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Living on the highest shelf - Isopia - 03-07-2015
RE: Living on the highest shelf - Zèklè - 03-08-2015 I'LL BE YOUR NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it It was magic, he just didn't know what kind it was.
He'd felt it tingling underneath his skin, felt it rippling like a muscle spasm and tickling his sides. It had begun slowly, growing steadily until he was infuriated, nearly insane from the need to know just what was going on in his head. He'd paced the ground, run from the Throat and toward the woods- not the woods with the Rotunda today, where he seemed to have all his adventures, but new woods, darker woods, woods that sang of a certain mysterium and echoed the call of the magic in his veins. The forest smelled like oldness and secrets, and the boy was sure that somewhere in these trees, he would find the perfect one to scratch that itch which had been plaguing him for an entire two whole days. Hours later, as he rubbed his barren shoulder against yet another trunk, Zèklè had to admit that he was still as stumped as ever. He had tried to use his magic like Ma did, making things move or making sparks or anything, but so far absolutely nothing had worked. Small hooves kicked at the moist earth as the little colt huffed his growing aggravation, trying to ignore the rumble in his stomach and the fact that he was probably lost. He was tired, and sad- sad because he really, really wanted to be able to bring his knowledge home, sad because now he would have to ask Ma instead of showing her, because he wasn't big enough to figure it out himself. He wanted to stop being a baby, to prove that he was growing up. Yet for all that, Zèklè could barely suppress the urge to simply sit down right there and cry. And to top it off, he was definitely lost. Tears welled up within sunbeam eyes, but the lightning-back boy would not let them fall. He shook his head, inhaling sharply, and paused because something smelled different. On top of the standard scent of trees and dirt was another, more familiar scent: that of a horse, a horse like him, who if nothing else would be company in the darkening woods. Zèklè had not yet learned to fear strangers, and it was with a trusting heart that he changed his course, eager for the possibility of distraction from his woes. Maybe it would be a friend- or even better, someone who could help him figure out what his magic was! He found her lying beside a pool, and froze before barging into the scene, displaying a rarely seen sense of decorum. She looked kind of familiar, but also incredibly foreign, a bizarre mix of earth and horse which Zèklè could only stare at, agape. Was she a spirit, like Ma had talked about once, more plant than horse and filled with magic? Was she even real? Perhaps a cleverly built statue, but no, she was moving, her head still swaying and as the boy watched she built creatures from the earth, sending them cavorting around the pool. Coolest. Thing. Ever. He shifted, a twig snapping loudly beneath his hoof. The expression on his youthful face was candid amazement with a touch of awe, though disappointment still softened his impassioned glare. "Hi!" Carefully Zèklè stepped toward the pond, sniffling loudly before assaulting the girl with a barrage of shaky questions. "Did'ja make those? Are you a spirit? What's your name?" Curious, he walked closer, lowering his head to inspect the mobile earth. "They're really cool!" the boy declared, looking up at the filly with the quiet beginnings of his trademark grin. Even if he didn't figure out his magic, just wait until Ma heard about this! @[Isopia] Z è K L è am i more than you bargained for yet? RE: Living on the highest shelf - Isopia - 03-11-2015
RE: Living on the highest shelf - Zèklè - 03-12-2015 I'LL BE YOUR NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it She moved and the carefully built illusion snapped, a physical echo of the sound he'd make. Zèklè almost felt sad, watching moss and life fall from her sides, watching her return to boring normalcy- but of course she wasn't even close to being boring, or normal, and he was quickly distracted once again, his sadness tossed aside. Even without her earthen blanket he'd never seen anyone with markings quite like hers, and she had wings and horns like Breccan and Auriel. Maybe she knew them?
