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I SEE GHOSTS - Mauja - 05-31-2014
i am the vanguard of your destruction
Night again, and the trees are swaying to some rhythm I can't feel—it's not the thu-thud of my heart, or of my feet, or the slow, gentle spinning of my soul. I'm drifting, in this river of silver, listening to the rustle of feathers and leaves, trying to hear when the world catches its breath.. but the keening through hollow trunks is nearly constant, rising and falling like a breath, but on this night she's not an easy sleeper; it's not a nightmare, because her breath never rises into a banshee's scream, but it hitches, and then slips out in a long, long sigh.. a crescendo, almost like the prelude to a howl, but her celestial voice falls back into the lull. Mauja's steps were slow, and uncertain; he weaved drunkenly over the path, stumbling over roots, too tired to lift his feet. Somewhere, a crow laughed savagely at him, and he stopped to stare blearily into the trees, but amidst the shadows he couldn't see its beady, greedy eyes staring at him. Irma could, though, and sent it on its way; a chill up its cowardly spine was all it took, and then it was gone, swift and silent. He stood staring after it—or at the emptiness, really—for a good few minutes longer. Mauja. Her voice was always so cold, so precise, shearing through the thick layers of thought: clear, ringing through his mind with all the wildness of wolves weaving around it. How could one, small heart and soul hold so much power contained in it? So much ferocity? Go to sleep, Mauja. The use of her actual word-voice in his mind, the double mentions of his name, and the way she said it: no hesitation.. she'd been thinking on it for a while. She'd been phrasing it, pondering whether to tell him, or not. Delivered it with icy perfection. She was the Frostheart. He was.. he was.. what was he? Still staring dumbly at the night's shadows. Behind his veil of light, the thin stripe on his glowing face, they were too dark to see into. Mauja the pitiful, pathetic, pa.. pa... something. Oddly enough, paranoid hardly fitted him anymore. He frowned. When had that stopped? When he'd stopped caring? When he'd said fuck it all so many times he really started to stop giving a fuck about anything? And when had that happened? And.. and.. so many questions, and no answers, no answers on this night, when his body was quivering with its demand for sleep and his brain running itself ragged, both predator and prey. Neither was winning. No one was catching up, no one was getting away, just an endless circle going nowhere. He'd lost focus of the tree. There were many trees. Some were real, some were doubles. Mauja. And some jumble that was Diego's imitation of Irma's mind-speech; maybe it sounded vaguely like mawjaw but more like a screech to raise the dead. Fortunately, it was only ringing in his (and Irma's) skull, but it did little more than make him blink. Still staring at the damn trees. And Irma was chasing Diego off the branch they'd shared, feathers ruffled and flying, clearly annoyed with his bothersome use of the link they shared. Mauja burst into a spontaneous fit of cackling, but it ended in a drawn-out sigh. He was too tired for that. He didn't notice when it happened—but his eyes slipped shut, blocking out his blue from the world. It was dark, and dreary, behind his eyes, a thick, dank fog the color of ash, burning like acrid smoke in his lungs. He slogged on through it, hounded by shadows he could not see, but the trench he was moving through was full of icy sludge. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he found it odd that there was such a deep, narrow ditch full of cold, cold water in the Deep Forest—but he had more pressing matters on his mind. Like.. slogging on. Very important business, yup. RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Ghost - 06-02-2014
RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Mauja - 06-02-2014
i am the vanguard of your destruction
It was cold, hard going, toiling chest-deep through the waters (and they were rising, weren't they? just a few minutes ago it had hardly been over his knees), tail floating like a banner on the surface behind him. At times he could barely feel the soft ground beneath him, kicking for purchase through the thick waters, striking something and pushing on, further, deeper. But he could never move quite fast enough. Were they coming closer? Probably; he could feel their chill breaths against his rump, ears flat as he struggled on, faster, but the sludge nearly turned to ice, and who the hell can force themselves through that? Then, all of a sudden, the world crystallized, became covered in the finest, clearest of frosts, and shattered—breaking into a myriad pieces as he spiraled downwards into the darkness. "Stop." Even as she spoke, her voice nightmarish in and of itself, his eyes were coming open—not the slow flutter of someone who wakes, nor the sharp