"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
sometimes we want what we want -- -- even if we know it’s going to kill us.
Exactly what brings her here today is hard to say. It is not as if she doesn’t have other things to do, but still, something calls to her. It feels as opportunity always feels; tantalizing and teasing, the caress of a lover. For after all, wasn’t opportunity Straia’s true love in life?
She does not have to leave early to make the walk from Pangea to the meadow. No, Straia simply appears in the meadow without fanfare, though it is possible that appearing out of nowhere counts as some sort of fanfare. Though she isn’t doing it for attention, and her surrounding area is largely clear of other equines. She prefers teleportation as a means of travel simply because it is quick and therefore, useful. If you could teleport, you would do it too.
Not entirely sure why she is here, Straia simply surveys the area. There are a few ravens nearby, and she borrows their eyes, scanning to see who, or what, might have drawn her to the meadow today.
-- straia
the raven queen
@[Popinjay] - plz enjoy this horrid starter
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
She isn't entirely certain what to do with them when she finds them, but she knows that they are important to somebody, and so at first she only nudges at the round little things with her outstretched lip, pushing them along in the dirt like marbles. Somebody must be looking for them, surely? Well. Maybe not looking for them. After all, whoever left their eyes in the middle of the Meadow is probably not looking anywhere at all, but it's not hard to imagine that they might want them back.
The little lightning bird lifts her head as high as it goes, but there is nobody else around, it seems safe to assume that they have been abandoned, even if only by accident.
Perfectly good eyes, she thinks, what a shame.
There is a hint of strange magic upon them - so odd that they rest in the earth pristine as polished stones, not at all like one would expect, drying up in the sun, freezing under the winter's snow - and she gets the feeling that they have sat here undisturbed for a rather alarming amount of time. Her dark lips flicker down thoughtfully for a moment as Poppy considers keeping them for herself (you never know when you might need an extra pair,) but struggles to decide where to put them. She rolls them again, then turns to the tree, where the shadows rattle at her soft as reeds in the wind. Ravens.
Popinjay isn't sure when she last saw a raven in the meadow. A small, scattered, group of adolescents hops through the scant shade of the Meadow's small grove, and her little frown turns into a bright grin. She scoops up the discarded eyes between her teeth, carrying them carefully to the young flock and depositing her treasure beneath their trees. The bird nearest her tips its head to one side to see better what she lays before it.
"Hide these for me?" It's a ridiculous request, not least because she has no talent for communicating with birds, yet there is nothing in her voice to suggest otherwise. From an outstretched wing, the young mare plucks one blood-bright feather, holding it out as if in offering to the raven on its low branch.
"Come to Nerine, and hide the eyes there somewhere for me. I can help defend your nests." It's a risky offer, the ravens might just keep the eyes.
"I'd really suggest you don't try to eat them, though, I think they've been magicked."
sometimes we want what we want -- -- even if we know it’s going to kill us.
There’s a particular raven that catches her attention, and Straia focuses her magic into the bird so she can see and hear what is happening. The girl who speaks to the raven now is a familiar one. How could Straia forget the unafraid filly from so long ago? She had impressed her then, and now, it seems, she had become even more. Certainly not a filly now, though apparently a bit of a thief.
The raven seems to understand, which should be strange enough in and of itself. Though to be fair, any raven might be interested in the shiny things being proffered to them with such ease, though most would not stay with a horse so near. Still, this raven is calm and collected, and nods at the request. It understands the offer, and so far as it can tell, it gets the better end of the deal. Protection just for doing exactly what it might do anyway - hide shiny things.
The bird hops forward, leaving its branch to take the offered feather in its beak. Then it swoops lower, grabbing the two eyes in its feet before winging off in, perhaps shockingly, the direction of Nerine. It would do as told, though perhaps only because it was being controlled (though possibly it would have taken the eyes regardless). Though Straia doesn’t spare the magic to figure out what’s going on with the eyes, she figures it can’t hurt to know where they end up. It might be useful.
It’s a few moments between the raven disappearing and Straia appearing nearby, walking casually as if she has no idea what just happened. ”Popinjay,” she says, drawing out the name slightly with something that sounds like affection. ”You have grown.”
-- straia
the raven queen
@[Popinjay]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
10-06-2020, 09:57 AM (This post was last modified: 10-06-2020, 10:15 AM by Popinjay.)
She was not quite what you would call refined
Nothing will beat the Taiga for hidden caches, but she is not the first child of the redwoods to find that the close sovereign trees leave no room to spread their wings. Besides, the land is watched by her and Nashua's mothers, and Poppy has no desire to challenge them for it, to be chained to the understory shadows when she can have the sky, and so, though her own wings disappear when she does not wish to carry them, she directs the bird to Nerine and it's rocky, sea-worn cliffs.