A small, selfish part of him hoped she did not, because then he could introduce them, and she could be his story to share. He liked the way she talked, he decided, and stepped forward out of the trees. Even though she was older she didn't seem condescending, and unlike many she didn't seem to find Zèklè's curiosity tiring, or dumb. Her creatures lumbered toward him on earthen legs; he grinned, amazed, and peered upwards into ill-formed faces. Absently he nodded, as though the fact that she could make them out of water too was the most natural thing in the whole entire world (and why not? he'd been born into a world of magic, after all). "How long d'they last? I gots magic too, I think, but I dunno how to do it yet." Maybe something like that! How cool would that be?! He turned back to the girl and grinned, bottle brush flailing eagerly beneath blue-tipped tailfeathers. When she said she wasn't a spirit Zèklè tilted his head, not quite disappointed but still innocently confused. "How come?" he asked the (apparently) older girl, frowning slightly as he tried to reconcile this affirmation with his mother's stories. Obviously Ma wasn't wrong, but the girl seemed pretty sure that spirits really weren't real. "My Ma told me stories 'bout 'em. She tells me lotsa stories. I could tell you some, but I'm not so good..." He trailed off, suddenly bashful, and reached around to bite nervously at his barren shoulder. "'Sides," mumbled the half-boy toward his hooves, "Your Ma prob'ly tells you lots too." He felt embarrassment rising into his face. Silently, Zèklè hoped that the not-spirit-girl wouldn't take him up on his hastily made offer. He wasn't a storyteller, not like Ma, and there was no way he could ever do any of her tales justice. His neck snapped back up when she asked him for his name, and the moment of inadequacy passed. He was happy for the change of subject. His name, now, that was something he knew! But- but- !- the boy stared, agape, surprised, innocently unaware of any offence his actions might make. Haven't decided?! "Didn't your Ma name you?" he demanded, voice colored only by surprise, free of judgment and awash with confusion. His Ma had named him, and he'd never met anyone without a name before. Weird! He closed his mouth and looked back at the earth-beasts, before turning back to her, a suspicious glint in his sunbeam eyes. "Are you sure you're not a spirit?" @[Isopia] Z è K L è am i more than you bargained for yet? RE: Living on the highest shelf - Isopia - 03-24-2015
RE: Living on the highest shelf - Zèklè - 04-02-2015 I'LL BE YOUR NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it The last of his tears and snot had dried, the terror of being lost now nearly forgotten. Zèklè nodded seriously, as though magic were something he understood, as though his affirmation of her statement would hold any weight in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it would. After all, they were merely two children, companions and compatriots, equals in the eyes of time and the world (or so the boy mistakenly believed). To each other they were grown-ups, and the boy loved it, loved that he could speak to her and not feel less than, not feel judged.
So when she began to talk about fire and blood and dead he steeled himself, clenching the uncertainty which rose in his belly at the thought of such depressing subjects. He had seen death, too, and blood- but what did that have to do with spirits? Carefully he listened, young brain working to make sense of the words, to understand her point and keep up with her. Bodies bleed. People die. Even the lumbering creatures she created were sacrificed to prove her point, much to Zèklè's dismay. Gosh, she was being such a downer, but she didn't even seem to realize it, didn't seem mean or like she was trying to scare him (she couldn't anyway, duh). She seemed to be talking to him, for real, and maybe that scared him more than anything else. "Then whaddabout magic?" he asked her seriously, orange eyes wide in a youthful face. He had not given up on spirits, because even though what she said made sense it left out so much, abandoned a portion of the entire world. "I can't see or touch it but I know it's there. Spirits are like that, I think." He nodded, rallying, fire re-emerging in the still-high voice, tail feathers spreading as his confidence returned. "'Sides, that's just our rules. Spirits are like Gods, and they gots different rules, and are made of magic, so of course they don't work like us. Ma says-" and he stops here, thoughtful. Yeah, Ma said it, but it's not like he can hide behind "Ma says" forever. This girl is full of all her own thoughts, never once has she talked about what her Ma said... and the boy recants, corrects, continues. "I think we're just a little part of the whole entire world, an' there's a whole lot more we don't even know, 'cus after all there's the whole entire ocean, and prob'ly spirits have their own world and it's just a little bit ours but mostly theirs. Maybe some spirits don't believe in us." This was far more abstract than the boy usually got, but he was proud of his statement (his statement, not Ma's, and Ma would probably be proud too he hoped). Whether the spirit world was part of their dimension or an entirely other one was far outside his realm of reason or understanding. He was only a child, after all. But so was she. For all his tales