"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
12-01-2015, 10:23 PM (This post was last modified: 01-07-2016, 08:40 PM by Wichita.)
Wichita
surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
Everything was new. Wichita herself felt new as well, though in ways that were still small and developing.
Spring returns, it comes and goes, but it returns always on time. The first thing Wichita notices is the trees. She had never before considered that the plants might have feelings of their own, but they do. It's a soft hum, a vibration of emotion as the ice and snow melts and the sun warms the bark. An awake feeling, a slumbering consciousness, hardly detectable but it is there. The little mare has been practicing her new gifts, the power of empathy, and there is so much for her to learn.
The first thing she had practiced on, were her children. The emotions had come rolling off them with a perverse strength, overwhelming her at first. It was hardly a surprise if she had taken the time to consider it or think it out, they were her children, her flesh and blood. Of course she would be so in tune with them now. At times she wished she did not know how to read them. The anger that simmered deep within Tioga only aided in fueling her fear of the girl. Even Romilly and Guthrie were capable of anger, though before she would have never known. They were both so perfectly stoic and shielded, at times she thought they somehow sensed when she was reading them. Romilly would lock her eyes on her Mother, flick her tail and turn her body away. Guthrie would walk off to join her, huffing as he left. Rucker was a sweet thing, and the frustration that he often felt did not sit well with her. Often she would try her best to feed him happiness and trust, but she wasn't always sure she had succeed in her attempts.
What she wanted most was to practice on her kingdom mates, the one's she had sworn to help. She felt it too intrusive though, and so she found herself occupied with the newly emerging spring life. The trees were full of joy and amusement, delighted that winter had ended. Wichita stood in the meadow feeling perplexed, staring curiously at a cluster of blooming wildflowers.
12-02-2015, 07:32 PM (This post was last modified: 12-02-2015, 07:32 PM by R A P S C A L L I O N.)
like the sea, constantly changing from calm to ill.
Some would say that the buckskin had found secrecy due to his slanderous judgments of being a traitor. He was no traitor, he had no loyalties really in truth - how could he betray them? He only had affections (if one could call it such) for an Amazon witch. A curiosity more than anything, he wonders momentarily if they had a child. He also thinks then, perhaps he would visit. He also thinks the whispers of war were on the table and perhaps it was best to not flee from his 'home' if it truly needed his aide.
Rapscallion was no hero before you think that; he just likes chaos.
His green eyes fall onto a familiar form, she is not with child and something just seems different about her. Wichita was probably the closest thing he had to calling an acquaintance much less friend. The rogue man moves towards her, his ratted black forelock swaying back and forth across his eyes. He nickers to let her know he's approaching, her scent infiltrating his nose and his lips parting to say hello. "Wichita, you're different," he says plainly, matter of factly, if anyone would be a hard read for her it would be him. "What is happening here?" He is not a man of many words, often always to the point if not bland then dryly throwing humor out. He finds rotting carcasses funny, though.
surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
She's been considering them. The wildflowers at her feet. Tiny things, weeds really, colored a soft shade of lavender. She wondered how it could be, how the flowers, the plants, could feel. Had it always been that way and she was just now noticing?
Her ears flit back, catching the nicker that leaves a mouth she's not heard from in a while. She turns her head, looking back at him as he approaches, a question almost on her mouth but she changes it to a greeting instead. "Hi there ta you too." She swishes her flaxen tail, watching him steadily as he breaches her solitude. It's a wondering stare that falls from her chocolate eyes, confused even, her brows pulling creases to her forehead. "I s'pose I am." She tilts her head slightly, studying him perhaps too openly. "You're," she pauses thinking, and looking almost pained in concentration. "You're...guarded." Deciding it was as close to a response as she had.
She turns her head away, looking at the blossoms with a nod. "The plants, they have feelings. Did ya know? How can that be?" She asks as though he would know of such things. Turning to look at him again, as if he had an answer. "The trees, the flowers, the grass. All of them. Isn't that odd Rapscallion?" She smiles softly and looks at her feet. "Guess I'm kinda the odd thing now, askin' ya about trees and their feelings. Hey, whatcha thinkin' about? Right now?" She hadn't expected it to be so difficult to read someone other than her children. Thought it might come to pass much easier than it was, but she didn't expect this.
