I would like that, but... She hung eagerly on his words, almost leaning forward as if he might whisper the last ones and she was afraid to miss whatever it is he would say. 'But what?' she wondered, dense mind lost in her own carefree life. She'd never turned down an opportunity to visit another herd land and even if he didn't want to stay... well, what harm could coming to the borders do? Politics. She was an idealist, a child that wanted to live in a world of fluffy bunnies and cotton candy. She had once asked someone 'what makes someone strive for evil?' She never did get her answer. But she wasn't a philosopher by any stretch of the imagination anyway, and the question had soon been forgotten with the blowing wind. As for the owl... Kahlua was admittedly a little disappointed when Irma did nothing more but stare at her. She was so used to companions preening or otherwise showing delight at her compliments, but perhaps that was just the way of owls. She had never really met one before. And then finally, it seemed like ages to the eager girl, he agreed. Hesitantly, perhaps, but Kahlua more or less ignored the overtones- if on purpose or through childish lack of understanding was up for debate. Blame herself? Kahlua didn't even blame the world. Things happened, things would be what they would be, and she would dance through life regardless, perhaps with a few tears shed along the way to make herself feel better, if they were needed. “Well come on then!” Could she have sounded any happier? Doubtful. After all, she had (in her mind) saved a depressed, lost wanderer from a life of solitude. And what was it that Resplendence had thought? Does the girl ever stop bouncing? Sort of. Yes, in that she did know how to hold still for a few moments if need; but no, in that when she was happy... you knew it. She took off at a trot, her gait springy and light, as they went alternating to a walk when she got tired or needed a break. Poor Mauja. What had he gotten himself in to? As they made their way to the Edge, the girl busied herself with talking about nonsense that the unicorn probably care nothing about at all, but it was all part of Kahlua's charm. She'd gotten pretty good at filling the time it took to go places with stories of this and that, just light conversation about nothing important at all, owing to how many newcomers she had 'saved' from the Threshold. But at least she was happy just to hear her own voice. If Mauja didn't have much to add, she wouldn't be offended. She never was. So soon enough the pair, if Mauja had not fully regretted his decision to follow the woman-child and left to go somewhere less.... noisy, came to the woods that led up to the Edge. They were still far back from the wall, Kahlua could not even see the glittering of the thing on the horizon yet, but she knew it was there and she was as eager as ever to see it, to show off her handiwork, to say to the spotted unicorn (whom she was growing less concerned about with every passing moment) 'Look what I did!' Since he had first said it, she hadn't thought once about the rest of her herd not wanting him there or them blaming her for anything. What was there to be concerned about? “Just a little ways now. You'll love the wall, I just know it!” OOC| They're still very far back from the wall, they can't even see it, so perhaps give them some time to get closer before thread-crashing, where it would make more sense for the guards to be patrolling, if you plan on coming :) |
[OPEN] Ice Cream Cake
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blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires “Well come on then!” And just like that, he was swept off his feet, a leaf in the time-stream picked up and twirled around. With all the force of a hurricane, and all the gentleness of a lamb, she unknowingly placed his fate within her hooves—his crime a burden upon her slim shoulders. If he'd expected some probing question, hesitance at his mysterious insinuation they'd reject him, he didn't get it. It was like her happiness meter just kept going up for every moment, not caring that it was through the roof, and whenever he thought she couldn't smile any brighter she did. She spun on a dime, in a direction he knew too well, and set off with a bounce in her step. And he, he just stood there dumbly for a moment, staring at her elegant, happy figure and thinking What the hell did I just do?. Accepting her offer had been something.. like a guilty pleasure? Something stupid he shouldn't do, but wanted to anyway? A fantasy he'd somehow spoken out loud and turned into reality, and it drove a spike through his heart, a fist through his throat. The Edge wanted him. They possibly wanted him dead. And with their biased, hypocritical shit.. they'd soak up the truth and spit it out in his face, and it would've been all for nothing. Just his heart ripped out on the forest floor. He gritted his teeth, and set off after her, extending his long legs to catch up with her. The dice had been cast, and either he held on tight for the ride, or he bolted now. The latter was tempting, but—so was the idea of exoneration. He was tired of looking over his shoulder. He'd done a lot of bad things, and the one crime they tried to charge him with was one he couldn't plead "guilty" to. The journey passed, for his part, in silence. Irma had left his back to take to the skies again, Kahlua blabbered pleasantly on about this or that, and he hummed along, coming with an "oh?" or otherwise prompting her to go on, but his mind wasn't on what she said; he wasn't even sure he imprinted it to memory. It went in one ear, realized his brain was too full, and went out the other. The further they went, the more idiotic this whole crusade seemed. He had absolutely no faith whatsoever