snap of someone startled. They simply opened, swift and precise, revealing the moon-blue to the world. He gazed at her with a clarity that masked the haze in his mind, and spoke with a clearness that was not at all reflecting the slow pace of his thoughts. "Isn't 'wake up' more fitting?" he queried of her, the natural defenses of his mind making his tongue sharper than his actual state of mind; where had she come from? What did she want? Didn't she know it was creepy to sneak up on people and wake them when they slept? Still, his charade kept him from blinking too rapidly, sleep having left a smear on his lenses. She was out of focus, a dark shape hiding by a large tree, at ease in this ghastly wood. He was willing to extend "creepy" to encompass all of her, from the traces of red shades on her feathers to the intense look she bore. Somehow, he felt it wasn't boding well for him, and at the same time, there was something so annoyingly familiar about her.. and still, he was sure he'd never met her before. How bothersome, and he was not in a state fit to solve mysteries. Frankly, now that he'd had a taste of it, he wanted to go back to sleep, despite his lingering notion that he'd not rested easy. RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Ghost - 06-05-2014
RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Mauja - 06-05-2014
i am the vanguard of your destruction
There were a great many things he wanted to do—blink rapidly, yawn, shake his head a few times, stretch a few sore, tired muscles.. but all of those would betray weakness, give away the fact that he was dead exhausted, ready to drop back into slumber the moment she stopped talking to him. Instead, he simply tilted his head to get her into a different part of his focus, solemnly blinking away the rheum. "No," she responded, and Mauja just shrugged. Whatever. He guessed 'stop sleeping' was a legit command, too, it just sounded quite a lot more rude. Briefly, his eyes narrowed. She probably didn't care. She wasn't eying him with warmth and concern; she hung back to the shadows of the tree, watching him from the darkness, her voice the cold shift of the night air. No. This was not someone concerned with niceties. Or if she was, she was making a damn good job of hiding it. Appearances could be deceiving, but so far, everything about her just whispered cold. He wasn't at all sure what she wanted of him, or why she'd woken him up in the first place. Surely it wasn't out of concern that the wolves would eat him? So when her gaze went upwards, to study his owls, he looked at her unabashedly. The contrast of red, white and black niggled at his mind, but he couldn't place it; slender limbs carried a warmblood frame, and a long, thin horn jutted out from her forehead. Mixed blood; weakness, or double strength? A few years ago he would've seethed within and plotted how to best get rid of her, cleanse the world from this blight, but now it stirred nothing but dust in his soul. Fascinating, how quickly some things change. And how easy it is to forget that which you once believed in. But her eyes fell again, back to him, that stray ray of moonlight walking even the dark places of the world, and his own gaze—now blessedly clear of rheum—flitted to hers. She seemed too restless to meet them. Did she need to float and move like the shadows cast by the moon? Did standing still irk her, make her feet itch? The question that came was not what he'd expected, patiently waiting for her to reveal her motives—nor was it easy to answer. Did he like the forest? He had to admit it had a certain, dark beauty, tragedy written in the lines of its mauled bark, but it held too many bad memories. Despite the way her voice inflected on nothing he got the notion he ought to say yes. "Not really," he said, because he was no liar. "You?" Again, the notion struck him that she'd respond the opposite of him, because as her gaze traveled through the shadows beneath the leafy crowns, it seemed to.. warm? No, that was not the word, because she still had the dark, beady eyes of a raven, but she did not look at it like you look at something that bothers, or frightens you; she looked at it the way you might look at an old friend, at ease. Then, with a frown, she turned back to him. His own face and eyes were blank, except for a mild curiosity. "Who are you?" "They call me Mauja," he said, "but that hardly answers your question, does it?" A slight smile with a wicked edge curved his dark lips. Let's see if she liked to fence with words; or if she would smack him for his answer. But frankly, it was a broad question. It had many answers, and none that was easy, or that he could even give—except for his name. RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Ghost - 06-07-2014
RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Mauja - 06-12-2014
i am the vanguard of your destruction
