"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
06-06-2021, 07:44 PM (This post was last modified: 06-19-2021, 11:15 PM by Leokadia.)
she got blood cold as ice
and a heart made of stone
A snapshot of a day in Leokadia's life would be incomplete without a description of her appearance and so we will begin there. Like so many she is beautiful, small and refined. Her hide is a buttery cream, and her oversized wings are the same... and you can almost tell, for once.
Leokadia is today partway covered in mud, half dipped really, since she had lay down in a sucking sludgy hole in during the heat of the midday. There is a dried stain of red-brown clay over much of her body with an almost neat line between the caked and cracked earth and the remainder of her dirty but still cremello pelt and feathers. Three-quarters of her feathers are bedraggled, unusable in their current terracotta state. The little mare only rarely carries her wings up on her back, but lets them hang haphazard or drag upon the ground.
Her imperfectly perfect memory tells her where the sweetest grazing is and she busies herself with this most mundane of tasks. Leokadia minds her own business like so many others who graze on this creek-fed meadow, but she can’t turn her brain off, can’t make it stop recording the snippets of conversation she overhears or the exact color, shape, and scent of a wildflower growing near her feet. She will remember this day perfectly as she does every single day almost since birth.
That thought, or more the awareness that she is creating yet another unremarkable recording makes Leokadia lift her head. Whilst chewing her last mouthful she cast her too-pale eyes out over the meadow. Her expression is bland, empty of emotion; a blank canvas waiting to be filled with propaganda. Who will she get to, need to be today, and what will she learn as a result?
It’s unlikely she’ll meet someone she knows, so the experience will be a fresh one. When you can remember someone perfectly they often become perfectly boring (worse still if they were boring in the first place). Not everyone gets boring mind, some burn bright in her recollections but whoever she draws in or chooses to approach today will have to prove interesting in one way or another. Leokadia has a very unique idea of interesting.
but she keeps me alive
she's the beast in my bones
The North has been good to her and she has adapted to the North. Although it is summer, her coat is a little shaggier then the others that wander the Meadow today. It’s not enough to hide the patches of scars that remain naked and furless, exposed pillaged marks that litter her dark smoky pelt. The ugly twisted scar that runs from eye to cheek across her face. Still she is far from an ugly thing. Ravaged and ruined in many ways but her body is toned and in shape from the grueling tundra that she trains in daily. Stardust constantly shimmers in the dark strands of her hair as the stars that surround her sift a fine glittery powder as she moves. They are dim in the sunlight but never disappear. That had been the promise made after all from the ones above. Just in case the world went dark again.
Swirling strands of silver move methodically in her iris’s as she scans the current situation of the common land. It had been her hope to recruit today but the field had been disappointingly empty. The Meadow was an afterthought before she headed back to the Isle, perhaps something interesting might appear today and if not then she would wait until nightfall and watch the stars for a bit as she had done millions of times during her old nomadic life.
She had not thought of Amet or her old life in Hyaline for awhile now. Her new one in the North, as Thane, kept her busy and tired enough that she didn’t have much time to think over what had been. At night she patrolled and trained and watched the stars, in the day she mostly slept or tried to spend time with Padme and Mourna without yawning too much. However things had been quiet enough that she had managed to alleviate some of her nocturnal activities and find enough willpower to change her routine. Just for today.
It is the crusted mare that catches her attention, the hardened mud that covers most of her reminding her of the paste that had once covered her infected wounds that now lingered behind as scars. It brings the old image of Amet patiently covering her in the mix of mud and witchcraft, a memory that she had been so good at forgetting until now. Blowing hot breath hard through her nostrils, she dismisses the image from her mind and his golden scales disappear immediately. There was no room for regrets here, not anymore. As she comes closer to the winged mare, taking note of the dirty and disheveled feathers that surely would keep her grounded, she offers her a faint smile as her mercury gaze finds the pale one of hers. “Does that work?” She asks with a raised brow, curious. “Keeping you cool from the heat I mean.”
all of time and space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was
06-19-2021, 11:13 PM (This post was last modified: 06-20-2021, 09:56 AM by Leokadia.)
she got blood cold as ice
and a heart made of stone
Leokadia angles her face in the direction of an approaching stranger, and though she should try not to allow herself to gaze so steadily at someone (memories too quickly formed) she cannot help it. Her eyes might be blue but look closer to an unsettling white, especially in this intense sunlight and contrasting with the red clay that bisects her face. She trains those eyes first on the unfamiliar woman’s dark and wooly frame and then slowly on what looks in bright daylight like a drifting haze floating around her. Is there ash in the air? No, it is not like ash.
