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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Mazikeen -- Year 214

    QOTY

    "“Content to admire you from afar.” Well that’s just bullshit. She wasn’t *content* to be admired from afar. She would rather not see him at all then be tortured by a buffered distance." --Mazikeen, written by Squirt


    [open]  Wolves that eddy out the corners of his eyes || Any
    #1
    The autumn air smells like smoke and leaves and it sings of a summer that was too short after an eternity of darkness and the false winter it wrought, but he is a child of Nerine and the Northerners don't fear the cold.

    Wherewolf had passed the dark season lurking through the frigid heather, dodging Popinjay and the lightning she harnessed, until the sun rose again, when the Rook's bonfire had been extinguished and she, bored of chasing quarry that can become invisible, had gone. He had spent the long night alone with frost in his whiskers and only the anger in his belly (and Poppy's damn lightning singeing his tail,) to keep him warm. It had been enough, and the darkness had not been unproductive. Wherewolf had finally mastered his wings, flying in a deadly black sky where it made no difference if he shut those sea-green eyes or strained to pierce the murk. He was a strong flier now, not graceful but powerful, furious, thrill-seeking, and despite his ability to heal there are scars on his coat where he raced against demons in the dark. The deepest cuts heal slowly, and those opened again and again by ravaging teeth, but the Lambs had sacrificed themselves to chase those teeth away and he has no qualms with exploiting the spoils of their labor.

    He does not feel gratitude. Wherewolf knows he deserves the sun that gleams across his back and wings, glinting off the bright dapples shining out from his tobacco skin. Physically, he favors the heritage of his mother, short-backed with strong legs and a powerful neck, and thick skin that boasts a heavy coat in winter, but it is less easy to be sure from which parent he acquired his arrogance.

    The pegasus descends from the sky, landing in the field rather heavily among the wild oats which release a sweet scent as they are crushed underfoot and scatter their seeds to the rollicking breeze. The wind turns his tail to streamers, and ruffles the short, stiff bristles of his mane. A deep reddish-brown feather falls loose and flies away toward the field's short waterfall and Wherewolf follows it brusquely, dipping his black-masked head to water.

    The sound of footsteps makes dark ears flatten, and perhaps he should not be here if he does not wish for company, but the weapon of his personality is a powerful one. Blue-green eyes flash and he swings his broad head up again to catch the comer up in a glare that says without words they are not welcome.

    Except for the wind around them, there is sullen, expectant, silence.
    Image by Stardae
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    #2

    Kiss me again
    Kiss me until I am sick of it

    It’s not something he enjoys doing, coming here to find others willing to join him. For all extensive purposes he’s just fine getting absolutely inebriated on fae nectar and lounging in the soft flowers until the end of his days. However, he had made himself a promise. He may be a normal mortal but god damnit he was going to be anything but ordinary. Which means coming here until others can do it for him. He had tried to convince his fae family, uprooted from the Meadow and convinced with promises of endless wildflower fields, to do his dirty work for him but per usual they simply laughed and did their own things. Only helpful when it served their own purposes it seems.

    He doesn’t consider himself as a leader in the ordinary sense of the word. What he would like is a crew that doesn’t mind his vicious words, that gave support when needed, and for the most part liked to have fun. That was one thing he was good at, having fun. Oh, and playing the villain, he had gotten good at that too. It was the one thing that made everyone overlook how ordinary he was. It didn’t matter if nobody much liked him. It didn’t matter if he had once been a wild child, only looked after by the fae. It didn’t matter if he had once wanted the favor of his parents or the touch of perhaps just a little magic (the touch of someone who loved him) to not stand out sorely like a thumb. None of that mattered when everyone thought you were a villain. At least as a bad guy someone thought of you at all.

    His glowing red eyes easily spot the dark winged buckskin in the slim pickings of the field. The male glares as he whips around to face him, gazing at him sullenly and with little dislike. Obscene follows suit, the look of disdain easily sliding into place as he comes closer to him and the waterfall. It had not been that long ago that Sabra had found him here and the landscape is still as desolate and dank as it had been a few months ago when the light had returned. Cocking his head with a smirk dancing on dark lips, he addresses the male. His voice deep and alluring, not bothering to keep the curiosity from his tone. “You don’t seem one for company. So why come here of all places?”


    Obscene



    Wherewolf
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    #3
    One thing that Wherewolf has always been good at is killing joy. It's something that seems to come naturally. Even when he doesn't mean to do it, his sour expression bleeds the life out of friendly voices and bright smiles. For some, that might be a bigger problem than it is for him. The black stallion is curious, and well he might be, because coming to the field is practically begging to be noticed in spite of (or perhaps it is because of) the emptiness of the land around them and perhaps he might have done better to go to the forest or the river or maybe even to the Mountain if he had wanted to be ignored.

