the Rift


[OPEN] i solemnly swear that i am up to no good

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#1


She has found something dead.

She thinks it is - was - a deer fawn. It is clean and unwounded, which means it must have died of natural causes rather then predation, and its flesh is devoid of the marks of scavengers, proof that it is fresh.

Ker immediately hops down from the filly's withers and begins to peck at the corpse. Oizys pins her ears, hisses, chases the eaglet out of the way. The chick screeches, indignant, baffled, her little mind full of ??? - why would her bonded prevent her feasting? Because I want to look at it first. Then you can eat. Contented - if a little irritated - at this answer, Ker retreats to hover by the filly's lightly feathered hooves, peering hungrily at the carcass.

Oizys begins to cut. She uses her horns to open the fawn's abdomen, and her dextrous lips to pull out the innards. She examines each one with the scrutinous, impassive gaze of a seasoned killer, not the delicate wariness of a girl a couple of weeks old. Each organ is given a name - whether it's the correct name, she does not know. She only knows that this is research, and her instincts tell her that whatever is in this fawn is in her, too.

She pays particular attention to the heart. Does her heart look like that, or is it rotten and withered with the Thing that gives her the Cough? Does she even have a heart?

One she's examined everything, once the fawn is a naked husk with its innards glistening on the grass beside it, Oizys steps back and eyes her eagle. "Now you may eat." With a joyous caw, Ker pounces happily onto the corpse and begins to gobble at the steaming entrails, whilst Oizys hangs back and muses on her findings.

image credits


@Kid

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#2
the boy king
Today, Mother was generous. She granted us a set time period to explore, seeing as how I'd been an obedient child and stayed in the forest these past few days, she thought of this as a reward. She even noted how I hadn't been overstepping my feeding (I thought for a moment she had been mad that I hadn't tried to take more than what she offered). I'd hurried away before she changed her mind and decided she wanted to strike me for the fun of it. Maybe somewhere deep in the crevices of my mind, I knew she wanted desperately to break the will of her runt child— of the shamefully disobedient colt she hadn't wanted to birth. With each time she struck against my ribs, my head, my legs— anywhere she could bite or kick— I knew that I would always be on her bad side, destined to always be hit even when I'd done nothing. With each fleeting second I felt the fury of her gaze burrow deeper, burning into the back of my nape as I fled from beneath the pines and out into the world once again— this time abiding by the rules Mother had set. 

I plowed through the meadow, content with my temporary isolation as I made my way through the open expanse of plain, bounding with the youth and freedom Mother tried so hard to beat out of me. I shrugged away my doubts, my questions and curiosity as I thundered through the frost layered fields, a monochromatic blur of power and arrogance. I almost wanted to laugh, to forget more than just Mother's stern sight, but the dangerous reality she described, the underlying truth in the things that she preached to me every chance she got. 

Ew

What the fuck was that?

I stopped so abruptly, I teetered dangerously close to falling flat on my ass (that would've been great for my ego). The smell (so icky) hit me the way a tree would if you ran at it full speed, it was absolutely disgusting and intolerable— it was almost as disgusting as the thing that was wallowing around the source. I step closer, neck straining to see what the foal was doing. Bubblegum pink eyes settle on the most Disgusting (with a capital D) this I have ever seen. "What—the—fuck." I spit out, using the word Mother often blared at me in her blind rage. I couldn't be bothered to censor myself, not with that before me. 

A midnight black filly stood before the grotesquely tattered remains of a young fawn, its scattered insides spilling from its gaping gut and laying at the hooves of the girl. I hesitate on stepped forward, not wanting to get dissected by this psycho baby with an interest in blood, guts and the grotesque. "That's nasty." Whether I was referring to the vulnerable entrails, the chick so eagerly consuming them, or the bloody horns protruding from the girl's face, I don't know. Perhaps all three?

I noticed her horns as I shuffled closer, eyeing her smaller dark body with a look of pure revulsion at the sight of her nearly hairless tail and newly grown obsidian blades. She was almost as putrid a sight as the carcass, my lip curling with discontent at the scene that lay before me. As a king, this was unacceptable. I would not have even the peasants frisking through dead animals remains— that was unhygienic. And I— with my well kept hair and pristine invariant coat— am the perfect example of good hygiene. I don't reek of death and stomach bile like this child does (nor do I look like I'd just committed mass murder), if I did I don't think I'd be making a public appearance just yet. A king always has to look his best.

"That's so gross." I inform her (just in case she didn't know), looking down at the mess with distaste. I wanted to add 'you're gross' but I'd give her a chance to prove she wasn't like the other horned mongrels I'd come across— that she could hold her tongue and not question my authority or the reasoning behind my words. I eyed every single exposed organ, the unmoving mass of flesh that made up the insides of the fawn (and possibly me), covered in dirt and grass at the onyx hooves of the younger foal. 

