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Pretty and Practical - Leto - 07-09-2016 from the eyes of an overseer WEIGHTLESS IN HER MOVEMENTS, she meandered the small distances between trees, thoughtfully placing each step somewhere it's most comfortable. Careful to prevent the clink of her translucent heels on any stray pebble or root. She tossed the congeries of mane off her shoulders and onto the ground, their loose waves sprawling outwards, leaving her standing in a milky puddle of hair. Yards of tail in a matching pale color dragged behind her, snaking itself through the path she had blazed through the lofty conifers. Her body, soaked in the palest hue of sunset, similar to the contrast between the pink undertones on stale cirrus that remain in the evening sky, and the warm gradient that hovers above. She holds tight to the settling of liquid mahogany in the sharps of her frame. Glass toes pushed against the dirt, vaulting her miniature anatomy into the air. At the crest of her leap, her wings stretched out, quickly catching her birdlike structure on an updraft that dragged her into the canopy. Ailerons of a waxen complexion, flecked with the leftover mahogany, orange hinted feathers covered the bony arches of her wings, leaving the ivory feathers room to hang beneath. She settled between the thick branches of ancient trees, allowing the fair stream of hair to dangle beneath her, feeling the rough bark impress into the corners of her forearms and hocks. in the midst of that botanical brain She should've stayed home, three days travel quickly faded into almost a week. Hopelessly lost she was. In search of rumored western civilization she was deceived. Releasing a crestfallen huff, musical chords snaked through her lips, calling to her smaller avian friends for moral compass. Ears perked towards the woodland creatures who echoed her muse. She smiled at the comforting sound, solitude injected an ache into her skeleton days ago, it weighted her eyelids, drained her veins. She felt the solace settle on her skin at the sound of familiar company. Spotless jade orbs awaited the emergence of the earliest stars, awaiting the prologue to a play by the gods, a visual tune that would swathe her in sleep and bring about individual visions of her homeland, parents, friends, and humdrum familiarities. "Another day," she whispered to herself. "If tomorrow brings no new discoveries, I shall return." RE: Pretty and Practical - Hildegunn - 07-10-2016
RE: Pretty and Practical - Leto - 07-11-2016 POOLS OF LETHARGY BEGAN TO REST ON HER SHOULDERS, forcing her thin feet to stretch out on the perch. Her fluttering eyes watched the opalescent glow dim on the horizon, tucking in the precious jade orbs that tunnelled a home in her skull. The melancholy hymns of self pity started to fade from her conscious, awareness of solitude slowly crept back into the corners of her brain. From the leafy depths of below, a voice skimmed across her skin. “Hallo?” The warm foreign voice drifted into her audits; awakening the alien eyes from misleading seclusion, causing them to wander the side of the branch. Her tail lead an ocular trail to the body below, to where a creature of ashen complexion stood. “…er noen er?” A woman of liquid, she was tangled entirely in fluid movements. Her torso fluttered down from the other side of the branch, dragging her entire tail over the branch before it would sail to the ground close behind. Like a hummingbird she hovered briefly, before gently placing her glass platforms on the ground. “Hello,” her voice echoed, its long plush tones soothe the ears of most. “What language do you speak, my friend?” The other was miniature in size, like her. She remained broader in structure, visually closer to the roots of more primitive civilizations. Her bones carried more mass, muscles held more signs of use. Sooty at her tips, the stripes of ancient tigers leaked across her hair and legs. These blackened blemishes coated a sunshine fur as lucent as her own. She looked at the other lilliputian, desperately searching for a psalm to bring solace to a restless mind. The last moments of a sunset sky mirrored in the glasslike eyes of the ancient fawn. As the poetic questions began to flood her fragile mind, Leto stretched the crest of her neck to the ground, gesturing the peaceful drift in her conscious. “Could you tell me where I am?” The soft voice squeezed out, in a songbird etiquette. @Hildegunn RE: Pretty and Practical - Syrena - 07-11-2016
Syrena
let the water take me
