Bellisma

The strain of her muscles- it burned so good. This was a new sensation for her- pain that she enjoyed? In her previous life she had done anything possible to avoid pain; or at least make the duration as short as possible (which wasn’t easy, given her past captor).

Her thoughts turned to her two interactions with stallions here. They had been successful- well successful to Bellisma meant she had come out of the encounters without being mounted or maimed-

She paused mid-canter (for the crazy little mare had chosen to lope up the never-ending trail), now shrouded in clouds. Unseeingly, she realized that she was thinking of her past in the past-tense. And she was easily cantering an unknown trail. By herself. Thoughts aimlessly wandering, not fearfully attentive to her surroundings.

When had this happened? Was Helovia truly this healing? Or perhaps freedom was just that intoxicating. She briskly shook her head to clear her thoughts, mane damply sending the mist swirling around her honeyed neck. And in a easy jog she broke through the cloud and stopped once more- this time in awe.

It was so- so green. This was as green as her lovely eyes, greener than the oases of home. “Not home anymore,” she thought firmly with a comical stamp of her tiny, black hoof, “This, this is my home,” the second half of her thought escaped aloud. But she didn’t seem to notice as her forelegs buckled to roll in alluringly thick grass-

But she didn’t roll, for the earth was too springy beneath her small hooves. It begged her to dance, and dance she did. Regardless of the long trek up the mountain, of her constant state of fleeing, of her achy muscles and tired tendons. With a half snort, half shrill whinny, she sprung from spongy grass, a graceful, golden pixie fluttering above the verdant cushion.

But her frolic was cut short as her nostrils, flaring with exertion, caught the scent of a hound, followed immediately by the scent of a stud. A unique smell (it was ice and snow, but she did not know this) clung to the stallion’s scent, and her eyes grew wide to wary to outright panicked as she realized her proximity to the man in question.

“Foolish, daft," "-stupid,” the last of her string of expletives for herself escaped aloud as she abruptly landed, becoming a sweat-slicked, golden statue tensed in fear. Wide, jade gaze skittered over his blood bay coat and the thick sinew it stretched over; it skated over his disconcerting two-toned eyes, and came to rest on his twin horns. One was so sharp, the other so jagged. Both could cause so much damage- a visible tremor rippled through her thin, gilded coat.

Breath escaped her nostrils in audibly short gasps as her fear tried to rob her of breath, but her exhausted body demanded oxygen- her tiny barrel and visible ribs rapidly moving. Should she flee? No, he had a hound. Nervously her head swiveled slightly, prey-like gaze seeking the dog momentarily, before returning her frightened, pretty face to the stallion. He was so, terribly large! In her fear, her emerald stare collided with his mocha and sapphire. “Oh,” the breathy word snuck from between her lips as she met the intensity in his eyes- was it madness? Hostility? Power? She didn’t know, and terrified her even more.

Her mouth opened to say something- anything- but her terror stole her voice once more.

ooc| @[d'Artagnan] eek! So I wanted her to be comfortable (and actually speak) around a stallion for once, but I just couldn’t do it yet. She’s still too broken. Poor Bell.
Also, I hope I didn’t overstep with the eyes- I just saw them being so intense from his profile description, I couldn’t help myself! xD

Bellisma

She snapped her dainty mouth closed at his derisive words. They were sharp and condescending- she knew this breed of stallion well. Her frame, once stiff with fear, hardened into resigned acquiescence- and the green eyes glassed over as they lost the fearful white ring around them.

Terror was an interesting thing, it came with apprehension of the unknown. But now, as she visibly wilted beneath his hard gaze, the panic seemed to ebb out. She knew what came from callous-eyed, sharp-tongued stallions. That was all she knew.

Abruptly, emerald gaze drops as her breath returns, “I-I apologize, sire. Pardon my ill-manners, I am Bellisma-” the quiet bells are cut off by his derogatory question. Though Bellisma only inferred the offense by his tone, for she already assumed herself beneath him. Well- not beaneath him, but certainly inferior.

