight



    @[isakov]
    i can't make her stop acting like an adult, I'm sorry
    Reply
    #8
    throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
    leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

    He has no reason to trust her.
    But he does.

    When she tells him that she will not allow the flames to hurt them, the muscles relax by fractions. Insignifiant at first and then something more tangible until he is standing before her just as relaxed as he’d been before the fire had erupted in a ring around them.

    There is mischief in her smile and delight, too. And yet, he smiles back. Something placid and slanted. Something boyish, despite the grown-up language he uses and the grown-up way he uses his body. Despite how desperately he wants to be so much older than he is.

    He does not understand the magic that allows her to rifle through his thoughts, but there is nothing he wants to keep secret anyway. There is nothing he needs to protect. Because he does not understand the magic he wields yet. Not the magic that has to do with hearts and love and all of these things that are so far beyond his comprehension. If he knew how to use it, perhaps he might have concentrated hard and let himself be consumed by the flame. If he thought it was the fire she loved, he could have concentrated hard and let the illusion of flame dance across his skin. But he does not understand it yet.

    There is only one magic he understands. It does not come to mind when she looks at him and assesses, correctly, that there is something he wields. It does not come to mind because it lives in his bones and in his skin and he does not need to think about it for it to work. He only has to feel it.

    It is only because of this that he does not give himself away. He only tilts his star-strewn head and goes on smiling. Yes, he wields something. He draws in a shuddering breath and moves toward her. And he is confident in his movement. He moves slow but steady. He moves to her and then through her. Because the magic he wields and understands is the magic that makes him nothing at all. He is stardust as he passes through her to emerge behind her.

    Why?” he asks, studying her, “why are there no mysteries, Sunlight?

    isakov



    @[Sunlight]
    Reply
    #9

    When he smiles back at her, she wonders if he is as daring as she is. It makes her take a sweeping step towards him, those vibrant gold irises inspecting him lustrously. Simultaneously she is flipping through his thoughts, interested in what lies there and taking pride in her ability to sort through them so easily. She likes what she finds, of course,  and she wonders why he cannot feel her there, privy to his most intimate ideas. Not everything is like her fire, though; not everything is bold and harsh and dangerous. No, her ability to see what lies beneath - to see if their words match their heart - is something subtle, quiet. Sunlight grins, knowing it is still just as dangerous and powerful.

    His movement towards her nearly surprises her. Her golden gaze had become lost in his eyes once again, studious and playful, and she nearly isn’t paying attention when his galaxy-body comes closer. For a moment, something fiery flashes across her eyes and her brow furrows - the flames around them grow with her intensity, perhaps about to leap from their safe distance and fly like ropes in criss-crosses across his starlight-strewn back. It’s what she intended, at least, but he does not try to hurt her like she had assumed. He merely passes through her, all stardust and sparkling light.

    Sunlight does not try to hide the surprise and delight that now softens her expression. She turns her head over her shoulder quickly, her white markings on her face all the more expressive as she revels in the feeling of pure surprise. She glances down at herself, wondering if he’s left remnants of those glowing galaxies on her dark skin as a reminder of his touch.

    She turns and pivots quickly so that she is face to face with him again, dousing her firelight with the movement. They are immersed in darkness, cold and pressing against their skin. She lets their eyes adjust, staring at each other in something like a challenge. Part of her feels the wound of her pride, too distracted by her own game to have seen this coming. But she is so enraptured at his ability to catch her off guard, she doesn’t quite mind this time.

    “Are you trying to trick me, Isakov?” comes her playful, lilting voice from the darkness. A single flame - as thin and still as a candle’s wick - appears just beneath her neck, close to her chest. It illuminates her uniquely marked face, casting deep shadows on her cheeks. Is she threatening him? It was hard to tell. “I don’t know if I like tricks,” she adds absentmindedly, almost to herself. Her eyes fall to the flame just below her chin, admiring its beauty and heat that nearly appears soft in her grasp.

    Sunlight then shakes her head slightly, rolling her shoulders and straightening to meet his gaze once again with a rather decisive look. “I can see beneath the surface,” she tells him, finally answering his question. A dark smile finds her mouth once again, fiercely illuminated by the firelight. “It lets me know who to trust and who I cannot.” The flame dances higher, flickering now with life as she gives it more fuel. “I think,” she begins with a thoughtful tilt of her head, “I can trust you. Can I trust you, Isakov?”

    She can see their thoughts, yes, and she would be able to know his answer perhaps before he says it. She does, however, like them admitting it to her on their own accord.

    sunlight




    @[isakov]
    Reply
    #10
    throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
    leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

    Were he privy to her thoughts in the way that she is privy to his, perhaps he might have laughed at the thought that he intended to cause her any harm at all. He is not violent by nature, Isakov. He is not cruel (not yet, though someday he almost certainly will be) and it had not occurred to him that his approach might be cause for concern. The flames deepen, jump and lick and bend themselves closer to the pair, but he does not notice, concentrating instead on becoming nothing at all as he passes through her.

    She turns to look at him then and he wishes more than anything to sink into the expression she wears. What a thrill it is to know that he is the cause of it. She is a strong thing, he knows, she has made that abundantly clear and it is a very specific feeling of victory that surges through him when she pivots to face him. Not because he has surprised or tricked her, no. But because the expression had softened around her delight and that counts for more than almost anything.

    He wears his slanted, boyish smile, meeting her golden eye before they are plunged back into darkness. A darkness tempered only by the soft glow of his starlight. He can only make out her shape for a long moment before his eyes adjust to this new darkness but his smile does not slip.

    No,” he tells her, the voice smooth in a way that does not fit his age. Perhaps she is teasing, playful in her youth, but he is not. “I don’t think I care much for games either,” he muses, recalling what she’d said about disliking silly games.

    His gold eyes alight on the flame that jumps out of thin air at her chin, casting her face in a haunting glow. Suck a stark contrast to the darkness around them and he tilts his own head, unconsciously mirroring her. It almost draws him in closer but he does not allow himself to close up any of the space that separates them, slight as it is.

    She can see beneath the surface and he wonders if she sees what he sees. The soft glimmer at the very center of them. Something he has mistaken for their souls but is something else instead. His expression does not betray this, though it would be no problem at all for her to see it through his mind’s eye anyway.

    He considers her question a long beat before he rolls his shoulders. There is no point in being anything but honest, so he peers off into the darkness. “That depends,” he tells her, plain. There is nothing playful or coy in his tone, just as a bald kind of truth. “It depends on what you want to trust me with.


    isakov



    @[Sunlight]
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)