"Talk."
kid
image credits


@Oizys ~

made by reli

tag me in everything

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#3


What the fuck?

The filly turns, gleeful. "Fuck," she repeats. She knows the word is naughty - Mother's said it once or twice, when she walked into a tree or tripped over a root, but she'd always looked sheepish afterwards and sternly warned both daughters not to repeat it. Saying the Bad Word fills Oizys with a dirty delight, a delicious knowledge that she's said something bad.

That's nasty. Little darling demoness furrows her brow crossly, and Ker looks up from her meal to squawk her displeasure at the disturbance. Child's tail ripples around her ankles, tickling her flesh with the furry tip, and she looks at the colt with a frown. He's larger, older than her, stronger, and no doubt free of the Cough - but his skull-marked face is quite naked, which puzzles the girl, who knows only unicorns. "Where's your horns?" Her voice is rough, abrupt, rather unchildlike. Her frown makes the harpy-scars on her face twist horrifically, and she turns slightly to display them fully to the boy. If he thinks the dead fawn is disgusting, wait until he sees the grotesquely ruined right side of her face, with its livid scars and damaged pink flesh. So young, yet so broken! They are still sore, and if she bends a certain way she feels them pull, bringing back the memories of how close she came to the sweet caress of death.

That's gross, he continues. Oizys grows quite tired of his protestations. "So's your Ma," she says, immature, puerile, but satisfying. She glances back down to the fawn, to the glimmering innards and juicy, juicy meat. "All that in there is in you, too. S'that make you gross?" She tilts her head, smug, questioning, deeply curious by this naked-faced boy with his declarations of grossness.

Just as well he didn't see her slay that wolf. He might well have keeled over unconscious with the shock of it, the poor delicate little flower.

image credits


@Kid

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#4
the boy king
Somewhere in my thick skull, I should know that teaching (younger) children curse words is wrong, but I don't really care. Let this little mongrel have her fun, let her say those taboo syllables where her mother can't hear her. And maybe I should warn her not to say such foul words before her parents, but I can't bring myself to care whether she'll get beat over it later or not. Perhaps I'd like for her to get hit, to understand what I go through, and then I won't be alone in this silent suffering. What a silly thought. I don't want anything in common with this.

She didn't like that I told her this was nasty, furrowing her brows at me in discontent. Even the little chick turned its attention from its grotesque meal to squeal at me in the most unpleasant manner, its blood splotched beak making my stomach lurch. My eyes dart to the movement around her ankles, her leonine tail snaking around them in agitation? Boredom? Did the thing just do what it pleased? I really don't understand how they work, bit it's there, hairless and terrifying, waggling around her hooves while she busied herself with my bare brow.

"I don't have any— and I'm glad I don't. They're signs of inferiority." I inform her, thinking that maybe her parents just haven't told her that she's supposed to be below me, that maybe they were waiting until she could comprehend more than simple sentences. My throat catches before I can talk anymore, watching as the filly purposefully angles her head so I can see the deep scars running over the right side of her face. They're still healing, not quite scarred, but not new either. My face wants to react, to twist in displeasure at seeing this and knowing that any day that could happen to me if Mother ever felt up to it— that although these are from the claws of a wild animal, what's to stop Mother from doing the same? What if one day, she becomes the wild animal, and I the helpless prey to fall beneath her raging talons. "Oh." Is my only response to her wounds, having nothing of that caliber to show her. Scattered swelling bruises and light scars blanket my body, but none so severe as hers. 

I raise an unimpressed brow at her retort, almost chuckling at the failed response to my words. "Was that supposed to make me feel bad?" I ask her, looking down at the battered filly and then onto the rotting corpse laid out before us. I would give her a better come back than that. "I'm sure your mom smells just like this—" I respond bluntly, raising a cream hoof to the exposed innards with a wrinkled nose. It indeed did smell bad, like a hot shit left to sit out in the summer sun for far too long. Unpleasant.

Sure, those things may be inside of me, and her, and that tiny chick picking at them— but that's just the difference. They were inside of us, where they belonged. That's what made the open body gross, and (at least) me, not. "It's because those organs are all out of the body where everything can get to them and they can get smelly and gross. In us they're fine because that's where they belong." I shrug nonchalantly, gazing at the face of the deceased fawn, wondering what it saw before it died. Death was something I wasn't fond of, something I didn't find interest in, but I didn't fear it either. It just was— there was nothing fascinating about it, nothing terrifyingly dreadful either. I accepted my morality and went on, but this girl seemed very keen on knowing the physical half of death, about what the body becomes afterwards.