He was treading water, his mind heaving itself through thick sludge, battering itself against his exhaustion; it lay like a thick, warm, dumb blanket just in front of his thoughts, between the icy precipices of his mind and the cold, dark reality, blunting him. It frustrated him that he couldn't recall where he had seen her before. He usually remembered everyone, everything, had it etched into perfect relief in his memory—but not her. She was like smoke, flickering, haunting, a shadow cast by a shadow, like a word at the tip of his tongue but still eluding him. His hunch had been correct. This sneaky, weird, blunt and intriguing mare loved the Deep Forest, and all its haunting darkness and mystery, all its blood and death and red water. He listened for the things she didn't say, for the things her voice did not betray, tried to see what was not to be seen—she was as cold as him, as emotionless. Did she hide it, like he did? Or did she not know how to portray what she felt? Or did she actually not feel at all? By her tone, she could've just as well have been observing a dead tree, and not commented on her favorite place in all of Helovia. But, ah! There it was, that flicker of life in her eyes, like a breath rushing across dying embers to bring a touch of orange back to them; then it faded back into the ashen gray, dull and lifeless. Interesting. So there was a soul hiding behind those dark, dark eyes. And he'd met a thousand reactions to his name, to the sharp-edged way he smiled and gazed; everything from hatred, to recognition, awe, nothingness. In all honesty, he hadn't expected her to know of him, even less had she expected for her to stare through him, as if seeing into his past, his soul. Uncomfortable, the walls around his mind tightened and the heavy numbness wore the edge off his features, leaving him blank. What was she doing? Thinking? He felt no touch against his mind. Then, just as he was considering all sorts of irrational theories (she's a ghost; can I leave her here and just walk away?; did she just lose what few marbles she had left?) she came back, with a laugh that seemed so out of place it nearly sent a shiver up his spine. The detached way she seemed to view life and say things were at odds with the quiet tinkling of her laughter. Laughter belonged to life. Laughter didn't belong to statues like them. "It answers enough, I know who you are, or who you were," she said, scrutinizing him; Mauja let her, just stood with tired grace beneath the onslaught of her dark gaze as his mind spun, frantically. There had to be something, some connection—why else would he recognize her, and she know of him? Who you were. Well damn, who am I even now? Back through the years, back, back, flashing images and faces, but as always, when you are looking for something, you never find it. "You outcast me when I was just a child." Seiren. "Ah," he said lightly, remembering—remembering the newborn filly and her ghastly, red-tipped small wings, and the nub of a horn sticking out from her forehead. Birthed by one of what he'd thought was his fiercest warriors. The shame, the anger, the.. the.. simple idiocy of it all. And now Seiren's Ghost was back to haunt him, too. It certainly explained why she was familiar, though. "Unfortunately, you are quite right." His head tipped to the side, drawing her in again. She was too dark, there was no way to look at her and say ah, yes, that's Seiren I see in her, because Seiren was nowhere to be seen on this dark, moonless night; it was just shadows draped over fine bones and muscle. Mauja's choices had yet again impacted another's life, and the bitter voice in him asked, what did I make her into?. "Did she ever try to kill you? Seiren, I mean," he asked with mild interest, wishing he could somehow apologize and explain but thinking it best he never uttered those words. RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Ghost - 06-17-2014
RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Mauja - 06-19-2014
i am the vanguard of your destruction
And now a face in the crowd, she's not. And I suspected now forever the shape She came to escape, is forgot. She had a raven's eyes—sharp, dark, calculating. For all that she gave nothing away, she was not dull. She was like the shadows, the night, full of a different kind of life than that which roamed in daylight. Keen. But just as secretive as the darkness. But not dead. There was nothing dead in her sharp gaze, in the way her attention seemed pinned on him, hanging on to every word that fell from his tired lips, formed by an equally tired mind. Was he going to get lost in his own winding thoughts and attempts to shield himself with words, or would honesty slip off his tongue, if he wasn't quick enough to check the string of syllables he was starting to formulate? Every other second his gaze sharpened, only to grow dull again, gray in the lackluster light. The jolt she'd given him with her intrusion was starting to wear off. Was it just his imagination, or did his question give her pause? Was that a hush, a lull in her