"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
05-17-2021, 02:42 PM (This post was last modified: 05-17-2021, 02:43 PM by Memorie.)
one lives in hope of becoming a memory
I had never been to the Brilliant Pampas before. I had been to many corners of Beqanna, but not here. I think it has something to do with the name of the place. I’d never been a fan. But here I am, standing on the border looking in.
I had been hearing rumors–rumors that peaked my interest while also making me feel a slight twinge of jealousy, resentment, curiosity, and…intrigue. Cheri and I had spent some time under the new giant mushrooms, tripping on those, and I can’t say that I hated it. In fact, it was probably the most fun I’d had in my life so far. So, naturally, I found myself drawn to the border here, despite my distaste for the name of the land. Names mean little when comparing them to experiences, after all.
The land stretches on for a great distance until it hits the ocean, and I can see virtually all of it. It is not an unpleasant land to look upon, strewn with colorful flowers as far as the eye could see, but it does have me missing the redwoods. Even so, I imagine what it would be like to trip on mushrooms here, with all the bright colors and the wind weaving through the flowers, making them dance ever so gently. Would the hallucinations from the rumored flowers compare, though? Well, there’s only one way to find out.
At first, I see no one here, despite how open the land is. I can sense that there are others here, though. The emotional residue sits in the air like a pollen itself. Some of these signatures are different than most signatures I have come across, though. They are scrambled, almost like they are altered. That would make sense, though, because hallucinations would have that affect. A soft smile brushes against my lips at the thought.
I step forward, the soft blue wings on my back fluttering, barely visible under the bright sun that pours over my back. Soon, however, the sun would go down, and those wings would be plenty bright. Bright enough to play tricks on the eye, especially under the influence of some special poppy pollen. I find myself eager for the experience, but first I would need to find the right flower. That wouldn’t be hard, though. I had figured out which mushrooms were hallucinogenic. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out which flowers to drink the nectar of, either. Still, it would be so much more fun with some company, so instead of searching for the flower, I cast my senses out for the emotional residue that would signify the presence of others.
It is not hard to find the soft wisp of a fresh memory, and I follow it, much like I would with my nose. I weave between the flowers, and the memory grows stronger, until it is so heavy that I know the stallion it belonged to had to be right beneath my hooves. And then he is. His black shape is laying among the flowers, a veteran to their pollens, I can tell. He seems lost among the hallucinations, so I stop for just a moment to examine him, a haunting smile creeping across my chestnut lips. When he doesn’t seem to notice my presence, I step forward and kick his hoof with my own. “I hear there’s fun to be had here.” I say, grinning, now.
The days pass and he finds himself growing bored. He doesn’t like being bored and usually tries to find any kind of distraction to avoid it. Today he’s fallen back into his old past time of inebriation. It usually does the trick and requires little effort. He lounges amongst the rich blanket of wildflowers, sprawled amongst the stems and opened petals, rolled on his back to watch the shapes of soft white clouds that pass lazily in the sky above him.
A soft sigh of relaxation escapes his lips, dark and sweet with lingering drops of nectar, and he closes heavy lids over brilliant red eyes. The sun is warm on his exposed belly, the long wavy strands of gold and black strewn carelessly across the grass, as wild and unruly as the stallion it was attached to. Metallic glitter shines over the hard planes of his chest, highlighting the definition of his chiseled cheekbones and outlining the dark red iris’s that were currently hidden from view. Even in this position, his long pointed ears are hard to miss. As if he would want to hide it.
He wears his Fae ears with pride and sits smugly in the safety of his immortality.
His peaceful bliss is suddenly interrupted by a swift kick to his hoof and a rather taunting question. Raising a single lid, the fiery eye lands on the young girl with the big grin on her face. “I don’t like goats.” He drawls lazily, a yawn forming behind his words. Every single one of them truthful, unable to be anything but. “They always ruin all the flowers.” Still he roles himself up to his chest as the other eye opens and blearily gazes at her.
Her appendages are familiar but he absolutely refuses to think about the dark appaloosa girl and her stupid pale wings. He pushes the thought of Cheri away violently as he squints to focus on the girl. Child really. “Aren’t you a little too young for fun?” He asks her doubtfully as he staggers to his hooves and shakes the blades of grass and broken flowers that have become entangled in his two toned hair. Perhaps there would be some that would be giving a side-eye the dark stallion, would be left with their jaws hanging wide open at this rather restrained version of himself he was portraying. It’s not the level of cruelty that others had come to expect but despite all his many flaws he wasn’t a complete monster. He wasn’t mean to foals. Not that mean, anyways.
My grin falters only slightly, though it doesn’t falter into anything different, but rather is stumbles into a different form of a grin. My blue eyes narrow at the black stallion, and an eyebrow raises in his direction. Goats ruin all the flowers? Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not actually a goat, but rather that I have a few goat features, thanks to my father. “From where I’m standing, you’re the one ruining the flowers,” I quip. After all, he is the one crushing a large swath of flowers beneath his rather large figure.
