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11-08-2015, 07:15 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
His treacherous feet had carried him back to where it all had begun, whispered in his ears to cloud his eyes as he went, before finally just punching him in the face and saying 'yo, get off, it's the end station for you'.
That was how he found himself standing somewhere between the Edge and the Meadow, tall summer grasses wavering restlessly in the evening breeze and doing their best to tickle his distant belly. Only a few reached that high, and he paid them little heed anyway. He had more depressing things to care about than grass.
The sun had begun to slip low somewhere behind the evergreen trees, darkness rolling in like the tide from the east, and with it came the creeping fog like ghosts—
Here, it had begun, the cradle of his future, the foundation of his dreams, the misty halls in which he and Psyche had roamed, sealing their pact with blood. Born from their aspirations was Snö, but.. that was it, wasn't it? Psyche had left him, taking Snö with her, until Snö had come back, and then Tamlin had been born, and Snö had left with Monster, and Psyche had come back, and, and... Mauja groaned, pressing his dry eyes shut. They ached from crying. They ached from seeing. They ached from the light. Snö's life had been full of disasters he should've prevented, and now .. now it was too late.
“Mauja?” "What," he answered, dispassionately, barely even registering what happened before it had happened; his ears flicked back, halfway into the mess of his white mane, and his eyes snapped open as his head turned. The movement tugged on the healing scabs on his chest, one crust breaking and a thin trickle of red pooling in the cut. It was Rohan, furry belly and all, looking decent enough from having come back from the battle—not like Mauja, a disaster on four legs, his pale eyes seeming permanently rimmed by a sickly kind of red-white. His tears might have dried up for now, but it sure as hell had done nothing for his heart.
Did he know what had happened? Had he seen—heard—the aftermath of the tiger's death? Mauja didn't know. Didn't really remember. Ulrik and Ophelia had been there, and Tembovu, of course, and Naerys and Roskuld. But who else had been there, watching, just not speaking? "What do you want?" he asked a moment later, fighting to keep the bitter anger out of his voice—what could you possibly want from me?—and succeeding only slightly in mellowing his tone. It was, after all, difficult to sound jovial and gentle when it felt like your soul had been scrubbed raw with salt and sulfur, and like all joviality and gentleness had been stolen from the world.
I'm sorry, he had the time to think, a brief moment of pity towards this unfortunate man who had happened to chance upon him only to be met with the bared fangs of grief.
[ 0/3 || @Rohan || 502 words. ]
[ Rohan better bring up sparring or something, Mauja isn't really .. violent, in that sense? xD ]
That was how he found himself standing somewhere between the Edge and the Meadow, tall summer grasses wavering restlessly in the evening breeze and doing their best to tickle his distant belly. Only a few reached that high, and he paid them little heed anyway. He had more depressing things to care about than grass.
The sun had begun to slip low somewhere behind the evergreen trees, darkness rolling in like the tide from the east, and with it came the creeping fog like ghosts—
Here, it had begun, the cradle of his future, the foundation of his dreams, the misty halls in which he and Psyche had roamed, sealing their pact with blood. Born from their aspirations was Snö, but.. that was it, wasn't it? Psyche had left him, taking Snö with her, until Snö had come back, and then Tamlin had been born, and Snö had left with Monster, and Psyche had come back, and, and... Mauja groaned, pressing his dry eyes shut. They ached from crying. They ached from seeing. They ached from the light. Snö's life had been full of disasters he should've prevented, and now .. now it was too late.
“Mauja?” "What," he answered, dispassionately, barely even registering what happened before it had happened; his ears flicked back, halfway into the mess of his white mane, and his eyes snapped open as his head turned. The movement tugged on the healing scabs on his chest, one crust breaking and a thin trickle of red pooling in the cut. It was Rohan, furry belly and all, looking decent enough from having come back from the battle—not like Mauja, a disaster on four legs, his pale eyes seeming permanently rimmed by a sickly kind of red-white. His tears might have dried up for now, but it sure as hell had done nothing for his heart.
Did he know what had happened? Had he seen—heard—the aftermath of the tiger's death? Mauja didn't know. Didn't really remember. Ulrik and Ophelia had been there, and Tembovu, of course, and Naerys and Roskuld. But who else had been there, watching, just not speaking? "What do you want?" he asked a moment later, fighting to keep the bitter anger out of his voice—what could you possibly want from me?—and succeeding only slightly in mellowing his tone. It was, after all, difficult to sound jovial and gentle when it felt like your soul had been scrubbed raw with salt and sulfur, and like all joviality and gentleness had been stolen from the world.
I'm sorry, he had the time to think, a brief moment of pity towards this unfortunate man who had happened to chance upon him only to be met with the bared fangs of grief.
[ 0/3 || @Rohan || 502 words. ]
[ Rohan better bring up sparring or something, Mauja isn't really .. violent, in that sense? xD ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