in their "justice", and no intention of laying his head down beneath an axe. Even if he had murdered Torasin, he wouldn't have wanted to die—truth to be told, if he had murdered him, he probably would've been a lot less inclined to waltz into the Edge. It.. everything would've been different. He would've been different. And then, there it was, that gentle rise, the first, faint scent of brine. In his chest, his heart trembled, once; it knew this path, this horizon, the first hint of the Edge you came upon... How long since he'd walked this far? Since his hooves had graced this earth? It made the danger all the more real. Perhaps they had far-ranging patrols. Perhaps he still had time to back out of this. Are you a coward? No. I just don't want to die. His heart was pounding too fast again, eyes darting every which-way, waiting for them to leap out of the woodwork and encircle him—and either praise Kahlua for her capture, or berate her for consorting with the enemy. He couldn't do it. Not this way. “Just a little ways now. You'll love the wall, I just know it!” His mouth was dry, heart all a-tremble; his steps had slowed until he barely moved at all, but she was still a storm, so eager to bring him home. Damn; how could any creature on this wretched earth be so merry, so endearing? How was it even possible to stay that way? "Kah- wait, wait, Kahlua, wait!" He'd stopped for a moment, heart and gut turning inside out, but he forced himself to move forward again, to catch up with his black-and-white guide. Oh, curse it all to seven hells—what could he say without saying too much, without saying too little either? And why, why, did it even matter? Why was he even here? Why was he even taking this big, stupid, fat risk, when the gain seemed so incredibly slim? When had he lost all his brains and all his spine, and why, whywhywhywhy, was he afraid of them? Maybe because once they have you.. it's up to them what happens. He didn't like being powerless. "I- did you know Torasin?" Somehow his voice was even, though his pulse was far too rapid and fleeting; he sought for her eyes beneath her dark forelock.
12-25-2013, 05:08 AM
blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires [ No worries <3 ] Slowly she stopped moving. Something about the nearly reluctant way she halted felt like the slowing of time before doom, the dragging of seconds when the adrenaline spikes; a heartbeat becomes an eternity, too many thoughts and decisions. And they're never good choices you make. The silence, counted by the rhythmic pounding of his heart, stretched painfully on. Had his question thrown everything off-kilter, ripped through time and space, and forced the turning of the world to halt? Her silence seemed longer than any other silence he'd received from her, and every moment she said nothing was a moment the noose tightened around his neck—relax. No one was coming. The air was clean, the borders still not breached. They had no reason to be out here, but he felt too vulnerable, and Kahlua was still silent. His mouth tasted of terror, and his throat felt swollen; he waited for her face to fall, eyes to mist, voice to recall a Doctor who had, unfortunately, perished in the early winter of last year... “I know Paladin,” she said instead, and even the howling in his skull grew silent. He felt as if he'd been gently slapped for no real reason, and just stared dumbly at her for a while. Paladin? What did he have to do with anything? Was here here—did he live at the Edge now? While they hadn't quite eaten each others faces the last time they met, the tension had been undeniable, and.. for a moment he feared she'd set off again, yelling the Valiant's name, but she didn't. He still couldn't breathe out, though. It seemed she actually had no recollection of Torasin, and his use of the past tense had gone entirely over her head; he wanted to wince. She wasn't making it easy, looking at him that way—wagging her mental tail, just wanting to help, and he had to admit to having killed someone. Maybe she wouldn't want to show him her wall anymore, after that. “.. Is he a friend?” No, he thought glumly, he's a corpse. He shook his head. Everyone else who mattered had known Torasin. They wouldn't have forgotten him in less than a year. And he doubted they would, conveniently, abandon their orders once he'd been away long enough, least of all if he walked willingly into their arms. Damn you, idiot. "I barely knew him," he said quietly, trying to keep the tortured look from his eyes. He didn't know which was worse; being guilty of having killed him, or admitting it to this gentle, innocent soul? The age-old conflict of not knowing whether he should've murdered him or not, pitted against his fear of dying here, where so many things had begun. He swallowed. It was painful. His heart was rattling in his chest like the bones of the dead. "He was Doctor here, a while ago. Then he.. died." His ears fell back into the mess of white, and somehow he forced himself to walk up to Kahlua. How come his body wasn't trembling as his spirit? "I'm the only one who knows what happened to him," he murmured, pained eyes going from her to the horizon. Somewhere out there they were, his judges and nemesis; enemies. He drew a deep breath. "Your herd mates have been wanting to.. talk to me about it. I fear they may not be very nice." It was as much an understatement as he'd ever made. He wasn't sure he could trust the Dragonwhore to look at him for more than a second before trying to rip his throat out, howling her accusations and hurtling lies at his ears. She'd never impressed him, least of all when she started burning fires among his poor scorched trees. He leveled his gaze on Kahlua, forced his voice not to waver. "They think I murdered him, Kahlua."