When the stranger comes close enough and asks about the dried mud Leokadia glances unselfconsciously back over herself. “It does.” A beat of silence as she studies the other woman. “I also just enjoy the mud.” It may appear that Leokadia had just sought relief from the summer scorch but in truth she is almost always filthy, not for lack of grooming as she does attend to herself, and isn’t a fly-hunted stinking nag. She smells like herself, and the earth, and whatever she crushes beneath her when she rolls in the forest or meadow. She is beautiful beneath the dirt, and more appealingly feral because of it.
“What is all that? Floating around you?” Tossing her head to indicate what she now perceives as glittering dust and taking a few steps to close the pair of them into a polite distance for conversation. Red earth crumbles dustily away from her feathers as she drags her wing-tips along carelessly. “For Carnage’s sake, you might not be so hot if you weren’t dressed for December.” Leokadia scoffs at thick black hide the woman wears, focus moving past her veil of glitter. “I’m Leokadia. Lo is fine.”
but she keeps me alive
she's the beast in my bones
Ciri is curious as the mare looks back at the dark reddish muck that covers her and admits that it does help with the heat. The heavily scarred mare isn’t afraid of getting her hooves dirty and makes a mental note to give this method a try later. “Nothing wrong with that.” She says with a slight grin at her mention of liking mud. To each their own, who was she to judge. In fact if there had been a mud puddle here she would probably join her, just to see what the fuss was about. Unfortunately there is only a small creek which she steps in gratefully and enjoys the touch of cool running water over her hocks.
The other mare comes closer, her gaze and question on the dim lights that dance around her. “Those are my stars.” She says with a small laugh. “They look better at night.” She admits with a small shrug as she arches her neck and swings her head to look at the ones hovering along her backside. they weren’t her only stars but that was power she could only wield on the clearest of nights. Another laugh given at the mention of her scraggly winter coat and she eyes Lo’s crusted summer one with some envy. “I live in the North, on the Isle. It’s much needed up there. You start to forget what heat feels like.”
She pauses as the other offers her name and is relieved when the cream mare gives her a nickname that’s easier to remember. “I’m Ciri, nice to meet you Lo.” She says, meaning it. “Do you often come here? I haven’t seen you before and you stand out in a crowd.” She asks teasingly, her words not meant to be unkind as she smiles at her newest acquaintance.
all of time and space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was
she got blood cold as ice
and a heart made of stone
She has never seen stars in the daytime, she wonders if they burn the way that she imagines the sun would if one shrank it down and carried it around with them. She would like to also see them at night, and tips her head slightly, pale eyes trailing from the drifting stars to Ciri’s face. Most well mannered horses would just think about this, but Lo does not conform to any standard of behavior. “I would like to see them. At night.” Leokadia still wears an open and interested expression. She usually looks for something to be gained from someone and instinctively adopts the persona required to extract it but Ciri divulges new and interesting information as a matter of course and simple existence. Leokadia is charmed.
“I’ve never been to the Isle… Icicle Isle, is that correct? I know the name.” Though not the location or what it is like to be cold even in summer. Red dust drifts from her wings. She does indeed stand out in a crowd, and takes the statement only as a simple statement of fact. Most would notice a messy little cremello mare dragging her wings about her feet like the hem of a filthy ball gown. “Sometimes. I prefer the forest in winter, and the river and meadow in spring and summer.” Besides living in Loess for a little while when she was just barely grown and some time spent in Pangea before the plague, Leokadia has always roamed.
