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03-25-2015, 06:14 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
“CHICOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—“
Like, what? Chiiicoooo.. and as always when he was around her, it made him want to yell things (like he'd yelled about that motherfucking boat in the Veins, to Gods who never listened). So right now, he wanted to yell CHIIICOOOOO too (or, potentially, he wanted to yell chicken), but he didn't—the words were dead in his throat, because this wasn't fun-screaming. It wasn't the kind of yelling that obliterated your problems and made you ride this awkward, exciting high, like you were on top of the fucking world.
This was the kind of yelling that sent your heart hurling out your mouth and into the air, the kind of screaming that turned you inside-out and let out all the emotion-blood from whatever wound had teared up inside your soul.
Irma? he asked into the silence—not accusing but just confused, mouth dry and his heart hammering faster in mounting, silent panic. He asked for her because she was stability, she was safe, and in this roaring storm he'd suddenly found himself in he needed something to hold on to. What was going on? What was—who was Chico? (The lizard? Had to be.) Why was Elding practically shrieking at him? “LEE, SHE DROPPED HIM, SHE DROPPED CHEEK, CHEEK’S FALLING--“ And she came hurdling after her own words like an avalanche of fear and agony, and he just stood there staring at her kind of dumbly.
“—what if it’s not what they needed? What if they needed someone great who could do all this amazing shit--but instead—instead they got me and now TOTO’S DEAD!!”
The intensity of her soul awed him,
and the strength of her love shamed him.
Because where she was raw lightning, untamed and wild and fierce, he was just a statue carved from marble, with eyes that spoke of life but just covered up something dead. Where she was able to cry her eyes out and scream all of her pain out, he was just cold and silent, as if everything he held within just ceased to exist.
He was nothing. He wasn't sure he was frozen over or some such shit—he was pretty sure he never had felt like she had. It was almost as if that level of depth was just.. missing.
And it was an incredibly depressing thought.
But let's re-wind because there's factual errors and she's staring at him kind of dumbly, as if she walked into a wall, and he's staring at her in a kind of detached confusion masking the hurt he felt within at his own realizations—
"No..?" he hedged to that dumbstruck visage, 'brows furrowing and shit, that shadow cast over his gaze could just be the shadow from the sun, and not the chasm opening underneath him and threatening to swallow him.
Half-life—
—but there was a tiny, wriggling lizard stuck in his (her) grip, safe still in its prison of insulating owl-feathers and sharp talons meticulously cleaned of blood and gore. They were going further and further away, but if it's one thing that's never stretched thin with distance,
it is that kind of love.
Irma was sort of indignant still, not exactly angry because the fire had burned out, but still irritated. Otherwise, maybe she would've told him all the things she knew and that he needed to hear, but for now, she didn't, and Diego simply glanced back once, torn between his need to follow Irma's silent lead, and the need to let a certain spotted stallion know that he had a heart.
He was just a bit dumb about it, most of the time, trying to forget about it or bury it and then dragging it up at odd times and just cutting himself on it because it was shot full of glass slivers.
“Uh,” marked Elding's return from the land of crossed eyes and slack jaws, and he figured she had realized that Irma was a responsible owl who didn't drop her passengers mid-flight. He shrugged where he stood, not sure when he had stopped moving but he had, and for what felt like the tenth time made an attempt to close the distance between them, hoofing it up to where she stood. Uh came out again and he agreed silently. Like, what else do you say, when there's been a pretty serious case of companion kidnapping, and then assault, and then yelling and more accusations, and, uh, shit?
It's not like he's angry, though. But damn, his left shoulder is still throbbing, and in the back of his mind he can still feel the unpleasant smell of Irma's heat-slick feathers. And he still can't get angry.
"What," came his instant response, sort of blurted out because with her, he never took those eons of silence—never had those eloquent phrases shaped in his head, taking their sweet time to roll off his tongue. With her, shit just fell out of his mouth and he didn't know whether he liked the change or if it scared him witless. Then, "Oh,", and he could feel the dirt-streaks on his body and the tangles in his mane and, yes, thistles. "What, don't you think I look good in them?"
