[O] One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] - 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] One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] (/showthread.php?tid=9871) |
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One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] - Oxy - 09-18-2013 A warm spring wind blows off the ocean and picks up your already knotted mane, twisting it into infinitely more complicated designs that even a sailor could not copy. The waves lap up around your hooves, washing off some of the mud and muck that seems to make up the entirety of your lower limb. Perhaps a hint of white even shows beneath all the grime, though it may just be wishful thinking. The gulls fly above, crying out with demands you do not understand. Each step you take digs your hooves deep into the sand, your tired muscles straining with the effort it takes to move you forward. If the mud were washed from your sides, one would notice ribs sticking out from your side like you're sickly. Yes, you're quite a contrast to the beautiful beach you walk on. A leaf has attached itself to one of your horns, no doubt from your constant rooting about in the brush. A particularly harsh gust of wind causes it to flap about and you toss your head in severe annoyance. Lowering your head to your limb, you rub your horn along your leg until the leave falls from your horn and settles down onto the beach. The action is rough and your strange flailing sends you tumbling off to the side, into the waves. The sand digs and your hooves and resistance from the water puts you dangerously close to tipping over. You've managed to stumble knee-high into the water when a large wave rolls in from the water and provides an opposing force. The strength of the wave gives you enough time to organize your feet and you manage to stop your falling, though you've still managed to make quite a fool of yourself. If you were near something solid, your hoof certainly would have crashed into the object in irritation by now. Heart beating somewhat quickly from your actions, you decide to continue standing in the water and give yourself a moment to collect. To console your hurt pride, for nothing else on you is hurt, you dig into the bag on your shoulder and pull out one of the plants that you keep tucked away within it. As you chew on it, the juices flow down around your tongue and you sign with relief. You know that soon, the intoxicating effects of the plant will take over and you will be whirled away into your own, zoned-out little world. For now, you have to endure the real world a little bit longer. At the very least, you think, you'll have the cool splash of waves against your tired muscles to keep you company until that time comes. You deserve their silent company after the noisy herd meeting you've just had to endure. Herd, you snort with frustration. You can't imagine why you ever told lace-face you'd follow her. You're glad you did though, if only for her sake. @[Shajake] we all look for ways to make the pain go away RE: One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] - Shajake - 09-22-2013
RE: One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] - Oxy - 09-23-2013 OOC| No worries, I can see he's a handful to write. I love him already! You're chewing, mulling, staring. It will take many minutes for the plant's effects to overtake you. It seems like hours already. You wish you had thought to do this earlier, to take your drug and let the world dissolve around you. What happens in your mind when you eat the plants? Even you can hardly say. They make everything disappear. And isn't that what you want? To just disappear? It's what you thought. But now you're not so certain. Lace-face has crawled into your mind. You haven't spent that much time with her. But something about her is alluring. Its only lust, you think, but lust is hard to ignore- especially when experiencing that lust requires being present and using your brain. You never had that problem before. Nobody in your homeland was even understanding enough to deserve your attention. Something in lace-face's demeanor has struck a chord with you, though. She said you belonged, she said you were wanted. It's weird, but you've never heard those words before and they make you feel... special. Unfortunately, they don't make you feel special enough. Not yet. Even lace-face can't make you drop this drug habit you've so innocuously picked up. That's why you left the herd meeting. That's why you're taking solace in the comfort of the plants and not the comfort of a woman. Herd. You snort at the idea, the word sarcastic in your mind. Lace-face led you to your plants and you stupidly said you stay with her group. You're more than a little upset that you said you would. Unfortunately, lust and addiction uphold your promise for now. As you stand there, staring out at the endless sea, watching the waves crash onto the sands (and onto you), you see movement. A stallion. He stands on the beach and stares and you, his look is strange but your sure yours is too. You turn to face him and for a while, you just stare back at him. You've never been much of a conversationalist. In your staring, you notice a wound on his neck- huge and gaping, dripping blood. It almost makes you smile, though the sentiment only turns your lips from a frown into a straight line. You're not sure what to make of the stallion yet. Perhaps you present a similar picture, you decide. If the staring stallion has made something of you, he has not said it yet. You and this other must present a strange picture, standing here staring at one another so uselessly. As you do, though, a thought begins to brew in your mind. Herd, you think again, a little less sarcastically. You're tired of being looked at as the scum of the earth. There is nothing wrong with you. You have a habit. Who doesn't. Some are habitually rude, some are habitually cold and distant. Some are just habitually high on plants. So, if just being is not good enough, you will force them to respect you. Yes, you think to yourself, rather pleased. You'll play their game, you'll be in their herd. You're not going to stand idly by, though. You're going to make yourself a general, if they want one or not. “Who looks worse?” Your words are short as you speak finally, referring to the festering wound he must have gained from someone or something. Your words are sometimes hard to follow. It might be a side-effect of the plants, but maybe you always speak this way. You stare at him then, waiting for an answer, swaying slightly in the waves. If you're being rude, you don't care. You're not on this earth to make friends. You never have been. Besides, you've already decided this stallion is going to be a part of your plan. If he fits in with the fools you're supposed to call family (and isn't so much of a weakling that he let his opponent get away without any damage), you're going to drag him home- “prove” your worth. Yes, a little bit of a proof and a lot of fighting goes a long way; and, now that you've decided what you're going to do with your future, you're determined. we all look for ways to make the pain go away RE: One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] - Shajake - 09-29-2013
