[O] anything could happen - 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] anything could happen (/showthread.php?tid=18488) |
|||||
anything could happen - Elsa - 03-08-2015
RE: anything could happen - Nymeria - 03-28-2015 This is where she belonged. Here—where she was surrounded by shifting sands, the whisperings of the ocean lapping against the shoreline, the crunch and crackle of kelp beneath her young hooves. There was an awful—awful in a good way—and comforting familiarity to the reek of salt, the keen of the gulls, the glittering lapis lazuli water. She couldn't explain it, not properly—couldn't explain the vast sense of belonging, the sensation of image creditsThe grullo moves idly, almost apathetically, sweltering under the relentless eye of the sun. Sweat dampens and curls her coat, giving her a glossy sheen of silver over her fore- and hindquarters; sand and grit clings to her dampened limbs, grains caught and snagged in each slight imperfection, the creases and crevices where muscle joins. Lungs move, disjointed in their spread and fold, their usefulness reduced by the thickness of the air, the reluctance with which the oxygen cycles through her bloodstream. Occasionally nausea surges—her gorge rises and she halts, breathing coming ragged, as the heat swells and pulsates beneath her charcoal veneer. You know; that... sickly feeling, where your skin warms and prepares to break into sweat, only for the heat to sink deeper into your bones, lurk and wait there; and then it expands outwards again, grotesque and feverish. How painfully jealous she is—and painful being not hyperbole or exaggeration but reality—of her companion. Even in this sweltering, oppressive, and utterly damnably heat, he is happy, reveling in the warmth. Dragons. Sometimes, she just couldn't understand why Volterra even liked them. Perhaps it was only Lil, but they were... so arrogant, greedy and fiendish with an eye for the shiny things. Nostrils quiver, flare, and cusp wide, eyelids slithering in a slow song across her ruby corneas. On she wanders, hooves sinking into the sand, the curves of her path a rhythm, a rhyme unspoken and unsaid, a harmony offset by the creak and rustle of her companion's wings. Ahead a shape, cut from the seafoam and stitched with thread from the clouds, begins to materialize, shaping up from a faint, distant blur to hips and a sharp face and thick sinews. Cradled along a spine of snow were wings, oblong figures of chiseled ivory; even from the distance, she could imagine the feathers whispering in the breeze, crooning to the waves licking up against the pegasus' flanks. Hesitation makes her heart skip a beat, uncertainty making her step falter, and the filly slows, rambling into a lazy halt. Hooded eyes, tight-skinned with worry and wrinkled with thoughts, cast thoughtfully over the picturesque landscape, tracing the wide horizon line. The worm of Lilómiel's thoughts wiggles, uncurls, serpentine, flexing through the unraveling threads of her mind. It probes along through the stitchings of her vague interest, the mild sense of worry, the hard edge of his amusement sharp like a knife against the curve of her throat. Teeth grit together, pearls cranking tightly close to feel the invasive touch of the black's intruding fingertips; go away, she beseeches him, and with a taunt and final prod, he withdraws. Perhaps, if only to annoy him and his solitary ways, the daughter of Confutatis steps into the ocean. Out she goes, to the woman in white awaiting companionship. nymeria what's a king to a god? @[Elsa] RE: anything could happen - Elsa - 04-10-2015
RE: anything could happen - Nymeria - 04-18-2015 The white mare wandered closer, as if to meet her. image creditsNym's nostrils flare a touch wider in response, drawing in a scent that reminded her of the north (where she had met Ophelia and Ktulu and played tag in the snow) but overlaid with a fresher, richer hint of pine, the aroma of warm bodies. A herd? Bright, red eyes flicker and jump over the stranger's pale body, searching furtively for the signs of companionship (groomed fur, carefully arranged feathers, that sort of thing) but coming up without much in way of answer. The grullo unravels her sinews, rearranging muscle into a more casual fit—unconsciously mirroring Elsa's comfy posture. In the back of her skull Lilómiel probes away, his thoughts weaving swiftly through her's. For a brief moment her eyelids drift, almost in an expression of agony, over her