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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    None -- Year 218

    QOTY

    "He watches her, noticing first the way she moves beneath moonlight, and he is reminded of a time before magic ran rampant as it does now. How back then there were some that simply seemed to be magic without actually having it, the kind that could capture your attention and keep it." --Eadoin, written by Colby


    a fine modern gentleman; jeje pony
    #1

    Bonebone came to look at the fairy, he had learned about her before his mother went to bed and when she went to sleep he trotted out of Pangea. He does not sleep. His black eyes almost never close. When he moves it is with animation, too much really, springy and slinky, and eerily perfect.

    The morning is aging, the autumn mist burning off. He could have been here earlier but in the dark, he had found the most lovely distractions along his meandering route. Bonebone brakes himself in the dewy grass, leaning back on his hocks and extending his long neck in a painful-looking stretch.

    It might be more poetic if he didn’t see the fairy, but he does. He stands in the midst of her playground domain and stares at her, still and unblinking, for an uncomfortable amount of time. So long that she finally gets weary of it (and this is a feat, as the fairy guardian of a playground where the most precocious future terrorists of Beqanna have played for generations, her patience is divine) and disappears. Bonebone flags his black tail and springs to the place where she had stood, there is nothing special remaining, not even hoofprints. She is really gone though, defeated perhaps. “I suppose I am the fairy now. My mother will be so proud.”




    i don't mind if you fuck up my life
    Bonebone


    Jeje
    Reply
    #2
    I am Heaven sent, don't you dare forget
    The jaguar colt had learned to give the playground a wide birth. He had already had plenty of experience with foals his own age in his short stint in the Den and he had no desire to repeat it. He was aware that it was strange for a foal to only have adults as companions but he doesn’t mind, finding there is much to observe in the Pampas and that the adults seem much more reasonable than children anyways. They don’t make fun of him for his lack of control with his abilities, don’t make him feel strange when he glows gold at night, don’t make him feel like he is bad for simply being what he is.

    There is something deeply ingrained in him though that eventually pulls him towards the playground late at night. A morbid curiosity perhaps or a reluctance to admit that he needs to be accepted by his peers. Perhaps he only comes when the sun had well settled behind the Mountain because he figures there will be no-one to find. The better to call the souls of the dead as playmates if nobody is watching. Those back amongst the wildflowers never stop him from his midnight excursions. They never discourage him from anything really as long as he uses his head and doesn’t make stupid decisions, the only clear rule being to stay away from the East for the time being. He’s not sure why but had quickly lost interest in asking when there were so many things to be distracted with.

    He is no stranger to fairies and fae, remembering the one that had watched over him in the Den as well as the Fan Prince of the Pampas. However he’s not sure he’s ever seen one become unnerved by simply being stared at and he watches with open fascination as she finally disappears under the black and pink colt’s scrutiny. The colt is quick to take her place as as his glowing golden body draws closer, he catches the words of triumph issued by the fairies nemesis. In return, he snorts with open amusement. Apparently this boy knew nothing about faerie. “If you’re a fairy then do magic.” He says from behind him, his yellow eyes sparkling with mischief. There is a moment of hesitance, a twinge of doubt, where he wonders if this is part of the terrible in him that would make such a request. There is also a blink of a thought that it is strange to find another foal here so late at night, knowing his night travels weren't a social norm with most children. He is insanely curious though which quickly outweighs his doubts as he keeps his feral gaze trained on the other and waits to be impressed.
    fyr


    Bonebone
    Reply
    #3

    It is a pleasant surprise to have company. Pleasanter still to know someone witnessed his making a fairy uncomfortable enough to abandon her post, at least corporeally. She likely still watched the boys from somewhere.

    Bonebone does not have magic, or any skill that he can manifest in pretending at magic but that doesn’t matter. Not to him.

    “I’m not that kind of fairy, stupid.” Replies Bonebone in a his soft mature way, he doesn’t hurl the word stupid like an insult but is rather matter-of-fact. Like his mother he gives offense quite readily, and oftentimes even a little affectionately. He is gentler than he should be, considering his breeding, and quickly moves on. “I’m a death fairy. Straight from hell. I let people know when they are going to die.” His imagination is an untethered thing, and his confident tone might even be enough to pull the stranger into the game. “I don’t need magic.” This last is a little more aloof but he cocks his head (a little too far) and gazes intently at the other boy glowing in front of him. Bonebone does not wonder why they have apparently both delivered themselves here in the dark, he usually plays in the dark alone in Pangea and the boundary of land and kingdom is of no interest to him.

    It is very dark. Bonebone moves closer to the glow of the other colt but not because he is afraid of the night. “What kind of fairy are you? Only fairies are allowed here now. No kids.” He squints at the spotted colt, as if determining if he is actually a fairy. “What’s your name? Mine is… Draco.” He plucks his father’s name from the back of his mind, does it sound like the name of a death fairy? He decides it does.



    i don't mind if you fuck up my life
    Bonebone


    Fyr
    Reply
    #4
    I am Heaven sent, don't you dare forget

    There is nothing he dislikes more than other children.