She has no idea what brings her back here, again and again. She hates conversation and generally sucks at pleasantries. She hasn’t even picked a rank in the Falls, though she’s supposed to. Yet here she is, recruiting, like she’s got any business being here. But the Falls feels quiet, and she wants to help. Not selflessly, of course. She wants to help because it benefits her, in the long run. It takes her one step closer to becoming something again. Not just a wandering, lost, worthless siren without any of her old powers. But still, there had to be other ways to go about that. Yet here she is anyway, wandering through the Threshold in the heat of summer. Way too far away from the sea. But her thoughts are dragged away by hair. She finds hair first. How could she miss all that hair, trailing along the ground without a horse in sight. Okay fine, there was a horse in sight, but still too far away for how far the hair trails out. She’s found Rapunzel, come down from her tower (or tree, as the case may be), apparently. Syrena though is no knight in shining armor to save the girl. Not, that Syrena actually thinks the girl needs any saving at all. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. They’ve never even met so it’s not like Syrena has a clue or, for that matter, cares. She finds the rest of the horse soon enough. A beautiful, dainty little thing unlike Syrena. Perhaps the seal-gray mare is beautiful in some way (many seem to think so, except Syrena), but she’s undoubtedly not dainty. In truth, she towers over the mare. Actually, both mares, because she’s not the first to this party. Hell, she’s arguably late to this party (fashionably late, right?). There’s already some conversation going on when Syrena slips out of the trees and finds the two mares not far off. Something about where she is and languages and whatever. The last question is the only one she knows the answer to, and at this point, she’s already standing there so she might as well join the conversation. Even though she feels like a bull in a china shop around these two. Not that she lets it show (nothing shows, her face is almost entirely passive except for a small smile, the best she can manage to be friendly). The one mare, at least, is slightly broader like Syrena. It makes her feel slightly better. “Helovia, generally. Specifically, you’re in the Threshold.” She remembers the mare with the spikes down her neck coming in and answering this exact same question the last time Syrena was in the Threshold. Go figure. What goes around comes around or something. “I’m Syrena, from the Hidden Falls. One of the herds here.” "words" darya87 | larfsalot on deviantart @Hildegunn @Leto RE: Pretty and Practical - Vu - 07-12-2016
@Syrena @Leto @Hildegunn RE: Pretty and Practical - Hildegunn - 07-13-2016
@Leto RE: Pretty and Practical - Leto - 07-13-2016 THE EARTH CARRIED GLASS TOES, reinforcing the unwavering eye contact I held with the ecru mare decorated in murky points. Discovering the balanced line that divided her in half, following the trail her spine blazed through the large cuts of sinew. I awaited an answer from her, pricking my ears to the prehistoric maiden, and keeping a magnetic slant towards her in my skeleton, after I had arisen from my gesture of homage. The answer did not come from the antediluvian, but from a voice in the shadows. From the crepuscule she emerged. A mare, towering over us insignificants, claiming age to mile long legs. Luminescent azure radiated from her viewpoints. She was crowned in aquatic skin, a surface that held tight to a liquid appearance. Trimmed in scales, the sea creature edged into the small split between trees, inserting herself into the powwow. “Helovia, generally. Specifically, you’re in the Threshold.” The mare vocalized, words broadcasting from the visionary grey base, an inkling of light peeked through the wet curves on her ribcage as air filled her lungs. “I’m Syrena, from the Hidden Falls. One of the herds here.” The name sent my mind into a spiraling haze. A familiar word, memories of the timeworn collections of parchment my mother kept stuffed behind her apothecary books. Written on these scrolls were pieces of the world, wrapped in the skin of uninvestigated beasts. Sirens wavered into my conscious, the frothy edges of women that once bathed in the solace of the inner seas. Awakening at the sight of intruders to hum them into the flytrap of their foamy fingers. They morph the fabrication of above and below, luring sailors to a place beneath the swells. How could this connect to the statuesque woman? Her limestone features glistened, like after a long heavy downpour. Trust or wonder? Nothing she says has been proven discredible, why would she lie about where she is, or who she hails to? Despite the roots of her alias, the overgrown rainy statuette more closely resembles friend than foe. Close behind her, the eventide penumbra spat out another native. This one a mix between myself and the tall one. Dark in hue, her pelt appeared to be dry and created a canvas for the constellations