red eyes—and then she hides away her quarrelous temper and goes sanding off her impatience's edge. No, she scolds herself. I will not act like him. She will not fall to such petty means as to constantly meddle in Lilómiel's head, to dig through his thoughts and pry apart his "private" memories. Privacy. Ha! That was rich. Any semblance of privacy was long written off by the invasion of her dragon's beliefs. Somehow the pale mare has gotten much closer. Now she's on the sand, her head lowered, eyes like polished sapphires gleaming with an almost tender light. Nym's breath comes a little too short, a betrayal of her anxiety, but she stays focused. Be polite. The pegasus was being kind—and she needed to return it. If not with actual kindness, then with... courtesy. She scrambles for something nice to say, but all she finds is cruelty tainting her tongue, resentment in her thoughts. I'm not a girl. Defiance twists Nymeria's youthful features, a flash of arrogance and condescension and pain tearing through her composure before she clamps down on the brittle emotions. It hurts, not being with Mother. "They took away my mom," the dark girl responds, and her heart aches to say it. I want her back. She wants—she wants mommy. She wants to curl up against Confutatis' flank and sleep beneath her hooves and be with her brother and be safe and gods why didn't she get to have that? How many levels of fucked-up did you have to be to take away someone's parents? Not even parents—sole parent, only mother, whose only purpose was to raise herkids? How could they do that? How could they get away with it? Confutatis hadn't done anything! She had only protected Volterra and Nymeria. And suddenly there's grief written all over the filly's features and she can feel Lil's thoughts rubbing up against her like a cat against a leg, a dog licking her metaphorical face, trying to clean up those messy, messy emotions. But he can't. Eyes close, brows squirrel together. I will not cry. Mother didn't deserve a crybaby for a kid. She could be strong. She would be. For mom. "I don't care about companions. I just want my mom back." nymeria what's a king to a god? @[Elsa] OOC: I'm sorry for the angst I'm not really sure where it came from ;__; RE: anything could happen - Elsa - 04-22-2015
RE: anything could happen - Ampere - 04-25-2015
@[Ísfold] @[Amani] - I wanted to jump in on this thread for her patrol, but if it's gonna fuck up your timelines or you don't want to, then we can do another thread. I'm guessing this is pre-invasion. RE: anything could happen - Nymeria - 04-28-2015 Those pale, bright eyes meet hers, chips of cold glass in a frozen face, and Nym fights the urge to shrink back. Courage. It swells and pulsates beneath her dark veneer, an ebbing tide she can't hold onto. There's so much life raging in that wintry gaze; a fire that would belong more to red and orange than blue, a maternal caring the filly doesn't understand. How can this pegasus feel for what is not hers? How can she muster the slightest twinge of sympathy for someone she's never met before? image creditsLilómiel's chest vibrates against her shoulders, a dull, inaudible purr rolling in cadence to her heart's drumbeat. The silent Nymeria's ears flick back uncertainly, audits snapping back to pin momentarily against her skull's crown. Simultaneously, her neck arcs in a sloppy question mark at odds with her composed—almost eerily still—features. Red eyes flick away from glacial blue, skittering downwards to land on her own small, familiar hooves. Silently she examines them. One, two, three, four. Four grains of sand. Five, six, seven, eight. Her focal point collapses inwards, and the tension melts away from her taunt sinews in the same manner of summer dew struck by the morning sun. Anxiety quelled, the grullo's slender nostrils work wide; Lil chirps a welcome cadence, a fluttering and quiet trumpet. The notes wash over her, an elaboration on her symphony of familiarity. And then it's interrupted by hooves drumming on sand and black wings and tossed-up dirt, voltaic eyes and a deafening presence, like a thunderhead or a stormcloud or a jab of lightning through the sky. No subtlety. Nym shrinks away, ears sloping back and tail flexing tightly against her haunches, jerked into a sudden and unpleasant fear by Ampere's arrival. There was a rather large difference between choosing to join a crowd as opposed to being swarmed by one, and it was a distinction she realized (imminently) she