It was a curious thing, the tingling that trembled along the mists this moment. It spoke of the past, of a King who ruled here not too many years ago, of a spotted lord whom I distinctly recall standing before the pillar of flames that was the Sun God tarnishing my land. I had to wonder at the fires that were now currently lit in myhome - they were kept controlled, and even I had to admit that they provided a comfort to the young and tired members of the herd. Though the area I inhabit is too heavily shrouded by mist to support a flame, I would not deny their usefulness. The memory is strange one, and I wonder why it was sent to me, why now, would I think of the former King, the FrostHeart, the one who wanted only unicorns to inhabit this realm? He held his grounds successfully for an entire turn of the seasons, a feat not to be mocked nor discredited. I held no sway over who was to be called my King or Queen. The lady Mirage had earned my respect enough, at least in the sense that she seemed to heed my warnings, and she had defended her home successfully, and filled it with keen followers who seemed to genuinely feel loyalty and love for her. It was hard not to enjoy the presence of the herd, peaceful yet powerful that they were. Why should the mists present me with the image of a fallen King, his shape and hue were undeniable, even the icy sheen of his horn seemed to shimmer as my violet orbs beheld the vision. With motions that were suggestive of the mists that surrounded me, I pulled myself from my abode, and began my search for the reason of this vision. It did not take me long to traverse the realm I was born into, to meet the wall that had been built, to pass through the gate and - there. Quietly, I draw myself up, towards our Glazier and the former King, offering a small nod of my long, pointed horn. My slender ears had heard the tail end of the conversation, and I was well aware of the death of Torasin - though not the exact cause of it. Was there something our leader was not telling us? "Why would they think that, Mauja?" I ask, directing my deep gaze towards his own icy one, taking in the nervous demeanour he presents. Why should he be nervous if he was innocent of any crime? bg - table
01-01-2014, 05:27 AM
blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires There were a lot of things he'd done in his life that could be considered bad. He had secrets he'd never breathed, even in a whisper, questions he refused to answer no matter who asked; dark deeds he'd left in his snowy wake, schemes engineered by himself or others. Up until a year or two ago, he'd done nothing aimlessly, always a piece of some grand master plan—but then he'd torn loose from his mooring, and now, he was adrift. But even while lost, he could not forget, and it seemed bitterly ironic that the one thing they wanted him for, was the one thing he hadn't meant to do. Compared to his past, he'd been incredibly tame while in Helovia, and yet there he stood, tangled up in a mess he'd never meant to get tangled up in. And he was tangling someone else up with him. Whenever he'd looked at her face he'd seen her budding confusion, as if she couldn't comprehend where this was going. Was she beginning to sense that it wasn't a stray lap dog she'd brought home, but a wolf? Something so much wilder, and sharp-toothed? And for all his ruggedness, for all his wintery hunger, his blue eyes were full of gentleness and pain. He hated doing this to her—he hated doing this to anyone, because it was a sharp reminder of what had transpired in the Deep Forest that fateful day. But least of all did he want to do this to someone who had shown him nothing but enthusiastic kindness; an open face, an open heart. Compared to her, he was a monster, regardless of his guilt, or lack thereof. “Oh, no, they're very nice,” she was saying, leaping to the defense of her beloved herd, just as one of them materialized out of the sparse mists here on the slopes; Hellena. Mauja's last words slipped from his mouth, a certain sense of doom clinging to them as the pale, frail mare inclined her head in greeting. He barely saw it. His mind was somewhere else, seeing only the Sun God's wrath as it wrecked their clifftop home, and flung her spindly, defenseless form through the air. She'd taken off in a blind run after that. He'd been able to do nothing to save her that time, and now she stood there, watching him with her ancient, mysterious eyes. Mauja's closed, his face a calm mask despite the pounding of his heart. Slowly he inclined his head, tasting the silence, wishing it would break sooner—not that it lasted very long anyway, but he'd set the ball in motion. After all his caution, his desperate attempt to give nothing away, they'd found out anyway; and then, this. He'd turned around and flung himself off the beaten path, eyes closed, praying to land softly. As if, his mind whispered softly, and Irma flew high above in the sky. He could feel her tension. She was ready to bolt. "Why would they think that, Mauja?" His eyes opened again, and for a moment he simply looked at her; she was the Seer of this herd, wasn't she? Midas had so boldly stated his orders, yet this mare seemed to not know of it—or was she just dancing the same dance as he did, loathe to let anyone know what was in their minds? Perhaps she did know, and simply chose to pretend not to, in order to see what he had to say. “But if you know what happened why don't you just tell them?” Because it includes admitting to punching an ice spike through him.. on accident. Kahlua went on, her face having gone from terrified (which had sent a stab