[O] six shooter — - 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] six shooter — (/showthread.php?tid=23002) |
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six shooter — - Kid - 02-21-2016 kid
I hadn't noticed the change, not at that time, I didn't for a while. It was a shift, something in me moving subtly until it all just— clicked. I didn't know what it was, but I could feel a different type of energy taking root. It was quiet, I likely wouldn't have noticed it. That is, until I got curious. Of course you'd get curious too if something inside fell into place so perfectly, something that set off a spark, ignited a fire inside that you knew was meant for something great. I wondered whether or not I should ask Mother or Sabre about it, what exactly it was. But I feared they wouldn't understand, that they would question what I was babbling about. Instead I kept quiet, waiting until I could slip away from our residence in the forest to the meadow that borders it. I kept my lips sealed, getting out from under the sharp steel watch of my dam, fleeing from the confines of the pines to the welcoming expanse of the southwest. I burst from the treeline, panting and itching to know what it was that had manifested within me. How do I trigger it? What is it? I look back, huffing in frustration. I had to piece things together, needed to figure out what had changed. Cotton candy eyes fall shut, my breathing goes hesitant— calm. I'm reaching out, searching for something that will give me a sign as to what I'm supposed to do. What is it that's clawing at me from the bottom of my stomach? It's beyond ticklish, it's starting to hurt. I have to draw in another breath, letting my body do whatever it wants. Click. My left hind leg rises, the hoof coming off the ground with little resistance. It's hesitant, slow, but my hoof draws in, the leg lifts higher. Click. Before I even realize my hoof is soaring through the air, whistling and kicking back. Bang. The itching pressure in my belly dulls, lessens. I hear something whizzing through the air, embedding itself into a tree ten feel behind me. Midnight ears perk up, bubble gum eyes following the invisible trail. I rush forward, eyes growing wider as I see it— a rock sunken a few centimeters into the base of a tree. I'm buzzing with excitement, ecstatic at the idea of having this. Whatever it is, it's will bring me a great advantage. All kings are powerful but I will bring a new meaning to power. I giggle at the possibilities of this magic, that I have been granted such powerful magic— it's fate. All seriousness aside, this was incredible! I have to go show Sabre, I want to show her how cool this is— and Mother too! Maybe she won't bite or kick me anymore knowing that I now have the power to fight back. Maybe not. I don't think I want to make Mother super mad, she'd probably eat me (she's threatened to do so before). The burning wounds of her recent lashings bring a grim reminder that maybe I shouldn't try to stand up for myself. They litter my back and withers— that seems to be Mother's go to spot. I can feel the bruises too, every time I shift my weight to my left side, my shoulder cries out. It was an unexpected attack— it was because Mother thought I was being greedy, when really I was hungry because she hadn't fed us for a day. Instead she'd wandered off and left us there. And when she returned she was angry. She lashed out at me in particular, I refused to scrunch up my face in pain despite how much I wanted to— I couldn't show weakness. "Talk." the boy king RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 02-21-2016
RE: six shooter — - Kid - 02-21-2016 kid
I looked up, having heard the whistling of wings in the wind. My ears go slack, features dropping in disappointment. For a second I'd believed it to be a bird, but this was much fatter— and uglier —than a bird. I wrinkle my nose, knowing well the familiar diseased form of a winged horse. This one has a streaming banner of red waving behind her. AS if that makes her any better. I lift a lip in disgust, letting it curl and the venom of my hate brew in my gut. I gazed up at her, "what about this." I raise a brow, wondering why she's done this. I look back, hearing the sounds of lapping water. Does she also have magic? Who let something so inferior get such power? Bubble gum darkens, a seriousness befalling my features. Does she want to see more? I question, glancing up at the girl. Why? I eye the rock pile suspiciously, questioning what she means for me to do. Does she want me to shoot the rocks into the pool? My brow remains raised as I glance up at the ebony youth. My nose wrinkles up at the sight of her thick body accented by large wings, swallowing the sky above my head. How dare she think she can go above me. I'm going to be a king one day, and when I am she's going to regret ever doing this. All of Mother's words pound through my head— her burning words of hatred against the other races. And this girl— she will see no kindness on my behalf. Even if she has granted me a target range, I will not let her gifts waver my disgust at the plagued maiden. "I don't need it." I speak bluntly, ears flat and brows narrowed. I speak firmly, reverting to the ungrateful brat my Mother would never allow in her presence. I'd learned to hold my tongue around her, the bites along my cheek and neck are enough to show I'd learned— but that didn't mean I didn't let myself go when Mother wasn't around. It's a shame Sabre isn't here, we could be a mean team. But alas— she's probably off on her own adventures, or stuck being interrogated by Mother on my whereabouts. For now I'll stand my own to this disease ridden creature and show her what true power looks like. "Talk." the boy king RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 02-21-2016
