[P] he knows no restraint— - 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: [P] he knows no restraint— (/showthread.php?tid=24085) |
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he knows no restraint— - Kid - 06-02-2016 my kingdom come
There's nothing more for Mother to say to me today, distant steel eyes sweeping away from my macabre features and into the distance— there's nothing more for me here. Her quiet mood is brought on by the disappearance of Sabre, her lack of presence in our They sting with hollow love, with false ideals and precious familiarity— the comforting feeling of at least being noticed by my dam makes the wounds feel more like prizes She turns away like there isn't blood staining her lips, like there isn't a fading hatred in her eyes and trembling limbs from over exertion. "Go on, I don't want to see you for a while." Mother doesn't even look back, moving with painful caution as my stomach lurches (am I feeling sympathetic?), I want to shout at her that she isn't the only one affected by the absence of Sabre— that she was my womb mate and I was hurt too by her unannounced leave, that I felt cold and empty with the loss. So I leave Mother to her sulking, letting her mourn the absence of her child in peace and isolation. The first person who comes to mind who may be able to provide solace in this melancholic and quiet time is aunt Nym— surely I could find some form of comfort in my callous reflection, in the cold crimson eyes of my closest (relationship wise) relative. No one else in this god damn family (am I even allowed to call it that? I really don't know who else it consists of other than Volterra, Nymeria, Sabre, Zhu and I— Mother not included) who could provide me with any sort of support. Volterra would surely tell me to just "beat it out, just kick, bite, and fight out your feelings." But it wasn't anger that filled me up anymore, anger at Volterra for forgetting about his trivial affairs and leaving Sabre and I to a mother who cannot handle us (who hates us, loathes us for our imperfections). I'll seek out Nymeria eventually, hoping she'll let me bury my head into her clean breast and weep out my sorrows (the tears I've been holding in), that she'll listen to my words and provide guidance in this situation. I take off towards a quiet location, running with my teeth grinding together and hooves thundering against the solid earth, back warm from the gentle Birdsong rays. I don't have a place in mind, guided only by the desperate need to get away from everything and everyone for a "Talk." kid the boy king @Astarot RE: he knows no restraint— - Astarot - 06-10-2016 Astarot
The colt pranced through Helovia curiously as he searched for something to do. He had grown a considerable amount since he had been born. Tall and handsome, not yet in that nasty gangling stage, his body was covered in hardening muscle. His steps were confident, as they had always been, as scarlet and blue eyes took in everything around him. Tiva had given him permission to leave this time, since she saw no reason for the colt to be locked in one place. The main reason she was in the Throat was for him to have a save place to sleep every night. A charming smile flitted across his muzzle as he pranced calmly through the lush grass and flowers. He hadn't ever been here before, and he loved seeing new things. He wondered if this world would grow dull as he grew older. Would the now vibrant colors dim, would the sights and smells drift into one? Or would he always be enthralled by everything when he was old just like now? He hoped for the latter. He never wanted to see the world for how it really was, awesome. He was the kind that found everything totally tubular, dude. He laughed softly at his own thoughts and shook his skull marked head. 'Surely everything would always be fun and games to a handsome stud like me.' He arched his neck proudly and paused to prance in place. One day he wouldn't look like a silly foal dancing around, but a proud bone marked man peacocking for every girl he crossed. The sound of thunder hooves and panting drew him out of his languid thoughts. Scarlet and blue eyes looked around for the source. He realized there was a meadow up ahead, being in your head can sure get you lost. He shakes his head still smiling as he moved confidently through the last few feet of trees. There in the middle of a field full of purple flowers and grass stood another colt. Clearly he was older and covered in wounds. His white brow creased as he walked closer. "Umm, stupid question, but are you okay?" His voice was still young and higher pitched, but far from the squeaky toy it had been. He could see the lathered sweat upon his cut and sliced skin. What had he been running from? Ears swiveled around searching for some kind of sound of pursuit. Without thought he stepped right up to the older colt and tried to touch his shoulder. That was when he noticed the skull marking on his black face and the blood like marking on his chest. Was this another one of his brothers? Or was the marking related to someone else completely. His eyes and body showed the concern he was feeling for the beat up and breathless colt. "If you're in trouble, maybe I can help? I'm Astarot by the way." He smiled kindly wondering what he could offer to this guy to make him feel better. Then an idea hit him, "Maybe we could get in the stream and wash off that sweat and blood?" He glanced at the babbling stream behind them. ------------------------------- Talk Words;; 529 OOC/Tags;; @Kid OMG sorry this took so long! I got sick and did not feel like posting xD - table by Niki - RE: he knows no restraint— - Kid - 06-10-2016 my kingdom come
I could have stood there a good long while thinking about absolutely nothing at all, completely losing myself to nothingness as some other kid (ha) approaches. In fact, I could have just never noticed his presence and simply wandered away without even a word (I wish life was that kind), but instead he's brought to my attention by the words he speaks. They're uneven words, small and childish in his tone of voice (thankfully I've passed that stage in life)— face contorting as I hear him speak directly to me. Somewhere, I'm hoping that perhaps he was talking to someone else nearby, that I was an unnoticeable shadow against an unfitting scene of brighter hues that wouldn't be acknowledged. Much to my dismay, as bubblegum eyes traverse the surrounding area, it is only us— confirming Turning hesitantly with a gruesomely and haphazardly pieced together smile on my bi-coloured lips, I turn to face him with a need to tell him off (in a very unkind way, but that's no way to treat family). I freeze the second my eyes draw over the He is another, another consequence to another mistake, a lesson ignored and discarded. Who would tell this boy that his father's intentions were only to get off, that he had unknowingly fallen into the worst (yet most common) category of child— the bastard. And the irresponsible existence guilty of creating But I keep a calm expression as I look down at him— I will always