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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


    [open]  Not your baby
    #1
    "



    I've seen devils, i've seen saints
    I've seen the line between them fade




    And then what? The question runs in circles in my head, mocking me with its repetition. So you go back and find them. And then what? Cirilla actually wants to see you again. And then what? Yadigar has a damn good reason for burning Nerine, while he knew we were there. And then what? What does my life become after all of these questions get answered?

    I'm dithering, in a place where dithering can get you killed. At least it's dark. In the dark, I am so very nearly invisible, unless my skin feels alive, and then I flicker like a lightning bug over a bayou, erratic and eye catching. Not ideal. My chest feels tight with anxiety while I try to decide if I should stay or just go. 

    Alone isn't so bad. Not when it's your baseline for existence. And it's been so long... What's to say I'm even wanted, if no one has come looking for me in all this time. It seems stupid to go looking for rejection, just because there's a chance I won't find it. So I'm pacing the edge of the Cove. Jumping at every little noise, teeth bared at the darkness while I do my best to talk myself back out of this decision. 

    If I leave, then what? 

    I have no where to go. I really don't. They are the closest to family I have found. It feels wrong to raise my voice, but I did it anyway. Quickly, before I can convince myself not to. A wordless call of self announcement. Then I gather myself in case I'm answered by something less than friendly. 



    TARTE







    @[cirilla] @[yadigar] @Any
    Reply
    #2
    Returning to Pangea had been a mistake, like so many other mistakes Cirilla has made in recent years.

    Yadigar had been… different. How different, she wasn’t quite able to put her finger on. He had seemed colder and less welcoming than she knew of him - how was she to know that a magician had frozen over her sweet, kind brother’s heart? And the boy that had been with him - Sepulcher, she remembers, their brother - had shaken the scarred girl, though she had done her best not to show it. His gaping mouth-head-thing was frightening, to say the least, and there was no doubt in Ciri’s mind that Ghaul had sired the boy. For the first time in her life, she had been glad that she hadn’t inherited any of Ghaul’s oddities.

    That Yadigar had so easily accepted Ghaul’s bastards after his death speaks volumes about the heart left in him, even with his personality so changed. She had wanted to cry and embrace her brother and never leave his side again but after their brief conversation, Cirilla had felt something tugging her along a different path, to the other territory where she had made her home for so long. The Cove. The black-sand beaches and the rolling hills and the cliffs along the ocean and the warm air and just… home.

    She has been keeping to herself again, but she finds that here, she doesn’t feel as lonely. She finds comfort in the darkness because it hides her scars and hideousness away from general view. It is odd to her that the Silver Cove, named for the luminescent sands that twinkle under starlight, have lost their silver hue, but even still it feels like home.

    And when she sees the rippling electricity just ahead of her in the darkness, it is as though one of the lurking monsters has wrapped its talons around her throat, for suddenly she can no longer breathe. “Tarte?” she manages to choke out, surprising herself when tears burn at the corners of her eyes. Stumbling forward, she raises her voice to catch the other woman’s attention. “Tarte!” she practically screams as her hoof catches on something - a large shell, perhaps - and sends her tumbling, but she rights herself and lunges forward again, tears streaming freely down her face as a wave of emotions washes over her, nearly pulling her under by the sheer strength.

    “Tarte,” she cries softly as the two of them collide, and she cannot put words to all that she is feeling. She wraps herself up in the other mare, and though the light from her halo has dimmed, it is still bright enough for her molten gold eyes to meet blue, and there is nothing more she can say.

    @[Tarte]
    Reply
    #3
    "

    I've seen devils, i've seen saints
    I've seen the line between them fade


    My throat is hot and tight as I pick up the first strains of thought. Images and words that intensify as the thinker comes close, and even in this darkness I could not mistake her for anyone or anything but herself. "Ciri-" I croak, longing and something heavier mingling in that single word. 

    The light that has always crowned her is all the brighter in this darkness, a beacon that guides my feet until we're stumbling, crashing into each other. My face is wet, and I don't know if I'm crying, or she is, or we both are. I'm shaking with relief. I'm not alone. I'm not alone. But I was. 

    My needy touch pulls away, sudden yawning space between us. For a moment, our wild breaths are the only sound, aside from a distant rushing that I think must be the sea. Her mind is racing, so is mine, and I'm trying to organize my thoughts to the point where I can speak again. I am crying, I realize, and the tears blur my sight until Cirilla is a gleaming gold and blue smudge across my vision. The only light I've seen in ages. "You left me," I say, and I can't take the accusation from the words. 

    I'm shaking still, and I dearly want to press myself against her again, to feed my touch starved body on her soft skin and quiet, urgent mouth. But I can't. Not yet. Not until I can understand why I've been abandoned again and again. Especially by the one I thought never would.