@Kid RE: six shooter — - Kid - 02-26-2016 kid
I took notice of the shimmering bronze scales of something I had wished did not belong to her. But there, as she landed, was a metallic dragon who glided onto it's perch upon her back. My stomach dropped and my blood stirred, ivory brows knitting together as I kept my eyes glued to the winged reptile. Why did she get one? I look her over, paying attention to the growths behind her ears and the mangled feathery tumours upon her shoulders. I grunted in disapproval, letting my mind piece together that which I barely knew. Dragons were for equines. They didn't bond with others, so why did this one follow her? I look at it, and then back to the girl with her cruelly patterned face, and back again. "You don't deserve that." I answer calmly, flicking back an ear at my statement. She didn't. With such disgusting blood like that, I wouldn't take a second to guess she had forcefully bonded to the companion— could you do that? That's the only reason that makes sense for this pretty thing to be tagging around behind that. She probably stole it from someone unsuspecting and made away in the night, and that made me angrier than just being in her presence. I give her a second to register what I said before she speaks up, calling my shot lucky. I look offended almost, but angry too. How dare she said it was a lucky shot. I'll show her who the lucky one is when I get a bullet in her eye! I snort at her comment, furrowing my brows and looking up at her with seething anger. "I'll practice, but I don't need your help to do so." I flicked a glance towards the water ring, secretly trying to avoid shooting for fear of proving the smug mongrel right. I had an excuse! I'd only just gotten this magic. I looked repulsed (I always did in the presence of such gross things like her—) and shocked that she had the audacity to speak to me like this. That she doubted I would ever be any good at the magic I had, that I would assume I was a natural born wielder of this new power (maybe I did just She asks me a question that really sets me off, my frown deepening and features getting more contorted as I tried to show how smelly and gross she was. "Because you're that." I motioned to her entire being— her entire existence. "Aren't you ashamed? Why, you're probably so sick, you don't even know how icky you are. Has anyone ever tried to get those gross wings off your sides? Don't you want them gone so you can be normal?" I say wings like it's a tabooed word, like the very mention of it might bring Mother to the field to smite me. All in three seconds flat. "And those pointy things! Yuck." I was half tempted to turn my head as if to look at Sabre for back up before recalling that she wasn't there, that I was alone. "Thank goodness no one in my family is like you." I could confirm this because Mother told me that Volterra was an equine too. That brought me reassurance, that I'm not related to anything so diseased like this pitiful girl. It had taken a few weeks to get it out of her though— that was the equivalent of a lot of punishment. Anything related to "father" was a banned topic, one that if Mother even thought we were going to mention she'd go into rage mode and beat us until satisfied that we wouldn't mention it again (Of course I did). I brought it up continually until finally she crumbled and snapped at me, clearing up the topic of at least Volterra's race. "Talk." the boy king nice kid, straight to the point RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 02-27-2016
@Kid RE: six shooter — - Kid - 02-27-2016 kid
I looked at the dragon and then at the mare, assessing her lack of a response in the facial region. What I wanted was a reaction, some kind of response from her. It was frustrating not to get anything— no surprise, no confusion, no anger, nothing. Not getting it was frustrating, but I bit it back as she finally responded to me. It was a male dragon that settled with the girl, like that changed anything. And I never mentioned any desert (or did she mean dessert?). Her question confirms my sneaking suspicions that their brains must be smaller, that they must not be as smart as us. That or she was hard of hearing— probably the former. "I didn't say anything about dessert..." I rolled my eyes and gave a huff to show my annoyance. I felt like I was trying to talk to a completely different species (oh wait, I am). I look at her, frowning further as she keeps talking (did I even say she could talk?). "Well— I don't need your magic to practice either." I spit, subtly trying to mimic the way my mother spoke to me. It still needed some work. But with the amount of trouble I get in, I'm sure I'd eventually get a hang of it. "And yeah I need more practice, I know that. I'm not stupid— unlike some of us here..." My sentence ended with the last bit falling into an annoyed mumble. Whether she heard it or not all depended on whether or not she decided to actually start hearing. But her words made my She didn't look hurt when I insulted her, she didn't cry, didn't look offended, she just sat there stone cold. She didn't give me the response I wanted, and that frustrated me. How could she just sit there and listen to me say such mean things about her (they were mean, right?) Maybe she was still processing what I said (I did say a lot, her little brain probably needs