through his trembling heart) to hopeful; bright-eyed where his were getting dull. He was trapped, trapped between a keen-minded mystic and an innocent woman-girl. Trapped, and he'd done it all by himself. And how could he worm out of this? How could he possibly explain? And explain his lack of faith in this nest of hypocritical liars? He had to take it one step at a time, start somewhere, untangle it; his eyes drifted to Hellena, voice subdued but steady. "Because it came to my attention that I was wanted, by the Edge, for his death," he began, speaking slowly and weighing each word; it wasn't so easy, that he could just bellow the truth at the skies, because the truth danced a damn fine line. It all came down the definition of words, actions, intents. "As for why I do not simply 'tell them'... This herd and I go back a long way, Kahlua. I do not trust them to believe me; I doubt I am very innocent in their eyes." His voice had grown mellower as he turned his eyes to Kahlua. There was no way to say it, no way to put it that didn't include stammering and changing what he was saying—no real way to explain that the Edge tried to blame him for a lot of things his herd had done (namely, the murder of Solstice). No easy way to explain what he'd been, what he'd done, and how a lot of things had happened, to the point where Mauja felt incredibly uncomfortable about placing his life in their hands. He drew a deep breath, ears falling back again; this time, they did not clench against his neck, though. "And the truth of things.. is so fickle... would a prejudiced heart listen to the faint voice of reason, or simply twist the ill-defined words into what it wants to hear..? And act upon that predetermined opinion..? I followed here on a whim, but I do not stand here lightly—the truth is.. in their eyes, perhaps, not truth, and the fine line of definition meaningless; blurred..." He was rambling. He was almost mumbling, voice so soft and quiet, tongue and soul seeking words that were never meant to be spoken; some things are mere concept, too hard to put into words to have them make sense, be coherent and, whole. He swallowed, spirit quivering in its mortal house, and quelled the flood of black bitterness. It had not helped him, ever, and would not now. Bitterness just led to self-pity, and it was the last thing he needed. Gritting his teeth, Mauja steeled himself, pulled his disintegrating self together. "The truth is.. that Torasin died because of me," or was that even the truth? Or was it because of Kiba? Or because of whatever idiot had set him on fire during the Qian invasion? Or.. because of.. how far back could you trace a reflex, a fear? "- but I didn't murder him." It all came down to definition, and in the end, there was no easy way to say I killed him, but I didn't mean to.
01-02-2014, 12:55 AM
So swiftly did his mask return, his icy camouflage, though when he launched into mumbling, incoherent sentences I knew that his nerves were still present, a guilt, a stain upon his perfect record. I observed him, quietly, waiting for what will unfold to unfold. The Edge had not been told openly about the circumstances of Torasin's death, only that of his mate at the time, Solstice. D'Artagnon, another former resident of this land, had been seen doing that. I had thought it was only ever assumed that the Basin had been involved with the death of our Moon Doctor, and the disappearances of other, lesser known Edge members. Kahlua spoke of the good will of the Edge, and I tried to agree with her - but Mauja proved once more that he was indeed an intelligent beast, certainly capable of deriving the harsh truths of the world. Whatever he was about to speak, to admit to, if those of the Edge were determined to believe what they wanted to believe, there was no unconvincing them. I was more of a collector of facts, a mistress determined to view the world for all it had to offer, to see things the way my beloved Goddess might see them. It was she I believed in, more than anything else, she whom I pledged my loyalties, which was why even though those who held the ranks of King and Queen in this land varied, my position as Seer did not. I was glad when he finally spoke, when the words formed - Torasin's death was caused by Mauja. This information was very sensitive, and for once, I hoped that we would not be interrupted. So, the death was no intentional? It was difficult, even for myself, not to jump to conclusions. It had been known by those in this herd, that Mauja led a group who believed unicorns were the only race that should exist - how could we believe that Torasin's death was anything but in cold blood? I took a step closer, my tiara leaning forward as I tried to search the blue pools of his eyes for something more - was he sorry? regretful? saddened? "Are you sorry for what you have done?" The question was quietly asked, and I knew that upon conversing with my Leader, for there was certainly no way I couldn't not report this to her, I would be berated for my lack of immediate action. Here I have, a confession, but is it of the crime the Lady Mirage wishes to charge the killer of Torasin? "Are you here to answer for your actions?" Do you wish for me to call forth our Leader, and the other masses, or do you wish for an opportunity to leave now, to disappear from here forever, so that I might help you clear your name, and promote the peace that this herd so desires? A glance is given to Kahlua, as I hope the girl does not enter a blind panic when given information of such magnitude. I pray she stays silent, or else treats it with care, until the appropriate time arises to share such delicate information. bg - table