Maybe it was him, he had always been rather dark in her eyes. It's amazing to her now, how much things seemed different than before- but they had stayed much the same. In truth, she was the only thing that had done any changing. Everything else was just as it should be.
like the sea, constantly changing from calm to ill.
Rapscallion has never had anyone ask him what he was thinking. In all of his life he was either told what to think, shown what to think or told others thoughts. He was very much so an observant man and of few words, especially in intimate moments. He doesn't know really how to answer this and in that moment, he realizes he overthinks every word. A "nothing" or "about the war" would suffice, he is sure but that is just not the way his mind works.
Rapscallion is a truthful man, even if his truth is not popular opinion.
"I don't even know how to explain, Wichita, it's not so easy as "what are you thinking" - none of my thoughts are formidable in my mind. I think I'm thirsty but instead of getting a drink, I think about a walk in the forest, a waterfall and how the algae eats bacteria, salmon, how it swims against the current because they're ignorant suicidal fish who's only purpose in life is to drop eggs upstream, then I think about evolution and how they never get smarter," he says blankly, his pupils tight, small and far away; lost. He could have said any number of things, "Nothing, what about you?" "I'm thinking about the war" but he can't speak on the impending war. Just the thought, now, sends him soaring into a dark place where he can feel and invision himself charging towards someone - to be unrelentless in his attacks. Then, he could mask his sociopathic ways behind a proposed reason; hell, someone would perhaps call him heroic when really he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He mentions nothing but the idea is there and he shakes, his hair lays flat once more and his eyes move back to Wichita from the distance.
"What are you thinking about, clearly me at some capacity," he says, plainly, but any other man would use that as an ego stroke. He is intelligent enough to be charming and cunning but the mechanics of women are lost on him, they have been since birth.
surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
She's surprised, pleasantly surprised.
If you would have asked Wichita on any given day, what Rapscallion was thinking about, she would have suggested, Himself.
It's no secret the way he has always been sort of a loner, at least while he has been a resident of the Gates. He was the strong, silent type- heavy on the silent. So when he begins into a lengthy explanation, she is so surprised that she stands there awkwardly for a while. She wouldn't have dreamed that he was capable of such a thought process, but what he responds with is a trail of deep thinking. However chaotic it seemed to her.
"Oh, I. Well that's a mouthful." She decides he's really trying for once. Trying for what? She wasn't sure. He was so closed off that it was difficult to tell his true intentions, let alone the emotions he was feeling. "Ain't it kind of amazing though?" She asks after a pause of silence. "Can you imagine ever bein' so invested in somethin' that you would give your life for it? Even if ya didn't have to?" Wichita wasn't certain that he could imagine such a thing. That he actually imagined anything at all. He might surprise her again though, he was already proving he could do that.
"To some it might seem stupid. For them, it's the survival of their species. A chance to leave something behind, no matter the cost." The topic sort of hit home for Wichita. She herself had spent so much time making children, trying to make love happen. All she got in return was love from her children, after all this time she accepted that is the only love she would receive. She accepted it and decided it would have to be enough, it wasn't such a tragedy after all was it? When she was gone, they would remain, and with that a little part of herself would remain. The thought made her smile warmly, and she looked up at him again as he asked his own question.
It was a mirror of hers, she laughed, a twinkle in her eye. That was a fair question. "I'm thinkin' about you, yeah." She waits, hoping the uncertainty of that statement would bring some wave of feeling from him. "I'm thinkin' how hard it is ta tell what you're feeling. Not like the kids, their emotions come freely. You though, you're different." She steps closer, somehow thinking that a closer proximity to him would help.
12-04-2015, 01:28 PM (This post was last modified: 12-04-2015, 01:28 PM by R A P S C A L L I O N.)
like the sea, constantly changing from calm to ill.
She would be right to think that he was primarily a selfish thinker. Rapscallion was only not thinking about himself in a technical way when he was forced to with others around. His mind was working overtime with all the commotion between the Gates, children, and newcomers. He is a shadow-dweller for the most part, you wouldn't find him venturing out to explore the great wide open; he knows he's most comfortable here. Most do not know that two years ago he usurped the Tundra throne, only to lose interest and venture off. Rapscallion is capable, he simply cannot be bothered if he doesn't want to be.
