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04-21-2015, 01:45 AM
A curtain of color was completely lost on the Engineer, stuck up in the sky as it once, and he was so pitifully and mortally grounded. The stallion let the cold bite at his pelt, lion’s tail hanging limply behind muscular haunches that held no more will to move. Pathetic. He berated himself in his own mind. Weakling. Fool. And yet even those edifying personal thoughts did not give him any urge to make the miles toward his home and machines. Depression was a word he had never heard before, and though he would stubbornly deny its legitimacy, it very much applied, currently. Ulrik’s thoughts wandered, racing between past and present. What ifs. Maybes. Whys. Things he never used to give a single fuck about.
The Engineer ground his teeth together, wondering when this self-pitying streak would end and he could go back to caring about nothing and no one other than his precious machines. Eventually his heart would give way to its natural, unfeeling state. He would forget about Illynx. Ignore the nagging pain of Rikyn’s disappearance. Someway and somehow, he would just go back to being himself, but he rightfully assumed that this process would take much, much longer than he could ever hope.
A deep breath of white curled from his pursed, velvet lips, tainting the blackness of night with a white cloud. The rains had stopped by now, thunderheads having moved from the sky. Water turned to ice on his back, a thin layer of white plating – like armor, almost. Ulrik listened to the silence, trying to internalize the world’s atmosphere into his own soul when all of that was shattered by a single voice. The tones were like a gunshot in the peace of night, so much so that he visibly winced – one ear darting back toward the offending speaker.
Ulrik slowly turned his head in her direction, raising an irritated brow until he remembered who she was. Aaahh… the bastard child of Ophelia? He wondered how that must make his cousin, Torleik’s, blood boil. Roskuld had given her mother straight hell there for a while, and his lips curled up in wry amusement. Her name was Roskuld, right? Didn’t seem to matter though, as she could barely remember his.
For a moment, the tragedy of Midas’ death and the accusations from the Falls disappeared, and he nodded his head slowly. The ice on his back cracked, falling from his slick, black hide. “Ulrik,” he clarified, tones deep and guttural. “And you are… Roskuld?” he returned, hoping he got all the sounds put together in the right sequence. She was short and stubby, but what she lacked in femininity, she made up for in sheer volume of personality. His bronze eyes were unwavering, gaze almost creepy. “I would ask if you are running away from home, but I fear that humor may be too soon…” he trailed, smirking slightly until it faded. The expression never reached his eyes. Humor was rather tasteless at the moment.
“Asking ‘what brings you out here’ seems so trivial. Suffice to say – hello.”
@[Roskuld]
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