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la mer détient pas de beauté
It’s hard to think of a time when she could actually find a place to hide off in. Caves are always lovely, but the majority of them are easily accessible and anyone could crash into her hideaway and do what they please with the place. Her tree in the Dragon’s Throat(well, it wasn’t really her tree, but it was a tree she enjoyed) was easily seen by any Pegasi that happen to fly by.
But this was her gift. This was, at last, the place where she could get ignore them, a place where she could turn a blind eye to everything and choose to ignore every little thing. Her own small cave, tucked away in the sea-beaten cliff walls, guarded diligently by the waves.
The only issue was that the scent of blood made Hobgoblin excited. It made him ruthless, hateful and easily triggered. Birds split their flocks in his presence, crying with screams that fall upon her tired ears like endless cacophonies. She even goes to wonder if it’s her own doing, that the bitter temperament she’s taken on has finally begun to weigh down on his marble shoulders, crumbling them til his pillars fall.
Sweat coats her honey hide and paints her in a deeper shade. The increase of humidity is enough to make it difficult to breathe, taking lazy, shallow breaths when her chest feels like a thousand pounds have been added on. All she can care to think about is sleeping in her happiest of holes, pressed in against the dark, stone walls with a cool sea breeze to fend off the heat, but that’s all too far off right now, and armed with glazed eyes, a dive was the last thing on her mind.
Through all of this, she could almost fall asleep on her feet, mid-stride as if her world suddenly decided to stop at that exact moment. Deep within, she longs for the brutal, dry and burning hot heat of the desert island further south and to the west. Sunburns are easier to treat than lethargy, and when you don’t know the lay of the land and any of the herbs residing within a labyrinth of dangers and the unknown, there’s no hope for an immediate cure.
Black fuzz builds up around her circle of vision. Eyelids just happen to feel slightly heavier when the noise collects in her ears, rising above the squeals of pain brought on by Hobgoblin’s reign of terror to the local wildlife. Curiosity sparks in his mind when the word ‘Siren’ crosses her thought train.
While he has no what this ‘Siren’ is, he can’t help but be intrigued. For her, it’s a stone she hasn’t been able to inspect enough, one that turns over and over again in her brain til she’s managed to grind it down. There’s something about the song that brings a slow ease over her features, something calming, nurturing in a way that she believes only mothers could manage.
In a flurry, he’s gone, driven by the urge to claim the source of the sound in whatever way possible. It’s his and only his. Something so beautifu-
Don’t.
Scraping stone, a long hiss fills up any empty space left in her ears and boils in her eardrums. Scales trade themselves in for fur, pressing a black stomach along the stone and glaring with yellow eyes as Sikeax takes her sweet fucking time arriving.
Lena.
The bay mare is a sight for sore(or should we say sleepy) eyes, tucked away in the warmth of the sand and singing a song of such elegance and beauty that a Nightingale could find themselves damned to envy. It brings a smile to her hard face, that for once there’s someone she can trust to have good in the soul.
Her visit with her sister in the medic tent had gone well, or was it the fact that Lena had found herself in the boundaries of ex-enemy homeland that kept her from acting of true nature?
Sikeax would just have to make the leap. If things had been good in the past, she can see no reason now that they would not be the same.
“You have a voice like an angel." She tries to remain calm, serene and gentle when she is so obviously nervous that even Hobgoblin’s tail bounces back and forth, striking the air and stone with violent lashes of a whip. His laughter plays on repeat inside the confines of her skull. A number of insults tango with his teases.
Against all of her better judgement, she hesitates on her first step forward, silently agreeing with herself that if Lena does make the choice to attack her, that she’ll have to do nothing more than accept fate. The humid has drug her into the depths of hell and there’s not enough strength to pull herself out.
“Would you mind if I joined you?”
Some company never hurts, does it? She spares a moment to think over how Hobgoblin is meant to be her permanent companionship, how they’re supposed to keep each other from being lonely and safe from harm. It seems the exact opposite from what she expected. His yellow eyes are dark and hateful, claws gripping the rock that he spreads himself over as if he threatens Sikeax’s hide as their next victim.
A little kind companionship won’t kill me if I’m careful.
He smirks. He smirks because she is always at the mercy of others and too weak to live without his strength. His pride strikes her small, frail attempt at courage, wounding it so brutally that it shatters and cuts her with jagged edges.
When she doesn’t care to make eye contact with him, he leaps from his throne, landing softly atop the sand, placing himself beside her as if she will show him off like the king he is to yet another face she knows.
OOC: Hope you don't mind!
@Lena
you were angels,
so much more than everything
:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed
