but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

There was an urgency to it—to the way Glacia wove between the bodies, the way he wove through the bodies, with Mesec in tow, and the way that Sialia shoved her way through the throng—an odd star of a pattern, with Glacia at its center-point. Strange, how a single being, a single child, could bring so many together, spread to the corners of the world as they were: and yet, congregating here, moths drawn to a flickering, bright flame. Mauja's ears were slick to his neck, his eyes haunted and dark as he wriggled his way through the crowd, fighting to not scream and run everyone down.

It was what he wanted. It would be the most immediate way to fix the problem and make himself a path to his daughter, but sadly, it would leave him with about ten thousand other unsolved problems and a lot of apologies to make.

Something he didn't want to do, and besides, there was still that thing in the air, a deep sense of contentment choking the flow of anger in his veins, settling like a comforting blanket across his mind—an odd kind of belief that it would be alright, even if it took a little longer to get to her. Besides, she had paused, and as he and Sialia both were almost upon her; his shoulders perhaps bumped into a few more a little roughly as he wove through the crowd, intent on reaching her. "Mom... Dad... I'm so sorry..." What was she talking about? Being sorry about what? Being sad? Running away? How many of his stupid, stupid traits and defense mechanisms had she inherited?! Running away solved nothing but if no one had ever taught her otherwise—

Then she was moving off again, striding through the crowd, until a yell broke the tranquility for a split second—Rhoa, she cried for him again, and in the horde of bodies one broke the pattern. He came towards them, the final point in their odd star, a tall, lanky boy, dark gray or black, white legs, black barring, wings, very pleasant eyes. He seemed eager to reach Glacia, to reach them, the mismatched little group crowding around the panicked girl, and if not for the fact that Glacia wanted to speak to this Rhoa, Mauja could've suspected about one thousand different, bad things that had transpired between them.

But turns out, it was none of that.

"You're going to be a father..."

It was almost like someone had dropped a bomb on all the other ones gathered—poor Rhoa, looking stunned but not displeased, his silent wing-man who looked like an inverted version of himself, Sialia, struck into silence. Mauja just flicked his ears forward, fighting the urge to laugh at the irony of it all.

But then Glacia broke, and she ran, and Mauja hitched forward a step but there were too many bodies in the way, and not even Rhoa could follow—perhaps there wasn't enough space to spread those wings of his, or perhaps he did not know if he was welcome to follow her. "Fuck," he growled into the emptiness; what she needed was not to be alone, what she needed was comfort, for someone to tell her that it was okay, that everything would be alright, that she was loved and cared for and her baby would be, too. She needed someone to hold her tight and warm her against the cold emptiness of the night, someone to fight off her fears for her, and whisper encouragement in her ears when she needed to hear it. Mauja struck the ground, once, and the poor boy left behind attempted to introduce himself but faltered into a silence, in which Sialia struck like a merciless snake.

"Shut up Sialia," Mauja said wearily, his voice lacking anger—it was just an unfortunate choice of words, really, but he was too jammed in the head to think. "I care about who he is." Sometimes you were stupid. Sometimes you did things that would have consequences you didn't expect to get, or seemed unlikely. Sometimes, you just didn't think. Rhoa looked young, Glacia certainly was young. Who could blame them? And Glacia cared about Rhoa, or Rhoa's opinion, and Rhoa seemed to care about Glacia, and thus, Mauja cared about Rhoa. So, he reached out, to bump his plush muzzle against the dark horse's neck. "Go on, you'll be fine. She needs you, even if she's too dumb to realize it is okay to be afraid, and to cry."

But then Sialia was contending for his attention, and his pale eyes switched to her. Of course she was worried. Of course she was a crude bitch, and of course the trait was only further accentuated by her worry and care. But, if you asked Mauja, this was already enough of a fucked-up, difficult situation, and they didn't need to make it more unpleasant for anyone, now, did they?

And since when had he become a pacifier?

"Sialia," he said, some warmth overpowering his deep, profound exhaustion with all things that wrenched at your heart. "I hope you have been well."

[ @Mesec @Sialia @Rhoa @Ivezho @Alune ]

Mauja

the white queen