RE: One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] - Oxy - 10-03-2013 He laughs at you, the sound of a madman falling from his lips. Yes, there's something off about this one. Still, as long as wait, no answer to your question comes. You're not offended. The drugs are beginning to settle into your body and you're finally getting to relax. Tendrils of the plant slowly grow their way up into your mind, creeping into the crevices and wrapping tightly around. They'll begin to squeeze soon, grab you and pull you down into a psychedelic pit where you'll wade around in the mud and muck for hours, or longer if you keep eating the plants in your mindlessness. You're not in the pit yet, but you're standing on the edge, ready for the vines to take you down. Your bottom lip begins to fall and drool drips slowly from your lip down into the ocean. You watch as the stallion moves his ear forward. You hadn't noticed he was missing the other one until just now. There is no evidence that this is a new injury, though, so you must conclude he's been without for quite some time. Does it even matter? You doubt it, and therefore decide not to worry about it. Or maybe you don't decide at all. Maybe the plants grabbed at the thought and tore it out of your mind. You're ignoring them, and they're getting impatient. They can be a cruel and needy mistress at times. The waves crashing against your limbs make you sway again, and you widen your stance in an effort to keep from toppling down. The water is cold and beginning to bite at your joints a little more than you think is desirable. You pick up your hoof to move, but something happens that makes you place it back on the ground. The bloodied stallion is moving towards you, stepping into the water. Even as the drugs are taking hold of your mind, you know that he's being stupid. Saltwater on the wound... you shudder. You like fighting as much as the next warrior, but you're no masochist. You don't do it to feel pain yourself. You do it to vent, take out your frustration, watch others bleed. As he walks towards you, you watch him. As he comes closer, you get a better look at his eyes. They match his maniacal laughter. If this stallion is right in the head, then you're a Shetland pony. Flicking your ears towards him, you watch him come continue to come towards you. As much as you'd like to take him on in a fight for challenging you the way he is, you know that the drugs won't let you. You can try to fight their influence, but eventually they'll win. They always win. And when they do, you won't be a warrior at all. You'll be a strange, hollow casing of what you used to be. So, instead of flaring your nostrils and preparing yourself for war, you take a step to your right and lower your nose to the waters. The saltwater stings your nostrils as it flows up and around, sometimes into, them. You toss your head a few times slowly, a threat to the stallion. Stop coming or I'll spray you, you seem to say with your actions. Or at least that's what you intend to say. Because really, that's all you have to do. Lower your nose a little farther into the water, throw your head up quite a bit harder and... splash. The thought of the stallion being in pain makes you grumble a little, in laughter. For now, you just watch him. You will not splash him unless provoked further, and you're still not sure what his true intentions are. As much as you'd like to read him, you find the task difficult. There's little hint of anything besides craziness in the eyes he watches you with. Besides, you've got other things to analyze. You've got to figure out how you're going to get the madman back to glass-horn before your drugs take you down all the way. Or, alternatively, how to get the madman back while dealing with being high. You better think quick, though... the madman does not seem patient. we all look for ways to make the pain go away RE: One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] - Shajake - 10-09-2013
RE: One Step Behind [Shajake, Open] - Oxy - 10-12-2013 He stutters and you watch him with interest, even as the fog begins to infiltrate your mind. The plants are crawling, groping, grasping... The vines are getting more insistent now. Before they only poke and prodded, now they squeeze and strangle. Your brain begins to contract as the vines curl around like a constrictor snake squeezing the last breath out of it's prey. They won't be denied and they're letting you know. A particularly forceful wave crashes into you, forcing you to widen your stance. You sway dangerously in the waters, and some small sentient portion of your mind calls from the back of your head. You've got to get out of the water, it demands. But you've almost got what you want. You can't leave now. He steps towards you and you begin to gurgle your amusement. The gravely laughter rolls from your mouth and you blow bubbles into the water like a child. His reddened teeth don't concern you at all. The sane part of your mind pokes at you again, trying to keep you on track. He's a warrior. He's exactly what you need. He's crazy and he fights. Glass-horn will love him. He's trying to be intimidating, but your mind is too far gone to process such things. Your mind is in a tunnel, focused only on the light at the end and ignoring the terrors in the middle. You want to force them to respect you. This stallion will become part of your fare that allows you to board the train to the open air on the other side. You're certain of it. He come close. If you weren't high it might be too close for comfort. You almost raise your head, but then he lowers his. You're close... so close. If you were in the right mind you would simply throw your head up and forward, gouge his eye out with the end of your horn, then laugh as the globe stuck to the point like a prize. Instead, you just enjoy the imagery and stare the stallion down. Wanna die? Your ears flicker at the words. Something in the back of your mind whispers. Why do you think I eat these plants? You know its the truth. You hate your life but death in battle isn't honorable at all. Its the weakling's way out. Admitting something is stronger than you, letting them draw your last breath from your chest... What warrior god would let a fallen man enter Valhalla? You lift your head inches, removing your nostrils from the water. Your breath comes rapid and shallow, like you've run too hard. Its the drugs. “Pretty boy does,” and you laugh and laugh and laugh to yourself. Maybe he has the same sick perversion as you. Perhaps he'd rather thrash something beautiful, ruin every ounce of joy it brought to this earth, than terrorize something ugly. What good does it do if you make the world a better place? Yes... perhaps this crazed freak isn't so bad after all. But who is pretty boy? This stallion won't know. You don't even know his name. You just know you hate him. “Come with me,” you suggest as you take a step backwards. You're not exactly sure where to find him, but he can't have gotten too far. You would close your eyes to try and think, but you still don't trust the maniac before you entirely. The mist in your head makes it hard to figure out where you just were, where you're taking this stallion now... but you'll figure it out. Perhaps you can follow your footsteps back the way you came. At this point, its the best idea you've got. Another wave comes, throwing you a step closer to the beach, and you watch the maniacal stallion for confirmation or denial. we all look for ways to make the pain go away |