01-02-2014, 05:23 AM
blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires His words were like fumbling hands in the darkness, reaching out to feel his way, withdrawing at the slightest contact, feather-soft. But whether he was alone or not, he didn't know yet, hesitantly laying the groundwork for more understanding—for any understanding. And just as his words encountered only silence, until the end, he found no one in the dark, no one to grasp his hand and pull him to his feet. He was, after all, alone in this. If he couldn't be strong for himself, no one else would be, either. And that, perhaps, was what spurred his marginal confession, the first traces of real, solid truth spilling from his dark lips. But there was no catharsis, only the slightest feeling of relief, of finally unveiling the one thing which had lain on his mind for too long. Barely a day had passed without his mind touching upon that day, upon Torasin, the half-step and his smile as death took him. If he could simply show them what had happened... If he could, somehow, make them understand that he wasn't, after all, so different—that he, too, was afraid of things. That he felt things. That he could commit terrible mistakes, and that they were just that—mistakes. Accidents. Unintentional. But to make them understand, he had to tell them. He had to admit it, to himself, and to his greatest, oldest enemy. And that was the strength he wasn't sure if he had. He didn't know if he was strong enough to be weak. Kahlua was silent. Terribly silent, to Mauja's aching heart, as if his words had frozen her over. Nothing was ever easy, was it? Nothing could ever just be perfect, and nice? And just how far had he fallen, that he could taint innocence this way..? That he could do this to her, when all he tried was to do the right thing? I have damned myself. He'd known. He'd known it even then but kept his head down and slogged on for far too long. Until he stood here, with something he hadn't event meant to do weighing down his heart. His weary gaze turned to Hellena when she moved, breaking what felt like an eternity of silence, but hardly could've been more than a second. Her dainty head reached out, violet eyes searching, and Mauja—he met them, and met them with an open, tired honesty. She had not condemned him; she had not said that he was heartless, and lying. ".. for what you have done?" It stung, bitterly, unfairly; what had he done but defend himself? What had he done? He'd been terrified. His eyes, his face, his pose, carried a certain melancholy to it; if they truly wanted his honesty, he would give it to them. "Yes," he answered softly, quietly. If there only was some way he could show them... Word against word, and his hopes were dulling. Not all would be as non-judgmental as Hellena. If they cried their lies loud enough... "Are you here to answer for your actions?" He closed his eyes. They didn't know. They didn't know how it stung to be accused of something you'd spent forever regretting, when all you'd done was defend yourself; they didn't know what had happened, and because of that, he bridled his desire to, brokenly, yell that he hadn't done anything wrong, it had all been a damn accident... And in that silence, he heard her too clearly. “You're lying.” Slowly, Mauja's blue eyes opened again, and turned to hers, infinitely sad. “Irma.” Irma..? Irma was as heartless as no one he had ever met—it had been Irma who had killed Delinne's clone, not Mauja. Irma was a predator. Irma had no qualms killing anyone. He was silent a moment, a heartbeat, just looking at her—two pairs of blue, sorrowful eyes. Lying. Was she trying to defend him? To deny the truth? Did she want him to not have done it? "It was an accident, Kahlua," he said softly. "I didn't mean to.. I never wanted this..." Would she understand? Or would her eyes just spill over with those unshed tears, and her heart forever be barred to him? She had given him something beautiful, a gift of trust and faith—and he'd repaid her with this. With honesty. It had been the only way to stop looking over his shoulder. "Hellena," he said softly. It seemed that everything in life just pointed to another heart-wrenching moment, when every mistake was paraded in front of you, blackening your future even as you sought to cut yourself free from your tarnished past. "You know them better than I do." His heart was beating too fast again, his breath quivering in his throat. I just don't want to die. Not now. Not yet. He blinked, forced himself to look at her, somehow composed, guarded, but for his eyes. "What hope do I have?"
01-17-2014, 07:24 PM
01-18-2014, 05:58 AM
blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires [ Storytime! ] What hope did he have, indeed? Either he had been sorely misjudging everyone his entire life, or.. well. He didn't know. That Mirage would not accuse him of murder seemed nothing but a distant dream—for all her talk of equality and all her righteous behavior, she'd always struck him as horribly judgmental. But Hellena didn't outright say that. Simply gave him a choice: come in now, or come back later. He'd come so far, today.. on that stupid, childish whim; he ha dreamed of simply going into the Edge to live there with Kahlua, a stranger starting over, as if no one would know him or recognize him or know what he'd done. It had seemed such a wonderful little dream, but he knew too much to know it would never come true. He wasn't stupid enough to believe in it, and coward enough to not want to die at the fires of an angry dragon. He weighed