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torches - Mauja - 06-25-2017 Art by Neverr ♥ but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
The gray clouds had parted. They had swept themselves aside and away, into some other corner of the vast, lonesome world. They had pulled back to reveal an autumn sunset red as blood, and he felt the slow ticking of his clock—the nights came earlier. Were colder. Lasted longer. The morning light took on the cold blue shades of winter. The first frost had come. And the sunset, its bronzed sun sinking beneath the horizon, had slowly turned a rare metallic purple and green. A kind of nod, tip of the hat. The north stretching out its hand, breaking borders, to say farewell to a creature too weak to find it. He was fairly sure the world as he knew it was ending. He could flee to some other corner of the world. He could run for the hell of it, for his life, for the lives sitting upon his back, talons thoughtlessly grounded in his thin flesh. He could, but he wouldn't. His heart beat on, relentlessly. He didn't trust it. It was the Moon's mark, her blessing, her rune etched into it—the Gods had fought dangers before, when they had stranded the world in a blackness thicker than the night's, when not even moon or stars had been there to light them. But if she didn't come back from their divine battle with Kaos... If she didn't come back, he was fucked, and the slow turning of the season marked his fourteenth birthday. Fourteen. He breathed out, and his sigh plumed white in the crisp night. It certainly wasn't every day you eased into the start of your fifteenth year alive, but it wasn't every day you realized that the immortality you had taken for granted might not be so permanent after all. If the Goddess died, and her gift with it, he would, honestly, be kind of ..disappointed. Here he'd gone and worked himself up into some kind of melancholy hopelessness about his lifespan, and he might not even get to enjoy it after all. The world and its small cruelties. Mauja snorted to himself. He'd spent enough time staring at the sun of a dying world. The least he could do was watch the night sky from a different angle, and so, he began his slow, pained walk along the rim of the cliff. RE: torches - Alysanne - 06-25-2017 RE: torches - Mauja - 06-27-2017 Art by Neverr ♥ but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Far below, the waves shifted and churned against the white cliffs. They hushed and whispered and clucked, a constant rhythm, backdrop to the penetrating gull cries. Its sweet siren song drifted into his black-rimmed ears, and on occasion, they flicked to it. He thought about that heart-stopping drop. Thought about Glacia, weaving drunkenly through the rain towards it, her soul already half out of her body. Leaping to find it. So many times she had almost died from him, and it chilled him to think of. What if he hadn't been there, to save her from the sea? What if he hadn't been there, to stop her from leaping from the world's edge, and into death? She would've broken upon the rocks, or broken upon the waves, and lifeless as a doll, she would've either drifted out to sea, or washed up on shore. Dead all the same. He didn't have enough energy to swallow. Just limped on, kept company by bleak thoughts. I can't die. I can jump off. Just to feel myself fall, and fly. What if she's already gone? What if I waste my last chance? What if she's had enough of my near-death tricks? He limped on. Put one hoof in front of the other. Shifted his weight and felt it jar through him, a bright, flashing counterpoint to the constant ache. He heard his pain; felt it in his ears. The thrum of his straining heart, and the little gasps each time his legs had to bear him up again. He had never been this worn before; a couple of days as he regenerated blood was nothing. Being a desiccated, frostbitten corpse was nothing, because the Goddess had jumpstarted him a little. But this? This was walking death, and he bore it with as much grace as one could imagine—which is to say, none at all, but he couldn't do much else besides go on. A familiar voice called out a greeting. Feeling guilty, Mauja stopped, and did his best to hide the relief. He didn't want her to know how weak he was. He didn't want her to know what a miserable sod she'd fished out of the sea. He didn't want her to frown at him, concern in her eyes, and wonder what the fuck he was doing walking around when he obviously wasn't fit to. Bullheadedness and hopelessness goes a long way, he thought sourly. He didn't have anything better to do than pace, and nothing was at stake for him. He couldn't suddenly overtax his heart and collapse (maybe he could, but even if he did, he would just get back up again a couple of hours later). It sucked. "Alysanne," he greeted her when she came near, his voice a fragile echo of itself. She looked at him, intently, long enough that he had to fight not to fidget under her green gaze. There's nothing wrong with me he wanted to say, as if the words could hide the hollows of his hips, the shadows between his ribs, the awful contour of his neck. “How are you?” she asked, as Irma suddenly swiveled her head, and strained to look at something at Aly's wings. Mauja didn't see it, and gave up, instead laughing bitterly. "I was going to say, 'I'm alive', but that's hardly a feat for me." He snorted, and turned his head to the sea; his matted forelock slid across his face, and hung down across his eye. "And you? How are you?" he asked, knowing fully well that he hadn't answered her question. RE: torches - Alysanne - 07-06-2017 RE: torches - Mauja - 07-10-2017 Art by Neverr ♥ but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Her gaze was sharp—like knives, out of place in the bundle of white feathers and thin muscle. Blue, just like his, but so much clearer. When she saw what Alysanne revealed to her, it was like she sighed, as if to say, 'ah', before her attention turned away. He'd seen it too, but he didn't know what to say. Congratulations—I wonder if it'll grow up to be an asshole, like mine? But they weren't assholes, really. They were fire and ice, and they didn't give a rat's ass about anyone other than themselves, and him. Not even Kahlua had managed to impress Irma, who had just been bored or uncomprehending when the Sunshower had complimented her. They were pretty heartless. They ate other living things to get by. Mauja was glad he wasn't a carnivore. Now wouldn't that have been fun—here you go Mauja, you're immortal, but only if you drink the blood of your enemies every fullmoon. Oh, and you'll need more every time. Thanks, Moony. “You might not consider it a feat but I am glad you are alive all the same.” He grunted, glad he was looking at the sea. Someone as nice as Alysanne shouldn't care about him. He had a bad track record with his friends and family. He abandoned them, over and over, even if it were because of things outside of his control—at best, they were estranged, like Ophelia. At worst, they were dead, like Snö and Psyche. He swallowed. "I'd like to see that," he said quietly when she spoke of the Goddess and Kaos. "I'm trying not to worry, but everyone has me doing it. That dragonchild nearly fell over the edge because she was so..distracted." He frowned slightly. His ears flicked back in thought. I just wish I had been better prepared lay on his tongue, but he didn't say it. No need to state the obvious. |