    Bonebone seems to prove that fact rather quickly when he calls him stupid as if it was a fact of nature. The jaguar colt merely smiles as if he wasn’t a sensitive creature. And then throws his fire magic at the other and tries to make his black mane erupt into flames as he had done to the filly in the den. Aela would approve, he thinks, because he is defending himself and surely that can’t be bad. She had told him he had a right to protect himself from those that hurt him.

    When he’s sure the strange colt has learned a lesson and the smell of singed hair stings his nostrils, the flames wink out with a blink of his feral eyes and he smiles. Pleased that he had controlled it this time and a fairy hadn’t needed to intervene. “You’re no death fairy.” He finally says (for this colt is far more confident than he had expected) with a slight scowl, glancing at the other for any sort of wings or long pointed ears he might have missed in the dark. “I live with a Fae. He’s a Prince. You don’t look anything like him. Death fairies aren’t even real.” He scoffs, making a mental note to ask Obscene or Aela if death fairies were actually real the next time he saw him. Or one of the souls that he called from the afterlife, surely they would know.

    Despite his distaste of the non-magical boy he is intrigued by the way the colt holds himself, the fluidity of his movement, and most of all why he was here so late at night like he was. As the other comes closer, squinting against his glow, Fyr gives an uneasy smile. Despite being pleased that he might know more than this boy, Draco (which sounds like a dragon in his head), the confidence doesn’t come as easily as it does to the other. “I’m not a fairy. I’m….Well…” He pauses, tilting his head and considering the other. Finally he lands on the one word he knows very well. “I’m terrible.” He says solemnly.  “But you can call me Fyr.” He says it in both pronunciations out of habit, not caring which one “Draco” will eventually land on.

    “Why are you here so late?” He finally asks, curiosity outweighing his initial displeasure as he manipulates flames from mid-air and let’s them circle around himself and the other colt, just in case the other boy planned on leaving without answering his question.
    fyr


    Bonebone
    Look at these two creeps
    Reply
    #5

    The other boy does not take kindly to insults. Bonebone bases this assessment on the clot of flame the alights on his short black mane and singes his mud and pink colored neck. Looking back at his neck as though trying to lay eyes on a fly that has landed there, Bonebone observes the withering collapse of his fuzzy mane and the pink wound that appears where flames lap at his skin. He feels that burn, but pain, while a unique sensation does not scream down his nerves or set him to writhing. There is hardly any reaction from Bonebone at all beyond observing what has happened.  Bemused, he looks back at the spotted colt who had inflicted the flames upon him. Why had he done that? “Oh-kayyyy…” Says Bonebone slowly, stepping closer to his attacker, little neck smoldering though the flames have winked out.

    “We could be fairies if we wanted to, Fyr. He is an eerie sort of child, but speaks in a very refined, mature way to the other, angrier boy. Play is not beneath the pink patterned colt, his mother plays with him all the time, though their games often involve a considerable amount of risk-taking or violence.  A snort erupts from his small nostrils and he reaches out to sniff at the fire-wielder who is obviously uninterested in play despite being in the playground. “I don’t know any Fae. My father is a demon, I suppose that is of comparable interest.” Of course he has not yet met Draco, though his father holds some kind of position in Pangea his mother does not seem to think the introduction necessary. Morgayne cannot be bothered with anyone in their homeland beyond his twin uncles and himself. The fanged pink roan mare tells her son that she used to have a best friend named Malone but that she has not seen him in a very long time. Bonebone would like to have a best friend too.

    “My mother is asleep and I had nothing to do. Why are you here so late?” Black eyes mirror the flames that encircle the two of them. If he is meant to be frightened by the tongues of fire, he is not. Whatever fear is missing in his dam is missing twice over in the undead son. “What is it like being terrible?” It seems strange to describe oneself that way. Bonebone wonders what kinds of words he would use to describe himself in the same fashion that Fyr had. I’m Bonebone and I’m… He can’t think of anything. He is just Bonebone. 



    i don't mind if you fuck up my life
    Bonebone


    Fyr
    Reply
    #6
    I am Heaven sent, don't you dare forget

    His own surprise flickers in the fire fanning in his bright eyes as the mottled colt looks mostly unbothered by the addition of heat devouring his neck. Fascinating. Sometimes he didn’t always believe what his mother had told him of the expansive nature of magic but it made it all the more wonderful to discover it for himself. Remnants of smoke rise from the burnt cinders of the other’s mane and the jaguar colt can’t help but grin ruthlessly at the other boy, realizing that he had finally met someone who might understand that calling of terrible within him. He speaks of his father being a demon and the boy of fire nods, thinking that perhaps a demon was even better than Fae. “I am interested. How does one become a demon?” He asks with slight worry crossing across his small forehead.

    Was that what was inside him, that dark underlining he could always feel rippling through his magic? The boy stays trapped in his wall of fire and he smiles at the other in his own eerie way, pleased with how unbothered the other was. How he asks what it is to be terrible? He frowns for a moment, his wall flickering and lowering slightly as flames rippled across his back instead. “It’s this.” He says simply, shrugging and raising his head as if in effort to showcase himself. There was no other way to explain it. "It's why I like it here at night." He pauses, tilting his glowing skull towards the other and nudging him sharply.  “Can you talk to the dead too then if you are demon? I can do that.” He admits freely, feeling the strong need to confirm what exactly this darkness was inside him.
    fyr


    Bonebone
    Reply




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