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06-06-2015, 02:33 PM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ @[Evangeline], @[Glasgow], @[Jahzara]! Sorry everyone for totally obliterating my own word count limit. ]
One by one, they came out of the woodwork. Nyx, calling him Queeny; Thor, noticing Torleik's absence by his side. Tembovu settling next to him, and someone he did not know—a Pegasus mare introducing herself as Alysanne, and asking if he was their new King.
Singular, masculine.
While he nodded to them all in greeting, his snowy shoulders heaved in a kind of shrug at her question. Next was Myrrine, precious, spotty little Myrrine, echoing the sentiment and he offered her the same mystical look without answering.
Because how could he ever stand before this herd, and explain that he was Queen to the core? It seemed impossible, unfathomable, like taking down the stars and handing out like candy for the kids.
Elsa, Snö, and Ophelia all came silently, settling on the edges, little pale creatures to merge with the pale snow—hiding as best as they could while in a crowd.
And with them, everything else came, the whirlwind in his storm yelling in Torleik's voice, and the pain seeping through the cracks in Roskuld's—words about rape and rat bastards and protectors and love, and he wanted his lip to curl. He wanted to snarl, to growl, to start the fucking avalanche from where there would be no going back—
But he didn't. He had a duty to the herd. And it killed him, especially when Torleik came out of the backdrop just after that peculiar glass mare had said something he had no idea what the fuck it meant. Torleik, in all his disgruntled, disapproving, insulted glory. Torleik, growling under his voice and staring daggers. Torleik, Torleik, Torleik.
Get the damn stick out of your ass.
He could say a thousand things. Insults. Defense. Explain that he was tired of waiting for shit to happen so he took matters into his own hooves, but, yes, he had bothered to check the borders to make sure the black monarch was around. And no, he wasn't going to go behind anyone's back, merely get to know who the fuck was around and announce what they'd talked about in terms of ranks.
And as those icy blue eyes glowered at his, and he stared back with a benign (though probably more provocative than disarming, given their disposition toward one another) smile, he heard that voice roiling in his head.
"YOU DON'T GET TO TOUCH HER YOU FUCKING SWINE."
“Are you happy to hear now that even though your mother was raped by a god, she still wants you?”
And what did Torleik know of rape? Something in the back of Mauja's eyes hardened as he stared in silence. What did he know of it? Of loving what came of it?
Had he been the one to lie grunting upon their backs as they screamed in pain and denial, attempting to thrust his thickset body off?
Had he been the one reduced to nothing but base instinct, and taken advantage of?
Did he even know what the fuck he talked about?
And through the haze of his anger, that small, damned voice whispered you don't know.
And he didn't. So he had nothing to do but blow that angry fire out, and when he turned his gaze back to the herd it surprised him there was no ice flaking off his body with the movement.
It was how cold he felt, ears not even flicking as Torleik yelled out his rank with the kind of pride that Kings surely out to display, but that Mauja loathed.
Then a little girl looking frightened was there, and a mare he'd met once before, while looking for Kahlua—years ago, probably. He couldn't quite recall her name, or if he'd ever been told it.
"Pleased to meet all of you," he said after a moment, ears, eyes and nose having tried to make sure if there was someone else still approaching from the forest. Right now, though, all was quiet. Next to Torleik's booming pride he would probably seem lesser somehow, smoother and softer, more demure, but fuck that—those who knew him would know him, and those who didn't would get to.
At least he was taller than Torleik.
"I am Mauja, the Queen to his King," and the slight lilt of his voice and the curl of his mouth presented the rank with some kind of subtle self-mockery—the only way he could present it to them, the only way he knew, taking what barbs and daggers they might've made of it and disarming them. "We were the ones chosen by Kahlua and Ophelia to care for this herd.
"We found a shared trait in the language of our homelands, and out of habit we've fallen back on this," he went on, improvising as he went along, trying to figure out what was what and how much he should leave to Torleik. He had, of course, done his best to vouch for Nyx as a capable Einheri, but in the end he had a feeling it was up to the black bastard beside him to decide. Torleik was, after all, their military lead. So he went on with what he knew was safe, the ranks there had not been much question about. "Alysanne, Ayelet, and Evangeline will serve as our Vanir—healers. Thor and Ophelia are Huginn and Muninn—thought, and memory. They will serve as head of intelligence." His black-rimmed ears pointed at them, except Evangeline, because she didn't seem to be there..? Then again, he could be wrong.
"I will leave our military announcements to our King," he said after a moment's pause, his gaze switching to Torleik.
The ball's in your court. And Mauja was curious to see how much he would talk—if there would be anything left for him to say after the black was done.
Whatever. It didn't matter anyway.