another minute). She drops her words, and inside I'm outright I paused as I ran back over her words. What was.. tribrid. I look at her suspiciously, raising and eyebrow and questioning whether I should even ask her or not. I decided to keep my mouth shut, because whatever information she spewed probably wouldn't be correct. "Well, you should be ashamed. Doesn't mean you have to. But I think you should be—" I cut myself off because telling her she should also keep her stupid mouth shut just doesn't seem to fit well with that sentence. Maybe at another time. But she questions what my family is like, telling me what hers is like without me even asking (totally uncalled for, I didn't even want to know). But now I know what tribrid means. Her mother was an equine, and I guess her father was... super icky. "Well that makes your mother stupid. Didn't she know your father was icky?" I snorted, raising my head as if that will somehow show off my clean pedigree without me even having to say anything. "My mother is an equine, and my—" Well, father doesn't seem like the right word. He isn't, he's just... Volterra. A name, no face, no position in my family, not even a special label to mark our connection. "Volterra is equine too." I say bitterly, "Talk." the boy king RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 02-27-2016
@Kid RE: six shooter — - Kid - 02-27-2016 kid
I huffed, looking up at the girl. I didn't ask for her to spew shit at me like this. "Well, whatever. It's a stupid word." I murmur, glancing off to the side and flattening my ears. I didn't want to admit to myself that she was even remotely close to being smart. She didn't deserve the recognition I was giving her, the attention. I should have just ignored her when she approached me because this conversation was making my temper flare. Bubblegum locked onto the mongrel's features, hoping for any form of expression. This girl was surprisingly uneventful, her face didn't do anything. I'd gone through and insulted her, her family, told her her parents were total idiots and here she is blank faced. I wanted to scream and her until she did something. But there she was, as solid and expressionless as some shitty statue. I'm half tempted to stomp around her and hope she reacts somehow. Trying to assess someone who does nothing sucks. Just as I'm about to execute my plan (insult until she cries or I get too impatient), she finally does execute a response. Her face scrunches up like she's just remembered smelling someone's month old shit that's been over baked in the sun. I take her expression, feeling victorious that my words did that to her. But I was also confused, although not showing it. How could her mother not have a choice. "What do you mean? How did she not have a choice? It's not like she had to have you." I say 'you' with a light brush of disgust, still trying to pick apart the mare and her disgusting tainted lineage. I wanted to pluck at this girl's emotions, to manipulate her emotions for my own entertainment. This response was especially enticing to witness, the way her mouth shut and her eyes closed. I took in the subtle movements, willing my excitement to die down. I was experimenting, testing foreign waters that would open the gates to my future, to my life of manipulation and destruction. I shrug at her noticing Volterra lacked the title he should have been given, the title I didn't think really fit him. "Well, you wouldn't call someone you've never met your father, would you?" I ask dully, eyes flitting off to the side, uneasy. Somewhere out there, Mother must be sharpening a thousand knives, getting them all ready for me. I swear she could hear me talk about this tabooed subject from a million miles away— and she would not be happy when I returned to her side. But also I wonder where Volterra is, whether he even knows of the existence of his children, if he even remembers my mother. This is a fatal slip up on my part, thinking about the whereabouts of this ghost I notice the way she cannot complete the sentence, the way it halts from falling from her lips and stays there. it lingers and does not dare come out, and I raise my brow innocently. "Are they what?" I question, wanting her to spit the uncompleted pieces of her sentence out even though I could take a good guess at what it was she couldn't say. Her next sentence falls out, my eyes watching her throat as she swallows thickly, noting the subtle hesitance in her syllables. If I hadn't been listening so closely and paying attention to the little things she does, I wouldn't have noticed and simply passed it off. But there I was, assessing the way she spoke after I brought up Volterra. It seemed to strike something in her, and that excited me but also brought me great confusion. Did she know Volterra? "I don't know where it came from." I offered no help, because in reality I did not know. I didn't know that either of my parents had magic, that either of them were gifted like me. If Volterra had magic, does that mean Sabre does too? I told myself to ask Mother about magic later, when I got back— and she was less angry. My eyes wander to the girl's face again, determining the proper words to use against her in this scenario with the knowledge I have. I take a guess, using her response as a base to my question. "You know him, don't you?" "Talk." the boy king RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 02-27-2016
@Kid RE: six shooter — - Kid - 03-07-2016 kid
