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12-01-2014, 10:10 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ "The Unfuckables"- this needs to be a movie title. ]
Friend, foe—it's all the same to them. They've forgotten what it's like to know the difference. They've forgotten what it's like to trust, or maybe they never knew how to. The only thing they still know is that feeling of unease, of never being able to tell what's coming, of never knowing what'll be said. They can't even trust their enemies to remain enemies. Because.. because.. because...
They strain for a reason but come up empty-handed, fumbling and falling in the dark.
Another sigh rolled out of his nostrils, the white cloud glittering for a moment in the tentative sunlight before dissipating.
"Aye, the compass doesn't point North. But we're not trying to find North, are we?"
But he didn't even have a compass. Didn't even know what he was trying to find. Himself? The pieces of the heart he'd buried and left behind? Because all that remained in his chest was a shattered, fractured mess, bruised and cracked a few times too many—battered by time, more than specific actions. He didn't even know.. just, his spirit had winked out, but his body had refused to die.
"Why are you out here so far?"
One black-rimmed ear flicked back. Perhaps he'd known all along that she was there (and how could he not, with his owls surveying the land?) and that was why he didn't flinch. Or perhaps he'd just given up again, mired himself so deeply that he sort of wished a polar bear would burst out of the shadows and consume him. It would save the world a lot of trouble, and him some long years of contemplating the meaning of his desolate, fucked-up life.
"I'm looking for things I won't find here," he responded, voice calm and sort of bleak; it was a pessimistic enough truth, the sort of bitter insightfulness he wished he could shake off for something either truly mind-numbing or something proactive. Something that wasn't moping around for years on end in the same well-worn circles—because there he was, treading the mental pathways he knew too well. It wasn't even about losing the Edge anymore. It was about that rough, biting voice keeping up a running stream of sarcastic commentary about everything he did or thought, fighting and wrestling with himself when he slipped and fell. It was the voice of the world-wrecking darkness in that old dream with Ophelia. It was the voice of all those demons pressing in against his golden shield. It was, in many ways, the voice of all his frustrations and insecurities, and the voice of his tired mind. "Why are you out here?"
And his head turned, slow and regal, those bright blue eyes falling back into the shadow that made them seem darker, harder somehow—not as fragile as the glass soul they reflected.
He didn't know her, this unknown companion of his; young, definitely, refined in her own way. Pale champagne with a thin, straight horn with a glow to rival the blue of his own eyes—Mauja snorted quietly. Glow-face and Glow-horn, what a nice couple! They should go on adventures and do great deeds and—
He quelled the bitter, angry voice. He couldn't even—he couldn't even handle this, without the burning sting setting his eyes on fire. Blinking, he turned his head away again. All he'd wanted—what the hell had he even wanted—just to be able to be..? Appreciate the company of someone who didn't know the whole tangled, fucked-up mess that masqueraded as his mind? And he couldn't even have that—couldn't let himself have that. Had to somehow ruin it to himself.
If he'd had a rock nearby, he would've bashed his head against it, and hard. Just to shut it up. To make it all end.
But he just sighed. Screwed his eyes shut and kept them like that for a moment.
Aurelia has fallen.
A cold whisper, a phoenix whose fire had gone out and would not rekindle, a star falling from the skies—Irma swept in a quiet circle above the fallen mare, distant and frigid, uncaring.
Mauja's glistening eyes snapped to the young mare, then out to the horizon again. What was Aurelia, a fire-child, doing out here, in the cold north? What, more importantly, was she doing lying in the snow?
"There's someone we need to find," he curtly told his new-found, unknown companion, and set off through the snow, heading for the child who kept falling from the heavens—cast out like a fallen angel.
[ .. and of course I don't mind either of you, @[Sikeax] and @[Aurelia]! <3 Sorry I couldn't bring this closer to Aurelia's physical location, but it was already gigantic and I wanted to give Sikeax time to react/respond too :) ]
Friend, foe—it's all the same to them. They've forgotten what it's like to know the difference. They've forgotten what it's like to trust, or maybe they never knew how to. The only thing they still know is that feeling of unease, of never being able to tell what's coming, of never knowing what'll be said. They can't even trust their enemies to remain enemies. Because.. because.. because...
They strain for a reason but come up empty-handed, fumbling and falling in the dark.
Another sigh rolled out of his nostrils, the white cloud glittering for a moment in the tentative sunlight before dissipating.
"Aye, the compass doesn't point North. But we're not trying to find North, are we?"
But he didn't even have a compass. Didn't even know what he was trying to find. Himself? The pieces of the heart he'd buried and left behind? Because all that remained in his chest was a shattered, fractured mess, bruised and cracked a few times too many—battered by time, more than specific actions. He didn't even know.. just, his spirit had winked out, but his body had refused to die.
"Why are you out here so far?"
One black-rimmed ear flicked back. Perhaps he'd known all along that she was there (and how could he not, with his owls surveying the land?) and that was why he didn't flinch. Or perhaps he'd just given up again, mired himself so deeply that he sort of wished a polar bear would burst out of the shadows and consume him. It would save the world a lot of trouble, and him some long years of contemplating the meaning of his desolate, fucked-up life.
"I'm looking for things I won't find here," he responded, voice calm and sort of bleak; it was a pessimistic enough truth, the sort of bitter insightfulness he wished he could shake off for something either truly mind-numbing or something proactive. Something that wasn't moping around for years on end in the same well-worn circles—because there he was, treading the mental pathways he knew too well. It wasn't even about losing the Edge anymore. It was about that rough, biting voice keeping up a running stream of sarcastic commentary about everything he did or thought, fighting and wrestling with himself when he slipped and fell. It was the voice of the world-wrecking darkness in that old dream with Ophelia. It was the voice of all those demons pressing in against his golden shield. It was, in many ways, the voice of all his frustrations and insecurities, and the voice of his tired mind. "Why are you out here?"
And his head turned, slow and regal, those bright blue eyes falling back into the shadow that made them seem darker, harder somehow—not as fragile as the glass soul they reflected.
He didn't know her, this unknown companion of his; young, definitely, refined in her own way. Pale champagne with a thin, straight horn with a glow to rival the blue of his own eyes—Mauja snorted quietly. Glow-face and Glow-horn, what a nice couple! They should go on adventures and do great deeds and—
He quelled the bitter, angry voice. He couldn't even—he couldn't even handle this, without the burning sting setting his eyes on fire. Blinking, he turned his head away again. All he'd wanted—what the hell had he even wanted—just to be able to be..? Appreciate the company of someone who didn't know the whole tangled, fucked-up mess that masqueraded as his mind? And he couldn't even have that—couldn't let himself have that. Had to somehow ruin it to himself.
If he'd had a rock nearby, he would've bashed his head against it, and hard. Just to shut it up. To make it all end.
But he just sighed. Screwed his eyes shut and kept them like that for a moment.
Aurelia has fallen.
A cold whisper, a phoenix whose fire had gone out and would not rekindle, a star falling from the skies—Irma swept in a quiet circle above the fallen mare, distant and frigid, uncaring.
Mauja's glistening eyes snapped to the young mare, then out to the horizon again. What was Aurelia, a fire-child, doing out here, in the cold north? What, more importantly, was she doing lying in the snow?
"There's someone we need to find," he curtly told his new-found, unknown companion, and set off through the snow, heading for the child who kept falling from the heavens—cast out like a fallen angel.
[ .. and of course I don't mind either of you, @[Sikeax] and @[Aurelia]! <3 Sorry I couldn't bring this closer to Aurelia's physical location, but it was already gigantic and I wanted to give Sikeax time to react/respond too :) ]