[ Next round starts on the 11th (or 12th, depends), if you want to get a post in. Personal choice whether you want to wait for Torleik or not before replying this round (posting order is, of course, a lie). :) Not sure how to handle the rank requests for the healers and Thor.. kinda pretending it somehow would've been known to the leads? like the app meant you let them know, one way or another. :x if anyone disagrees with this please let me know and I'll fix it/we'll work around it. ]
One by one, they came out of the woodwork. Nyx, calling him Queeny; Thor, noticing Torleik's absence by his side. Tembovu settling next to him, and someone he did not know—a Pegasus mare introducing herself as Alysanne, and asking if he was their new King.
Singular, masculine.
While he nodded to them all in greeting, his snowy shoulders heaved in a kind of shrug at her question. Next was Myrrine, precious, spotty little Myrrine, echoing the sentiment and he offered her the same mystical look without answering.
Because how could he ever stand before this herd, and explain that he was Queen to the core? It seemed impossible, unfathomable, like taking down the stars and handing out like candy for the kids.
Elsa, Snö, and Ophelia all came silently, settling on the edges, little pale creatures to merge with the pale snow—hiding as best as they could while in a crowd.
And with them, everything else came, the whirlwind in his storm yelling in Torleik's voice, and the pain seeping through the cracks in Roskuld's—words about rape and rat bastards and protectors and love, and he wanted his lip to curl. He wanted to snarl, to growl, to start the fucking avalanche from where there would be no going back—
But he didn't. He had a duty to the herd. And it killed him, especially when Torleik came out of the backdrop just after that peculiar glass mare had said something he had no idea what the fuck it meant. Torleik, in all his disgruntled, disapproving, insulted glory. Torleik, growling under his voice and staring daggers. Torleik, Torleik, Torleik.
Get the damn stick out of your ass.
He could say a thousand things. Insults. Defense. Explain that he was tired of waiting for shit to happen so he took matters into his own hooves, but, yes, he had bothered to check the borders to make sure the black monarch was around. And no, he wasn't going to go behind anyone's back, merely get to know who the fuck was around and announce what they'd talked about in terms of ranks.
And as those icy blue eyes glowered at his, and he stared back with a benign (though probably more provocative than disarming, given their disposition toward one another) smile, he heard that voice roiling in his head.
"YOU DON'T GET TO TOUCH HER YOU FUCKING SWINE."
“Are you happy to hear now that even though your mother was raped by a god, she still wants you?”
And what did Torleik know of rape? Something in the back of Mauja's eyes hardened as he stared in silence. What did he know of it? Of loving what came of it?
Had he been the one to lie grunting upon their backs as they screamed in pain and denial, attempting to thrust his thickset body off?
Had he been the one reduced to nothing but base instinct, and taken advantage of?
Did he even know what the fuck he talked about?
And through the haze of his anger, that small, damned voice whispered you don't know.
And he didn't. So he had nothing to do but blow that angry fire out, and when he turned his gaze back to the herd it surprised him there was no ice flaking off his body with the movement.
It was how cold he felt, ears not even flicking as Torleik yelled out his rank with the kind of pride that Kings surely out to display, but that Mauja loathed.
Then a little girl looking frightened was there, and a mare he'd met once before, while looking for Kahlua—years ago, probably. He couldn't quite recall her name, or if he'd ever been told it.
"Pleased to meet all of you," he said after a moment, ears, eyes and nose having tried to make sure if there was someone else still approaching from the forest. Right now, though, all was quiet. Next to Torleik's booming pride he would probably seem lesser somehow, smoother and softer, more demure, but fuck that—those who knew him would know him, and those who didn't would get to.
At least he was taller than Torleik.
"I am Mauja, the Queen to his King," and the slight lilt of his voice and the curl of his mouth presented the rank with some kind of subtle self-mockery—the only way he could present it to them, the only way he knew, taking what barbs and daggers they might've made of it and disarming them. "We were the ones chosen by Kahlua and Ophelia to care for this herd.
"We found a shared trait in the language of our homelands, and out of habit we've fallen back on this," he went on, improvising as he went along, trying to figure out what was what and how much he should leave to Torleik. He had, of course, done his best to vouch for Nyx as a capable Einheri, but in the end he had a feeling it was up to the black bastard beside him to decide. Torleik was, after all, their military lead. So he went on with what he knew was safe, the ranks there had not been much question about. "Alysanne, Ayelet, and Evangeline will serve as our Vanir—healers. Thor and Ophelia are Huginn and Muninn—thought, and memory. They will serve as head of intelligence." His black-rimmed ears pointed at them, except Evangeline, because she didn't seem to be there..? Then again, he could be wrong.
"I will leave our military announcements to our King," he said after a moment's pause, his gaze switching to Torleik.
The ball's in your court. And Mauja was curious to see how much he would talk—if there would be anything left for him to say after the black was done.
Whatever. It didn't matter anyway.
[ Next round starts on the 11th (or 12th, depends), if you want to get a post in. Personal choice whether you want to wait for Torleik or not before replying this round (posting order is, of course, a lie). :) Not sure how to handle the rank requests for the healers and Thor.. kinda pretending it somehow would've been known to the leads? like the app meant you let them know, one way or another. :x if anyone disagrees with this please let me know and I'll fix it/we'll work around it. ]