look down, never will I look up to this new son, this extra. Three sons (and one missing daughter) is enough, but Volterra still cannot realize that there is such a thing as pulling out. As great as it is to have an army of your own, produced from your How am I (the eldest, the first, the original) to become a valiant king, ruler of all, when I have 3 My eyes dare not give anything away, as blank and hollow as the rest of my ivory soaked features (the smile had faded the moment I turned to the boy). "Why should I tell you?" And he has the audacity to step towards me, to reach out with his little lips and dare to touch me as though he was offering me his condolences— like he knew I'd lost Sabre (lost myself), and he was at the funeral months too early. My tongue is bitter and heavy in my mouth as I avoid his touch, looking at him with little interest in his feelings (I hope it hurts). Dark legs step off to the side, watching him reach out into open air like a fool, pink eyes locked onto the fraction of ivory skull that crowned his dun head. Damn him. Astarot is his name, one that he so eagerly (so easily) gives to me, an open book laid before my mismatched hooves. The kind smile is a vile sight, that childish innocence I never had so easily displayed on this boy's face, mocking me for my failure to hold onto my youth as it was torn from my bloody fingers by an angered dam. "You open yourself up to someone you don't even know so easily," how could he put trust in me, someone he'd only just met? Unless— Volterra. Unless he met our father (our), who had in turn told him all about Zhu and I, assuming we would welcome out new younger brother with open arms. Knowing Zhu, he was to be just as furious about the existence of another— perhaps they'd finally have something to talk about that wouldn't end in them seething with silent hatred (and sometimes unresolved sexual tension, but that might just be me). "What makes you believe I'll be just the same?" "Talk." kid the boy king @Astarot and thus, salty douche kid is born RE: he knows no restraint— - Astarot - 06-17-2016 RE: he knows no restraint— - Kid - 06-17-2016 my kingdom come
The irritation isn't well hidden, my eyes drawn to the near pinned ears and burning fires behind mismatched eyes (it's disgusting to see him so mad from such a simple action). My face remains stoic as I look down at the significantly younger "That marking isn't yours." He's making me sick to look at it, my mind having long ago associated such a unique marking as Zhu's and Zhu's alone (besides, those feelings for Zhu are for him alone— this child brings out requited anger and bitterness). I keep calm in this situation, body still (that's a first) before the newest edition. Did he so easily think he could slip between the cracks and pass into our family with ease, confidently striding in to take what wasn't his. Does he think that he gets it easy because he's nice— that that will take him far in life? His childish innocence is almost sickening to witness, how small and easily fooled that mind of his is (hidden behind our skull). He seems to bite back (a seemingly shared trait among the children of Volterra, our tempers of fierce and wild things) at my response, so easily infuriated by my lack of politeness. Does he truly believe that everyone he runs across will tell him the time of day? "You surely must hit your head a lot if you think that everyone you meet will be so polite." I taint the last word with harshness, crushing the syllables between blunt teeth as I tell him how it is (he's been living so innocently for too long, someone needs to wake him up). This isn't some childhood fantasy where everything is sugary sweet and wonderful, where the wind hums delicate songs to you and there are fairies perched on precious fungi in the forests— this is the real world. There's nothing precious or fantastic here, nothing awe inspiring in the way mothers (Mother) beat their children into submission and obedience, in the way sisters wander into the woods and never come out— the way fathers get so lost in their conquests they forget that there are consequences to such pleasantries (forget to seek them out, to be a part of their lives). "I know it's your real name because you didn't hesitate to offer it, you didn't pause to think of one to give me." My observations are keen, eyes trained to catch significant details in conversation, whether it be body language, the words themselves, the tone of voice, the speech pattern— it's all significant to note. It's become a survival mechanism when facing Mother, keeping watch for the telltale signs of her unrelenting rage. An ear will fall or her words will falter and I know to be prepared for the shit storm (it's seriously come to work in my favour). I was born an observer, to keep a close eye on the behaviour of those I interact with (a habit), to be tedious in watching each movement. "And you must know a lot about stupid things," you are one yourself. I bite my tongue at such an insult— this isn't the case of the Eagle girl, where we were both so young and soiled from the hands of our parents that we could handle such direct blows. This child was still so weak against the harshness of existence, still so new to the feeling of anger and fire in his veins— it would be unfair for someone so experience to crush him before he has a chance to blossom (not like I had one anyway). His ears fall farther still, my eyes drawn to the movement as the bitterness in the back of my throat lingers, watching the child seethe at a distance. Let him get angry, let him know that shit wasn't always going to go his way. "You can do a lot with a name." I leave it at this, knowing well the dangers of giving out my name like it's some cure to a fatal illness, letting every individual I pass by know my name (know who I am)— it's a foolish thing to do. Astarot sounds irritable with his squeaking voice and temper, like a child whose throwing a tantrum over a cookie. He seems to think he's clever or knows what's best, that his niceties will get him far in life (they certainly won't). He knows nothing when it comes to managing through life, nothing about hardships and bullshit— that life serves you a pile of shit some days (today) and tells you to deal with it. Every time Mother's hooves strike solid against my body, every day Sabre is gone— it's all enough to prove to me that life is shit, and I can't expect it to get any better. Kings just have to adjust to the situation, to give what's needed of them and try to adapt to any scenario as it happens. A king cannot let his people famish because he cannot produce for them enough to eat, a king cannot let them die at the hands of his enemies because he cannot strengthen his defenses— he must attempt to fix it as it happens. And if he does fall, he cannot lay in the earth's sturdy arms and weep for his failures, he must stand anew (stronger now). "Because you just might be." Is the only response I have to offer, bubblegum meeting only the blue eye (I will not acknowledge our shared blood). "Talk." kid the boy king @Astarot |