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12-23-2015, 09:58 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ I officially suck. ]
He felt like he was drowning in black snow—pulled under by thick and heavy currents, a tar-like, freezing sludge weighing him down, chaining him to the oblivion below. It was in the way his—his carelessness, thoughtlessness seemed to drain the occasion, leaving it brittle and empty, bleak and black; the smile upon Deimos' lips faded, the excitement of the youth fading, too, as if Mauja's lackadaisical recognition had him wilting.
And fear gripped him, as the joy and the bliss slipped through friction-burnt, powerless hands, spiraling into an abyss he could not reach down and pull it out from. Fear of the inability to stop it—fear of their disdain, their rejection, of them speaking out against his never-shown-but-always-felt love and reducing him to tears—
It was a quiver in his heart, a shake like that of drying autumn leaves rattled by the cold wind, and he felt just as fragile. Just as .. breakable. He felt his attention tunneling, narrowing, going black along the edges as the low roar in the back of his ears grew louder. Absently, he realized it was his pulse, pounding, pounding, pounding behind sealed bars—trying to get out and never succeeding. He was trapped in himself, in his prison of ice, crippled by the icy lance he had driven through his heart so long ago.
Deimos tried to, he supposed, tell him it was alright he had never gone to find the Death Lord, but—but, just because the dark hadn't come to the blizzard, did that make it right that the blizzard hadn't gone to the dark, either? Did two wrongs make a right?
Maybe he didn't want to come see you his mind whispered. It was not in the nature of everyone to keep such a dog-like obsession and devotion towards misplaced friends. Maybe, in this meeting, Mauja had been alone in the missing, and Deimos was just trying to spare his feelings. (.. was that even likely? he didn't know anymore.)
But, with the reassurance of the stoic stallion being here now—something Mauja could believe despite the death aura not biting him—came something else, someone else, Tembovu coming out of the mist and trees to settle beside him. “Are you well?” And Mauja's smile, so fragile, so fragile like the soul it smiled for, wilted, withered, died; black-rimmed ears fell back in a blatant display of sorrow, and despite the fact that he did not move he seemed to shrink backwards. Away. Inwards, where his heart was thrashing around the ice lance. "No," he said, softly, quietly, gently, like the word might somehow frighten them off. "I miss d'Artagnan." He's not coming back. It should've been him beside him, cherry bay shoulder so close to his, but instead, it was Tembovu. Mauja blinked, clearing away the first traces of tears before they had the chance to fall. "This is Tembovu, our Glazier."
[ The end? xD We're just gonna have it "fade out" and then they "felt something" and went to the Riptide Isles opening before talking politics ever happened... ]
He felt like he was drowning in black snow—pulled under by thick and heavy currents, a tar-like, freezing sludge weighing him down, chaining him to the oblivion below. It was in the way his—his carelessness, thoughtlessness seemed to drain the occasion, leaving it brittle and empty, bleak and black; the smile upon Deimos' lips faded, the excitement of the youth fading, too, as if Mauja's lackadaisical recognition had him wilting.
And fear gripped him, as the joy and the bliss slipped through friction-burnt, powerless hands, spiraling into an abyss he could not reach down and pull it out from. Fear of the inability to stop it—fear of their disdain, their rejection, of them speaking out against his never-shown-but-always-felt love and reducing him to tears—
It was a quiver in his heart, a shake like that of drying autumn leaves rattled by the cold wind, and he felt just as fragile. Just as .. breakable. He felt his attention tunneling, narrowing, going black along the edges as the low roar in the back of his ears grew louder. Absently, he realized it was his pulse, pounding, pounding, pounding behind sealed bars—trying to get out and never succeeding. He was trapped in himself, in his prison of ice, crippled by the icy lance he had driven through his heart so long ago.
Deimos tried to, he supposed, tell him it was alright he had never gone to find the Death Lord, but—but, just because the dark hadn't come to the blizzard, did that make it right that the blizzard hadn't gone to the dark, either? Did two wrongs make a right?
Maybe he didn't want to come see you his mind whispered. It was not in the nature of everyone to keep such a dog-like obsession and devotion towards misplaced friends. Maybe, in this meeting, Mauja had been alone in the missing, and Deimos was just trying to spare his feelings. (.. was that even likely? he didn't know anymore.)
But, with the reassurance of the stoic stallion being here now—something Mauja could believe despite the death aura not biting him—came something else, someone else, Tembovu coming out of the mist and trees to settle beside him. “Are you well?” And Mauja's smile, so fragile, so fragile like the soul it smiled for, wilted, withered, died; black-rimmed ears fell back in a blatant display of sorrow, and despite the fact that he did not move he seemed to shrink backwards. Away. Inwards, where his heart was thrashing around the ice lance. "No," he said, softly, quietly, gently, like the word might somehow frighten them off. "I miss d'Artagnan." He's not coming back. It should've been him beside him, cherry bay shoulder so close to his, but instead, it was Tembovu. Mauja blinked, clearing away the first traces of tears before they had the chance to fall. "This is Tembovu, our Glazier."
[ The end? xD We're just gonna have it "fade out" and then they "felt something" and went to the Riptide Isles opening before talking politics ever happened... ]