I raise a brow at her choppy response, curious as to what she meant by necessary (and as to why she spoke so awkwardly there). How could someone's birth be a necessary matter (little do I know, mine technically was too— at least to Mother), was it that important that something so vile produce more filth? I peer up at the towering ebony female, flicking back my ears as a sign of my confusion on this topic. "How are you necessary?" I don't tone down my harshness, meaning for it to be a snide comment about her existence. I was merely trying to have some fun, a little jest if you will. If I had hands to gesture with, I would have done so when I spoke, wishing to motion to the entirety of her being in a cruel mocking manner as I spoke 'you'. I was poking fun at her, anything to make her react in a manner that wasn't awkwardly uneventful. Somehow during this encounter I felt like I was conversing with a bag of rocks, perhaps a tree (but that's an insult to rocks— and trees). If I'd wanted an emotionless void to talk to, I would have tried aunt Nymeria. I listen in when she begins to say something, frowning when only a fraction of a sentence comes out. Why wouldn't she continue? What was she going to say, and why had she so suddenly cut herself off? "You what?" I demanded, narrowing my brows and showing not a shred of regret at asking the question. She was only proving her disloyalty to the future king with such foolish acts like this, not sharing information was a foul game to play against me. I give her time to dwell on the churning thoughts within, the spoken syllables that have fallen between us. What is it that she thinks about now as I— the most important thing at this time— ponder my own things. I didn't need to hear her pity stories, her harrowing tales of her father or some bullshit that's supposed to make me feel any better. Whatever it is she was going to say, I didn't need to hear it and I regret asking about it. It was simply an impulsive action, a reaction to having something kept from me. I was no -together. What a thought. I listen to the word seep from the ebony lips slow, oh so painfully slow, as thought she can't bring herself to say it. As if the thought of togetherness is repulsive to her, like the idea of Volterra and Mother being together is a terrifyingly awful concept to her. She speaks low, quiet and deep. Something is amiss, something I can't place my foot on just yet, but desire to. Why did she care for the relationship between Mother and Volterra? Why had she had such difficulty spitting out the word 'together' as though it's poison, as if she spoke it she'd seal her fate? "Why do you care if they're together or not?" I inquire, bubblegum eyes unblinking as I gaze at her, transfixed on the skull-carved features of the mongrel before me. Her announcement of Sabre and I being the result of a one time fling is no news to me. I'd known from the days after my birth that I was not going to see a father figure in my life, that I was going to be raised a bastard child alongside my sister. I was quick to accept that, because I hadn't gotten the taste of a paternal figure, so I wasn't going to miss something I'd never had. I didn't see need for one. At this ripe young age, I have yet to develop a knowledge of love and its almighty powers— it's fake promise of conquering all difficulties that stand before it. Even now the idea is nasty, an abhorrent concept of others swooning for each other and devoting their lives to a single other creature who will eventually cease to exist. I bitterly resent those happy, prancing fools with all my might, their heads clouded with all too bright fantasies about things that aren't going to benefit anyone but themselves. There are more important things to admire— me for instance. At my question, she forgets being a stoic statue of stone and snaps her attention to my skeletal features, ears leaning too far forward far too quick. Her reaction is immediate, and the game is afoot. I witness the shift in her cold visage, in the way her eyes are frantically pulled to me at the question I produce. My lips twitch as I taste victory upon my tongue, sweet and splendid. She speaks, mentioning the Riftian wars. That I know nothing of, and it peeks my interest. The mention of war sends a shiver up my spine, prickling and exhilarating as the word befalls her lips. I am all too young to know the adrenaline pumping, pulse pounding, bone rattling excitement and joy of war, but I can feel that I was meant for it— deep in the marrow of my bones I know. I know that I hail from warlords and conquerors, from gunmen and bandits alike, I am the conjoining of two separate bloodlines— an ultimate breed made for the destruction and pillage of insignificant lands. I will become a bearer of calamity, a king of carnage and ruin. She has mentioned my aunt too, Nymeria. Tied to Volterra in blood, I have only met with her once. That was during my birth, when life was all too fuzzy and faint— her face only remains because our features are mirrored, our genetics passed to show our hollowed eyes and daunting teeth. We bear marks of death, tied at birth we are both bringers of massacre, bad omens to travelers and passersby— we are bad luck on legs, wielding power behind our white masks. We are fear itself, harbingers of despair and chaos. "What herd is that?" Mother had briefed Sabre and I on the herds, not dwelling too long on any of them. She had a resentment for them, like their names left a bad taste in her mouth. I knew limited information on them, but enough to know where they generally were, whether they could be trusted or pushed away, and whether I was allowed to wander near them (the latter two are disappointing— I