his desire to have this over and done with against the chances of survival. Turning away now felt both like a relief, and a burden. And for the briefest moment that day, it was not about Torasin: it was simple a choice, between one path and another. In the end, letting Hellena go alone to prepare Mirage seemed the wisest course. Still, it wasn't.. easy, to turn his back on what he'd set out to do. Shelf it for later. It tasted too much of cowardice, and unhappily he watched Hellena leave. Was this was it would always come down to? That truth was just dangerous and disappointing? Had life been better when he wallowed in his inherent dishonesty? When he'd been pretending? He forced himself to doubt it, but watched until the Seer was swallowed by the distance, into the forest. Somewhere up there lay Kahlua's wall, but suddenly Mauja thought that going any closer now was definitely a bad idea. In fact, they probably should go the other way. He'd done enough here, for now, and by lingering just increased his risk of being discovered. Ears falling back in a gesture of sadness, Mauja turned his head back to Kahlua. She hadn't responded to Hellena's gentle chastening, and he wasn't sure what she'd meant either. Naïve for bringing Mauja? Or for automatically seeming to have assumed that he was a murderer..? Or that she'd assumed he was nice..? There were too many possible explanations, and none of them particularly good. The silence held a while longer. Mauja watched her through gentle eyes, wishing it hadn't been she who found him: he'd abused her eager trust. He'd let him take her here, when he already knew how it would end. Latched on to a moment in time and drawn strength from it, allowed her to lead him simply because he was too weak to do it on his own. It was vile. Her eyes opened, still so blue, but no longer threatening to spill over. Had she spent those minutes condemning him, so it wouldn't hurt her as much to order him away? Why were they even lingering? Shouldn't she go back to her home, to forget and live in happiness, and he take his foul aura and go? But he didn't. Just remained where he was, even as she shied away slightly. The smallest motion. A single step. And a void opened up between them. “How did it happen. Tell me the story.” Now it was his eyes that closed, his mind that spun through memory and thought. The story begins a long time ago... But how far back would he need to go, for her to understand? Was it understanding she sought, or just to condemn him? To make utterly sure he was a monster? His heart was still beating too loud, thundering in the darkness. "All of this started a long time ago, when I was King of the Edge," he began after a moment. The wind picked up his long hair and held it out for a moment, a rush of air as if to say we remember. "Helovia was suffering a terrible, terrible summer, by the hand of the Sun God. The Edge was struck hard. Torasin, and his dragon, trespassed onto our lands. He was on a quest to preach about the Sun God—the very God which was tormenting us so. We drove him out." His eyes opened. Through all of this, Torasin had never attempted to lay hand on Mauja. And in the end, he hadn't even seemed angry, even as his blood slid down the ice. "Just a couple of days after, the Sun burned the forest down." And I couldn't save Hellena from his wrath. "And another of his minions, who felt I had wronged her, set our forest on fire again. Then Mirage came.. with her dragons and her soldiers, to tear our home from us. I aimed an attack at Torasin before I was consumed by fire—a fire that felt as real as anything, but proved to be mere illusion. It haunts me to this very day." His voice had grown soft. "Another dragon burned me, I don't know to whom it belonged. Mirage's dragon-mate hurled fire at me. I have dreamed of dying in flames." It was easier to tell a story. It was easier to explain of all the times fire had seared his flesh, and of how deep those scars lay: easier than to simply say, I am afraid of fire. "It was in the Deep Forest," he began after a moment's pause. "Over two years since the first time I met him. The scars had all healed, but.." His ears fell back again. "I cannot forget the feeling of every inch of me burning, of the hot air scorching my raw throat.. the pain of fire searing your flesh..." His voice trailed off into silence. "Kiba. That was the name of his dragon. When I met him those years ago.. I was always the one who struck first—I believed it justified.. he trespassed, then showed up with an army to take my home... This time.. this time Kiba thought, that he would strike first." His long tail flicked restlessly against his hocks; his eyes had strayed to the horizon, but he forced them back to her face. To her eyes, if she would dare look into his. "He came out of the woodwork. And.. the fire... It was all I could see, all I could feel..." It was hard to speak of. Hard to remember those moments of blind panic. "I panicked. I lashed out, with everything I had. And then..." Slowly, from the ground on his left, rose an ice spike, spiraling towards the sky with a solemn grace. They were a double-edged sword; he'd cut himself on them, too. "One of these. Hit him." He spoke through gritted teeth, forcing the last bit of truth out. "Straight in the chest. He didn't stand a chance." His voice wavered; he looked aside, swallowed, blinked the tears away. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid everything. Stupid fires and stupid dragons and stupid, stupid ice. "He died smiling," he said after a moment, voice thick—as if it somehow made absolutele sense, when it didn't.