“Horn-hornless?” unintentionally, her tongue repeats the strange jibe. Quite obviously she had no horn- and if she had had one she knew Rrazmik would have ripped it out. He’d done that to one of his pets. She was glad she had no horn… Thin, golden skin rippled a the memory. Bright gaze flicks up to his horns, thick lashes blinking rapidly, before she returns her eyes to his chest, “I… I’m discovering Helovia,” the chiming of her voice still sounded awkward around the four syllables. “I’m newly of the Hidden Falls,” eyes glance to the path that led her up here- it wasn’t far from her herdlands, “and all I’ve met have been kind,” her voice hushes at the end, like a quiet plea to the large stallion.

She shifts her sculpted face towards his small leather bag as he shifts it- this was the first she had seen of such in Helovia. In Qumox only medicinemen carried such things- and medicinemen were of a different sort in the desert. Yes, they healed the useful and important souls; but, they also used their knowledge to bring pain and torture. Nervousness crosses her face and pulls unthinking words from her mouth, “What do you carry in your bag?” This time her rang clearly and loudly, eyes colliding once more with the stallion’s hard gaze. Her body visibly quivered once more, and her mind thought to flee as she unknowingly leaned towards the path she had just ascended.


ooc| Sorry about the delay [@d'Artagnan]

Bellisma

A fog coated her mind- which was odd, for she was always on alert while in the presence of a stallion. She shifted her thin legs sluggishly, hoping movement would push away the cloudy calm that lulled her mind into a false sense of security. The need for survival pumped adrenaline into her blood, tiny heart racing and nostrils flaring, but to no avail. She submitted to the magic, panic and fear ebbing away despite the brief outward signs of struggle. Any thoughts of fleeing left her mind.

This was fantastic. To be free of her fear? To not have the blackness hovering at the edge of her vision and gripping her mind? She could think. She could breath. Indeed, a deep breath expanded her barrel as her mind unwound. Even under his boring gaze and uncivil tone, “You do not need to teach me of the unkindness of men- I am all too familiar with it,” her voice rang clearly and calmly now- a pretty soprano floating in the meadow, despite the sad undercurrent and meaning beneath her words.

Face swung to watch the hound as he slowly approached her- and she foolishly appreciated the consideration for her fear. Her calm mind unfortunately assumed that all these measures were to benefit her, not to ensure she stay trapped as a plaything. Tuliped ears flicked to the blood bay stud as he spoke again, and she absently realized she knew not his name.

She took her eyes from the hound and went to ask the horned man- but she turned into blur of golden movement the moment fire erupted before her. She shot backwards on her haunches, pixie forelimbs lifted into the air. Her tiny black hooves flailed, green eyes ringed in white, and the brief respite from her panic was replaced with anger- before the terror overwhelmed her.

Ears went flush with her neck, snaking out her head as her teeth bared and snapped. The brief exposure to anger- an emotion she had not felt in years- allowed her to react in such a manner. Golden silk mane and tail whipped around her in her flurry of movements. His voice- which sounded so much like the ones from her past now, cold and bored despite inflicting fear- fell on her as she returned to all four hooves.

The warmth of anger simmered in her belly, beneath a mountain of icy fright. Nostrils flared wide as she heaved for breaths, ribs sliding visibly under her gilded, thin skin. Her mind screamed to flee, but she wasn’t sure she could out-sprint this stallion or hound. She was rather certain she could run longer- but faster? She wasn’t willing to take the gamble and expose her hind to either creature.

Emerald eyes were still wide as her voice rang out like wind chimes agitated into a fury by a hurricane, “All you- all you men! Given an ounce of power and you become vicious, hopeless beasts!” The desperate venom in her voice was so great, one might think (and probably correctly) that it was aimed at more than just the stallion before her.

She stood like a golden statue, every muscle taunt and pleading to run as she stood before the unicorn and his beast. “And quite clearly I have no horn. I believe I would have noticed one sprouting from head- so your clarification of it is altogether unnecessary,” she heaved a breath, her words may have been biting, but her tone was frightened, “and if I had one, I’m certain I would do better things than terrorize little mares-” she cut herself off- or rather her terror strangled her vocal cords.

The yellow pixie stood before him, the desperate panic etched into her lovely face mirroring that of a cornered doe. A whisper escaped through her dread, “Why let me feel such wondrous calm if only to rip it away?” Green gaze glittered as she stared at him like caught prey.


ooc| @[d'Artagnan] Weee I've never written an angry-scared Bell before! That was fun :D

Bellisma

She kept her wide green eyes trained on the stallion, though her tuliped ears flicked quickly between the hound and the the blood man as he spoke.