“Can I come home with you, to the isle?” She asks suddenly, arching her short, unadorned neck. “I would like to see it.” Her pale eyes flash toward the north and back to Ciri once more. “I would like to talk to you more.”
but she keeps me alive
she's the beast in my bones
all of time and space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was
Lo’s request to see her stars is said with the confidence and certainty one would expect from an entitled demander, however her expression is curious and open which makes Ciri simply grin a little brighter. “That shouldn’t be a problem, they aren’t going anywhere.” She responds with a small laugh, not minding at all the odd habits and decorum of the mare in front of her. Enchanting, really. As they speak of the Isle, the dark scarred mare simply nods. “That would be the one.” Lo speaks of wandering during the seasons and she nods again, remembering when she had also once lived a nomadic life and moved around according to the seasons. “It does take some getting use to. The Isle and settling in one spot indefinitely, I mean.”
Feeling that spark that comes from shared interests, she starts to settle herself more comfortably beside the mud stricken mare but stops when the other’s neck arches sharply and Lo gives her that penetrating stare with her pale eyes as she asks to see the Isle in her blunt way. As she blatantly states wanting to know her better. It is a good thing that Ciri’s dark skin hides away the blush that follows and the grin turns into something looser, something pleased and uncertain. “I would love to show you! It’s the best place to see all the stars.” She smiles at Lo and tosses her head, delighted at the unexpected change of events. “It’s a bit of a trek for the wingless mind you but you could make it there easily in a few hours.”
Her muzzle suddenly extends to push teasingly against the other's neck before she dances out of reach, a taunting look in the spirals of silver that swirl in her eyes. "Give me a head start, would you?"
she got blood cold as ice
and a heart made of stone
If Leokadia had not discovered the splendidly viscous swath of red mud or decided that she had a craving for a particular patch of meadow this encounter would never have happened. She has met her fair share of interesting horses, more than half of them having no idea what to make of her. Often when she doesn’t have something to gain from an interaction the cremello is content to be considered mad or at the very least churlish. As she’s grown older she has begun to recognize the forces that shape her behavior, perhaps because she tends to focus most on the memories that aren’t perfect, that don’t look crystal clear. In the past she has only rarely reached for genuine connection, and has usually been spurned. She remembers Maiko, bitter and vicious and wanting nothing to do with a plague-ridden child. It had been her first infatuation and she still remembers how she had wanted to antagonize that green mare, annoy her, and follow her to the ends of the earth. A daughter again, even in dysfunction.
She has no more need of a mother, but still the desire for connection persists, tucked neatly beneath all of Leokadia’s off-putting idiosyncrasies.
Ciri doesn’t bristle or spit at her and Leokadia does a poor job of concealing her surprise, strange light eyes taking a second pass over Ciri’s features just to be sure she hasn’t missed a smirk or an incoming barb. How strange. This doesn’t fill the little mare with anything like relief, just confusion. She is accustomed to a little hostility or condescension in response to her own oddity. Though to be fair, she has not overtly insulted Ciri or said anything that could be interpreted as a threat which is unusual in itself. Happily the conversation progresses and draws the cremello away from these thoughts.
“Why did you choose it?” What is there? She really asks, who is there? Others have these elaborate webs of acquaintances and still more meaningful attachments. How? What is it like? Realizing she could probably just ask Ciri this specifically does make Leokadia feel something but this question does not erupt from her like the others.
It is the best place to see all the stars. It is with these words that she is certain she must go, there is warmth creeping up the back of her neck. The distance is no object but they do have their differences in optimal means of travel, she is about to stretch her wings out and decide if she would like to fly north when Ciri’s muzzle presses into the side of her neck, just for a moment. Lo tosses her head following after the dark mare just a step or two. Her wings spread wide, the red dust coming off of them in a cloud of earthly glitter. They are oversized and yet she is able to fold them in closely to her sides again before gracefully moving after Ciri. “No headstart for you. I’m going the ground way.” Her smile is brief, feral by way of being uninhibited and she reaches out almost as if to nip the air above Ciri’s shoulder but tosses her shapely head at the last moment and lopes on ahead, but not far. Lo is pleased to not know where she is going.
