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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


    FM station on the outskirts | aegean
    #2
    Aegean

    I should have loved a thunderbird instead
    at least when spring comes they roar back again

    Change is on the air, but Aegean is not quite sure what it means.

    Precognition, although a family trait, has never been one that he has been blessed with—and, if he was being truthful, it wasn’t one that he was particularly interested in. He was too content to wrap himself in the present. Too interested in weaving his own stories and sculpting his illusions to think of tomorrow. He woke in the curve of Pteron and watched their children grow. He wandered the islands that were home and yet never his. He discovered new wildlife and watched the waterfalls crash. Listened as Pteron schooled those who would learn the art of war from him and spent hours in his own daydreams.

    So when change comes on the air, it barely registers.

    And he tucks the strange feeling away as just that—a feeling.

    Instead he turns his purple gaze and the full wattage of his attention toward the blue-tipped pegasus who walks from the water now, the sunset swallowed by the night. If it weren’t for the faint glow of the water and the milky light rippling from Aegean, the space around them would be nearly impossible to peer through. As it is, nearly all of the light is swallowed by it and that chill races up his spine again.

    Languidly, Aegean paints the space between them bioluminescent, drawing the trail of water behind Pteron and letting it flow before him, up the shore and then around his own dry legs until they feel nearly wet. The path of glowing ocean ripples with life, his gift having expanded over the years until he can draw the details with minimal effort—having long ago found a love of the ocean with Pteron.

    “Your thoughts feel heavy,” his voice carries, even though he rarely raises it above a murmur.

    A faint tip of antlered head, an invitation to lighten the load by sharing or ignore the weight altogether.

    He was never one to press Pteron into one direction or the other.

    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)



    @[Pteron]
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    Messages In This Thread
    FM station on the outskirts | aegean - by Pteron - 12-26-2020, 05:59 PM
    RE: FM station on the outskirts - by aegean - 12-30-2020, 03:35 AM



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