’No luck in love then?’ his relaxed voiced washed over in such contrast to her tightly wound body. “Love?” There was wary bewilderment in her quiet question. She knew not of love, she knew only of surviving. Of powerful men celebrating their victories, and being rewarded with her service. Of a lazily cruel master who toyed with his pet.

She opened her mouth to answer his mystifying question, but her tiny lips snapped closed as his fervent words struck her. The vengeance in his voice sent a tremor rippling like liquid gold through her hide. This power, this anger, this need to inflict pain- it was what she was accustomed to. It was what she had hoped to be free of in this new land with her newfound freedom.

Green eyes had grown even wider at his tone. She was hesitant to take them off the scarlet stud, but she needed to know if the hound was hunting her now. The merest of glances flicked to the hound, before she returned her prey-like gaze to the horned one. The glance told her the hound was not watching her- instead he was watching the stallion with what had seemed like worry? This realization almost made the small mare more fearful. She almost would have preferred to know that both beast and hound were hunting her, instead of such fury from the beast.

She started once again as he repeated his earlier question in a different, more directed manner, 'What you would know of vicious, hopeless beasts?' Some of these past beasts had wanted conversation when they visited her- not many. But especially Rrazmik. Talking delayed the physical blows- and sometimes mitigated them. A fractured shoulder could be reduced to a broken a rib; a dislocated tail could become a mere bruised hock. So Bellisma seized the chance to talk- despite recounting a past she wished to leave far behind. A past which looked oddly mirrored here.

“I am- no, I was the pet of- of-” terror once more stole her voice, but this time it was of a past beast, not the one before her, “Rrazmik,” the name was forced out hoarsely, sounding foreign on her tongue. She had not spoken the name since- well since she had been beaten for saying it the first time. Though the name had no weight in these lands, it had an immediate effect on the minute mare. Her form grew weary, lines creased her pretty face, and her vibrant eyes went glassy with darkness, “He was the epitome of a vicious, hopeless beast…”

Her voice trailed off, mind beginning to become trapped in the caves she had been kept. Though it returned quietly, as her wind chime voice tinkled out, “He kept me chained in my run- my place off his cave and quarters. I was taken as at two, when they defeated my herd and family,” her story was becoming disjointed as she sank deeper in her memories. Briefly, she shook her head, aiming to continue her story and survive, “At first I was his. But I guess… I guess I could not maintain a foal with his- his-” oh, saying this aloud made it so real again, “-his assaults. So I was shared. Given as a reward to battles well won, I imagine,” her glassy and fearful gaze left his eyes as she spoke bounced between his mouth, horn, chest, and ears.

Talking was good. Talking kept you alive. So she continued the most complete recounting of her tale she had ever said, “It’s surprising how differently you powerful men celebrate. But there’s always something cruel… debasing, hurting, embarrassing. Always something…” The way her voice petered out was haunting.

Though she recounted what the stallion had said, ‘Somebody has to pay.’ These were not satisfied words. This was not a man happy with his conquests. This was a man she only dealt with in the form of an unhappy Rrazmik. And, to Bellisma, it was best to keep him talking, ‘Somebody has to pay’ “Someone must answer for- for what?” The question was quiet, and she fervently hoped against hope that she had not pushed too far.

‘Somebody has to die,’ the words echoed in the slowly clearing fog in her head. “I’ve escaped- I’ve made it so far. I’d like not to die, yet,” the words were a quiet plea, but she lowered her head to level with her withers a she said them. A look of veteran resignation has stolen the fear from her beautifully sculpted face. Verdant gaze shifted down to his knees- the hooves were generally the first blow. Fire burned in her belly and in her throat- this was new. A want- no a need- to fight back. But what could she do?

She took a tentative step backwards away from the stallion. It was slow, it was hesitant, it was small. But it was still a step. She kept her head low and eyes averted from his face, unable to meet the intense two-tone eyes.


ooc| Sorry for the delay. I made it long so it was (maybe) worth some of the wait? Hehe, and don’t apologize for the museplosion! I love it when those happen! xD @[d’Artagnan]

Bellisma

Ears twitch at his words- he wouldn’t touch her? She raises her head once more, gaze solidly colliding with his two toned one- seeing if, hoping that, she could believe him. And she did, she could see his disgust with her written plainly on his face, in his eyes, in his voice.