Later, after they have run or walked on Leokadia glances at Ciri, watching her for a moment before saying “I couldn’t fly, when I was young. I was born too early and it took a long time--too long before my wings developed.” They still somehow ended up too big, maybe she had willed them to be thus.
but she keeps me alive
she's the beast in my bones
all of time and space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was
The more they interact, the more Ciri isn’t quite sure what to make of Leokadia herself. She had never met a mare like her before, who spoke so bluntly and in such a transactional way. However, what some might call “off-putting” she finds to be intriguing. Intelligent, actually. Lo states things with such matter of factness that it gives little room for doubt. So it bothers the dark scarred mare to see the expression of surprise that flickers across the intensity of her pale gaze although she can’t really understand why. The look Lo gives her when she agrees to show her the stars makes her wonder if perhaps not many have been kind to the small bedraggled mare and it irks Ciri, making her feel strangely protective of this new acquaintance she’s made.
The star gazing and northern lights had enticed her to the Isle and were certainly the main reason she had sought opportunity there to begin with. But what she doesn’t say to Leokadia is that she had wanted something completely different from her old life, from the loneliness and remains of heartbreak she had carried with her for far too long. In the Isle she now had a band of brothers, as if they were true siblings. A sense of family which was something she hadn’t truly felt since she had been a strange starry-eyed foal in the Falls, the remnants of her life amongst the stars having yet to be smothered by the mortal world she had been thrusted into. And perhaps being that “strange” child is part of the reason why she doesn’t meet Lo’s unusual way of speaking with frustration. Because she remembers what it’s like to be strange, to not quite fit in the way everyone expected you to.
She is rather pleased when the other refuses the challenge and insists on walking with her. The feral smile that follows brings a flutter of confusion in her belly, a feeling she had felt before, long ago. Her own smile falters for a moment but she gains her composure quickly as the feathered mare teases her back and lopes ahead. There is nothing forced in the starlit mare when she gains ground to join her, nothing but real and pure delight on her expression.
They gallop for awhile this way until eventually both slow, enjoying the warmth and soreness in her muscles after a long run. She closes her eyes for a moment, missing the glance from the other, as she takes a deep breath in and simply enjoys being able to share the day with someone. A moment of brief contentment. She thinks of sharing this thought aloud with her new companion and opens her swirling metallic eyes as she turns towards her but Lo is already speaking. It is her turn to glance as she looks back at the wings that drag along the ground like a feathered mud crusted ballgown. “I think they’re beautiful just the way they are.” She admits, wondering what they must look beneath the layers of dirt. She had once thought it would be nice to have wings herself, maybe then she could fly back up to the stars where she belonged. But she keeps that thought to herself and instead asks her curiously, “Do you not prefer to fly? Because of that?” Perhaps Gale could help, if she still had trouble with her wings. The thought of Gale and Lo speaking in their equally curious ways makes her grin suddenly and she shakes the thought of introducing them away for another time.
she got blood cold as ice
and a heart made of stone
There may be some variation in born feathered pegasi, as it seems some infants are able to fly almost as soon as they are able to walk, very unlike birds. Others come into the world with wings that must be grown and made strong enough for use. Leokadia is unsure which she was meant to be as the circumstances of her birth were far from ideal. The period that followed absent the one person who would have known. She had possessed fuzzy, downy, too small appendages that had grown slowly over years until they could be relied upon to bear her into the sky. There are a few scars from the unguided years during which she taught herself to use the wings. They are indeed beautiful wings, incredibly beautiful, with their vastness and creamy white feathers. Ciri’s compliment feels like a charity, but when their eyes meet Lo does not detect anything disingenuous. Only kindness, but she does not bristle against it.
