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01-23-2013, 01:00 AM
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Bicker, they bicker, the youth of the world. They are strapping an ill informed and believe that they are always right, that they have the right to be right, that we should accept them on the merit of words that bear no weight against the test of knowledge and reality. I listen to her and my face stands still, a soft rigidity taking over elegant lines and distinguished poise. I hear myself speak, but do not feel the movement of lips: "Torasin's welcome is all that keeps me from sending you away, now." Hurt, anger, dry and miserable humor; how do I do this, entice such vivid streams of emotion from the world when all I want is to understand the meaning behind its facade? I glimpse at Torasin, and I wonder if he knows what I did not until a moment ago, that his trust and judgment do mean something to me- but I doubt he does. He probably cannot stand me, just as she cannot, just as so many seem to feel. You don't know me, I want to say, but don't. I have seen so many fall. She speaks, and her words wash over me with the credence of a lonely sun, warmth without comfort, feeling without conviction. Yell, if you are angry; prove to me I am unreasonable; but she does not. Instead a life story unfolds, a whisper of wandering and self-sacrifice. I don't care about your past. I care about who you are now. But this is what she has to offer, and perhaps I should give her a chance to escape the web of disconnect and contradiction she has so cleverly ensnared herself within. I listen, and I think, and then Lace arrives. His voice is smooth and soothing, diplomacy clear through every syllable. It only adds to my heaping frustration and the hazy disappointment I feel with myself, the concern that I will never quite manage to endear myself to others, never successfully convince them that I am worthy of some vague amount of affection. Does it matter? Yes. No. Maybe. Who's to say? I shift my weight but the tension remains. Somewhere nearby, Kali is distracted by a caterpillar. A bird cries. The sun drifts westward, but not enough to herald the fall of evening. I let Lace speak and hear the simple eloquence of his voice more than the words he says, and I watch him interact with the painted mare, and I wonder. Was that why she followed him, that night? Were they close, closer than perhaps the average friendship would suggest? Does she love him- she had been so jealous that night, had left as soon as I arrived. Does he love her back? Does that matter to me? Somehow, it does. Attention snaps back to the duo as Lace's tone shifts, and I am suddenly an indirect subject of his monologue. Dark eyes that have been distant grow sharp once more, and I frown. I've never thought of myself as imposing, and frankly, I can't see it. But fine, imposing is better than terrifying, or irrational. Against my will the ghost of a smirk pulls against coal-bitten lips. "I don't bite," is the dark response, less stilted than before but not without some reserve. "I leave that to Kali." As though on cue the brat lands squarely upon my hips, her snowy bodice still splattered with drying blood; curious blue eyes look over the large mare, and her tail twitches contemplatively. Too big food, she confides to myself and, I suspect, Lace. There is some amount of humor in her childish voice. Fajira helps? Little barbarian. I ignore her. "I don't have some great quest to send her on, Lace, although now that you mention it..." there's lilting amusement in my drawl, a warmth that I hate the stallion for drawing out. Fucking Lace and his good nature. I turn to look at Torasin, but he's disappeared- when? Why didn't I notice? Kali points out that she remembers, and I shake my head. I am growing unobservant in my old age, it seems. Back to Tor, the problem child. Lace's speech has had the benefit of forcing me to relax, at least a little. He's managed to express my concerns with grace and diplomacy, two traits I have at no point in my life possessed, and I suppose I'm grateful to him for that. "Lace is right," I concede, nodding to him before returning to the mare. "I do not seek to drive you away. But you had not painted yourself in the most flattering light, and I..." I pause. Glance at Lace. Fine. I'll play nice. "My sister was stolen from us recently," I inform her curtly. "I have no desire to introduce even the potential of a repeat occurrence." And you don't sport the greatest resume. I raise myself up, but this time I attempt to strike a pose that is less imposing. "If you will let me check your motives, I shall be satisfied. I have the ability to... skim, your intentions." I don't say that I can read her soul, her biology, her being. I have no desire to repeat that venture, for it's a rather traumatic experience all around. Besides, I suspect that the soul of this mare would be a simple, muddled thing, too confused for me to even hope to untangle. Irritated and tired, I turn to Lace, glaring at the stallion... but I am not angry with him, not really. Nice enough? my eyes ask, more expression than usually trespasses across the delicate lines of coal. I am too wound up to be any nicer. [ ooc || really sorry for the wait, and that Rishi's such a grump! And that it's really bloody long. x) ] ![[Image: RishiRef.jpg]](http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g240/xaiatora/RishiRef.jpg) |
