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04-05-2015, 05:16 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
And it's not like he knows why he said that, or why it even mattered, or why he cared, or why she cared and who the hell cared if he was covered in thistles anyway? They were purple and kinda pinkish, and that's a nice color, right? Right. Right.
Diego was laughing at him. Mauja glared into the distance after him.
It was just the knee-jerk reaction that had fallen off his tongue, playful and kind of coy, a defense mechanism—he couldn't count all the times those kind of sentences had torn themselves from his skull, his fragile attempts at controlling a situation which he had no control over, situations that terrified him and came after him like wolves braided up with lotus flowers in their long gray fur.
“I mean,” she was saying, sounding like she felt like he did, sort of raw and confused and like she was just spitting words trying to find her feet again (but the ground keeps on bucking). And she was looking at him with those oddly colored eyes; what should've been black was spitting blue, a highway to her soul, and he figured it was fitting that she had lightning in the center of her eye.
Because he thought she had lightning in the center of her heart too, electricity arcing through metal-wrought veins.
.. bustin' your ass. Bustin' my ass? It was a throw-back to that first time on the beach, when they'd found that odd, unbalanced draft, the one who got so indignant when Mauja pushed him over in the shallows (gods he couldn't help but smirk at the memory, a moment of his dark lips curling before he smoothed out the expression again)—when Elding (Loudmouth) had told him to take that dark moron and bounce. Maybe.. maybe bustin' your ass had something to do with bouncing.
Or it had nothing to do with it and he fought down the urge to say vamoose because after all, he didn't want her to go.
The realization struck him like something cold in the face, sudden and demanding; he recoiled mentally, bounding back a step in his head, but the only thing that happened in the real world was that, maybe, his eyes got a little colder, and his breathing a little stiller. And it was like she felt it, or if she had some thought-demons of her own suddenly coming into her skull, because her kind of adorable grin fell and she was biting her lips and he was drowning, struggling in the tide of emotion because it was like she was his kid or something but he didn't want to ever make her feel like she was lesser or young and stupid or something, so maybe she was more like his little brother or something—
Yeah whatever, mister confused, just shut up.
"He'll be fine," Mauja said quietly, unable to look at those eyes, turning to stare after the disappearing owls; they weren't even specks in the sky anymore, having disappeared somewhere into the distance, playful and violent and rolling through the heavens—but she never opened her foot, never allowed Diego to wrestle his talons into hers in their crazy owl-games, holding that tiny, fragile body with the kind of tenderness you never really expect to find in a predator with a soul as cold as Irma's. "And she'll be fine, too," he went on as she blurted her explanation, but his gaze had narrowed, as if he couldn't blame her and he could forgive her, but still there was something there, some kind of warning, like, if you actually hit my owl the next time you'll regret it—
—but then she was plucking thistles from the ground, awkwardly pressing them and her soft nose against his right side, the burrs sticking happily to his thin summer coat. Mauja turned his head to look at it, at what she was doing, sort of confused and curious but then she said “You’re lopsided,” and despite everything going through his head (owls and companions and soul-family and whatever) it pulled a bark of a laughter from him, brief but soft and deep like thunder.
And then, he simply rolled his eyes, fell to his knees and then to his side, rubbing himself vigorously against the ground, and somewhere, someone was probably crying at what it did to his long, luscious mane.
[ delirious fever posting yea @[Roskuld] ]
Diego was laughing at him. Mauja glared into the distance after him.
It was just the knee-jerk reaction that had fallen off his tongue, playful and kind of coy, a defense mechanism—he couldn't count all the times those kind of sentences had torn themselves from his skull, his fragile attempts at controlling a situation which he had no control over, situations that terrified him and came after him like wolves braided up with lotus flowers in their long gray fur.
“I mean,” she was saying, sounding like she felt like he did, sort of raw and confused and like she was just spitting words trying to find her feet again (but the ground keeps on bucking). And she was looking at him with those oddly colored eyes; what should've been black was spitting blue, a highway to her soul, and he figured it was fitting that she had lightning in the center of her eye.
Because he thought she had lightning in the center of her heart too, electricity arcing through metal-wrought veins.
.. bustin' your ass. Bustin' my ass? It was a throw-back to that first time on the beach, when they'd found that odd, unbalanced draft, the one who got so indignant when Mauja pushed him over in the shallows (gods he couldn't help but smirk at the memory, a moment of his dark lips curling before he smoothed out the expression again)—when Elding (Loudmouth) had told him to take that dark moron and bounce. Maybe.. maybe bustin' your ass had something to do with bouncing.
Or it had nothing to do with it and he fought down the urge to say vamoose because after all, he didn't want her to go.
The realization struck him like something cold in the face, sudden and demanding; he recoiled mentally, bounding back a step in his head, but the only thing that happened in the real world was that, maybe, his eyes got a little colder, and his breathing a little stiller. And it was like she felt it, or if she had some thought-demons of her own suddenly coming into her skull, because her kind of adorable grin fell and she was biting her lips and he was drowning, struggling in the tide of emotion because it was like she was his kid or something but he didn't want to ever make her feel like she was lesser or young and stupid or something, so maybe she was more like his little brother or something—
Yeah whatever, mister confused, just shut up.
"He'll be fine," Mauja said quietly, unable to look at those eyes, turning to stare after the disappearing owls; they weren't even specks in the sky anymore, having disappeared somewhere into the distance, playful and violent and rolling through the heavens—but she never opened her foot, never allowed Diego to wrestle his talons into hers in their crazy owl-games, holding that tiny, fragile body with the kind of tenderness you never really expect to find in a predator with a soul as cold as Irma's. "And she'll be fine, too," he went on as she blurted her explanation, but his gaze had narrowed, as if he couldn't blame her and he could forgive her, but still there was something there, some kind of warning, like, if you actually hit my owl the next time you'll regret it—
—but then she was plucking thistles from the ground, awkwardly pressing them and her soft nose against his right side, the burrs sticking happily to his thin summer coat. Mauja turned his head to look at it, at what she was doing, sort of confused and curious but then she said “You’re lopsided,” and despite everything going through his head (owls and companions and soul-family and whatever) it pulled a bark of a laughter from him, brief but soft and deep like thunder.
And then, he simply rolled his eyes, fell to his knees and then to his side, rubbing himself vigorously against the ground, and somewhere, someone was probably crying at what it did to his long, luscious mane.
[ delirious fever posting yea @[Roskuld] ]