    TARTE






    @[cirilla]
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    #4
    As the two collide in a crash of emotions and tears, one thought tugs at the back of Cirilla’s mind: doesn’t she see how ugly I am?

    Burn scars trace their way up one side of her face, twisting her markings into a hideous pattern. The line of scars swirls down her neck and along her side, much like the gold she was born with - the pinkish flesh contrasts horribly with her blues and golds and Ciri knows that she looks more like a ruined monster than an angel these days. Does Tarte see it? Will she cringe away once the tears dry and her vision isn’t so blurred?

    Ciri’s heart won’t be able to take it if she does.

    She is in the midst of burying her lips in the base of Tarte’s mane when the magenta woman pulls away, and her head falls gracelessly as space opens up between them. The accusation in her voice is unmistakable and Ciri looks away, squeezing her eyes shut against the disappointment in Tarte’s voice. “You didn’t look for me,” she accuses in return, but there is no malice there, only a deep, yearning sadness.

    There is a long silence before Ciri’s eyes find Tarte’s again, and Ciri finds herself crying even harder than before, not knowing the words to make it right. “Everyone left me,” she says, her voice remarkably steady. “Yadigar was magicked away and Phyx burned me and Virgil and Frenzy disappeared and Mother went mad and Father died and I was so hurt and so alone and I didn’t want you to see me like that because nothing I said would’ve changed the way you felt about Yadigar or the way I felt about you and it broke my heart every day thinking of you and how lonely you must’ve been and I - ”

    She cuts off suddenly as she realizes she’s become a babbling mess, shaking her head to try and clear her thoughts.

    But there is no going back now; she has already said all of the words that she has been holding back for so long. “I’ve been… so in love with you since the day we met, Tarte,” she whispers, not knowing if there are words that can convey how she feels. “But you were in love with Gar, it was so clear to see, and how could I compete with him? He is everything I’m not - strong, a dragon, amazing, and me? I’m just Ciri. I wasn’t born with any of that. And I just… I thought that when you saw how ugly I’ve become, you’d want nothing to do with me. I had my beauty once, but not anymore. Now I’m just… this. And I figured a clean break would be easier than finding you and saying all of this and hurting us both more in the long run and…”

    She stops again and swallows hard past the lump in her throat, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “My feelings never changed, even after so long apart,” she continues, eyes never leaving Tarte’s. “I love you, Tarte, and that’s all I really know.”

    @[Tarte]
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    #5
    She had seen the aftereffects of the fire on Cirilla's skin. The way it had marbled her once smooth surfaces with red and black and charring ash. And she had hated, hated, the creature who's flame had caused the haloed girl so much pain. The brief altercation on the battlefield hadn't been enough to ease the violence that had bloomed in her heart from that moment, but it was all she'd been given. 

    Too much else had been going on, in the heat of the day. 

    It had been so hard to catch her breath. To fight off the waves of anger that the day had unleashed inside of her, that she didn't want to subject to innocents. Innocents meaning Cirilla. To hell with anyone elsethat day. They all deserved whatever they got for letting this happen in the first place. 

    She'd cooled off after a few days, but by then it had been too late. Ciri was gone. For reasons Tarte was beyond understanding, back to the one's who'd burned her in the first place. 

    That had stung sharply. 

    Was she really less desirable company than a hoard of ravaging monsters? What did that make her? Tarte could only stand and watch as the pastel woman's thoughts and feelings came spinning out in what seemed like a long-repressed flooding. 

    Her eyes remained locked on Cirilla's softly illuminated face, her own visage lost against the night. She was quaking like a windblown sapling, forcing herself to let Circilla finish, or they'd never get through this. It was getting clearer with every word that they were long past due on this conversation. 

    She let the quiet draw out between them, waiting to see if there was more the blue mare wanted to say and trying to find words inside herself that wouldn't damn everything that rested so delicately between them. 

    There was a part of her, and not a small one, that demanded she burn whatever remained of this relationship. It would be easy to spit venom like her mother. Easier still to walk away, and pretend she'd never been hurt at all, a lie to benefit nothing and no one. 

    Half-choking while her heart lodged itself in her throat, the horned mare shook her head minutely. "Ciri- Cirilla," she shaped the name with utmost care. Her eyes watered hot and sore as she pulled herself forward. Back into the warmth of the haloed mare. She was the sun that Tarte has orbited for seasons, and she had shivered with the lack of. 

    And she shivered now, hesitating on the brink of truth as she sought the golden eyes. "I'm a sorry, stupid mare. I always have been, to not see what's been staring me in the face all this time. Can you forgive me?" She murmured, breath mingling with her pair's as she recognized the heart she'd been searching for so long. 

    @[cirilla]
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