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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


    ladies call me Subway cuz I've got low quality meat and lie about being 6 inches; any
    #1



     Happiness is not a circus clown rolling around in a big tractor tire so that his arms and legs form "spokes." Happiness is when he stops.
     
    It was with little fanfare that the brute ingressed ‘pon the tierra.
    No, that’s a lie. It was with a lot of fanfare that he did his ingressing, which Microsoft Word insists is not a word, but some of us are the greatest literary minds of our generations and some of us are a computer program, so suck it, Bill Gates.
    Anyway. With great fanfare – by which I mean with a dramatic, modelesque (also “not a word”) flair – Satire strides into the meadow. His semi-silken pelt glistens with what we can only hope is sweat. His lubricious pelage falls eloquently across the capricious curvature of his eminent neck, because sometimes it’s fun to use adjectives and not bother with “definition” and “appropriate usage.”
    (People who tell you that are just being sagacious bitches, anyway.)
     
    Satire – Satty to his friends, which is everyone – has been through many iterations as his narrator’s definition of humor evolves (or devolves, we’ve never been quite sure). A few things stay, persistent in his personality, like HPV – he is fat, he likes men and women (neither like him), and once he worshipped sand.
    (It was a dark time in his life.)
     
    His flints strike the earth with great power, or perhaps because the body balanced precariously upon his limbs was incredibly fat. We’ll leave that to the philosophers to decide. He casts a glance about with his too-small eyes. He is instantly in love with everyone in the meadow.
    A fool in love, he smiles broadly, his labrums stretched wide in a sentence that sounds way dirtier than initially intended.
    “Hello,” he says, almost sounding suave, except for the fact he was speaking to a tree and not any one horse.
     



    (this is why you don't ever let me catch up on posts)
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    #2
    [Image: 153wwau.png]

    What a glorious day to be courted! The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The bees were humming. The birds and the bees together were doing… something.
     
    And she was giggling like a little girl as she watched such a handsome stud saunter towards her. It had been such a long time since anyone paid her any heed, which she thoroughly did not understand. She thought herself quite the beauty, but alas, these thick headed ponies around her were more occupied by strange traits and alliances.
     
    Hrmpf.
     
    Well this guy was gorgeous enough to make up for their shortcomings.
     
    She reached one limb daintily towards herself, only pseudo-masking the cute and polite giggle all girls know how to do. The other, she reached towards him with such sweetness as she cooed her delight. A gentleman expects a hand to kiss in greeting, right?
     
    Well… the idea was good in theory.
     
    But she was a tree.
     
    And that was why a tree limb came crashing out, smack towards the horse’s head.
     
    Whoops.
     
    Maybe this is why she’s alone.
     
    Her, the silly, single, but quite beautiful tree (if she does say so herself) in the middle of the field.
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    #3



    If you're a blacksmith, probably the proudest day of your life is when you get your first anvil. How innocent you are, little blacksmith.

    Let’s get this straight: Satty is a pretty big optimist. Which is fair. For one thing, despite nature and pretty much every law in existence decreeing he should be dead, he is actually pretty alive. For another, he had one (1) kid which mean that someone actually let him Do It with them which was a pretty big deal and very brave of her.
    (AN: that kid was played by Myth and we miss her every day.)
    That being said, the broadly enigmatic stag did not antedate a rejoinder as he oscillated enthusiastically betwixt straightforward writing and whacked out (“convoluted” or “torturous”) purple prose that depended largely on Microsoft Word’s synonym power.
    (Translation: dude didn’t ‘quite’ expect the tree to flirt back.)

    The branch smacks against his overly large head and he yelps a little bit, albeit in a very manly way. Some of the leaves remain in his mane like jewels, if jewels were dry and crunchy, which maybe they are, in some parallel universe.
    He shakes his head as if to clear it (though there was very little to clear). Then he smiles again, coming to the obvious conclusion:
    The tree was into some kinky shit.

    But Satty is a Gentleman, so he doesn’t dive right into that, because this author may have written historical RPF smut but she is not about to get kinky with a tree (yet).
    Anyway (@self: nice transition) he smiles. Reading back on what I wrote like two minutes ago we already established he was smiling but sometimes the backspace bar is cool in theory, not practice.
    “My name’s Satire, but you can call me Satty,” he tells the tree, because this is how things are now.

    #eloquence

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    #4
    [Image: 153wwau.png]

    She was so elated!
     
    He didn’t ignore her!
     
    In fact, was it true? It was! He actually honest to goodness smiled at her!
     
    A great, big ole grin too.
    Like this (but with horse teeth and horse eyes and horse nostrils):
    Big Grin
     
    “He likes me, he likes me, he likes me!” she shrieked to herself internally.
     
    But she is a well-brought up lady and therefore, must maintain her calm, collected, poised, elegant, eloquent, beautiful, caring, intelligent, skilled, capable, and everything-else-a-lady-should-be exterior. Otherwise, she’d be too easy a game for him and he’d go find some other harder-to-get tree to hug. (Wow, us women and us women-trees do have it tough.)
     
    Speaking of that, should she play hard to get? That has the highest success rate, right?
     
    No. Wait.
     
    It’s too late. Crap. She already greeted him.
     
    (And my, did he look absolutely dashing in those emerald jewels she bestowed him!)
     
    “Satty, dahling, a pleasurah,” she lovingly cooed, in what I would imagine was the worst attempt possible at being a southern belle. “I am Isabella Cornelia Josephine Elizabeth Buttercup the Fourth. You may call me Buttah.”
     
    But she was a tree.
     
    So what came out was actually more like “rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle”
     
    Ugh #treelife #useless #translatorplease #newappidea #shewantsroyalties
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    #5



    I hope, when they die, cartoon characters have to answer for their sins.