cannot trust nor wander towards any of them). I ask for Nymeria's position because I'd like to know where I can seek out the one connection to Volterra, the one line that links Sabre and I to our other family. Mother seems to disapprove of this one connection— this interruption during our birth that came in the form of an unwanted relative. She seemed to loathe after the coal black woman and her dragon, but I looked up to her. At the time of my birth, Nymeria had been all that Mother appeared naught— she was elegant, mysterious, subtly petrifying and intimidating in ways that Mother could never be. I sought her out, sought for her to teach me her ways of mystery and guise. "Talk." the boy king wayyyy longer than intended, but hopefully it makes up for the wait ~ @Isopia RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 04-20-2016
@Kid RE: six shooter — - Kid - 04-20-2016 kid
What I lacked (very thoroughly, thanks Mother) was an understanding of the gods. I'd never before heard of them, never even bothered to think of them— despite believing myself to be some gift sent by the divine, I truthfully was inadequately educated on the existence of these deities. How many were there? Was there only one? Did they have names? Speaking of, most of Helovia's history escaped my mind because Mother has never bothered to talk to me about it (I know she's not some history major but shit, I'm clueless), meaning I don't know what roles these gods have played. She's too busy scolding me, beating and bruising my growing bones and biting my baby flesh— she doesn't have time to consider teaching me Helovia's past. It was all a blank slate, clean and untainted by any of Mother's thoughts and opinions— things that would warp the way I perceive others (and really already do). Perhaps now is the time to learn, to request knowledge from the god born. It takes her a good time to even explain where her lines are from, that she was necessary because the demigod who proceeded her passed on— thus she was created. My mind attempts to comprehend the idea that gods needed to have children, that they could not settle their earthly matters on their own (what were they doing— whatever gods do— that couldn't wait?), and needed ambassadors. "What happened to him?" It completely passes me that gods are immortal (because I don't know that), and that it makes the most logical sense that their children inherit some of that immortality as well— so how does a child of a god come to die? And so she proclaims herself a demigod, a child have mortal and half all mighty— a being with golden blood and mortality that is an advocate for peace among the lesser. "Yes but why, what's the purpose of a god having a child?" I pause temporarily because what are the gods? They must be oh so important if they must have little mongrels crawling around Helovia. "How many gods are there?" Hopefully not a lot, I can't imagine being surrounded by so much filth— whether they popped out of a godly tryst or not, they were gross. I stare, unblinking into her aureate eyes with little to learn there— they're closed off, distanced and keeping something there behind them (they always are), something precious and secret that cannot be freed. Whatever she keeps in these confines, I do not know, not unless I pick and pry in an attempt to learn what she hides. I crave to discover these secrets, pleasantly thrilled at the idea that perhaps I could dig around, explore the detachment of her gaze with all the tools I have (which are few). So I plot meticulously, looking thoughtfully into the safe mind hidden behind a gruesomely engraved skull marking— deep into a place I could not venture. "Well, you would think you cared with the way you were struggling to even ask," she had let the question fall unfinished from her lips until I demanded a response from her, pushed her towards what she sought in secrecy rather than letting her avoid the topic. I continue to prod, probing deeper into the subject to see if I could get anything more from her— that she wouldn't continue to brush the topic off. "So what does it matter to you if two strangers are together?" I blink, playing my hand carefully in the way I prod into this woman's emotions, desperate to know what more she's hidden. A prolonged silence leads me to believe that perhaps after The Hidden Falls. It's a simple answer, one that needs no more elaboration. Mother had told me (very thoroughly, in fact) where each herd rested in Helovia's borders. The Falls was to the north, a short day's journey from our residence in the forest— far enough that I could slip away without getting caught by Mother's steel sights and return before she noticed my absence. "Have you ever talked to her?" It's an easy enough question to answer, but I fear the caped woman will take it the wrong way and I'll find her shortening the answer to a yes or no. But I didn't make an attempt to reiterate, instead watching and shuffling my feet absently with bubblegum eyes locked onto the mottled brown mare. "Talk." the boy king @Isopia ~ RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 04-20-2016
@Kid RE: six shooter — - Kid - 04-20-2016 kid
