[O] Send no angels - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +--- Thread: [O] Send no angels (/showthread.php?tid=13065) |
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Send no angels - Moniz - 03-06-2014
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The sound of another voice startled Moniz. The pony rocketed to her hooves, her tiny ears flying back into a mess of black hair as she rooted the protective trunks of her forelegs in front of the makeshift nest. Below, the gila monster burrowed beneath the decaying gray leaves. Moniz arose ready to fight, but the unsettling pair appeared to hold no ill will towards the newborn companion. She glowered angrily, annoyed that she had both wasted effort and been made to look foolish. At least the introduction came quickly; the bone-covered mare labelled herself Confutatis while Moniz’s eyes roved boldly along the curves of the macabre armor. The muscles that had plastered her ears back loosened slowly, letting them settle at a more comfortable angle. Her jaw unclenched and she answered with humorless indignation, “Moniz, and I am no lamb.” She paused, letting her none-too-quick mind find something suitably clever and impressive to tack on. “I lie with the lions. What about you?” The pony, for all her inferior size and only average intellect, was an unintimidated creature. She never faltered as she openly appraised Confutatis and the dark scoundrel at her side despite their unsettling appearance and unexpected intrusion. I could take them. Easy. As if confirming this to herself, she puffed herself up, stretching her stubby legs to bring herself to the biggest height she could possibly achieve. Below her, Darco began to rustle beneath the heavy blanket of leaves and twigs. His whole body could be completely covered by one average, hoof-sized leaf. Laboriously, he clawed his way staggeringly towards Moniz’s front legs. Finally, a smooth yellow head poked out from behind her left hoof. The pony felt soft newborn claws grip against her heel bulb as Darco steadied himself and settled again, content now that his cool skin rested against her warmth. Moniz glanced down at him, trying to move him back into the protective bedding, but she could think of no way to do it without possibly crushing the delicate creature. Her dark eyes rose again to Confutatis’s deathly face, unintentionally holding her breath as she awaited some reaction. |
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The eerily skeletal mare and her disconcerting sidekick earned Moniz’s attention, if not her respect – that was not a prize she handed over so easily. But Confutatis’ apparent appreciation for a bit of pluck was admirable, and Moniz looked her over again with less disparagement. It was as though the pony was a conoisseur of some obscure acquired taste who had stumbled upon another unignorant mind in some unexpected dark alley. Only instead of fine wines and expensive caviar, the intoxicant they admired was an unquestioned god-given right to power and the refusal to accept their role as creatures of prey. Let the lambs bleat meekly in their unthinking flocks; these lions and wolves have chosen a different destiny for themselves. Moniz had indeed noticed a certain cowardice endemic to the Helovian masses in her two short seasons here – cowering underground when the darkness took over. Never mind that she had cowered right along with the rest of them. Logic had little to do with the pony’s high opinion of herself. “It’s a good thing I’m no native to Helovia, then,” she smirked back at the mare with the professed bloodlines of chaos. By birthright, Moniz was not nearly so fortunate. Luckily, both nature and nurture shaped this mare: the ease with which she terrorized her simple broodmare dam (and the delight she felt while doing it) formed a lasting impression. Alas, ego stroking and the setting apart of themselves from the masses could only last so long. The supple lump of newborn flesh wrapped around her hoof could not go unnoticed. Moniz bristled at Confutatis’ revolted intrigue; her irritation was only made worse by the fact that she did not know the answer to the sooty mare’s question. “He is Darco,” the pony snapped in her confusion. I thought he was a dragon but now who the fuck knows? She felt as though she needed some sort of excuse for the odd, wriggly little thing. Hastily, and with a blatant but forced boastfulness, she added, “He only looks odd because he is just a few hours old, but when he was an egg someone told me he was a dragon.” Moniz smiled proudly, trying not to let on that the seed of uncertainty had already established firm roots in these first few hours of the hatchling’s life. |
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