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02-09-2014, 03:21 PM
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To Mongrel, Irrydae's voice paints pictures; stars pouring out from within a dark source, glittering brightly, twirling and shifting in the night. In the ebbing tide of his oceanic mind, the cosmos drip and drizzle, and he consumes the comets with vigor; this Confutatis senses, a dim explosion within the back of her skull, surging, electric, to her own mind, where it pulses and pounds, ecstasy and a deepening hunger. She is shaken from this strange visualization by the mare's voice, simplistic and quiet, a dreamer's voice in the harlot's so-called enlightened opinion. Nostrils cusp wide, thin fleshy ribbons of red glowing as she exhales, thoughtfulness drifting over the sharp planes of her sooty face; who is she? Confutatis cannot make claim to know Irrydae, the star-quean and oracle, consorter with the elemental father of earth and water. Nor would she be so foolhardy as to control... her ears, tapering columns, twist in half-circles as the pegasus begins to move away, to penetrate the enormity and ignomity of the underground, the unknown of which Confutatis prides herself on knowing. Without proffering answer to the star-daughter's thanks, she turns, the clatter of her hooves ringing loud and sharp in the omnipresent silence. There is the faintest of underlying clicks, the tap of Mongrel's claws on ragged stone, and they fall into step with the newcomer, patiently awaiting what questions must surely spring to the tongue, begging to be asked. "Many," the hellion answers, amber eye following the heavenly, Caelestra. "Those with the wits have slithered; the courageous have barged; the wise have walked." And what question lays heavy in her mouth, filling up the gap between roof-of-mouth and tongue: which are you?. Surely it must be originating from gullible matron, valiant countess; she could not imagine this Caelestra daughter to be born of wickedry and lies. "The unlucky and the luckless swarm above us in a deadened world, awaiting a chance to feast on the flesh that burrows beneath the holy skin of the earth." A comment is given, a lilting susurration akin to the weary shifting of stars in the celestial heaven, and Confutatis seizes her chance with joy. "Perhaps so, but more remarkable is the little bird's desire to survive from the mighty jaws of the wolf... those who live together do dare thrive." |
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