I wait with learned patience, counting the seconds that tick by between my question and her response time (I count at least seven), eyes blinking sloooowly as she finally begins to open her mouth to speak. The information that my curiosity brings (nothing macabre or twisted, just an itching need to know what happened to her predecessor as dying doesn't cover it). Murder— the term was loosely known, an immoral action that presents itself on a platter of great disaster, a cataclysmic event to which a life (or lives) can be lost at the hands of an emotionally driven (or ruthless) individual or individuals. It's nothing pleasant, to say the least. It is a subject Mother only once spoke of, late in the evening when Sabre slept and my mind wandered— I had found myself questioning the definitions of all the words I'd picked up in my travels, what this meant and what that meant. Mother seemed almost repulsed when I asked her what murder was, if it was something to look forward to or something And now I'm baffled (though my face does not show it), because she says a few seasons ago— but she is not a few seasons old, her still developing structure places her at a few years. Do children of gods grow up quickly? Do they stop growing? My lashes batter in thought, gazing out into my blurred realm of contemplation (a messy, poorly blended horizon) as my questions wander. Does this mean she could be as young as I am but have aged so quick I would not know? What a weird idea, one that actually seems repulsive to me "What kind of balance was she trying to achieve by sacrificing others?" This question follows immediately the sentence that inspires it— why must the moon goddess take away (what I could only assume to be innocent) lives? What was she gaining by breaking families and causing such chaos? This was no way to achieve balance, no way to be a god. It was cruel, unnecessary punishment laid upon the mortals by a divine hand. My stomach knots and teeth clench at the image of Sabre being taken by these murders, made a sacrifice to create balance— how sick. And so the demi weaves a tale, telling me more about the history of Helovia than Mother has ever even considered. A puppet for the goddess, Gaucho, is used as a mortal dummy to create calamity among everyone— he is a victim— but unlike the others, he does not die (at least that's what I assume, she doesn't mention whether he survives or perishes). In an act of bravery and defiance the first child of the earth falls at the moon's hands (what a terrible thing). "Was the earth god mad?" How could he not have been— his son fell at the hands of one of his associates (what a cruel joke). She goes on to talk about the gods and their greatness, making it seem like they were unfathomably fantastic and beings of epic proportion. It was a hard thing to imagine, considering that I'm so young and my mind has yet to imagine these incomprehensible existences— that they were apart of something more than just what they perceived to be. "So you're supposed to be connectors to Helovia and them? An advocate or representative?" I'm trying to take in these words and ideas, to not cast judgement on the moon goddess or the actions of Gaucho or Hototo— but see with an open mind the way the gods live and speak to their followers. I personally (with earthen magic, controlled by this girl's father) see no reason to pursue these gods, that I've lived months without knowing their existence— proving that I don't need to pray or sacrifice in their names to get the magic they so dutifully shared with the rest of our land, that they did not play a key role in my development until now— so why start here? It may seem selfish or idiotic to cast aside their I don't live in any herd, so maybe that too plays a role in why I haven't learned anything about these gods— why they've been void in my life until now. Mother probably would have kept me from learning about them for as long as she could knowing her— dragging me from any mythical happenings to prevent run ins with deities she probably doesn't have faith in until I'm finally big and strong enough to squirm away from her grip. I try to hold in my annoyance, feeling offended that she would think I would cry. The idea of sobbing is a repulsive thought, absolutely not something I would ever do. My eyes run dry from my lack of tears, my willful refusal to submit to Mother's labels— weak— that is what I am not. She may force that name upon me every chance she gets, but I will never bow to it, never consider it my own. I will not fall under her ideals, not give her the satisfaction of being right. "I don't cry, or 'burst into tears'." My voice falls flat and low considering it's still at its squeaky, undeveloped state (where I sound like a chorus of mice every time I open my mouth). My lack of amusement at her willingness to skirt around the subject because she believes I might be sensitive (bullshit) sours my mood, an ear dropping in accordance to her words. Personally, I feel offended that she would even consider me bawling at how mommy and daddy aren't together! I raise a brow, unamused at the hulking shoulders she shrugs and her confession that she doesn't know what to talk to boys about. "Anything, literally anything." I'm not having any of your gender specific conversations today, no ma'am— I am shoving that pile of shit right back at you if you think I'm going to accept that you're struggling for a topic to discuss with a boy. "It's no different than if you were talking to a girl. It's not like we have to talk about dicks or masculinitybecause I'm a boy." I furrow my brows, looking up at the giantess with disapproval and an unpleasant bitterness in my mouth. Does she think that because I'm a boy, we have to talk about specific things like muscles or strength I nod my head along, listening to her talk about accepting my aunt into the Falls, babbling about how she has only seen her a few times since then— she doesn't have all the information I need, but enough. "What's your rank?" She'll probably be something big and fancy because she's living in her father's lands— she's gotta have some privilege, right? "Was she nice?" This is another question, asked as our eyes lock in a battle between molten gold and petal pink— our attempts to see deep into one another intercepting each other (dammit). I needed information, to know whether Nymeria was someone approachable or if I risked losing my head to her (to which she would lose her head to Mother). "Talk." the boy king @Isopia pfff its mostly just the muse this thread is giving me C": also sooo much longer than i intended oops RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 04-21-2016
