05-28-2021, 08:34 AM
When the world had changed, Thrum had been too small to know much. The darkness shrouded everything, and she had no reason to leave the safety and comfort of one of her fathers (certainly not Carnage). She was cared for, as well as any Beqanna babe could be. Pothos had made sure the two tiny babes came to no harm, but he certainly did not reach out with caress and comfort. And when father finally got bored, she had Fletch beside her (visual her opposite, but their powers alike). She had heard the screech of things in the night, she saw their glistening eyes and heard their salivating mouths - but she had been untouchable (as any child believes themselves to be).
The sunrise of Beqanna had been almost a shock - daylight finally breaking and the land changing along with it. So long was the incredible darkness, and the creatures that came with it - and so the need to be tucked away in safety had also faded. Pothos had long ago decided he was done being a ‘father’ (in whatever capacity he had been). Fletch had left (to where, she did not know), and she was alone - more alone than the stretch of darkness had ever made her feel. She figures, at least, she is old enough now - she could navigate these lands just fine. She needed no man - no fathers, no brother - she was perfectly fine all by her own.
She is small, and young, and seems to have been born from the sunrise rather than the dark and horror - awash in pale pink, with a perfect white heart placed on her rump. She was not new to how she looked - she had only to look at Fletch and see her opposite, white with a pale pink arrow on his own hind. Her powers were not new, as she had seen her father wield them so many times (in fact, that was how Fletch and she were created). So young, and already she felt as if there was little else to learn in life (the naivety of children can be so foolish).
And yet, there will always be something new, as she will learn just now.
She meanders along through the trees, following the steady gurgle of the river. It is a cool spring day, the wind whispering through the woods, but the sun is warm on her skin. She has no other plans, and nothing better to do - and so she steps into the rivers and follows it along its winding path, her petite hooves picking over wet rock and avoiding the small fish that dart through her legs. She watches them, the way they slide through the water - and unlike her, they are so sure and steady about where they are going. So she follows along, for they must have a destination in mind, perhaps they will lead her to someplace less boring, something a little more meaningful.
She moves like this for quite some time, nose to the water, eyes intent on their shining scales. And then, they stop, darting into the crevices of rock and river bed. Her head jerks up- as she knows as best as anyone that had lived through the dark, that listening to the creatures of the land is the best way to stay alive. And there before her is quite possibly the most peculiar (and slightly terrifying) thing she’s seen so far in her short life.
“May I help you?” Her voice carries a hint of authority, and almost as if this creature was the one who had come across her, disrupting her day. She knew that to be afraid would show weakness, that she must dominate over this fantastical being before it had the chance to do the same to her. She steps from the river bed (better footing should she need to bolt - although she couldn’t picture this thing running quite fast). It seemed sidetracked, lost in its own thoughts (did it have thoughts? Was it sentient?) - so she cleared her throat and spoke again. “Excuse me! I said can I help you!” This time, there may have been a slightly shrill taste of panic in her mouth.
The sunrise of Beqanna had been almost a shock - daylight finally breaking and the land changing along with it. So long was the incredible darkness, and the creatures that came with it - and so the need to be tucked away in safety had also faded. Pothos had long ago decided he was done being a ‘father’ (in whatever capacity he had been). Fletch had left (to where, she did not know), and she was alone - more alone than the stretch of darkness had ever made her feel. She figures, at least, she is old enough now - she could navigate these lands just fine. She needed no man - no fathers, no brother - she was perfectly fine all by her own.
She is small, and young, and seems to have been born from the sunrise rather than the dark and horror - awash in pale pink, with a perfect white heart placed on her rump. She was not new to how she looked - she had only to look at Fletch and see her opposite, white with a pale pink arrow on his own hind. Her powers were not new, as she had seen her father wield them so many times (in fact, that was how Fletch and she were created). So young, and already she felt as if there was little else to learn in life (the naivety of children can be so foolish).
And yet, there will always be something new, as she will learn just now.
She meanders along through the trees, following the steady gurgle of the river. It is a cool spring day, the wind whispering through the woods, but the sun is warm on her skin. She has no other plans, and nothing better to do - and so she steps into the rivers and follows it along its winding path, her petite hooves picking over wet rock and avoiding the small fish that dart through her legs. She watches them, the way they slide through the water - and unlike her, they are so sure and steady about where they are going. So she follows along, for they must have a destination in mind, perhaps they will lead her to someplace less boring, something a little more meaningful.
She moves like this for quite some time, nose to the water, eyes intent on their shining scales. And then, they stop, darting into the crevices of rock and river bed. Her head jerks up- as she knows as best as anyone that had lived through the dark, that listening to the creatures of the land is the best way to stay alive. And there before her is quite possibly the most peculiar (and slightly terrifying) thing she’s seen so far in her short life.
“May I help you?” Her voice carries a hint of authority, and almost as if this creature was the one who had come across her, disrupting her day. She knew that to be afraid would show weakness, that she must dominate over this fantastical being before it had the chance to do the same to her. She steps from the river bed (better footing should she need to bolt - although she couldn’t picture this thing running quite fast). It seemed sidetracked, lost in its own thoughts (did it have thoughts? Was it sentient?) - so she cleared her throat and spoke again. “Excuse me! I said can I help you!” This time, there may have been a slightly shrill taste of panic in her mouth.
kicked back with the wrong angel to fuck with
carved my charm into your arms
@[rannoch]