They are crossing the river then, and Lo drifts away a bit to let the water carry off the caked mud and dust on her wings. Like a bird she snakes her head just beneath the surface and raises it again with a shake. Clay-colored water streams down the sculpted planes of her face and the mane-less curve of her neck as she returns to Ciri, her voice clear over the sound of water. “I like to fly, but you are down here.” It is a matter-of-fact response, but a chill flies across her skin. Is the water colder? She remembers flirting with Brunhilde in this same river and quickly seeks the other shore. Not because there is any emotional attachment to the recollection, but because of what it meant for her, the self-discovery of that long ago meeting. Little more than an exchange of words, but enough to change her forever.
Water runs off of her wings and body in noisy rivulets, muddying the river's edge she bounds up to. Her cremello hide reflects the sunlight, bright and wet with rivers of earthy red settling along muscle and bone and dripping from the ends of her tail. Shaking out her wings casts a fine spray out around Leokadia, and she straightens only one or two feathers before folding her wings snugly up onto her back and off of the ground. "It occurs to me that there are times when someone is worth walking alongside even if flight is the only thing that will take you where you want to go." This is not one of those times, the isle is clearly accessible to anyone with four legs. Leokadia is thinking about something else entirely, and this is not a revelation she is prepared to contend with. Not right now, not ever.
"Which way from here?" she sidesteps to give Ciri room, to let her lead them off, to put space between the two of them. Space she feels a little too aware of, like noticing you are breathing and trying not to forget to do so for a while afterwards. "How long have you lived on the isle? Do you have family.. a family there?" Her low, lovely voice is casual, careful.
but she keeps me alive
she's the beast in my bones
all of time and space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was
They both slip into the rushing waters and she enjoys the coolness against her thick Northern coat, washing her clean from dirt and sweat built up from their traveling. She focuses on herself for a moment, both lost in memories that bring them back to this place but in different times and ways. Ciri had always had a strange relationship with time that seemed to pluck her out of timelines on a whim. She recalls how Castile had found her here when she had been attacked by the eerie wolf shifter, the one that had left the puckered slash across her cheek. How that night had changed everything for them and created so many questions that would always be left unanswered.
She shakes her head, sending droplets of river water to fly from where they had clung to the dark strands of her mane, as she tries to clear her mind from memories that no longer served her. Out of the corner of her eye she catches the bathing Lo and can’t help but watch her with subtle but intense concentration as she speaks in her matter of fact way. A faint smile gracing her lips that she had chosen to walk with her merely because she wanted to. The crystal clear liquid suddenly clouds around Lo’s hooves as she drenches the plastered feathers of her wings and rinses the dust from her backside. Is she an angel? Was she heaven touched like she was? The starlit mare can’t help but ponder such things as water sprays around the cremello mare, as she shines wet and brightly from her spot on the riverbank beneath the glistening sun, reveals the pure white feathers that had been hidden within their terra-cotta cocoon.
It takes her a minute to realize she had been gazing at Lo with open appreciation and quickly turns her attention elsewhere, letting her stars skim dimly across the streams surface as she dips lower into the cold depths and banish the tentative thoughts that had nervously crossed her mind. Before she can get in too deep and get caught in the current, she removes herself and goes to rejoin her new companion. As the other folds her wings neatly along her back, Ciri is distracted by the movement that she almost misses the meaning of the words given but then looks back to Lo with sudden clarity, something piercing and curious reflected from the metallic depths of her swirling eyes. “Why do you think I’m worth getting to know?” She asks quietly, wondering in what way she means. If there was only one way to take that.
The words have barely left her tongue but the winged mare is already side stepping from her, focused on the rest of the journey ahead. The scarred Thane nods in response, still hoping for further explanation to what exactly Lo had seen in her that was worth getting to know. The distance between them suddenly seems to open between them like a ravine but she doesn’t let on to the doubts suddenly infiltrating her mind, instead happy for the distraction that her peppered questions provide. “I’ve lived on the Isle for about a year now. And the only family I have anymore are the ones I’ver made on the Isle. Nashua who leads the North is like a brother to me and Leilan… Leilan kind of looks out for us all in his own way.” She has no idea how true that would soon be. She is quiet for a moment, unsure just how much she should say to a relatively new friend. Not wanting to overload the other with her complicated past, she deflects by throwing the question back at Lo. “What about you? Your family?”