@Kid RE: six shooter — - Kid - 04-21-2016 kid I narrow my brows, thinking about what possible futures could create such chaos that the gods need to intervene— that one of them has to murder in order to reroute history, narrowly avoiding a cataclysmic event by taking the lives of a handful of individuals. What a twisted thing. I won't voice or express the displeasure that runs through me at these vulgar ideas (who would even think of killing innocents?), instead keeping quiet as the demigoddess explains with a shrug of her shoulders. She even unfurls her wings (wow they're big) for a brief moment to express further that she doesn't quite know the reasoning behind the goddess' murder. She expresses that she isn't entirely sure what her father felt after the death of her half brother— something akin to sadness is what she claims. 'Hototo was... more like him than I am...' "What's the earth god like?" My mind is a blank slate, the possibilities for the earth god's personality endless— a neutral god, a fair one? Maybe he has a temper (nah), or is easy to impress— I could probably sit here all day wondering what kind of persona the deity wears, but why waste that time when I can simply as his child? "Well... isn't it kind of pointless to have representatives here when they don't even know what they're doing?" A brow arcs, wondering what things they could possibly do in their parents name (and why the sun god's child burst into flames, like shouldn't they be immune?). I shrug nonchalantly at the pointlessness of the demigods in their oblivious state— it's not my problem— I'm a king, not a peacekeeper or mystical phenomena. I listen to her explanation on why she'd used the term boy rather than child or kid (really, if she had used that she would've been spot on). I noticed the contorted confusion that laid itself out on her canine carved features, obviously showing that she didn't realize I would misinterpret her words. I flatten my ears and glance off to my left, huffing and puffing with displeasure because my name practically is child or boy— there's really no difference between them. Mother's unoriginality in naming me has finally reared its ugly head (I knew it would happen eventually). I heave a great sigh in protest, rolling my eyes with an obvious lack of enthusiasm in introducing myself. "My name is Kid." My title rolls off my tongue easy enough, but it comes out stiff and leaves a tart taste on my tongue. I'm expecting a laugh, `a restrained snort or tell tale tremble of her sides that shows that indeed she was entertained at how pathetically ridiculous my name was (because who names their kid... Kid?) "Will you tell me your name?" Really, it seemed only fair. An eye for an eye— right? It was a simple enough question, but it meant so much more than an easy exchange. It was deep, a form of trust eagerly placed between two absolute strangers (could you call us strangers?)— we'd exchanged things much more important than names, you think we could trust each other now that we'd shared so much (more like she's shared so much and I've just— questioned everything). So my theory on gods' children growing rapidly seems to be correct (lucky me), my eyes looking her over cautiously, suddenly curious on how it felt to grow up quickly— to wake up several months older and several inches taller (ha, I wish). "It all depends on the child— some are content with talking about pretty animals and shit," I almost snicker at the idea of me babbling on about buzzing bumble bees and pretty pink flowers (look! They match my eyes!). "Others— not so much." I was perfectly pleased with chatting about whatever I could— any information that my grubby little child hands could grasp. It was easy to sneak around and innocently play along, asking questions that adults wouldn't hesitate to answer because 'who would deny such a sweet child answers?' They probably don't even think I'll remember them by the time I've grown up, or my mind is so muddled and unorganized that I won't even hear half of what they're saying (jokes on them because of course I'm paying attention). "That's— a misleading title then." Is my answer to her claiming the title of storyteller. "Do you ever actually tell stories or is it just a lie?" As fine as I am with lying, what if the children seek her out to ask for a mystical, harrowing tale? Will she pass them off to speak with her sire or actually listen to their request and settle in for a fable to share? And she fights! As cool as it sounds, is she any good? Or maybe she just plays the part of the practice dummy and gets battered around (hard to imagine someone her size getting battered around though). "Are you good at fighting?" It seems absolutely outrageous to even consider asking her to later teach me to fight (maybe I will take her up on that offer to practice my magic), but if she has proficient skills— maybe it could work out? Except that she's much