and ideals, he was glad to be off the subject of spirits, though now he was onto entirely new terrain. Zèklè's Ma was his entire world, his safety, his courage, his best friend and strongest supporter. The fire of adoration which swelled within his breast at the thought of his Ma was... well, it seemed entirely absent in his newfound friend. The way she spoke of her Ma, like she was a stranger, filled the boy with a profound, confusing sense of sorrow. How awful, not to have that, that bond with a Ma that was better and brighter and stronger than anything else in the world. Yet she didn't seem sad, and as she professed her difficulty with relationships the significance of it went through his ears, past his head. "I like you!" he declared brightly, trying to clear the sorrow which collected uncomfortably in his eyes. He couldn't for the life of him tell why she would have a problem making friends- she seemed great, if a little bit odd, to him. He continued to listen, continued to think. The girl (what would he call her, if she didn't have a name?) was so incredibly different than anyone he had ever met, and it made him both happy and sad, made him feel respected and amazed. She could make monsters out of earth and talk about death, didn't have a name but seemed to know who she was all the more for it. In all his vast experience so far he hadn't seen anyone even close to being like her. He smiled, and frowned, and listened and learned. There was a lot of new things in what she said, but he was determined to catch up. For a moment the only thing he could thing of to say was, "Why K?" because his brain couldn't even figure out any other questions, and that seemed interesting and normal enough. No name- she'd rejected the one given to her by Ma? He'd never heard of that, but it turned out he'd never herd of an awful lot of things, and so why not? Names were important, but weren't they more important to other people, the people who used them? The boy didn't think of himself as Zèklè, not in his head, but then what did he think of himself as? Finally he nodded, sunbeam eyes falling into hers. "I guess I kinda 'stand," he said slowly, though really he wasn't sure he did. "But not really. I like the name my Ma gave me, 'cus it means lightning, and I gots lightning on me." He twisted, not without a little vanity, trying to offer the girl the best view of his shock-of-blue back, spreading the small, lonely wing for maximum effect. Withdrawing his wing, he continued, young tongue struggling to find adult words. "But I guess... if I didn't feel like Zèklè was 'sposed to be my name, I'd hafta find a new one. And some'uv my friends call me Zero, which is ok. But I guess if you wanna choose your own name that's cool, too, 'cus it makes you happy..." He trailed off, suddenly abashed, painfully unaware of how to proceed. Then a though struck him, and with an almost palpable jolt the boy sprung back to enthused life. "Hey! Maybe I can help you find it! 'Cus we're friends 'n all, 'n then I won't hafta just call you spirit in my head all the time." A grin, buoyant, boyish. He didn't think to question that they were friends. Nobody had a conversation like that, he reasoned, and then weren't friends at the end. "'N maybe you can help me fig'r out my magic," he added, a hopeful afterthought, because after all- the girl was obviously really smart. @[Isopia] Z è K L è am i more than you bargained for yet? RE: Living on the highest shelf - Isopia - 04-16-2015
RE: Living on the highest shelf - Zèklè - 04-19-2015 I'LL BE YOUR NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it Fortunately for the feelings of the buoyant boy, the girl's reluctance to confirm their friendship sailed over his head on gossamer wings. He was too pleased with her comment on lightning being cool, and on puzzling out her strange string of 'K'-named relatives (how odd, but he was learning that lots of people saw things in lots of different ways, even silly ways). Zèklè's focus was too much on the adventure of finding a name than the idea that others might find it problematic, how he threw friendship around like a discarded pair of pants. He didn't see her smile because his was too bright.
In short, the boy was still too young and self-involved to notice that his new friend's reluctance to bear her title. The black and auburn face split into a radiant grin, and he shuffled eagerly in the underbrush- there was just too much excitement for him to keep it all still. She suggested they go to the ocean, and he immediately replied with youthful exuberance. "Yeah, I've been to the ocean lots!" He'd been born by an ocean, after all, and Ma liked to take him to the sandy shore, to tell him stories and fill his head with delight. Heck, the Throat was even an island now, surrounded by ocean! He was practically a fish! He tensed, ready to spring into motion, to lead them both to the distant sea, before a horrifying thought stopped him in his tracks. In the excitement of new friendship and their interesting conversation, poor Zèklè had forgotten that he was deeply, hopelessly lost. Sunbeam eyes turned back to the girl, a sheepish smile on his boyish face. "Uh... maybe you should lead the way," Zèklè suggested, one hoof scuffing, embarrassed, at the inoffensive earth. "Jus' so, y'know, we go to the right place'n all." Good save. @[Isopia] Z è K L è am i more than you bargained for yet? |