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07-17-2016, 05:21 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
The reason he hadn't called out, or otherwise made himself known, was simple: he had no idea what to say. 'Hello'? Maybe. Could work. But then what? Besides, the stranger had seemed busy with something, like he wasn't just drifting along, but actively doing something, thinking about something, and Mauja knew how unpleasant it was to be interrupted in your work.
He also knew how unpleasant it was to be doing something and then realize someone had been watching you, but he began to remember that only too late, as the stranger's expression shifted into one of startled surprise. Mauja blinked, slowly, seemingly merging with the fog for a moment as his clear blue eyes were hidden by white lids. Just because he felt like a wraith, a slip of history walking, it didn't mean that he was. To everyone else, this herd, the other herds, everyone, he was real. Solid. A living, thinking, breathing, bleeding creature.
But what did they know? his heart whispered in despair, frustration, hopelessness. What did they know of growing old? Of existing without purpose?
His eyes opened again, and the small, scruffy-looking stallion had composed his features. Their breaths, wet white in the moist air, gave them away as alive, though it felt more like the world had fallen away and time paused. It was the fog, he decided absently. It had a way of making things seem less than real, and a way of making you feel like you were hidden when in truth, you were in plain sight. Not knowing how to interact for the sake of interaction wasn't an excuse to stare at people, and even though the stallion had clearly seen him the desire to melt back into the foggy depths was strong. To say nothing, to fade into the mist, the pale gray blurring the borders of his white body and erasing the boundaries between this world and the next as he slipped away—
"Hello there, I don't think we've met?" Spoken like someone who knew where he was, who knew the herd, as if Mauja was the cautious newcomer; as if Mauja was a shy ghost?
Long legs, ending in striped, frosted hooves, brought him closer, until he finally stood before the striped male—and, belatedly he realized that he was perhaps a tad too close. Still silent, his neck arched and his head dipped. The tip of his horn sheared through the air until it hovered somewhere above Imani's head between his own spiraled horns, and Mauja's eyes were focused, sharp even, but not unkind. Another heartbeat of silence passed as he tried to make sense of the conflict within him; part of him wanted to lower his voice to a rasping rumble, to pretend to be a fucking ghost, or some sage, or.. something equally stupid.
In the end, he sighed, but he did not move from his position. "I think you're right," he finally said, quietly, his voice its usual light and gentle self. "I don't think we have." And somehow, without meaning to, he sounded so utterly sad about it.
[ Sorry for the gross wait. Life kicked my brain pretty hard. @Imani ]
He also knew how unpleasant it was to be doing something and then realize someone had been watching you, but he began to remember that only too late, as the stranger's expression shifted into one of startled surprise. Mauja blinked, slowly, seemingly merging with the fog for a moment as his clear blue eyes were hidden by white lids. Just because he felt like a wraith, a slip of history walking, it didn't mean that he was. To everyone else, this herd, the other herds, everyone, he was real. Solid. A living, thinking, breathing, bleeding creature.
But what did they know? his heart whispered in despair, frustration, hopelessness. What did they know of growing old? Of existing without purpose?
His eyes opened again, and the small, scruffy-looking stallion had composed his features. Their breaths, wet white in the moist air, gave them away as alive, though it felt more like the world had fallen away and time paused. It was the fog, he decided absently. It had a way of making things seem less than real, and a way of making you feel like you were hidden when in truth, you were in plain sight. Not knowing how to interact for the sake of interaction wasn't an excuse to stare at people, and even though the stallion had clearly seen him the desire to melt back into the foggy depths was strong. To say nothing, to fade into the mist, the pale gray blurring the borders of his white body and erasing the boundaries between this world and the next as he slipped away—
"Hello there, I don't think we've met?" Spoken like someone who knew where he was, who knew the herd, as if Mauja was the cautious newcomer; as if Mauja was a shy ghost?
Long legs, ending in striped, frosted hooves, brought him closer, until he finally stood before the striped male—and, belatedly he realized that he was perhaps a tad too close. Still silent, his neck arched and his head dipped. The tip of his horn sheared through the air until it hovered somewhere above Imani's head between his own spiraled horns, and Mauja's eyes were focused, sharp even, but not unkind. Another heartbeat of silence passed as he tried to make sense of the conflict within him; part of him wanted to lower his voice to a rasping rumble, to pretend to be a fucking ghost, or some sage, or.. something equally stupid.
In the end, he sighed, but he did not move from his position. "I think you're right," he finally said, quietly, his voice its usual light and gentle self. "I don't think we have." And somehow, without meaning to, he sounded so utterly sad about it.
[ Sorry for the gross wait. Life kicked my brain pretty hard. @Imani ]
Mauja
the white queen