A strange worm of discomfort niggled in her barrel- was she dismayed that a stallion did not want to touch her? She had only known lust and abuse from studs, but they had always wanted her. This sickeningly disturbing feeling was knocked aside at his next words-

He said words she could not believe, ’I am nothing like the this ghost of your past.’ A disbelieving snort escaped her. Apparently the admission of not touching her inspired confidence in addition to the disconcern.

“How are you not?” The question begged no answer for she provided one, herself, “Any man who inflicts- and enjoys- pain on others is the same as him.” Her words chimed loudly and quickly, the bells they came from were red with anger that sizzled beneath the mountain of icy fright inside her.

The trembling finally dissipated from the slight golden doll. She noticed he did not answer her question. And just as she predicted, the moment the talking stopped was the moment she felt the tides shift to more dangerous waters. She flicked an ear sideways, listening for an escape. The other was trained on him, green eyes narrowing slightly from their previously wide and frightened stare.

“Prove it? Why? I’ve stayed alive as long as I have by not rising to the bait and taunts of men like you,” finally, some hints of fervor crept into her voice, “Then I’ll keep running.” She answered his last statement plainly, green eyes now burning into his own.

Then something happened. Her frame grew, her head raised, her muscles rippled as they grew tight from anger instead of fear. Though she was still sadly slight in the face of the unicorn stud.

Finally- finally- the little mare felt anger. It had laid dormant since the blood of her family flowed around her hooves. Years. But it melted the icy fright quickly. “You are so quick to call me a- a rabbit,” she spat the word, “But you- you’re a powerful man so in control of yourself and what happens to you. Take that power, that control away and see what you become. Face a torment, caged, chained, everyday. Face that and take it, unable to run- what would you do to make it stop? Even to just lessen it?” vehement words flowed as she stomped a small, ebony hoof, “To be set free only to be caught by wolves for their amusement. To see the whites of their eyes and know- know that no matter what you’ve done, you'll feel the scourge of their sadism-” she broke off and drew a ragged breath, “Tell me, stripped of your power, facing titans, what would you become?”

Her tiny ribs heaved at her feverish words, verdant eyes glowing in a face that became more and more beautiful as the fear left it.


ooc| So I really liked italics and bolding in the post o.o @[d'Artagnan]

Bellisma

”Offensive?” It had been so long since she had offended anyone. Indeed, she didn’t even know how to offend someone- well apparently she did. “Pain can be more than physical,” was all she said in response to his first words. Her eyes had grown dark, but the fire still smoldered in them. In fact, the little mare wasn’t sure if she preferred the physical to the mental torture- now that she had been free of both for a short while, she thought that the mental was worse. But if you had asked her while she was enduring the physical, she certainly would have chosen that as worse.

“It was never a question of blame…” she trailed off, now uncertain at her words and where she stood. Blame had never been the issue, it had always been a matter of survival. To her, it mattered not if the blow came from Qeddar, Rrazmik, or the jaws of wolves. What mattered was that the blow was not crippling, and hurt at little as possible. She shifted her weight backwards, thoughts turning inwards as her anger starts to crumble and she starts to visibly shrink in front of the stud.

Her anger faded more as he validated her thoughts, indeed a stallion like him would never be caged. It was only mares; small, alone, beautiful mares that were cursed with cages. Tuliped ears flick sideways at his admission to being a ‘madman.’ In her state of inner turmoil, a thought quietly escaped her hesitant lips, “You’re not like any madman I’ve met before…” The moment she said it, she seemed to want to swallow the words, eyes flickering around his face to see his reaction.

“Square one?” Since when was she in any squares. She left squares and cages behind! She wavered visibly, uncertain of what she should do- what did he expect of her? The back of her mind shrieked to run, sensing the danger that oozed from the pores of the blood bay stallion. She looked to the hound for answers, but found none in the seemingly bored and terrifying gaze.

Cautiously, she pinned her ears flush with her neck. Her head lowered, snaking slowly out, her teeth partially bared as she asked, “Is this- is this what you want from me?” Her body language was threatening, attacking even. But her eyes were wide, scared, and uncertain. And her voice was unsure as it chimed softly.

The mare should have run- should be running. But all her life she had pleased great and terrible men. Old habits die hard.


ooc| @[d'Artagnan] -facepalm- Bellisma just doesn't get it.