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A M P E R E
"Any existence deprived of freedom is a kind of death" -- Michel Aoun Her arrogance? He was the one who stood before her under the guise of some white knight, claiming he'd saved a life. He needed that feeling, didn't he? A reason for his strength, a purpose for his scars. He basked in the glow of the sun because without it he was dark and his armor built of bones. Good deeds were the blood on his hooves, proclaimed gloriously each time he reared up to lord them over someone. She hated him for it. This was where their fire clashed, where their balance went careening out of control. It was so obvious, but she'd willingly been blind to it, because sometimes it just felt good to burn. Even the God of the Sun was balanced by his elements, fire and light. Her and Gaucho, they could only ever raze the land, and each other. As she lay there listening to him justify a safe life over a free death, a bonded companion over an ignored egg, she simply wondered when he would stop. It was same worthless drivel she had heard before, and though it wasn't fully surprising that it came from him, it was utterly infuriating. For so long she had made him the stallion she wanted him to be, even going so far as to overlook obvious cues that he wasn't, that this scene was unavoidable. She was coming to terms with it now though, and with that realization came the gradual withdrawing of her heart. It would not be an immediate severance; there would be residual flutters of feelings, habits which had to be broken, but she could not explain to herself any longer how she could love him. Not when he was like this. Not when he had two lives taken, all in the guise of salvation. Some lies were simply too thick to wear. "They LIVE Gaucho," she finally growled into the dirt, struck by his next words in which he slathered blame on everyone. The black flesh of her neck rippled as it whirled towards him, her head an arrow that shot her defiant gaze out. Beneath her lithe body her legs trawled through the dunes, preparing to lift her. The last shreds of the paralysis had since left her veins, but only now was her strength returning, rekindled by his flames. "It is not their job to fight, it is ours, that is why they have joined this herd. That is why other ranks exist, because it takes more than warriors to create, this." She had lifted herself up in-between her sentence, red granules raining from her hide as her wings flung out to gesture at the desert all around them, at the Throat. "You are not the only one with scars Gaucho, you are not the only one who works, who "That is their freedom." Of course any life involved a fight, and Ampere wholly believed in being able to protect yourself, to survive int he most basic of forms - but she never doubted that they could. There were more ways to fight than just with bodies anyways, something Ampere was slow to learn, but maybe Gaucho even slower. That was where the freedom mattered, because if fighting is what kept you safe, but wasn't what you wanted to do, was it even worth it? Wouldn't it be better, more fulfilling at least, to die with a slit throat, your blood painting the artwork you had just crafted? Didn't that make your life worth something? Didn't the companions at least have it owed to them to try and survive alone, to live, to enjoy freedom? If all that was needed was for the egg to be saved, couldn't it be moved elsewhere, assuming it even needed to be moved at all? How many of these tiny creatures had actually been robbed from their homes by some unknowing do-gooder? Assuming all of that wasn't possible though, as Gaucho was saying that there was certainty that no family was around, and that the egg wouldn't survive alone, then why did the bond need to exist? Both had to choose, that's what the gods said, so despite what Gaucho knew he had forged the bond just as solidly as the chick had. The gods said they didn't interfere, but bonds were evidence of just that. The mortals definitely interfered, and the gods not only let them, but helped them. Ampere snorted, half at her thoughts and half at Gaucho's response when he finally turned back to her. "It is not how the world has to work," she seethed, teeth holding back the bite of her anger, though her posture was not so kind. Was he so content to live this way? Of course, she thought, it suits him. The companions help him, why change it? "It can be changed. It should be changed." Sun god fry her on the spot if he claimed change shouldn't happen, that it couldn't happen, because he had done just that. He had swept into that baby phoenix's life and changed it all. The gods had forged the bonds, they had changed the world, at the hands of a mare no less - could she change it back? SLAP. The last words he leveled her with, said so casually, so coldly, bored into her more than the rest combined. It was not the first time she'd heard them, but she never got over the cruel bite of them and all they implied. She shook, barely able to resist the urge to kick him in the fucking mouth. She decided instead to respond, crumpling up all her love and all her hate into the words that slipped from her tongue next. Like most things in life, they appeared simple, but were full of more complexities than most could see. If he would only do as the words said, then maybe he could see it too. "Because I whatch." |
Coding by Tamme
Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.
