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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


    i never knew; potion, capture, any
    #1
    "Everyone knows I am in over my head, over my head."
    He is slow, at first—gentle, even; but it’s hard to find a good rhythm when she insists on fighting back. She’s fierce and just as violent as he is; millions have been sacrificed to keep her content and she wants more still, always more. He intends to give her all she can handle tonight. Sweat glistens across his neck, he grits his teeth and lifts her up; higher and higher until her shadow stretches across the whole of the cove and the shore and the rest of the land starts to tremble. A large shark swims out of the darkness, it is briefly silhouetted by moonlight and quickly catches his eye. He almost loses control, then. The giant wave nearly drops, certain to crush all of the silly little fools but he gathers himself up and holds it steady. He won’t damage what belongs to him.

    What they took.

    “Thales,” he thinks.

    His winged son ruffles his feathers in response, letting him know he’s listening.

    “Go, now. Tell them. Bring it back or they all die.”

    “Yes.”

    Azriel doesn’t bat an eye when the man flies past him.

    Thales doesn’t look back.

    Seconds, minutes, an hour slips by and Azriel continues to stand as rigid as an old statue; his legs are shaking, his jaw is clenched so tight that it hurts, but he is patient. He wants his property back; he wants to teach it that it has a purpose far greater than it can even imagine. He saw what it did to the forest—he knows what it is, what it is capable of. A small smile spreads across his face as he turns his old brown eyes towards the mountain of a wave, caps of white spraying over the top and trickling down like rain; it can do this, as only a handful of them can. He couldn’t teach the others.

    But this one, this one will be different.

    He will pass on all of his secrets, he will tell it everything.

    Everything.

    Before the faeries come back with their dark magic and drag him off to the land of the dead.

    Azriel suddenly feels weaker, though, and the wave shifts forwards; his knees feel like they’re going to buckle, they feel as wobbly as the day he was born and he acknowledges the scrape on the left when he hits the ground. The wave keeps coming forwards, he does his very best to hold it back; they’re all going to drown if he doesn’t. He tilts his head, his eyes feeling heavy; it’s still coming, he can hear the roar—louder now, louder, it’s almost like being caught in the middle of a thunderstorm. It lurches, though; there is a groan and the great wave begins creeping back out towards the ocean. He snorts, curling up in a ball to keep warm, his left front knee a bloody mess and his fluffy tail twitching irritably—almost like a cat. The colt drifts off to sleep.

    Totally unaware of what has happened.


    [Okay so, I hate this post but Potion made Riri a baby(ish maybe, however old Capture is idk). Please wait for Call to reply first. Big Grin Capture is his daughter but that is secretsecret and he will have no memory of being an adult and he's going to chill in the Cove as a baby. Capture also helped push back the tsunami so no one died. No one should know that unless Jenger says so.]
    Reply
    #2
    forever young, i want to be forever young
    She was left with her thoughts quite often, far more often than children should be anyhow. 
    But, suppose that is just the thing- they were all children here. Children in many senses of the word, whether in age or just in their namesake- 'The Children'. Of course she had her sister, Kirke, a little purple thing with wings like Father. A curious girl, Potion admittedly liked her well enough, as far as sisters go.

    Her aunts and uncles were good company when they could be found, often out on errands or whatever it is that they did. Still, she is just a young girl and there are so many hours in the day, many of them not given the attention that they deserved. Many of them not filled with play or discovery, though there was no lack of things to explore. She still had not stuck her head in every nook and cranny of the Cove, had not yet looked in every tide pool. There was always another and another cropping up.

    At first it had been difficult to conduct any sort of expedition, she was so very small. Little legs were terribly flimsy, wobbling about with each step. It just wouldn't do, she wouldn't stand for it and so she had changed it.

    Changed, grew, aged. Just a bit, just enough. Father was surprised and pleased but she could not discern which emotion outweighed which.

    A simple thought, a request and she wasn't just a babe. Somehow she was older, she was stronger, she was bigger. Somehow she had been a few months old and in moments she was a weanling, she was independent. She was what she wanted to be and that was all that mattered.

