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02-25-2014, 01:02 PM
still a credit to your ruse, what a beautiful excuse
to never open up your eyes and see the things you lose
to never open up your eyes and see the things you lose
( I didn't mean for anyone to hear what he muttered, but it's okay ^^' )
"That's not a bad idea," she replied, thoughtful almost in all her erratic, eccentric restlessness. Mauja snorted. It would only be a bad idea if it involved using him as bait, because then it would likely turn into him being a corpse instead. Sick and wounded, he was not in any shape to lure anyone or anything, and when she'd spat of inactivity and giving up, he felt somewhat excused. He wasn't in any shape to be particularly useful, aside from fueling her fires. And whether he did that out of altruism, or because he wanted to see her burn—well, that was up for debate.
More harked to her call. A gray, one-winged mare he didn't recognize, who stood in icy, tired silence, and another smaller, familiar shape. With sleep still in his eyes and voice, Kari spoke, and Mauja gave him a slight nod of recognition, and hid his mild surprise. The child didn't know what was going on? Why they were down here? It struck something in his memory, something similarly said or stated, but he forgot what it was before he had the chance to grasp it. The blue mare spoke to him, though, explained a little, leaving Mauja to still stand in silence until a new voice broke through his fever-dim haze.
“They can be healed.”
Slowly, as if to whip his head around would make it hurt (which it would), Mauja craned his neck to look at the bay mare. She, Kahlua's savior; she, who always smiled, and breathed joy into the world—except for now. She wore no smile. And in the shadows behind her lurked another familiar presence, dark and draining and dangerous. Deimos. If they would look at him, meet his blue eyes for a moment, he would dip his head in recognition, but offer no words, no verbal greeting. Where did he stand with them? Had he betrayed them, or only failed them? Which was worse?
He let his attention fall back on the Pegasus mare; she was a fire trying to ignite wet wood, a spark trying to move a boulder. None in the meeting seemed particularly impressed or interested. "Go ahead," he responded callously, voice rough, simply because his throat was rough. "I'll be right behind you but don't expect me to be fancifully light on my feet."
So flippant, so careless, toying with the lives of another; oh Mauja, who knew that waking you up so rudely put you in such a foul mood?
"That's not a bad idea," she replied, thoughtful almost in all her erratic, eccentric restlessness. Mauja snorted. It would only be a bad idea if it involved using him as bait, because then it would likely turn into him being a corpse instead. Sick and wounded, he was not in any shape to lure anyone or anything, and when she'd spat of inactivity and giving up, he felt somewhat excused. He wasn't in any shape to be particularly useful, aside from fueling her fires. And whether he did that out of altruism, or because he wanted to see her burn—well, that was up for debate.
More harked to her call. A gray, one-winged mare he didn't recognize, who stood in icy, tired silence, and another smaller, familiar shape. With sleep still in his eyes and voice, Kari spoke, and Mauja gave him a slight nod of recognition, and hid his mild surprise. The child didn't know what was going on? Why they were down here? It struck something in his memory, something similarly said or stated, but he forgot what it was before he had the chance to grasp it. The blue mare spoke to him, though, explained a little, leaving Mauja to still stand in silence until a new voice broke through his fever-dim haze.
“They can be healed.”
Slowly, as if to whip his head around would make it hurt (which it would), Mauja craned his neck to look at the bay mare. She, Kahlua's savior; she, who always smiled, and breathed joy into the world—except for now. She wore no smile. And in the shadows behind her lurked another familiar presence, dark and draining and dangerous. Deimos. If they would look at him, meet his blue eyes for a moment, he would dip his head in recognition, but offer no words, no verbal greeting. Where did he stand with them? Had he betrayed them, or only failed them? Which was worse?
He let his attention fall back on the Pegasus mare; she was a fire trying to ignite wet wood, a spark trying to move a boulder. None in the meeting seemed particularly impressed or interested. "Go ahead," he responded callously, voice rough, simply because his throat was rough. "I'll be right behind you but don't expect me to be fancifully light on my feet."
So flippant, so careless, toying with the lives of another; oh Mauja, who knew that waking you up so rudely put you in such a foul mood?