I respond with more than just my words, though. I concentrate on the plethora of flowers surrounding his figure, and slowly they start to grow, inching towards the sky, sprouting extra buds and leaves in a burst of color. They grow so tall and thick that the stallion is nearly consumed by them where he lays. A cocky kind of grin spreads across my face, now, as I look down at him, almost like I’m looking down my nose at him. “Tsk. I don’t ruin flowers…unlike you.” My expression is something between amusement and smug, now.
I can’t help the bark of laughter that peels off my lips when he asks if I’m too young for fun. “Aren’t you too old for fun?” I don’t know how old he is, but I can tell that he is much older than I am. Even so, I’m not exactly young, and I am certainly no younger than Cheri, who I know he’d convinced to imbibe on the poppy juice with him previously, when she was younger than I am now, even. I just find it ironic that he wouldn’t think the same of her, especially considering the feelings that he harbors for her, that he may not want to admit, but are there nonetheless. In his moment of weakness upon gazing up at me before asking if I’m too young, I could see it. I could feel it. And I’m not afraid to use that against him, either, especially if he insists on being such a snarky ass.
Even so, I tuck these thoughts away for later as I return my attention to the age question. “And anyway, I’ve been having fun for a while now already.” And by fun, I mean to say that Cheri and I had tripped balls on the hallucinogenic mushrooms in Taiga more than a few times already. I mean, if this bumbling fool was unwilling to share his own poppy nectar, then I could always return to Taiga and have fun of my own. Still, the idea of trying something new was much more appealing.
A glance back at the crushed bed of grass and petals he had smushed beneath him. A mere shrug to show he didn’t care. It was all his anyways, to do with it as he pleased. He means to get up but suddenly flowers start to expand and rise, reaching their petals to the sky as they grow all around him. For a moment he is trapped within the stems and leaves, grass tickling his nostrils, feeling almost suffocated before he breaks through them with a glowering look and even deeper scowl. “Quite a trick goat girl.” He growls softly, stalking away from her like the pesky child she was.
He gives a bark of laughter of his own as she calls him old but it lacks any of the warmth or humor that hers had. “I didn’t realize two years above you was considered old.” He responds flatly, annoyed that even with his immortal beauty, he would still be considered as something tarnished. Something decrepit. Something ugly. She speaks of indulging in fun and he eyes her with his usual look of disdain. “Where did you come from anyway?” A pause, a rephrase. “Who do you belong to exactly.”
I can tell he is bothered by my presence, and normally that kind of thing would make me uncomfortable, but for this stallion, I find myself enjoying it. He is smug and self-righteous, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. And anyways, if he was going to treat me like a child, then why should I reserve any of my usual kindness for him? Cheri might not admit to her feelings for him, but I could sense them deep within her, buried under mounds and mounds of shame and self-loathing. When I had seen her last, I could see the discomfort she felt as a result of this black stallion. Standing here now, I could understand those feelings, and it bred a kind of resentment within myself toward him, while also combining a healthy dose of curiosity.
Granted, maybe, right now, I was acting a little smug and self-righteous as well. Perhaps our energies just fed off of each other that way? I know that I act a little different around everyone, depending on how they act toward me. With Cheri, for instance, I felt more of myself, because we had that experience of tripping balls together on the mushrooms in Taiga. With mother, I tended to withhold a lot, because she is easily upset. With father, I was more open and honest, but I also tried to be more mature. With the black stallion, though, I feel my confidence morphing into smug and self-righteous.
I watch him extricate himself from the flowers, and a grin spreads across my face. To see him stalk away from me was satisfying on some guttural level. And when his bark of laughter splits the air between us, he unwittingly sends a memory with his annoyance, from the moment when Cheri had called him out for not having any gifts. I can feel the insecurity in it. Normally, I would feel empathy for such a memory, but with this stallion? I latch onto it instead. “Oh, I’m sorry, you look much older than five.” I hold a straight face, trying to pretend that it is an innocent statement, but the burn is there, just between the words, and my eyes give me away, the slight tilt of my eyelids, a subtle shift of the eyebrows.
When he asks where I come from and who I belong to, I smirk. I roll my shoulders in a casually sarcastic shrug and shift my eyes to the side, “Let’s just say that I have a sister.” He may not realize where the memory comes from, but I shove it into his head, that very same memory he had tried to violently rid himself of when I first appeared before him–a memory he had unintentionally shoved right into my waiting mind.
I leave it at that, though. Maybe he realizes where the memory has come from, or perhaps he would think it was his own thoughts that had brought it up, but either way, I am eager to watch him struggle with whatever happens in his head next.