    Why the man has come, she doesn't know. All she knows is that he is much older than the others, that he is a stranger, that he is new and exciting. He also seems to control a gigantic tidal wave, which only feeds her curiosity. Who is this man? What is he doing? Why is he here? How does he control the ocean?

    What she means to do is ask him to play, to ask if she can join him in his game because obviously this was one. That's what she means to do. what she does is entirely different because she so very badly wanted him to say yes.

    "Hi, I'm Potion, can I-" That's all that she manages to spit out before the man is changing, before he is becoming a child once again.  That's all she can say as she trots towards him filled with intent on fun times, that's all she can say as the wave rocks. The tidal of water becoming precariously unstable, rolling dangerously close to the the cliffs, the shore on which she advances towards him. It is all, because he changes in the most memorizing way, shrinking and compacting with splendor. She hadn't the chance to watch herself grow and now she was certain she had missed out.

    Potion
    Kirin x Nicia


    edits: because Kirke is purple and I am derp :|
    Riri is whatever age Vengelette wants idk exactly how old Capture is .. I posted Potion as weanling so about 6-7 months old...ummm...idk if jenge wants Potion to know that Capture helped...suppose it can go either way, left end open for whatevs in that direction
    Reply
    #3
    it's not perfect here between us, but even angels have their demons
    trapped inside this twisted circle, it ain't right but it's eternal
    She knows nothing of her blood, nothing of the mother who had thought her to be dead or of the father and brother who had tracked her to this place to reclaim her. She knew nothing of her importance, of her potential, of why her ability with water would make her any more or less special. So when the two men come, she is not waiting for them. She does not even notice the first as he flies past her, and even though her eyes had been turned to the sky, they were as sightless as stones bouncing at the bottom of the river.

    It is only when the second claims the ocean and her fury, when he takes her for his own and holds her against the stars and the moon that she finally notices him. But it isn’t even he that she notices, it is the displacement of so much water that draws her attention and holds it like a starling might covet the shining belly of a glittering seashell. Her ability is her eyes and hands, it is her only way of understanding the world in which she lives in, the horses that live beside her. She can feel the water in them, the tiny molecules of water in every living thing, and she uses it like a finger to trace the outline of their shape, to know them intimately when she should know nothing at all.

    Times slithers past so slowly as she follows the draw of the water in the sky, delighting in it’s weight, in the density of how so much of it could be held so high above her. She did not ache to see it though, and what a sight it must have been, for she could feel it in her soul and skin and nothing could be more magnificent than that.

    By the time she has made it to them there are small wounds on her knees, scuffs of vulnerable pink and red from where her small hooves had caught in stones and roots and holes erroded away in the sand. But she doesn’t even notice the injuries, or the two horses gathered nearby, because the water heaves and buckles spits rain along the curve of her slate and green spine. She responds to it instinctively, catching the entirety of its weight when Azriel crumples. But she is not strong like he is, cannot hold it to the sky and let hours bleed by, so when it spills over she borrows that strength. Where it falls she allows it, redirecting the flow so it does not crush them, will not drown them, and the water spills harmlessly back into the ocean. The waves seem angry though and they push high on the shore, higher than they’ve ever come and for a moment she basks in the strength of it, shares in the wildness of such glory. But when they climb higher still she pushes them back, sweat prickling along her skin until the sea is calm and quiet and only a little resentful.

    For a long moment she is still and silent, basking in the way the moonlight feels cold and silver against the steel grey her her delicate face. It is then that Capture chooses to trace the water where it had rained down from the wave to cover the beach. It is then that she notices two small bodies in the sand and she turns quickly, awkwardly, those sightless blue eyes wide with surprise. “What was that?” She asks quietly, inching closer to where the water bent around their bodies. “What happened?” Then like rain in reverse she is pulling the excess ocean water from where it had dampened their skin, from where it had pooled in muddy puddles across the beach and coaxes it back into the vast watery depths.

    “They call me Capture.” Her voice is still small and gentle, like the echo of rain falling through leaves, and if she understands the cruelty of her name at all, it doesn’t translate in the shadows of her quiet face.
    CAPTURE
    azriel x swift
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