    But he hadn't gone to those places.

    It doesn't mean that he welcomes visitors and questions, though. Wherewolf has always been contrary. His head settles high on that thick neck, a scowl playing effortlessly across his lips. Pinned ears lift from where they traced the curve of his skull but still remain tilted back, brushing against the tarnished silver of his upright mane. He considers not answering.

    "And yet, here you are."

    An ear flicks as if at a fly that's bothering him.

    He blinks with a bored drawl, languid and slow, turning his head away from the other stallion dismissively so that when he speaks again, it is not obviously to anyone at all.

    "I came here because it looked like nobody was here. Seems I was right."

    The implication is heavy, and perhaps more than a little insulting.
    Image by Stardae


    Obscene omg hello, wolfey is awful and I'm sorry this is our first thread together lmfao
    Reply
    #4

    Kiss me again
    Kiss me until I am sick of it

    Well at least they already have something in common. The dappled stallion immediately pins his ears and responds with a comment worthy of coming out of his own mouth. In response, he can’t help the smirking grin that creeps across his dark lips. Not the kind of smile that takes hold when he’s uncomfortable or nervous and can't sort his feelings. This is familiar footing and the stranger might be sorely disappointed when he figures out that his barbs would have a hard time finding purchase in the cruel armor he had built for himself.

    “Yes, here I am. How astute.” He responds, disdain lingering in his gaze as his red eyes look over the other. His demeanor that of one whose obviously not impressed, as if he had gone questing for something fabulous but ended up only stepping in dog shit the moment they left the house. The grin twisting into a smirk at his next retort and he allows himself to look about the field in the same bored manner that the pegasus had used to fuel his insult. The words slide off the black stallion like slick oil, finding himself to be far from offended and more oddly curious if anything.

    “So you often talk to yourself then?” His head cocks slightly, a smug curl playing at the corner of his lips. The red of his eyes seem to almost glow as he watches the haughty stranger apathetically. Musing aloud to himself as if conversing with a whole group of nobodies. “I wonder if its by choice that he seeks solitude or because nobody can stand him?”


    Obscene



    Wherewolf Lol no worries Ob's into this hahaha
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    #5

    YOU'RE ONLY AS SICK AS YOUR SECRETS

    Pangea and Aela were at odds.

    The land seemed quiet and Aela - glowing, golden, fiery-aura Aela - was not.

    Sunlight had returned to Beqanna and truth be told, life hadn't been that much different in the dark. Horses were born, some lived and some died - all under the cover of an endless night that had finally ended. Perhaps Aela had wanted too much; she had thought that the return of the light might reveal something more than decaying bodies and stagnant lives.

    But it had not. 

    She kept company with her bitter disappointment for a time, mulling over the way that some things had stayed the same. That had lasted only a short time. The palomino has never been one to wallow on emotions and so she had returned to what she did before the Eclipse. The striped girl resumed traveling the Common Lands, listenings for news of things that might be of interest and sharpening the talents that she kept concealed beneath a pretty face.

    With the Meadow mostly empty and the River barren of anyone of interest, she had taken the risk to come here. To the Field.

    Aela stands for a time beneath the trees and she studies the few horses here. A bay stallion who comes too close is greeted with a memory of a monster with too many teeth. And it puts her in a playful mood to watch the rogue scatter away from the memory, an impish smile tugging on her pale lips.

    What draws her immediate attention is the golden dapples because she has seen them before. 

    There had been a yearling fuzz on them but there is no mistaking that gilded pattern. He's grown larger since their last meeting (and as Aela approaches, she has no problem reminding Wherewolf of it with a flashing memory of his scowl as passes by him). What had already started as a promising morning grows and the striped palomino smiles, tilting her blazed head towards the pair of stallions. Aela's blue eyes flick to the dark stallion, before glancing back to the pegasus. "Wherewolf," says his half-sister, speaking as if they regularly did so. Her gaze moves curiously back to the stranger, "who's your friend?"



    Obscene
    [Image: jvtDYf.png]
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    #6
    Wherewolf does not have any friends, like any true Northerner, he considers himself to be the best company and has no need for anyone else's, and he is about to tell the black stallion just that when he pauses, lips parted slightly with the interrupted words dead upon them. The memory falls across him like fog gleaming gold in the sun, but it's bitter on his tongue like something artificial, sour as the bright cranberries peppering Nerine's bogs.

    The thick-limbed colt spits venom at her simply because she has the misfortune to meet him. He's haughty, angry, fueled by deep veins of insecurity and bitterness (the memory giver may not know this, but Wherewolf does,) and the delicate girl beside him vibrates with anger when he dismisses her, when he turns with final insults and steps away. She reaches out for his wing with teeth that shine in the bright of day.