[ @[Roskuld]! ]
Like, what? Chiiicoooo.. and as always when he was around her, it made him want to yell things (like he'd yelled about that motherfucking boat in the Veins, to Gods who never listened). So right now, he wanted to yell CHIIICOOOOO too (or, potentially, he wanted to yell chicken), but he didn't—the words were dead in his throat, because this wasn't fun-screaming. It wasn't the kind of yelling that obliterated your problems and made you ride this awkward, exciting high, like you were on top of the fucking world.
This was the kind of yelling that sent your heart hurling out your mouth and into the air, the kind of screaming that turned you inside-out and let out all the emotion-blood from whatever wound had teared up inside your soul.
Irma? he asked into the silence—not accusing but just confused, mouth dry and his heart hammering faster in mounting, silent panic. He asked for her because she was stability, she was safe, and in this roaring storm he'd suddenly found himself in he needed something to hold on to. What was going on? What was—who was Chico? (The lizard? Had to be.) Why was Elding practically shrieking at him? “LEE, SHE DROPPED HIM, SHE DROPPED CHEEK, CHEEK’S FALLING--“ And she came hurdling after her own words like an avalanche of fear and agony, and he just stood there staring at her kind of dumbly.
“—what if it’s not what they needed? What if they needed someone great who could do all this amazing shit--but instead—instead they got me and now TOTO’S DEAD!!”
The intensity of her soul awed him,
and the strength of her love shamed him.
Because where she was raw lightning, untamed and wild and fierce, he was just a statue carved from marble, with eyes that spoke of life but just covered up something dead. Where she was able to cry her eyes out and scream all of her pain out, he was just cold and silent, as if everything he held within just ceased to exist.
He was nothing. He wasn't sure he was frozen over or some such shit—he was pretty sure he never had felt like she had. It was almost as if that level of depth was just.. missing.
And it was an incredibly depressing thought.
But let's re-wind because there's factual errors and she's staring at him kind of dumbly, as if she walked into a wall, and he's staring at her in a kind of detached confusion masking the hurt he felt within at his own realizations—
"No..?" he hedged to that dumbstruck visage, 'brows furrowing and shit, that shadow cast over his gaze could just be the shadow from the sun, and not the chasm opening underneath him and threatening to swallow him.
Half-life—
—but there was a tiny, wriggling lizard stuck in his (her) grip, safe still in its prison of insulating owl-feathers and sharp talons meticulously cleaned of blood and gore. They were going further and further away, but if it's one thing that's never stretched thin with distance,
it is that kind of love.
Irma was sort of indignant still, not exactly angry because the fire had burned out, but still irritated. Otherwise, maybe she would've told him all the things she knew and that he needed to hear, but for now, she didn't, and Diego simply glanced back once, torn between his need to follow Irma's silent lead, and the need to let a certain spotted stallion know that he had a heart.
He was just a bit dumb about it, most of the time, trying to forget about it or bury it and then dragging it up at odd times and just cutting himself on it because it was shot full of glass slivers.
“Uh,” marked Elding's return from the land of crossed eyes and slack jaws, and he figured she had realized that Irma was a responsible owl who didn't drop her passengers mid-flight. He shrugged where he stood, not sure when he had stopped moving but he had, and for what felt like the tenth time made an attempt to close the distance between them, hoofing it up to where she stood. Uh came out again and he agreed silently. Like, what else do you say, when there's been a pretty serious case of companion kidnapping, and then assault, and then yelling and more accusations, and, uh, shit?
It's not like he's angry, though. But damn, his left shoulder is still throbbing, and in the back of his mind he can still feel the unpleasant smell of Irma's heat-slick feathers. And he still can't get angry.
"What," came his instant response, sort of blurted out because with her, he never took those eons of silence—never had those eloquent phrases shaped in his head, taking their sweet time to roll off his tongue. With her, shit just fell out of his mouth and he didn't know whether he liked the change or if it scared him witless. Then, "Oh,", and he could feel the dirt-streaks on his body and the tangles in his mane and, yes, thistles. "What, don't you think I look good in them?"
[ @[Roskuld]! ]