    All around them, war spins like a whirling dervish of hurricanes. The kingdoms – redistributed in their magic but holding old scars in their wizened hearts – are at odds. Blood is in the the air, a fine spray like mist or something. Magicians burn up everything and then more magicians come and burn up that in the world’s most dangerous pissing contest. Beqanna groans under her changes.

    …is what I would write if Satty was not staring sweetly at this tree, absorbing in this new world where birds sang and the whole sky was rainbows.
    (I guess birds never sang before this, I don’t know.)
    Instead, Satty doesn’t know jack (WARNING SWEAR AHEAD) shit about the war, or anything that goes on in Beqanna. One time he went into a kingdom – I think the chamber – an declared himself their king but shockingly no one listened, not even him, if that’s grammatically correct (I feel like it isn’t but I also feel like that’s the least weird off-putting thing about this post).

    The tree rustles and luckily Satty, who is an incredibly suave and cultured man around inanimate objects (he was once the king of sand, this has a lot less pushback from the denizens than the chamber mutiny had). He speaks fluent tree, naturally (quasi-pun not intended; rhyme also not intended). Or he assumes he does, and no one has ever corrected him.

    “What a lovely name,” he says, “is it foreign? It sounds foreign. Do you miss your motherland?”
    Satty is either a big idiot or a professional arborist.

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    #6
    [Image: 153wwau.png]


    “Ahhhhhh!” collectively cried the chamber trees as they combusted.
    “Ahhhhhh!” shrilly shrieked the jungle trees as they smoldered.
    “YEOOOUCH!!!!!!!” bitterly bellowed the gates tree as she blazed.
    Together, the trees wept a melancholy symphony of pain and loss and desperation.
    Together, they lamented their unremarkable roles as unmemorable casualties in a magical arms’ race.
    Together, they cried for help from their meadow friend.
     
    And oh how she would have helped! In an instant, she would have lashed and thrashed and beat all those silly ponies to a pitiful glittery pulp to save her innocent brethren and bring this silly war to a quick halt (in her mind, that’s how it would have played out)… except that she was making sweet goo-goo eyes at the gentleman before her.
     
    He must have been planted there so she would be distracted. Good plan, @[demian]. Or was it @[Yael]? Must have been @[Straia]. Or that one dude who definitely has something illicit going on with a turtle (see, Satty, y’all ain’t the only ones branching out – pun positively intended. Inter-species relationships are totes the new fad). No matter, they were all equally weird looking and somehow all enjoyed feasting on her. Barbarians!
     
    Good thing this gentleman was much nicer than them.
     
    Satire for His Royal Highness Supreme Caesar Imperator Beqanna Dictator!
    He had her vote. Although, dictators don’t tend to require votes, do they?
     
    Anywho, His Royal Highness was in the process of inquiring of her past. She looked at him for a moment. Then suddenly, she wrapped her arms around him in tender embrace as her tears erupted. “Yes! I miss it SO! I come from a land of such storied history and great culture. Much more civilized than this savage place! Satty, come home with me! I am so certain that you will simply LOVE Nebraska!”
     
    Already inviting the guy back.
    Miss Buttah: less class than the UNC football team.
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    #7



    I think it's high time we started questioning the old cliches like "Grunt big for Daddy."

    This could only be a clear conspiracy to keep them from defeating the entire war (all of it); as Beqnana roiled and moaned under all the magic and barriers and magic barriers and dirt barriers and barrier-barriers, the ones who could save them – who were actually the Most Powerful – are distracted.
    He is distracted by the curve of bark and the meticulous shape of her (or his, technically Satire knows better than to gender trees but the tree seems achingly feminine) leaves. He is too distracted to save them all from themselves, too distracted to know how to defeat everyone with some cool ninja tricks he would undoubtedly know and be able to execute flawlessly.
    But the Great Beqanna Conspiracy has been pulled off without a hitch, while all around them the kingdom’s trees die because of fire and monsters and other great hulking things (I don’t pay attention), while his equine brethren kvetch and shout things at each other being Cool, Satty and this particular tree do not heed the calls for help.

    If this were a movie, we would cut to battle scenes and bloodshed while O Fortuna! plays and everything is dramatic. Unfortunately, y’all have to rely on my words and erratic dissociative thoughts and mild ability to describe things.

    Cut back now to the pair, where the tree’s branches flutter against him like arms, a wild and desperate love story and not at all the wind. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, breathing in the aromatic perfume of her sap, which sounds WAY dirtier than I meant it too.
    “Oh, tree,” he sighs, “I feel like I’ve been looking for you all my life.”

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    #8
    [Image: 153wwau.png]

    Carl Orff is cool and all, but for the scene that was playing out right here, Nessun Dorma was the real soundtrack (which, when you really look at the lyrics and context, don’t really lend itself to the love scenes it’s often used for… but I digress). So, let’s just envision the amorous embrace of pony and perennial to the climax of Puccini (climaxing done best starting at 2:50).

    “And I you!” she cooed lovingly in response, because by some miracle, she can understand his nickers.

    “I was beat, incomplete. But you make me feel shiny and new… like a virgin!” she exclaimed as she tenderly brushed his cheek with a single branch.

    How many of you caught the implications of her last statement?

    Me too. Just now. Buttah as well.

    Realizing suddenly what she had just admitted, Miss Buttah quickly did what girls do best: turn it back onto him!

    “Am I your one and only, dahling Satire? Tell me there is no other but me!” she cried, unable to fathom sharing her handsome supreme dictator with another, much less that sultry cypress sneaking peeks at him off by the water.
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