01-19-2014, 10:06 AM
blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires [ never apologize when making long posts to me. :D also, reading Earthsea kind of.. messes up my usual style sometimes. e_e; oh, well. ] Lost in his tale, in the swirling depths of memory and thought, he saw little of her face as he spoke. Often his restless weight shifted from hoof to hoof, and his gaze drew itself away, to something beyond the world's horizon, until the end: until he spoke of Kiba's fierce, foolish love, and how it had driven the three of them into ruin. It was then, and only then, that his eyes were more than halfway present, that his mind was in something so much more recent, called back from the abyss of his past. Of all the things he could call himself, broken was more and more at the forefront of his mind. He had done many things, some good, some bad—and many of those. Of them all, this was the only one he could redeem himself from, be exonerated: the only one that wasn't intentional, or at least halfway intentional. Some things you did, and simply had to carry with you forever. Much of Mauja's life was such: things he had done, willingly, and now had to accept having done. The majority of them were not good things. For a moment, as he spoke, their eyes met. Kahlua, for all her anguish and fear of what he had done, was oddly brave, listening in silence to his tale—to his own confessions of violence against Torasin, though none of it deadly (he could no longer recall if he had wanted to kill the gilded man upon the battlefield, but it wouldn't surprise him if he had). The moment the words of Torasin's demise had slipped out of his mouth, she'd shied away from him, but now, it was as if she was almost daring to lean closer again... And his buried fear of startling her with his weaponry never bloomed. All she did was break their eye-contact, and gaze into the distance, towards the heart of the Edge. What did she think of? He wondered it but quietly, too mired in the remembrance of that day, the canvas of his thoughts painted golden and brown and red. Then, he fell silent, his words spent, the tale told. In the few moments of stillness and silence his heart beat, steadfast and loyal in his chest despite everything they had been through. Irma, still reckless and wary, soared far above. He wished he could do like her, take flight from this mortal coil, leave the heaviness and darkness behind—simply soar into the sun, and disappear in its fiery grace and warmth. That sounds like death, she remarked dryly, knowing it had not been his intention; if it had, she would've berated him. Mauja said nothing. Simply let the moment settle, and his eyes see what his troubled heart might not. The day's patient light glittered in the tears trailing down Kahlua's cheeks, and with a brief stab of guilt he looked aside. For what did she cry, for whom did she mourn? From the corner of his own sad eye he saw a smile—the same smile she'd worn in the meadow, the same smile she'd had when thinking of showing him the wall; the smile he'd put out with his darkness. What rekindled it now? Glacial and distant, yet soft somehow, Mauja stood still when she took her step back, and came closer. She bridged what wedge of distrust he'd forced between them, came closer still, as if merely taking back lost ground wasn't enough. He had no idea what she wanted to do. He felt as if the past days, the past months, had torn him lose and pulled everything out from underneath him; he couldn't trust his intuition, his hopes or his judgments. The only thing he was fairly sure of was that she meant him no harm. For how could she, how could this gentle-hearted, trusting spirit host any evil? It seemed as unfathomable as all the secrets of the universe, and he simply stood there, wary and spent, letting her come. Letting her come closer than many had. She reached out. He watched from the corner of his eye, felt the slight shift of air, of heat radiating from her dark chest: the faintest brush of hair, that small moment before a touch, and then the heavy warmth of her head and neck lay across his withers. Mauja's eyes closed. He did not know what to do. He did not know what to feel—or even what he felt. There was something.. something hammering beneath the cold layers of marble around his heart, something leaning heavily against the confused stoicism, the one thing which kept him rigid and unmoved; he did not feel, because he did not dare to feel. Because he had no idea what lay beneath that glacial cold. He held back, because holding back was so much easier. “I forgive you.” His heart pounded in the darkness, hot in his chest. The weight across his back was not a burden, but soothing, something to shelter behind. Slowly, Mauja's regal head lowered. In the chaos of uncertainty, of not knowing whether he would walk away alive from the Edge, he had once again donned his mask of, not indifference, but of.. stone, some kind of barrier between heart and body. The last protection to save his face even if his spirit broke. And just as slowly as his head had lowered, he let part of his walls come down, to feel not simply the physical touch, but the one on his heart as well. She was warm, but she was so much more, too. She was.. beautiful, in her own right; she'd trusted him so easily, and then feared him, and now forgiven him. Before he had the time to fully explore it, that sensation of wanting to fall to his knees at the feet of this angel and weep, she pulled back—having hung on the devil's back long enough. “When you’re ready, come find me.” His soft blue eyes opened, somewhere in the region of his knees, angled up; hers were steadier now, her promise solemn, honest. She, as whimsical as the heart and wind, was swearing to be his ally, to fight until the last word for his right to live, to not be punished for his panic and fear. She, who wore her heart on her sleeve. Either she was the master of deception, or as honest as she seemed. Nothing will change, if you never have a little faith. Which wasn't his forte. But he had to try. "Thank you, Kahlua," he whispered; reached up and out, to try and brush his plush muzzle against hers. It was all he could say, for he found no other words.