The raven takes the feather, and the eyes, and heads dutifully north, and the dark little bay doesn't even blink, as if she had expected exactly this all along. It doesn't surprise her at all when he does as she asks (after all, she'd asked very politely) and her dancing gaze follows the black shape as it wings away. She doesn't know yet what she will do with them - or even if she will be able to retrieve them from the raven, if she wants to - perhaps she will do nothing at all, but like the ravens and the jays, she has a penchant for collecting the little things that catch her eye*; the strange rocks, the colorful feathers, forgotten bits of someone else, and black, carnivorous plants, sung out of blood and fire and magic by a strange colt no older than her abandoned twins. Her heart is a magpie, it wants all of those things.
The raven is swallowed by the sky, by distance, and her ears catch the sound of footsteps from behind. It swivels back a moment before her head, unharried, unthreatened. Popinjay has always been so sure of herself, and even before her sight falls over the familiar mare, that mischievous grin is growing across her lips. Her smile is like a bird singing in a tree. It isn't always there, but it feels as if it is, especially in the early morning hours, when you are least in the mood for erratic, insistent, twittering.
"Straia," for better or worse, nothing about the mosaic magician lessens the intensity of her laughing expression, "are you sure it's not you that's shrunk?"
10-16-2020, 08:42 AM (This post was last modified: 10-16-2020, 08:43 AM by Straia.)
sometimes we want what we want -- -- even if we know it’s going to kill us.
Straia chuckles at the girls retort, clearly amused and not annoyed by such a quip. Some might fear to say such a thing to her, but she is hardly so bad. In reality, she enjoys such banter, enjoys someone brave enough to challenge her. Or really, to simply be themselves in her presence. “I could shrink,” she says with a playful grin, suddenly turning into the size of a mouse. ”Or I could grow,” she says, voice far from small enough to fit a mouse, and in a moment she is twice the size she was before. After another moment, she returns to her normal size.
”Such magic is still strange. I wonder if I will ever get used to the new skills Beqanna has given me.” She calls instead to the familiar power of ravens, her favorite still and always. A large black bird appears on her back, settling there as it had when they’d met long ago. ”How have you been doing, and Nerine, for that matter?” Of course she knows what has happened, but the question is clear enough. She wants to know how they have been doing since. Perhaps she even cares.
-- straia
the raven queen
@[Popinjay]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
11-06-2020, 03:13 PM (This post was last modified: 11-06-2020, 03:15 PM by Popinjay.)
Their shared joke leads to a delightful change. Straia suddenly shrinks and Popinjay drops her head low to hover just above the tiny mare, yet she no sooner does this than grows to an enormous size, and the bold little bay reaches out to nip harmlessly at the impossibly large fetlock that looms large in her field of vision where only moments before a mouse-sized mare had stood.
"You should be careful about turning so small, you might end up in an owl pellet."
She ignores the obvious, that Straia is a powerful creature, unlikely to be at a disadvantage against the average owl no matter how small, and certainly not with the ravens to look after her and mob any hungry raptors that might come looking to make a meal of the corvid queen.
They are close enough that when the dark bird settles on its master's withers, her soft breath of greeting parts the down on its chest, and she ruffles her own black and red feathers noisily against her back, before willing them away entirely. For a moment, her expression could almost be considered reflective, the heady scent of the Pampa's flowering meadows drifts across her memory and makes her ears twist back, but the bright grin leaps there again in an instant.
"Bored, everything else seems to have shrunk, too." Or perhaps it is only the people in it, who had time for the fantasies of a child but find the same manner in a mare grown distasteful, annoying.
"Nerine sleeps," Her head tilts to one side, thoughtfully, "The Northerners need waking up, but it will take more than a small fire to shake the cold from their bones."
sometimes we want what we want -- -- even if we know it’s going to kill us.
Straia only laughs, clearly amused. ”I feel very sorry for that owl,” she says, coming back to her normal shape with her normal, smoky voice, cool and unruffled as always. There’s a confidence there that cannot be shaken, a deep seated understanding of exactly who (and what) she is.
The raven watches the child with interest, and it seems entirely possible that somehow, this is the same raven from so many years ago. The raven’s of Straia’s magic seem just like that - creatures of magic. The assumption is that she calls them into existence and sends them away, and normally, she does. But Poppy’s keen eye might notice how this one stares at her and the feathers on her back that soon disappear. If it is not the same one, it seems to share it’s memories all the same.
Or maybe those are just Straia’s eyes in another form. There are some secrets she will not tell.
But Poppy’s words light something in Straia’s eyes, and she grins slightly. ”You are bigger than most.” She says, a cryptic compliment if ever there was one, for it is clearly not a literal statement. Straia herself, though not large, still looms over the girl. But sometimes physical size is not really what matters. ”It seems to me you ought to wake it.”
Her grin grows slightly, and there is a knowing look on her face. ”If you find you need my help, you need only ask. I will help you revive the North, and in exchange, perhaps you can help me revive Beqanna.” Lelian might not be completely opposed to her plans, but he did think in lines and boxes, and she wanted someone with a bit more on her side as well.
-- straia
the raven queen
@[Popinjay]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
