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10-04-2016, 02:29 PM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
A sense of unreality—of dreaming, of being a dream—stole over him. It was something about the pallid starlight, the quiescence of the night; things slept but Roux walked and Mauja, he was something not quite real. An angel in the darkness, a snow ghost, wearing his cloak of grief yet bringing a small, faint light with him. You will suffer, he said with one breath, the ones you love still live, with the next. (With one hand he hits him, with one hand he soothes him—)
He didn't know any other way to live. Mauja had never been one to lie; to twist and trick and refrain from letting slip certain facts, sure, but when he had been able to get away without lying, he had.
Perhaps his honesty had been his downfall.
Perhaps it was the reason he stood in darkness on a perfect winter night, breathing softly in the moonlight, tear crystals on his lashes as he watched with sharp compassion as the red bay bit his tongue. He couldn't see it, only the awkward movement of his jaws, the set of his lips, and the slowly strengthening scent of fresh blood.
He didn't even know if he knew before or if he only knew when the lower jaw came open in near-disbelief, but somehow, he wasn't at all surprised to see the darker stain of blood upon Roux's teeth. Eyes, silvered by the moon, slid from his dark mouth to his flat gaze; he could practically taste the yearning in the younger stallion.
And the shadow.
The one which hung over him whispering what if he's lying, what if it's not real, what if Sacre isn't there, what if I get hurt again—
Mauja knew that shadow well. "C-can you bring me to him?" Roux said while the birds rolled in the sky above, carefree in the frigid air and sharp in the starlight. Mauja gravitated closer, so many things unsaid, so many tears unshed; he had forgotten why he had come out here, why he had fled north, for he had once again found purpose. He was here to bring Roux home. He was here to bring some joy into the aching and worn life of another.
He had a shadow to hide his own shadow in, a tangible grief he had the means to fix.
His soft, dark muzzle reached out, to brush against Roux's nearest shoulder; to press against it, to say I am real, this is real, believe in me. (Believe in me for me, as I can't.) Was it lying if it was not put into words? Was it vile to ask him to trust Mauja in this, when there was so much else he could not be trusted in?
But he would not trick him. He had nothing to gain by tricking him. He would take no pleasure in stomping on the fragile pieces of his tested heart. So, "let's go," he said, so quietly, white smoke slipping out between his lips. With a last look towards the northern horizon and a flick of his ghastly tail, Mauja turned, and began to walk south.
(If only someone could find him and lead him back to that which he loves but has lost.)
[ Since this is so old maybe we can let this fade out here? Mau walking with Roux for a bit and then just giving him directions for the last way..? @Roux ]
He didn't know any other way to live. Mauja had never been one to lie; to twist and trick and refrain from letting slip certain facts, sure, but when he had been able to get away without lying, he had.
Perhaps his honesty had been his downfall.
Perhaps it was the reason he stood in darkness on a perfect winter night, breathing softly in the moonlight, tear crystals on his lashes as he watched with sharp compassion as the red bay bit his tongue. He couldn't see it, only the awkward movement of his jaws, the set of his lips, and the slowly strengthening scent of fresh blood.
He didn't even know if he knew before or if he only knew when the lower jaw came open in near-disbelief, but somehow, he wasn't at all surprised to see the darker stain of blood upon Roux's teeth. Eyes, silvered by the moon, slid from his dark mouth to his flat gaze; he could practically taste the yearning in the younger stallion.
And the shadow.
The one which hung over him whispering what if he's lying, what if it's not real, what if Sacre isn't there, what if I get hurt again—
Mauja knew that shadow well. "C-can you bring me to him?" Roux said while the birds rolled in the sky above, carefree in the frigid air and sharp in the starlight. Mauja gravitated closer, so many things unsaid, so many tears unshed; he had forgotten why he had come out here, why he had fled north, for he had once again found purpose. He was here to bring Roux home. He was here to bring some joy into the aching and worn life of another.
He had a shadow to hide his own shadow in, a tangible grief he had the means to fix.
His soft, dark muzzle reached out, to brush against Roux's nearest shoulder; to press against it, to say I am real, this is real, believe in me. (Believe in me for me, as I can't.) Was it lying if it was not put into words? Was it vile to ask him to trust Mauja in this, when there was so much else he could not be trusted in?
But he would not trick him. He had nothing to gain by tricking him. He would take no pleasure in stomping on the fragile pieces of his tested heart. So, "let's go," he said, so quietly, white smoke slipping out between his lips. With a last look towards the northern horizon and a flick of his ghastly tail, Mauja turned, and began to walk south.
(If only someone could find him and lead him back to that which he loves but has lost.)
[ Since this is so old maybe we can let this fade out here? Mau walking with Roux for a bit and then just giving him directions for the last way..? @Roux ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