breathing? Blinking, he let his eyes trail along her face again. Ah, yes. She was frowning at him. Considering how much they gave away otherwise, it could just as well have been a boulder falling from the sky to land before their feet. Clearly, he'd caught her off guard with that one, and he felt like smirking. "No," she started to say, offering the same argument Seiren had tried to use against him, when he was telling her to go. A weapon. Wings and a horn. But it was a trade, information for information, and she countered his question with one of her own, hidden in the cold nuances of her voice. She lacked inflection. She did not lack life. She poked and prodded, bit and worried, and he felt too tired to swipe at her, shake her loose, and leave with his secrets. "Fortunately," he countered her with an absent-minded air, yet his gaze had grown sharp again. He hoped he'd picked up correctly on her repetition of the term he'd used about casting her out, that it wasn't a subconscious coincidence, but a barbed hook she was poking him with. He wasn't interested in getting stuck on it. "But to answer your question, I told her not to—though, I'll hardly claim the glory for her 'doing as I said'. I guess her interests merely happened to coincide with the nature of my order." Seiren had always struck him as sly, with her dark eyes and calculated words; she'd had some kind of plan all along, hadn't she? Whispering of a weapon above the body of her newborn child.. had he put a stick on the wheel for her, done something she hadn't counted on? Surely, outcast and no longer beholden to Mauja, she would simply have killed Ghost in cold blood if it had fit her schemes better. RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Ghost - 08-11-2014
RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Mauja - 08-13-2014
i am the vanguard of your destruction
He was too tired for this. He wanted to keep his eyes wide open, to watch her beneath the dark crowns of the trees, drink in every nuance of her black velvet shape and catch every single quirk of her nerves—to learn to read the peculiar language of her body. In so many ways she reminded him of Psyche, in the darkness, the way she seemed carved out of onyx but really was quite alive. She smiled, and those beady eyes watched him still, and he knew that if it had been him in that body, it would've displayed nothing but a stoic, impassive face. Because such was the nature of ice; not the nature of ghosts. "Why? Why not just kill me?" She dug deeply, back through layers of dust, blowing it off the untouched covers of closed books he'd not looked much upon since living through. Oh, sure, he knew they were there, stored neatly on the shelves of his impeccable wintry mind, frozen and sealed to his cranium to forever haunt his thoughts and dreams—and he had, maybe, looked at them from time to time and thought he ought to do something about them. Perhaps open one, and read. But he'd always taken his lantern and gone again, down the rows and shelves, to the time after, where the black ink leaped off the pages to strangle him and poison his blood. He was too tired to wrench himself away from her poking, eyelids sagging too often and his mind clouding over; too tired to pretend he could offer her anything but the truth, and rather unquestioningly. And, ruffling her blood-red feathers she went on, "am I not what you despise most?" and Mauja snorted before he even knew it. Despised, perhaps, the union of two bloodlines—or rather, the dilution of unicorn blood. Tainting it with something lesser, abominable, alien... And here he stood, talking to her, her wings rustling and flaring, and he didn't even care anymore. Something in his blue eyes sharpened again, for a moment. "I don't believe in punishing the offspring for the mistakes committed by their parents," he began, his voice a slow, thoughtful rumble as trembling fingers turned open the sticky covers of blood-spattered chapters bound with the hide of those he had despised; whenever he'd revisited these parts of his life in thought, he'd kept to the glory, the brilliance, the shining knight in armor who fought for his kind.. who fought, and lost, the hero wronged—but how could he be the hero if he was not strong enough? How could he be the hero, if he was the villain? Was Ghost even a mistake? "I was angry to find her birthing you. I was angry, because she said she was raped—I was angry, because she was one of my finest warriors and she could not even defend herself. I wanted her to own up to her failure; not pretend it had never happened." He blinked again, eyed her blearily, wondering why he was so honest. Was it because he was too tired to think straight? "Maybe it never happened." His bones were leaden, heavy; he wanted little but to crumble to the ground. "It was a long time ago," he said abruptly, head turning away, "and a different Mauja." RE: I SEE GHOSTS - Ghost - 09-03-2014
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