[private] I got hope in tomorrow and regret in yesterday, Sarah pony

[Tumult]

T U M U L T

He has laid low since the events that transpired on the mountain.

There are parts of it that he is sure were a dream; the part where he had lived seemingly an entire lifetime in an alternate reality, where he could conjure and maintain control storms of every type and size. An overcast world that seemed to be designed just for him, where the sun was never strong enough to hinder his storm-cloud wings. Such a place could not have been real, but the dying had certainly felt real, though it had not gone the way he had always imagined it. He had thought dying might be like falling asleep; to drift off into black and either awaken in some form of an afterlife, or simply sleep in a cocoon of nothing for all of eternity.

Instead he had been torn from the dream and hurled back into reality—back to Beqanna, far away from the mountain he had last remembered being on. He remembers the earth shaking, and he remembers taking flight, as if he could out fly everything that had just happened and leave behind the memories.

And perhaps he could have forgotten if it had not been for the lingering effects—the lightning that flickered across the storm-cloud coloring of his skin, and the way he has found that he can almost shape and control water (but much like his affinity for storms the control is flimsy and loose). The new magic felt alien in his veins; if it was meant to be a gift, it did not feel like one, and he could not shake the stone of discomfort sitting in his gut. 

He is in the forest now, alone, or so he thinks. It is here within the shadowed protection of the tightly packed trees that he stands staring at a mostly still pool of water—a small pond likely fed from the stream he could hear trickling nearby. Slowly, he lifts a slim thread of water upward, his gray eyes focused only on the task of keeping the water from plummeting back to the surface.

CAN YOU TELL ME, WILL I BREAK OR WILL I BEND?

[Alanis]

Since her arrival in Beqanna, Alanis has kept to herself. She just has not found herself overly curious about the other inhabitants, especially not after a few eavesdropped conversations easily convinced her she has washed up in a very strange place. Sometimes she stands on the shore she had arrived on, staring out at the ocean wondering if it was worth drowning to try to get back to more familiar places. In the end, the answer is always no. Nothing and no one that she had left behind was worth risking death for. She remembers being bored in that other land, remembers wanting to find something to fill up the quiet and empty hours and that she did not care much what it was. Whichever entity, god, spirit, or creature had granted her wish certainly had a sense of humour. Removing her from everything familiar had shaken things up. Today, she has abandoned the pointless watch on the shore and wandered into the forest. The features and inhabitants of Beqanna may be strange to her but some things are universal - and even if this is not a forest she has spent much time in, she’s seen plenty of them before. The way these trees differ just slightly from the ones she had grown up seeing doesn’t interest her enough to capture her attention. They are still trees, still grow from the ground and provide shade from the sun overhead. This perpetual state of being uninterested in everything is frustrating, and Alanis hasn’t yet realized she’s more social than she cares to admit - that she’s only not curious about them because she’s nervous. Today it takes a small flicker of lightning beneath the trees to capture her attention, to draw out that curiosity she tries to bury. What she thinks is a small storm cloud is soon revealed to be a horse standing on the edge of a pond fed by the stream she had been following. She moves slowly among the trees, frowning to herself as she peers around trunks and through branches to figure out what's happening without interrupting. Alanis pretends she’s just going to fade back into the shadows right up until the moment when she’s pretty sure the storm cloud is commanding a thread of water upwards. And that’s when she emerges, unable to help herself. There's a brightness to her eyes as she stops on the edge of the pond almost directly across from him and an edge of humour in her voice when she speaks, her nerves temporarily forgotten. “Seems like a very complicated way to take a drink. Is that how they do it here?”

art by dalgeor

@Tumult

[Tumult]

T U M U L T

He had not noticed anyone was watching, and the sound of her voice shatters the tenuous control he’d had over the water. The thread collapses back into the pool with a small, anticlimactic splash, and his gray eyes snap upwards to find the face of a girl staring back at him. Lightning flashes across his skin, perhaps brighter in the wake of his own irritation—irritation that he is so tempted to point at her, though he knows it is not her fault that he cannot control the water.

That he cannot control storms, or the lightning on his skin, or the storm clouds that make up his wings.

He cannot control anything at all, a storm untamed, but there is no pride in the feral nature of this, only disappointment.

He lets the emotions flicker and fade just as quickly as the light on his skin, and he turns his head to her with a taut, rueful smile. “If that were the case I would die of dehydration, it seems.” With a last glance to the pool of water he turns away from it, facing the mare. His eyes are drawn first to the horns that adorn her face, and then to the way her skin glitters in the strangled light that makes its way through the branches of the trees. “Tumult,” he offers her his name, and then goes quiet to allow her to do the same, if she wishes.

CAN YOU TELL ME, WILL I BREAK OR WILL I BEND?

@Alanis

[Alanis]

When his eyes connect with hers and lightning flashes in bright bursts across his body, the small step backwards that she takes is completely unconscious. Those nerves return to control her actions, as willfully as she was pretending they did not exist. The humour that had been shining in her eyes evaporates, and she would not be proud of how the emotion that replaces it is something very close to fear. She is not afraid of storms (normally) but in her mind there’s a buzzing, half-thought about how dangerous a storm-made-hose could be. And then when he speaks, all of that disappears like the stream of water into the pool. Alanis feels foolish for her instinctual reaction when nothing else threatening occurs - just a rueful smile, some curious words, and a name. Tumult. She hopes that his introduction means she had not offended him enough that this conversation would end in the next few seconds. As though it will erase the fact that she had stepped backwards, she does not move forward to reclaim the space. Just stands where she is and looks across the pond with a softer version of the bright smile she had interrupted him with. “Alanis.” She offers first, and then as her eyes drift to the pool of water she adds in a musing tone. “It’s still impressive, you know. Even being able to do that much. Have you always been able to move water?”

art by dalgeor


@Tumult