    There's blackness after. Darkness. He doesn't remember what happened after, but the memory pushes on. Wherewolf, in the present, blinks hard with a snort and a jerk of his head as the memory continues to wash through him. His mind tells him that there was only blindess after, and pain, and then he woke, panting and tangled with her in the mud and the sharp tang of sweat mixing with blood, but against the dark screen, the memory plays vividly on. It dawns on him, suddenly, that this is not his memory. This is not a daydream brought on by the other stallion's sarcastic question.

    No.

    This is something else. Someone else.

    "Get of of my head you little witch." He growls, voice dropping an octave, teeth bared and so bright against the dark of his lips. His head swings back to the black, ears dropping flat once again, though it is not intended for him.

    "I assure you, it is because no-one can stand me."

    His head swings back, yes, but those stormy eyes, their color shifting slightly to a cold gray-green, do not rest on dark skin or ruby eyes. Instead the dappled stallion searches the tawny oatgrass for the mare he knows must be here. At first she is barely visible, her once russet coat turned gold, but he recognizes her anyway. The feathers of his wings lift and rustle loudly like the leaves of wind-tossed trees. Unbidden, unnoticed, his left wing hitches higher and tighter to his barrel.

    Aela approaches, gleaming and silk-skinned and silver-tongued, and it may be difficult not to count the differences that mark them when they are side-by-side. She is civil, but he does not have a civil bone in his body. Instead of answering her question, he snorts derisively.

    "Yellow is not your color."

    Image by Stardae


    Aela Obscene
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    #7

    Kiss me again
    Kiss me until I am sick of it

    A flame flickers in the depths of red as he observes this new situation with a tricksters glee. Now things were getting exciting. Despite his deep rooted hatred for something he can’t have, it is rather interesting to watch magic being wielded on others. As the dappled stallion seems to go through some sort of thing, he glances at the new strange mare that’s seemed to cause chaos in a matter of seconds. She is a beautiful creature, her fur shimmers like the golden nectar he often steals from the fae. She is smaller than him and seems almost delicate but based on the visceral reaction coming from Wherewolf (“Get out of my head you little witch!”) he immediately knows that it would be stupid to underestimate her. Not that he would bother to begin with. He has a feeling flattery won’t get anywhere with this one and lucky for her it’s not a talent of his to begin with.

    Aela is the exact opposite of the young black and green mare who had weaseled herself into his head. Thinking of Cheri instantly makes the fans of his hatred flare and as he looks at this brazen yellow girl who had snuck in like a viper, he can’t help but like her just a little. Just out of spite. She asks who he is but he doesn’t respond. She wasn’t asking him anyways.

    Wherewolf seems to gather himself enough to turn his glowering gaze on her although words are first directed at him. Obscene merely gives a smug grin as he gives a slight shrug. “She seems to feel otherwise.” He responds drily, turning his handsome head at an angle as his blazing iris’s sweep over the rest of the Field momentarily. Thinking how much more amusing all this would be if he wasn’t so sober. The excitement of her entrance was quickly wearing off and boredom beckoned. He had come here with a purpose but now he finds that he would much rather be lounging in the wildflowers of his home with a nose full of hallucinogenic pollen. He glances back at the winged man, wondering if he would be a little less grumpy if he had some nectar poured down his throat. A sigh escapes from dark lips, he would stay just a little longer to see how this situation played out. If it was at least amusing then he would count it as a day well spent. 


    Obscene



    Wherewolf
    Aela
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    #8

    YOU'RE ONLY AS SICK AS YOUR SECRETS

    It's been a while since Aela has had any sort of real fun. There had been the argument with Skandar at the start of the Eclipse, and with him, it seemed like the world had gotten dull as well as dark. There had been other things to focus on: survival becoming the most important. But even as the monsters came and crawled across Beqanna, only one or two dared to cross Aela.

    (She has a few scars from those skirmishes, where she learned that those other-worldly things did not like worldly things such as emotions. They had attempted to prey across her lovely golden skin and Aela had learned that the fear mingled with her sweat made them frenzied. That realization led to others - that grief made them pause, that sorrow made them ache and only one ever stayed long enough to feel her despair.)

    Aela has become quicker since then, with this Mountain-granted ability. It still needs polishing; the emotions pour too strong sometimes and can hardly be felt during others. She strives for perfection but even the striped memory-giver knows that Magic often has a mind of its own.

    Wherewolf seems like a perfect opportunity to practice. Their few meetings have always ended with him using bullish strength and as her blue eyes carefully consider her half-brother, Aela doesn't want to waste this moment. The pegasus glares at her but she flashes a bright grin towards the buckskin before looking back to the other brute, "I think Aela suits just fine." Witches were rumored to be haggard, horrid-appearing things; Aela knows that she is neither.