detested. We'll get her back. Eyes squint close and teeth clutch tighter. I shouldn't have said anything. She didn't want... someone else to get mom back. She wanted to be the hero. She wanted to save the day. Nymeria wanted her mother's stamp of approval, and admiration, and love. Not for strangers to seize what should be her moment. Blatant desire and conceit wage war, before she is sidetracked by Elsa's inquiry tip-tapping on her ears. Who did it? There's certain notes of fury begin to bud within a house of concern and well-meant care, an undertow unseen by the swimmers on the shore; but for now, she lets it wash over her, harmless. Maybe the pale pegasus was only feeding her curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet... that growing, fiendish... well, Nym didn't know how to describe it, but there was something gripping beneath Elsa's feigned control, something she wasn't sure she liked. Still, she gropes for an answer. In the passage of time it had all blurred together, dark features smeared in dust and shadow, burning flames and ash. It's difficult to pinpoint characteristics more tangible than wild and fearsome and primitive. "I..." Swallow. Lilómiel's silvered talons hook gently, eight pricks to hold her together. "He was big, with horns like a deer and wings like a hawk, but mostly he was... loud." And not just verbally—but physically as well. There had been a certain way to his carriage that pronounced his swarthy muscles, sharpened his bones' edges, something equal parts captivating and terrifying... but mostly terrifying. "I-I—" and she stutters off into silence, tail whipping across gray flanks. Ruby irises flicker away desperately, stumbling over sand and soil, searching for something to grasp her attention. Your name. Nymeria didn't w a n t to give up her name. It was precious; the sweet N melting into the 'y' and 'm', the eerie softness to the rolling end. You're being stupid. It wasn't as if Elsa was asking for her soul, after all. She just wanted to help her out... her and mom. What if Elsa found mom? What if she didn't know what to tell mother because Nym had refused to tell her her name? Choking down her "I... I'm not supposed to tell strangers my name." 'Cause, you know. Stranger danger. "... but since you're looking for mother, it's Nymeria." A weak smile twines on her lips, something faint and nervous and There was a snap of wings and a rush of cold air, a thunder of sound roaring for attention against the rumble of surf on sand. Her head belatedly snaps upwards, her subservient body language shredded by surprise as Edgar flaps his way down. Along her spine, her dragon recoils, muscles twitching and tying together until he readies himself into a hunting pose—prepared to surge into defensive action. Hardened ruby eyes, hawk's eyes planted in a draconian face, fixate on the white bird, claws shifting and sliding against Nymeria's fur in a pretense of aggression. Sharp anger licks against the edge of Nym's mind, a ragged blade chafing comfort away. Elsa rolls her eyes, a glint of silver along blue. It's more this capricious movement than Edgar's coo that relaxes the filly—even in their modest acquaintanceship, the pegasus is still more familiar than the odd 'phoenix'. And so, with a brisk settle down, Lil, the grullo lets her attention roll back to Ampere. "She looks like me." Down to the skull marking. "And her name's Confutatis, but don't tell her I told you that. She might be angry." Lil croons, replaying the black mare's questions in her head. Irascible, Nym shifts her weight, popping up a shoulderblade slightly, attempting to reprimand him gently by moving him off-balance. I know. His curiosity rubs against her cautiousness, hungering for whys. But he doesn't need to know why, not when he can go combing through her brain anyways. She just hopes they don't notice she didn't answer the whole bit 'bout a place to stay. It might be nice to get out of the storms and her self-inflicted isolation, but she sure as hell didn't want to be packing up her bags and moving in with strangers looking for someone to solve their midlife crisis. nymeria what's a king to a god? @[Elsa] OOC: I wrote this post in a more broken-up way than usual, so I hope I got everything right and the timeline of Ampere's entrance correct! <3 Also @Ísfold and @Amani; just jump in whenever! I was pretty vague on placement and their appearance or non-appearance. Edited to fix a couple things to make the flow smoother. |