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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


    [private]  to be weak is to be miserable
    #1
    The darkness is a blessing for this mare. Sunlight would be too much, too bright, on top of everything else - it would short out her brain. She still has instincts to keep to the shadows and that is an easy feat to accomplish now.

    Her thoughts are still slow, still a jumbled mess, and she has not yet gained the ability to shut some of them out and focus on one thing at a time. Every sensation is new, every memory is screaming.

    Moving around in open spaces is unnerving, even with the shelter of the shadows all around her. So she clings to the edge of the forest and the trees that dapple the meadow.

    Fear is a new sensation (one of many) and she cannot say she cares for it very much at all.

    One of the thoughts that she can make out is that she has no idea what to do now. She stands awkwardly among the first trees of the woods - looking out across the dimly lit meadow - and… that’s it. What comes next? She had tried to catch a deer and then (when that had proved to be too difficult) a rabbit to soothe the hunger in her stomach but it had only made her sick. So now she’s just… standing. Watching. Black eyes take in the way other horses move and graze. She considers the bushes surrounding her and a disgruntled noise escapes her.

    She's not sure she's ready to admit she's one of them now, she'd rather deal with the hunger a little longer.
    NOSTROMO


    @[violence]
    Reply
    #2

    violence


    Violence likes the darkness. She is not exactly bred for it, the way she supposes her more monstrous siblings are – and lord, her mother must be ecstatic - but Violence does as well in darkness as she does in daylight, and that is well enough. Her only annoyance is that it’s harder to see her bone-thing, for her vision is not meant for this glumness even if her soul is, so she finds herself leaning on touch, running her lips over the curves of her macabre pet, making sure its grotesque parts fit with one another. She does not mess with her creation in the darkness, but still keeps it animated, walking at her side. A waste of her powers, you could say, but Violence prefers the dryness of bone to the wet squelch of dead flesh, and besides, what else is she to do with her powers, if not show off?
    She moves to the tune of clanking bone through the forest, and she intends to move past the dark mare, as she has moved past so many others. Violence is not friendly, her friendliness only manifests when she wants something.
    Yet…

    Yet something about the mare catches her attention. She reminds her of someone, though she cannot say who. So she pauses, and looks her over. She is black and unremarkable looking, much like Violence herself, though this mare lacks a bone menagerie at her side, as most horses do.
    “Hello,” Violence says, cautious, still trying to place why something in the mare calls to her, “have we met before?”

    these violent delights bring violent ends



    @[Nostromo]
    Reply
    #3
    When she is approached, it feels like every muscle in her tenses. Automatically her eyes dart to the weak points, where she knew the sweetest flesh would lie. Her stomach rumbles, but whether it is from hunger or from a newfound disgust at the idea of drenching her throat in blood she cannot say.

    Her eyes linger on the bone creature at this stranger’s side, and there is no word that comes to her to name what it is.

    Her ears flick at the question and she stares back at the stranger for a considerable length of time before replying. “No.” For such a small word, it is clumsy, and there is not much certainty behind it either. Because there is something familiar about this stranger. It is an echo of the feeling she had when she would see another member of the hive.

    There are faces, so many faces, that swim in her mind - the faces of those she has killed. But the one standing before her is not one of those.

    Confusion clouds the mare’s black eyes but she’s incapable of forming the questions that have begun to buzz around her mind like wasps in a frenzy. They are a noisy, painful, distracting cloud that she cannot pull a single thought from - the swarm is a solid mass.
    NOSTROMO


    @[violence]
    Reply
    #4

    violence


    There is a feeling, as the mare looks at her. It is familiar, a tingle in the back of her mind, and her heart beats faster but she does not know why. It is that same odd sense of things familiar yet not familiar, a warped sort of déjà vu, and oh, Violence is intrigued now!
    Still, the mare only says no and Violence sighs, because she is curious now, and her curiosity can be a dangerous thing when not handled correctly. Because there is something still, in the heaviness of her words, that rings familiar.
    Violence does not move, but she sends her bone-thing closer. Just a step or two, to gauge the dark mare’s reaction. She is tempted to have it touch her, but refrains for now. She must be patient, but she finds patience so fruistrating.

    She moves – not closer, but lateral, trying to see more of the mare, to unlock the reason behind this strange familiarity. She still cannot find it, but senses it’s there, some hidden image she only needs to look at the right way in order to make it pop into sharp relief.
    “And yet…” she says, “I feel as if I know you. Something familiar in you, something…”
    A soft clacking noise as the bones shift. A tension in the mare’s jaw, and suddenly, Violence sees it.
    “You remind me of my sisters,” she says, “except they’re a bunch of monsters.”

    these violent delights bring violent ends




    @[Nostromo]
    Reply
    #5
    The stranger doesn’t leave and the haze in the black mare’s mind roars with new frustration and uncertainty. Should she know this face?

    Her head tilts down to better look at the bone creature that approaches. Warring instincts - to flee or to fight - join the frenzy in her mind. In the end, she shifts just slightly away, unnerved and unsettled and immediately annoyed with herself for this small display of fear. She does not know what the bone-thing is though she recognizes its parts as the leftovers from a meal.

    She remembers what bones sound like when they fracture and with that thought, her heart is thundering so loudly as she stares at the creature that she almost misses everything that is being spoken.

    But she drags her black eyes back to the other mare at that last word. She knows the word monster with a heavy familiarity. It is not her name, but it’s one of the things she’s been called.

    She opens her mouth and an imitation of the clicking-noise that the monsters, their family, use comes out of her. This noise serves as a stand-in for a question that she cannot form with words - those monsters? Is that who this mare is referring to? Her head tilts slightly to the side as she regards the stranger with more curiosity than frustration now. She doesn't know that the new emotion in her still-learning heart is hope - a feeble wish that there could possibly be others in their family like her.
    NOSTROMO


    @[violence]
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