    And then, she doesn't mind illuminating the conversation a bit. The light catches around her slender legs and Aela pulls on her glow, adding some literal shine to their conversation from her gilded stripes. It lights up the shadowy space below from where Wherewolf holds his dusky-colored wings so tightly. "Better?" she asked the dappled stallion - far too sweetly to truly be kind - before glancing at the red-eyed one. The images that she can glean from him aren't of a place that she's been to before, but there is only one land in Beqanna with a sea of wildflowers.

    "The Pampas?" she questions the rogue. It's something that a horse might have concluded just from the scent clinging to his onyx skin, of sweet grasses and floral bouquets. (Aela can't help herself though, can't help but share a few of the memories that she's seen of the Brilliant Pampas, from strangers and now this man, to Wherewolf. Just to remind him that she can.) Another coy smile tugs on the corner of her mouth while a delicate ear curves towards Wolf, "you don't look like any wildflower that I've seen."



    Wherewolf Obscene
    [Image: jvtDYf.png]
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    #9
    It would be easier to tell Aela that he has only just met the black stallion and does not know his name, but that path is foreign territory for him. Wherewolf has spent such a long time with his bitterness and his resentments that the familiar poison of their embrace is more comfortable than giving even this insignificant inch. He remains tight-lipped, only rolling his eyes when the stranger remarks on his reply.

    He's laying it on thick, he knows, it's always been his way.

    The black is beginning to look bored and Wherewolf wonders if he's succeeded in driving him away, but Aela's arrival seems to have revived his interest, if only a little. That thorny thing in his breast revolts. He wants to be left alone. (Somewhere, in a dark alley of his soul, something protests this. It does not want to be alone, but heavier memories curl around it, dark, forgotten tendrils filling its mouth, and its cries are drowned out by the obscurity of them. Hatred and anger well up from that bruised place instead.)

    "I don't care how she feels." Then he grins at Aela when she speaks again and the glow overtakes their little gathering. His smile is broad and almost charming.

    "You know, I was so sure you were too stupid to ever learn to speak," he shrugs, "I guess I was wrong, it's just a shame that that's what your voice sounds like. I hope there's no glass horses where you live, you might shatter them with it."

    He turns back to the black with the intention of finally driving him off when strange images of flowered fields invade his memory. It's a flood of bright color and a feeling of safety and that's not his own but hooks on the spines of his barbed heart. Aela again, he's sure. He has never seen this place that inexplicably feels like home. His teeth snap together sharply, that northwind temper always ready to rise to her challenges. The air beside her shivers, the duplicate like a heat mirage, but solid and real, and so close that the sudden flare of its broad red-brown wings come at her like a pair of clubs. The bone there is sturdy and hard enough to bruise and stun and the false Wherewolf has none of its maker's own insecurities. It punches out at her viciously and, just as quickly, disappears, leaving just the three of them once again. Wherewolf turns to the dark Pampaian as if nothing at all has happened.

    "Why the Pampas? Pretty," an ear turns back to Aela, "gets awfully dull after a while, don't you think?"
    Image by Stardae


    Obscene
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    #10

    Kiss me again
    Kiss me until I am sick of it

    Aela is quick on her feet and even quicker with her tongue, something the dark Prince can appreciate. As she taunts the broad dappled stallion, illuminating him with her glowing stripes, he finds that he quite wants her. Wants them both as Wherewolf snaps back with rude words that could put even Obscene harshness to shame. There’s an image forming in his brain of the motley crew they could form. Crowns appears in it too and he sees the foursome getting up to all sorts of mischief and fun that normal Beqannans would turn their muzzles up to. Wouldn’t it be nice to make the world just a little less boring for awhile? Wouldn’t it be nice to not be so alone?

    As if somehow sensing where his thoughts lie, the golden mare looks to him with a question and he smirks back at her, a flicker of excitement flaring to life in the deep red of his eyes. “You would be surprised by what can grow in the Pampas.” He glances at the tight lipped pegasus as he responds cooly, considering the thick bodied man and realizing that there are two of them and one strikes out at the coy female before he can even bat an eye. Any doubt of leaving here empty handed vanishes as the mirage fades and looks back at him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Why the Pampas? “It was empty and I took it.” He says with a shrug and then a wry smile spreads on his velvet lips as he suddenly grins at them both. “It’s far from dull now that I’m there.” Pausing for a moment as he reels out his line and hook. “I think you could benefit from some of it’s herbal remedies, might help get that stick out of your ass.”

    His gaze settles back on Aela for a moment, a corner of his mouth tugging into deeper smugness. “I’m Obscene. I was planning on heading back and getting absolutely blitzed. You can come if you want.”


    Obscene



    Wherewolf
    Aela
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