"Imagine that 'mouthful' being a persistent, repetitive motion from the time you see the veins in your eyelids to the time you see spots closing them to rest," he says, even then being odd in his response. Nothing is simple in his mind, nothing is 'right' enough - it could always be better, more succinct. "No, I do not know understand what you're saying. I understand the terminology and the meaning but I have never felt those things - it is not tangible feat. You can only feel tangible things, Wichita," he says, cooly and with precise - his teeth crisply saying her name. "I think that ultimately to give your life would imply you have selfish motivator," he replies while cocks his left back leg, which means quite a lot for Rapscallion - he is always at full attention, tense, adrenaline motivated. She keeps mentioning feeling and he feels almost ignorant because either it's a cruel joke or she's a little visually impaired. "Well, I feel the slight breeze from the downwind of the mountain range, I can feel you are close in proximity; sense you, taste you even. I can feel the army training, their march a constant rhythm reverberating on the ground. Now you know," he says matter of factly, though somehow he thinks this was not the answer she was looking for.
It is so hard to be a normal part of society when you're emotionally stunted.
12-07-2015, 03:47 PM (This post was last modified: 12-07-2015, 05:09 PM by Wichita.)
Wichita
surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
So it's decided. Decided that this is the strangest conversation she's had with anyone. Not that she's found herself in many deep conversations before, if ever.
She starts, all the words, the information blowing through his mind and into the wind from his mouth. She laughs again, tangible. Well that wasn't what she meant at all. "No, no, not feel like touch." She insists, amusement in her warm, gold-lined eyes. "Feel, like here.." She butts her warm velvet nose into his chest, the place where his heart would be. Surely he had a heart now didn't he?
"Ain't you ever been happy? Or sad? Or, maybe..takin' a likin' to someone?" She pestered now perhaps, unknowing how good at sharing he was. She'd never gotten more than a few words out of him before, so she was intent on keeping this going. Maybe he was just trying to humor her today, maybe he had a wild hair up his butt. Whatever the case, it was welcome, and she for some reason stood close to his chest far longer than necessary. Just standing, smelling his musky scent, listening. Not for his heart or his breath, but something else that she had only recently taken notice of.
Finally stepping back, she comments on his next statement. "Selfish? I disagree. To give my life for my children, well, I'd give them anything that meant their survival. Anything for them to have the opportunity to live." She blinks, flicking her tail at the bugs that already creep up on her backside. She considers swatting at them, but they too have feelings and emotions- however minuscule.
12-08-2015, 01:18 AM (This post was last modified: 02-25-2016, 04:02 PM by R A P S C A L L I O N.)
I am the Patron Saint of Lost Causes
He was correct in his previous assumption, his answer would not suffice for Wichita. Her newfound empathy had her asking many questions but he wondered if she really thought about this in depth, clearly she could put the pieces together. The buckskin wonders in that moment, too, if he should reply dishonestly to keep the fact he's a sociopath as hidden as possible. Feelings. He's heard lots of others talk about them, supposedly express them but he is not sure he has ever felt something. He tries to dig deep, to a time where perhaps his thoughts could be mistaken as feelings. For maybe a time where he did feel.
"I can't really recall. I think maybe when I was born, perhaps I felt something along the lines of what you mean. My mother told me feelings are irrelevant, so I never learned to categorize them much less express them,"he says this and goes back to his childhood. It was nothing more than an education and being taught about things a young man should but shouldn't. At least not in that depth. He shouldn't know by the age of a year all the inner politics, which leaders have murdered, which should be murdered, etc. He didn't particularly have a childhood when you think about it. He is spaced out when Wichita comes closer to him, when her mug touches his chest he quivers - it sends a chill up his legs and through his spinal cord; a shudder comes. If he could feel anything, in this moment he would probably feel creepy and slightly turned on. His body mechanics would suggest he feels that - sexual want.
He quickly retracts from her, pulling away to the left some. He feels something now, his throat feels as though it's closing up. His heart rate increases, his olfactory sensory taking her in. His eyes flutter with wild excitement but he quickly shuts these thoughts down. Inappropriate he thinks and then normal. primal. He is so conflicted. He is thankful when her subject changes to her children, he had a child he remembered; with Sunday an Amazon mare. He thinks he should check on them. "I have a child, a few probably, but one with the Amazon mare - Sunday. Do you know her? She's very intriguing, I want to see her mind," he says, not thinking just how strange that might sound. He also doesn't regard the general feeling that Wichita may be coming onto him. He's not observant of sexuality in himself often, much less of others. "I suppose that if I were around someone repeatedly enough I could be bothered to think of their existence and it's relation to me," he isn't sure what he means by this; is this admittance of a possibility that feelings exist?