01-19-2014, 11:12 PM
01-21-2014, 05:35 AM
blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires Perhaps whimsy is sometimes the best—to dream a stupid little dream, and follow it, all the while knowing of its folly. When he woke up earlier that morning, he'd never imagined finding himself on the borders of the Edge, speaking of Torasin's unfortunate demise, even less letting the herd know that he wanted to come in, and speak the truth. He knew that one of his greatest faults was his tendency to hesitate, to plot out every single detail and then never carry it out. When it came down to it, he was flexible and imaginative, but when it came to simply acting.. of initiating these massive things; of throwing the first rock to set off the landslide... Oh, it was a long time indeed since he'd taken these plunges for himself. Where even he himself sometimes saw a monster, she clearly saw something else. Maybe just a man wounded too many times by himself, in shambles from his touch with fire and flame; she had overcome something within herself.. come to terms with the death resting upon his conscience. Accepted him, despite knowing parts of what he'd done. Again, his eyes closed, and he breathed in the scent and taste of her warm breath. Returned the favor. It was the first time he had spoken of it. Hellena and Kahlua were the only ones he had ever told what he'd done. Kahlua, the only one who knew the entire story, along with him. And still, some things he held back: that this wasn't the only instance of deadly violence in his past. Mauja was no saint, and had no explanations, justifications, for the other things he had done. To tell of them would simply be to ruin what understanding had blossomed here, and still, it felt like lying—like cheating. As long as there were things he did not speak aloud, he would always have to hold back. “My family burned in fire. I ran.” His mind watched the play of fire along trees, the way the hungry flames bit deeper into ancient wood; the crash of flaming branches too heavy for their wounded limbs to carry, and how they collapsed to earth. Of the gray, rain-wet ash plastering itself to everything in the aftermath. He could understand running from that. "I'm sorry," was all he said, in the end, but not callously, nor lightly. He said it as one who has been burned might say it to another, knowing of its soft, sinister song and its painful bite. There was not much else to say. One who has been burned does not need to ask what the flames feel like. His gaze strayed back to the Edge. No fire was visible from where they stood, hidden partly by daylight and partly by distance, but he knew they were there, burning between the flame-bit trees. Mirage's audacity had never ceased to outrage and amaze him—and knowing that their glass-worker harbored some of his fear for fire, too... Were all dragons so thick-headed and selfish? Forcing their hot, precious flames onto everything? I want to see your heart freeze over. Looking for exoneration or not, Mauja would never be Mirage's friend, nor ally. His jaw had tightened, something in his eyes had gone cold, but at the sound of Kahlua's voice it loosened up, softened, and was gone. It was a legit question, and in the chaos of his sudden decision, not one he particularly knew the answer to. A slight frown etched itself on his face as he turned his attention back to her. What would he do, indeed? He'd already said he'd leave for a bit, come back later, when maybe the dragonwhore would be keener on listening to him speak truth, but.. what else would he do? "Leave for a bit, I guess," he finally said. "I have other unfinished business to attend, and, well.. I don't know. I hadn't meant to come here. I have no plan."
01-25-2014, 01:57 PM
01-25-2014, 03:34 PM
blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires He snorted; a dry, bemused sound. There was no way he couldn't, in the company of this wondrous, forgiving, strange creature. It almost shamed him of his darkness, of the things which lurked in shadows—things he would not admit to, things he would forever swallow when they threatened to tumble out. If she was everything pure, everything noble and beautiful and the things which made the world good, then he was the opposite, the secretive, skulking darkness. The poison in the veins. That which bit, sometimes purposefully, sometimes on accident. The cold, dark heart which refused to let go of some things. Some things that it did not want to forgive. Would Kahlua ever be capable of his vindictiveness? Some things he tried to forget. Some he clung to. Some, for redemption, some, for vengeance. "I wasn't being very good at finishing it anyway," he replied in a voice that was oddly light, matched by the pale of his gaze. This little jaunt had been a welcome, though terrifying, distraction; it had been somewhat of a step in the right direction, part of his conflict yet one he was strangely united about. Torasin.. Torasin was his regret. For a moment, the sorrow flickered in his eyes before it faded. Some things.. death with a smile.. it had brought something else. It had, in a sense, brought him Kahlua. A chance for some kind of peace, though without it.. would he have needed to seek it? His gaze flickered back to her. He had stolen enough moments of her day. The world needed its personal piece of sunshine back. Mauja lowered his head, white lashes falling down to his cheeks for a moment. "Thank you," he said, sincere—somber in the way he was so good at, all graceful and regal and somehow, almost warm. "I look forward to my return as well." His head came up, eyes cracked open; a slight, mischievous grin curled one side of his mouth upwards. A perfect mask to hide the fact that he still did not look forward to the idea of being roasted to death. "Sort of," he added as an afterthought, as she made to leave. For her, he smiled, and then, when her eyes no longer graced him, it faded. There was a heaviness in his chest, a hollow ringing in his mind: should he feel relieved, at having thrown the first rock to set off the landslide, or troubled, by what consequences he might bring down upon himself? He was no friend of the Edge, no friend of Mirage, but a friend of life: of his own life. Would this.. would this be enough? Did he let them fight his fight out of convenience, or because they wanted to? Because at least Kahlua had decided to champion him? There were too many things to consider, too many things to be afraid of, and not enough truth. He shook his head to himself. Perhaps it was just to save himself, but he withdrew, back into the cold, hard shell, into the land of callous indifference, into the dank, gray fog. He wanted, desperately, to be free of the burden he carried, free to roam Helovia without fearing to be abducted to Mirage for a trial: and in a way, it had been a relief to speak of it.. to finally tell someone the truth... It was hard to know who he was, when all he had ever been was ambitious, adaptable, noble, he guessed, but in the eyes of the world, it all came out wrong. As it is with everything. Sighing, Mauja turned to leave the Edge behind, and Irma came down from the skies to settle on his withers. Some things never changed, at least. [ I hope you don't mind that I ended it here :3 Let me know otherwise! ] | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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