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06-29-2016, 08:55 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
“I feel more comfortable with my hooves on the ground.”
I have no choice but to have them on the ground.
“I didn’t ask to have wings.”
"I didn't ask to not have them," he merely replied, heart beating faster, eyes still on the distant horizon and the swelling sea. His voice was schooled to neutrality, a bit too cold, a bit too regretful, if she knew how to listen for it. And, if it wasn't because it was about flight and he was a stubborn ass, he wasn't sure he would've replied at all—the whole exchange bewildered him slightly. Why did she get so defensive? And why did he get so defensive? What did it matter, that her wings hadn't been her choice? Even if she had begged and pleaded with her creators to not have them, and still got them, he would've been jealous of the damn things! It wasn't about her, it wasn't about her choice to remain with all four hooves anchored on the ground—it was about him, and the old, old envy throbbing like an old wound. It was about what he wanted, and couldn't have.
He was getting tangled up in it, again—'you have no right' screaming along the lining of his skull, a thousand apologies and explanations that he didn't care what she did with her wings, just that it was a kind of abstract sadness, an abstract longing, just.. something.
He had known from the start that the world wasn't fair. Hells, he had shunned the Pegasus race when he had first come into contact with it—loathed them for the grotesque appendages sprouting from their powerful shoulders.
And look at him now, standing forlorn upon the edge of a cliff, wishing for little more but to be able to fly.
“Oh Mauja. How do you know I’m not a fool?” Mauja let out a soft, soft sigh. He wasn't sure if it was patronizing or just .. curious, but he felt very much like she had patted him on the head and said 'good boy, but no, that's an orange, not an eggplant', like, was he that blind? That stupid? Or was she simply mired in the same darkness which had claimed him? And better yet—how did he know?
He didn't. So what had he achieved? He had somehow insulted her by voicing something he had never even dared breathe in the company of another before, and then he had apparently been all wrong about her, too. Way to go, Mauja. Way to go. That cliff, you know? If not because you'd feel guilty about her getting hurt when you're going to survive regardless, just walking off it is getting kind of tempting—
"I don't," he replied, bluntly, thinking of the little sad smile that had ghosted along in her green eyes, thinking how it, and calling herself a fool, seemed so out of sorts with the Alysanne which had lived in the borderlands of his mind. "But caring for others does not make you a fool." And that, at least, was not something he was going to let her argue with. It didn't matter if they didn't want her to care, if they were strangers, enemies, friends—caring was.. never bad, not really, not in this world.
He found his gaze wandering again, as he listened to her voice. She wanted to transfer the pain of others onto herself?
But why?
Wouldn't that just.. put her in pain? And what was she going to do, then? Be a martyr? Join herself at the hip with a healer? Or was this all some plan for some grandiose martyr's death? (He did a double take; did she have a death wish?) Was she hoping he'd hop off the edge so she could fall in after him, remembered as someone who died in the hopes of saving another?
And just how guilty would he feel about that? But just as his thoughts ran away, so did time, and his thoughtful silence was broken by a question. "No," he replied absently. It hadn't stopped the Gods from fucking with him, though, but he chose not to think of that. "Why do you wish to be able to transfer pain onto yourself?"
[ @Alysanne .. first time I typo'd her name as "Alyssane" and then I was like waitwatno that doesn't look right... and then I wrote Alysanen in the post... ]
I have no choice but to have them on the ground.
“I didn’t ask to have wings.”
"I didn't ask to not have them," he merely replied, heart beating faster, eyes still on the distant horizon and the swelling sea. His voice was schooled to neutrality, a bit too cold, a bit too regretful, if she knew how to listen for it. And, if it wasn't because it was about flight and he was a stubborn ass, he wasn't sure he would've replied at all—the whole exchange bewildered him slightly. Why did she get so defensive? And why did he get so defensive? What did it matter, that her wings hadn't been her choice? Even if she had begged and pleaded with her creators to not have them, and still got them, he would've been jealous of the damn things! It wasn't about her, it wasn't about her choice to remain with all four hooves anchored on the ground—it was about him, and the old, old envy throbbing like an old wound. It was about what he wanted, and couldn't have.
He was getting tangled up in it, again—'you have no right' screaming along the lining of his skull, a thousand apologies and explanations that he didn't care what she did with her wings, just that it was a kind of abstract sadness, an abstract longing, just.. something.
He had known from the start that the world wasn't fair. Hells, he had shunned the Pegasus race when he had first come into contact with it—loathed them for the grotesque appendages sprouting from their powerful shoulders.
And look at him now, standing forlorn upon the edge of a cliff, wishing for little more but to be able to fly.
“Oh Mauja. How do you know I’m not a fool?” Mauja let out a soft, soft sigh. He wasn't sure if it was patronizing or just .. curious, but he felt very much like she had patted him on the head and said 'good boy, but no, that's an orange, not an eggplant', like, was he that blind? That stupid? Or was she simply mired in the same darkness which had claimed him? And better yet—how did he know?
He didn't. So what had he achieved? He had somehow insulted her by voicing something he had never even dared breathe in the company of another before, and then he had apparently been all wrong about her, too. Way to go, Mauja. Way to go. That cliff, you know? If not because you'd feel guilty about her getting hurt when you're going to survive regardless, just walking off it is getting kind of tempting—
"I don't," he replied, bluntly, thinking of the little sad smile that had ghosted along in her green eyes, thinking how it, and calling herself a fool, seemed so out of sorts with the Alysanne which had lived in the borderlands of his mind. "But caring for others does not make you a fool." And that, at least, was not something he was going to let her argue with. It didn't matter if they didn't want her to care, if they were strangers, enemies, friends—caring was.. never bad, not really, not in this world.
He found his gaze wandering again, as he listened to her voice. She wanted to transfer the pain of others onto herself?
But why?
Wouldn't that just.. put her in pain? And what was she going to do, then? Be a martyr? Join herself at the hip with a healer? Or was this all some plan for some grandiose martyr's death? (He did a double take; did she have a death wish?) Was she hoping he'd hop off the edge so she could fall in after him, remembered as someone who died in the hopes of saving another?
And just how guilty would he feel about that? But just as his thoughts ran away, so did time, and his thoughtful silence was broken by a question. "No," he replied absently. It hadn't stopped the Gods from fucking with him, though, but he chose not to think of that. "Why do you wish to be able to transfer pain onto yourself?"
[ @Alysanne .. first time I typo'd her name as "Alyssane" and then I was like waitwatno that doesn't look right... and then I wrote Alysanen in the post... ]
Mauja
the white queen
