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  • Beqanna

    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]  so darling will you stay right here, galadriel
    #1
    R I P T I D E
    The forest is unlike any place he has lived in, and it is curiosity alone that brings him here. He had been born in the humid jungles of Tephra, and then moved to the unforgiving coastal winds of Nerine. The trees of Tephra were nothing like the giants that tower above him now, carpeted by a layer of fallen leaves, gradually growing closer and closer together the further he walks. It is nearly claustrophobic, should he focus on the feeling for too long—the darkness he walks into ahead, with the trees that swarm him at all sides.

    There is nothing that he is looking for, and perhaps that is what he expects to find at the heart of this forest.
    A nothing that might transform itself into a something—something to ignite a fire, something to displace the boredom and monotony he suffocated in.

    He does not find a something, though, but rather, a someone. And even in the murky shadows and hardly a glimmer of light to strain through the trees he can see that she is radiant, and for a moment he simply stands, staring. Her blue is paler than his own blue, similar to a certain kind of wildflower he has seen growing in the meadowlands, but even in this poor lighting, he can see that iridescent sheen trying to break through. He steps closer, but suddenly becomes aware of how strange he looks — his head and his scales, the rattlesnake tail. Immediately he retracts his step, clearing his throat to make his presence known as he does so.

    She is looking at something, and it is then that he hears the quiet sounds of the kits curled together on the ground at her feet. “Their mother must have died,” he says, and though his voice is quiet it feels amplified by the shadows and the trees, with all the other sounds so hushed. It is unnerving, and he wonders why she is not afraid to be out here alone; wonders if somewhere behind her pretty face is a reason that he should be afraid. It is a thought that causes his reptilian eyes to sweep across her curiously, but he does not make a motion to leave. “Are you going to try and save them?”
    — i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door —


    @galadriel
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    #2
    GALADRIEL

    Why are you crying so much?

    Galadriel's misty eyes peer sorrowfully up at Jenova's bewildered face. Even at her young age, the child is certain her mother has never had to deal with such an ill-tempered baby before. And that only makes her cry harder. Tears roll down her cheeks, her nostrils sniffle, her little face contorts with pain she nor her family understands. Why are you crying so much? Jenova asks again, but this time it is more of plea, so much more of a plea, as if the fate of Beqanna relied on Rel finding peace.

    It was only about her peace for a time. Eventually, her tears caused so much distress that it was about Jenova's sanity. The pleading turned to yelling. The bewilderment to anger. All the while, Galadriel peered up with a sniffling, forlorn face. She tore her mother up, inside and out, then swallowed her whole.

    The sadness turned to anger. Rel couldn't understand the magic that writhed inside her, leaving her with nausea and such vivid living nightmares and so, so much tension.

    Please, Galadriel, stop, was the most common pleading once the crying turned to temper tantrums and perpetual sour faces. Her mother's distress only made her angrier. She remembers that distraught face so well, one so similar to her own it could be a mirror.

    Rel might feel regret, now. It's clear in the mist of her eyes and down-turned sorrow on her face. The pained clarity is obvious when she turns sharply to face Riptide's clearing throat. She doesn't have time to change her face, no time and no tact; so, he sees this full force of her: sad and exhausted and hopeless.

    "I don't know how," she answers, though it's barely more than a whisper. A confession she doesn't easily admit. Rel has never liked admitting a lack of knowledge, but now - she breaks her pride just enough in the hopes of helping the kits.

    "Do you think the elk in the Adoption Den will take them? I could . . . I could maybe find a way to lead them there."



    @Riptide
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