that appear during the witching hour, which splatter across her flanks. Neighboring my height, she approached the circle. Moments ago I sang lullabies in my own solitude, I seem to have awakened the forest. We converse, harbored in the botanical rubble, wasp-like children joining an ethereal dance below the atmosphere. “Hilde” the small crepuscular one harkened to the earliest of visitors. Muttering words in that awkward jumble of a language, I couldn’t help but feel misplaced, was there a tongue I was supposed to have known? Her and the olive-brown mare exchanged endearing genuflection, the merging of old friends perhaps. “Hello, I am Vu. Who are the two of you?” She addressed me and the oceanic woman, Syrena. Her voice followed a similarly musical tone to my own, cast out in a slightly lower pitch, yet a noise that still elongated the curves on her feminine physique. “Syrena, Vu, and… Hildegunn. What a pleasure to meet you all. I thank you for your immediate cordiality to someone as confused as I.” I crooned, tipping my crown to the two other mares. “I am Leto, could anyone tell me more about this Helovia, or the Threshold in which we stand… and the Hidden Falls, where is that?” I pondered, remembering my childhood trips to the river across the meadow on the far side of my old village, there was a small waterfall there, childhood picnics as I watched the other kids play were bittersweet memories. Those were the days before my father had so generously crafted my feet for me. I miss him. The thought of him made me feel isolated, the only winged one, the only daughter of the sky. @Syrena RE: Pretty and Practical - Syrena - 07-18-2016
Syrena
let the water take me
Another joins (of course, they always do), though this one smells like the Falls as well. Like water and vegetation, a smell that’s quickly becoming once again familiar to the seal-gray mare. She’d called the Falls home once before, briefly, before disappearing back to her nomadic ways. It was tiring and difficult, this staying in one place. She grew restless too easily, a lifetime of wandering suddenly leaving her trapped. It was far harder than simply picking up and moving to the next exotic location. Instead, she journey’s from the Falls to the Threshold, again and again, her legs refusing to stay still. Not that she’s any good at this recruiting thing, and of all the possible representatives of the Falls, she’s one of the least qualified. This Vu, however, is dainty and pretty and her voice is sweet and her eyes seem kind enough. She’s the type of mare you want out in the field. Not Syrena. With her lack of emotion and her deadpan voice and her half-assed smile (she is trying, this is just the best she can muster). It’s not so much that she doesn’t care about the others in Helovia. The problem, really, is that this is not the life she once had. This is not the life she wants. And it is hard to stomach the reality of standing here exchanging pleasantries (something she hates, it’s a waste of time). So damn hard. The other mare has few words. She offers a name and the word understand in their language. Her words, when they do come, flow is something that sounds a lot whole like gibberish. Though Vu seems to understand (of course she does, she seems like she’d make an effort). Syrena tries to look pleasantly interested, though probably fails, but soon enough the pretty little Pegasus is speaking again and asking questions. And at least Syrena can handle answering questions. “The Threshold is where everyone comes when they first find Helovia. It’s a place for recruiting, mostly. Though you can choose to simply make your own way here, if you prefer.” Hell, even those that didn’t live in a herd were out and about here, recruiting for their own causes. Whatever those were. What were any of their causes, really? To live, to do something, and then to die. What a pathetic existence. It was her existence now. Not that she could come to terms with it. “There are four herds in Helovia, and each are slightly different, though I won’t pretend to know much about the others. The Falls accepts all species of horse,” a fact probably made obvious by the fact an equine and hybrid sea creature were both willing to recruit a Pegasus, but whatever, she’s answering the question. Take it, even if it’s obvious. “If you choose to live in the Falls, you’ll be asked to pick a job – healer, warrior, thief, crafter, or storyteller. That choice is yours, but everyone is expected to contribute.” She pauses, having been very matter of fact in that reply. She’s good at matter of fact. She’s bad at ‘oh it’s pretty’, but she figures that might be worth something. “The waterfalls, for which the kingdom gets it name, are rather lovely as well.” "words" darya87 | larfsalot on deviantart @Leto @Vu @Hildegunn |