It was usually hard to ruffle his feathers but something about Memorie irked him enough to spark a rare reaction from him. However he quickly smoothes it away as he stalks off until his handsome face is schooled once more with indifference. This time when she flings an insult, it simply slides off the cold armor he internally wears. His bold red gaze is filled with disdain when he looks back upon her, a cool smile on his lips as he settles himself against one of the sparse trees that dot the landscape. “I envy the people who haven’t met you.” Rough bark bites into his dark flesh as he leans against it but he doesn’t mind the slight sting of pain. It keeps him sharp, keeps him focused.
It’s a good thing too as she violently shoves a memory into his head, one of Cheri. When they had stood amongst the flowers, when she had realized he was traitless. Only a flicker of flame burns in the depths of red that shows what he has seen, as the hatred rises within him and flares to life. Remembering her unwanted pity. The corner of his lip curls as he looks at Memorie, he hadn’t missed the words she had tossed at him just as quickly as the memory that had come unwanted into his head. Cheri must be her sister. A cruel grin twists his features at that.
She shouldn’t have told him that.
“I didn’t realize Cheri couldn’t fight her own battles.” His cheshire grin spreading as he wraps the warmth of his smugness around his shoulders. Tendrils of gold and black fall across his forehead, falling over his scarlet eyes that are slowly narrowing into thin slits. “And sending a child to do her dirty work.” He gives a little tsk tsk, a slight shake of his head. As if whatever small sense of esteem he had held for the young jeweled mare had vanished completely. “I’ll never understand why she plays so hard to get when she’s already so hard to want.” It’s a cruel burn, one that would have surely made Cheri crumple with self doubt if she was here. It’s not a lie either which is why it falls easily from his sharp tongue, it was hard to want her. A personal battle he faced every day despite the length of time and distance that was steadily growing between them. “Now go running back to her like the good little goat you are.”
I must admit to feeling a little disappointed when the stallion pulls himself back together and throws up his walls that prevent me from bothering him too much. I had been having so much fun getting under his skin. Even still, when he speaks again, a bark of laughter lifts from my lips. “I feel bad for those that haven’t met you. You’re just such a joke that I imagine no one can help but laugh at you when you’re around.” The snide comments just keep coming with such ease that I never knew I could possess.
It was his next reaction, however, the truly had me laughing, both inside and out. I double over from laughter, and when I raise my head again, it is to look him squarely in those blood red eyes. “Cheri doesn’t need anyone to fight her battles. You really are deluded if you think that’s why I came here.” I pause for a brief second, glancing him over with callous eyes. “And anyway, you would have to be something more than pathetic to even consider any of this a battle. As it stands, you’re just…piteous.”
I smirk at him, then roll my eyes before I turn away from him. “I came here hoping to experience this poppy juice that my sister told me about, and though I will not get that pleasure, my ultimate goal was to do something enjoyable.” I look back at him over my shoulder. I don’t have to say it, it’s just there, standing between us like the unsaid words, that I achieved my ultimate goal, thanks to him. I could have allowed myself to be angry with him or annoyed, but he would have to be worth that anger, and he is not.
Then I turn away from him. I don’t move quickly, but I do move away from him. I will admit to being a little disappointed that I hadn’t experienced this poppy juice, but it is whatever. I scan the plant life here for the flower. It is not hard to distinguish from the rest, and I do a mental work up of the flower for the future. If I ever had the opportunity, I would simply bring the flowers to Taiga and try it there. Perhaps I would invite Cheri. She was certainly much better company than the black stallion.
As Memorie calls him a joke he simply smirks at her and thinks of her sister, of that moment when Cheri had tried her hand at seducing him, the way she had pressed against his skin. Let her pluck that little gem from his mind if she wished. A joke indeed. He glances around for a moment before looking back at her. “Oh are you still talking to me? You buzz like a gnat but seem to lack the stinger of a bee.”
She begins to talk about Cheri and he exhales slowly. He hadn’t thought she was really here to fight for her sister, he really had no idea why she was here nor did he really care. However she latched on to that thread, latched on to his insult, and seemed to find something in it that hit some nerve in her to start giggling like a buffoon and begin her simple minded tirade. Another sigh escapes him, his red gaze cold and unfeeling. This was boring, she was boring. On and on she goes and he simply watches her lips move, having tuned out to her words awhile ago when it became clear that this wouldn’t be a banter of wit or cleverness. He figures at this point she will hopefully just tire herself out.
Finally it seems to work as she turns from him, still talking, and he can’t help but roll the red of his eyes. Whatever goal she thinks she has accomplished is a manifestation of her own lack of intelligence as she starts to bugger off exactly as he has asked. She had been annoying enough for a second of his time, like a mosquito that just wouldn’t fuck off, but nothing more than that. Nothing more than superficial. She lacked the mental capacity or constitution to dig deeper than that. “Thats a good goat.” He says quietly and smugly at her retreating from, just loud enough for her to possibly catch it. And then he goes about the rest of his day and he forgets that this exchange had ever even happened to begin with. Such an unimportant moment in his mind, not worth remembering.
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