bigger and stronger than me (and will always be much bigger, I'm doomed to be a shrimp), and so her fighting style probably accommodates that into the equation while mine will factor in my size (when I grow)— so it's pointless asking, I'll find someone else. Golden eyes flutter shut in response to my next question (was she not expecting it?), again the words 'I don't know' come from her lips (why does she keep saying this? Can't she at least guess?), my teeth grinding together subtly at her lack of knowledge in these areas. Her words come out, drawling on in her uncertain response— what the fuck does she mean 'they didn't fight'? Am I supposed to think this means that Nymeria's nice and frolic towards her? Does it mean I should still take precautions? I need to know if I'm ever going to get anywhere with my aunt and keep my head (where the marking I stole sits on display). "Well.. is she approachable at least?" (At least). "Talk." the boy king @Isopia RE: six shooter — - Isopia - 04-22-2016
@Kid RE: six shooter — - Kid - 04-23-2016 kid
She catches herself before she makes a grave mistake, my eyes solidifying at the prospect of what she almost says— father. Riiiight. You mean that stallion I've never met before? Lemme just pull up my dadar real quick and see where he's at! No biggie (wow sarcasm through the roof). "And where do you think I'll find him? Should I follow his trail of bastard children?" Of course I don't know if there's anymore of us (in reality, there's going to be a small army soon enough), if Volterra can control his urges or if he's a madman with no limitations on how many women he beds (you think someone would tell him to keep it in his pants). — But really, did this woman actually think that I could summon Volterra and ask him what the earth god was like? That as his progeny I have a magic tracking device that lets me find him instantly? And why ask something so random? Why not be like, "hey dad what the fuck why am I just now seeing you where have you been all my life?" Not, "wow so the earth god?" Her explanation is brief, a prolonged pause inserted in the middle as she seemingly struggles to find a describing word for the deity. I'm quick to catch the silent seconds, ears twitching in response to the silence that fills her sentence. "Why the hesitance? It can't be that hard to describe your own father? Perhaps she feels distanced from her father because he's a big wig deity and he doesn't have time for her, or maybe she just hates associating with him? Whatever it is, I'm going to be nosy about it (probably shouldn't be but oh well). I nod my head, shrugging my shoulders in defeat because as much as I'd like to jump into an argument and tell her that trees don't think and gravity doesn't live, I just don't have enough care for the subject. Let her justify her uselessness if she so wishes— it isn't my problem that she's potentially never going to fulfill her purpose (wasn't she just preaching about her necessary creation?) So I'll let her think that eventually she'll find some ultimate reason that she was given life, let her drag on her existence until finally she comes to the understanding that she cannot just sit and wait for her purpose to present itself to her— she must look for it. But I won't tell her that, she'll probably say something to counter it. What a weird name (I say with a name like Kid), but perhaps fitting. She could pass as a mountain with her staggering height, although the real question was— "What do you know?" If she's a mountain that knows, certainly she must know something spectacular to earn such a title, or have a vast range of knowledge. And I have many things that I'd like to know, so I'd best ask my questions quick before this mountain gets annoyed The Mountain nods along as I list briefly the general topics that could be discussed with children, swallowing thickly Her rank title (the Storyteller) can be misleading— and she even states that at a time it may have been required to weave fantastic tales of history and the like to share among herd members, but it certainly wasn't now. She would share these tales, but she would not put a little magic (if you will) into them, leaving them to be harsh realities rather than sugar coated dreams that make heroic, just kings and evil sorcerers. And this makes me wonder, how much history does she know if she was born only a few seasons ago? Maybe her father has shared harrowing tales with her, given her a run down of Helovia's past experiences, or she's sought out others to tell her such. "Well of course it isn't, there's certainly plenty of other factors." This I can barely elaborate on, as my lack of knowledge of fighting keeps me from listing more than just 'strategy and ability'. Size does matter (haha), and it can serve as an advantage or disadvantage in terms of fighting— on one hand you can move quickly, but your strikes won't be as damaging, or you can hit hard but struggle to move fast enough because of your bulk. I catch the mistake again, narrowing petal pink eyes with displeasure at her mess up— correcting herself but not quick enough for me to miss the mistake. "You can just call him my father if you're having trouble." Any expression has since slipped from my skeletal features, gaze shifting dismally to the shrugging wings— I'd noticed her quickly dismiss any possibilities of Volterra living with Nymeria and the Mountain, as if by somehow not adding in that he didn't live in the Falls would've given me hope that maybe he was among the members there (to which I had no interest). "Talk." the boy king @Isopia |