12-09-2015, 06:55 PM (This post was last modified: 12-09-2015, 07:00 PM by Wichita.)
Wichita
surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
The little mare was not stupid by any means,but she wasn't entirely well educated either. Sociopath, it's not a term she's ever heard, nor knows the first thing about. In her eyes, Rapscallion is just, different. Strange maybe. She doesn't even consider that he has some sort of antisocial disorder, simply because she doesn't know what that is.
Every word he speaks, makes her ears fall flatter and flatter. How sad, to not know what warm feelings were since birth. Perhaps his Mother had not loved him enough as a child. Why, he had just said she had taught him feelings were irrelevant.
"Well, I don't think that's true. Feelin's seem ta be the root of everythin' ta me." She looks away, studying the landscape, the rows and rows of trees in the wood. "What about tha choices we make, ain't there always a reason behind 'em?" She wonders, saying her thoughts out loud. Still though, she couldn't read him and it was starting to worry her. Maybe she wasn't so good at this empathy thing, maybe it only worked on her children. Then he moves, jerks away from her and she feels thoroughly squashed. "Oh." A sad tone to her words, but mostly she just sounds embarrassed. For a moment she wonders if it's because he's never been with a woman, even though she wasn't much of a woman herself. She didn't feel like it anyways, most of the time she just felt like a young girl, smaller and more inadequate than everyone else.
For a moment. In the next moment he is disproving her trail of thought. Children. So he had kids, that was good right? That was a turn in the right direction she thought.
"Ya do?" She blurts in surprise, and then hurries to save herself from, herself. "I mean, ya do, that's great. With Sunday? Oh yes I've met her a few times, she's very lovely." She says brightly, because there simply wasn't anything bad to say about the Amazon mare. What strikes her as odd is the last bit, about her mind. Maybe he meant that in an intellectual sort of way. "Oh, well I suppose that would be interesting, I'm sure she's quite the conversationalist. Magik and all, ain't that somethin'?" She flicks her tail clearly taken with the conversation, her ears pull forward wondering what odd things might spill from his lips next. His terribly kissable, velvet lips.
She shakes her head, forcing the thought away. That wasn't really helping her read him at all. "How come I can't tell if your having a good time?" She tilts her head a bit, wondering why he was so closed off. Was it a trick? Had Sunday taught it to him? Could she teach her?
If Rapscallion were capable of feeling anything it was probably in this moment. He can almost taste her disappointment and her growing confusion as to why she couldn't read him. If he were a smarter man, he would think things that related to this precise area of life. He zones out for a minute as he tries to subside the excitement that is involuntary. Even though he is very put together, a stone wall if you will; some things are not within our control. He was doing his best to keep his testosterone under control. He cannot recall any of his memories of his other children, he cannot remember what any of their mother's were like but Sunday and even that memory is quickly becoming something that would be a short-term memory category. Wichita had honestly been the most consistent person in his life the last two years which was, or would be, slightly depressing to some. "Perhaps there is a reason behind the choices we make, doesn't mean it has to be motivated by feelings; perhaps it's motivated by morals, he says calmly, his deep voice dry, "or lack thereof."
He thinks briefly about his moral compass; he should find one of those.
"She's interesting. Magik isn't really what drew me to her, I just like how welcoming she is I guess. I spent the majority of my early life being unwelcomed," he says, honestly, though it was mostly due to his own actions. You can't come into a kingdom and uproot it's King without making enemies at the very least. Perhaps the same quality was what he liked about Wichita, though he was not an outwardly complimentary man, he could be honest if questioned.
The mare asks why she can't tell if he's having a good time. He isn't entirely sure what constitutes a 'good' time from simply engaging and wasting time. It's all figurative really to the buckskin. His green eyes peel to hers and he steps closer to her, he does not mean to cause insecurity within her. He has no empathy nor does he read minds but he can sense a shift. "Perhaps because you haven't asked? If I weren't enjoying your company, I would have left long ago and I grow bored easily," he says with a raise of a brow, he can hear her heartbeat and it soothes him some. He comes down from his keyed up anxiety of social situations. He steps in a little closer to Wichita and silently waits for her next question or action. He wasn't a man of many words so he was hoping that action would be more in coming days, however one would want to take that.