"Talk."
kid
image credits

@Oizys

made by reli

tag me in everything

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#5


He's looking at her tail, and she notices that he has the boring normal-horse-tail of her mother. Quite useless, lacking the dexterity and beautiful flicky-ness of the gargoyle's own leonine limb, and she happily resumes the snakelike thrashing of it across the soil. He is different to anything she's seen before - she wishes Enyo were here, to examine him with her. That naked, skull-marked face, that bone-printed leg, that weird dull tail!

He is a he, as well, and the only he she has ever met until now is her father. She wonders if this he is as beautifully violent as her sire, if he reeks of sweat and musk and sex like the grey harpy-master does - she flares her nostrils, but smells only boy. Perhaps he is too young. Perhaps one day, he will command submission as Father does. Perhaps one day he will sire strong daughters and test them with his ire, turning his harpies on them to determine if they are worthy of life.

He is speaking, and the filly's consternation grows. Inferiority. Her pride, prickled, bids her chest to bulk and her fledgling muscles to ripple beneath her grey fur - she throws her head high, denying said inferiority, but the movement tugs on her throat and threatens her with the Cough. It bubbles upwards from her fragile little heart, and she has to bow her head to choke it back down, down, down. The gargoyle curses, dismayed at the fact the boy may now think she is bowing to him, and her cold grey eyes flash in disgust at her own weakness.

She would happily submit the other side of her face to the ministrations of Father's eagle if it removed the Thing from her stupid heart.

"Not inferior," is all the little goddess can sputter out, annoyed at her own inability to articulate anything deeper. She hunts for something else to say, but her attention is seized by his oh, his noticing of her scars; her jaws twist from disgust into a smirk, making the pink lines dance across her ruined face. "See? If I was inferior, I'd be dead." There is no doubt in her mind that a weaker soul would not have survived the sheer face-ripping agony that she'd suffered; she wonders if Father's other children will undergo the same test, to see if they are worthy of carrying his name on their shoulders.

She shakes her hideous head to his next question, not deigning it with a response, but when he insults Mother, her face shifts into an expression of palpable rage. Ker shrieks, her unique insight into Oizys' mind telling her that Bad Things are coming, that nobody must insult Mother or Father or Sister else they suffer the gargoyle's wrath; the eaglet, deciding she doesn't want to watch, turns and plunges her face back into the corpse with an ugly, bloody squelch.

"She does not," the girl manages to choke out, annoyed at herself for rising to it, but Mother's honour must be defended! He speaks again, and the filly turns her attention momentarily to the fawn - unlike him, she finds death fascinating, perhaps because she'd come so close to it herself. She wonders what it is, how it works, what it means. She wonders what happens afterwards; all she'd seen was endless blackness, and this is what she contemplates. Is that it? Does it all just go black? "What if something happens to make your insides fall out?" she questions, nastily. Her horns - glimmering, twisted, inferior horns - are, she's discovered, quite excellent for making insides become outsides. "Then you'd be smelly and gross, too." Not the best comeback in the world, but she is a child.

image credits


@Kid

Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#6
the boy king
She bows to me, head lowered and body quaking ever so gently (I do not know it is because she holds in a cough, a resistance to her health that cursed her in the womb). My ego swells beyond my grasp, a vast mass of my pride and arrogance that I cannot contain for long— that seeing even this younger child bow before me is enough to make a smile flicker over my previously lax features. My chest ever so slightly puffs out, broadening my shoulders and straightening my posture to accept my role as the superior.

Perhaps her parents had taught her that she was supposed to respect me like this, to bow before someone who was of a higher power— who was beyond her scale of ranking, who traversed such a dismal order and went beyond it. We were on entirely separate levels, she was so far behind me that I need not worry of her ever taking my position as king, because she would never reach it.

And as soon as I had begun to enjoy the idea of her accepting my dominance, my excellence, my prestigious equine heritage that brought me to the lead before she even had a chance to line up. Yet she tells me very blatantly that she is in fact not inferior to me, and that makes me want to laugh in her face for even trying to step off the path that she was set to run before she was born— when she took from her parents their horns, and grew from her brow her sign of weakness. It was then she was set on this course, ushered to drag along her heels while those without extra appendages and horns freely strode along at whatever pace they pleased. This is our game after all, where we set the pace— and they have no choice but to follow at a rate that will never get them any closer to winning.

"I don't believe that you fought off your attacker— you probably had your mommy fight it off." I almost added mockingly, 'she probably only did it because she didn't want a child's blood on her hands.' But that was unspeakably cruel, and as much as I would like to crush her where she stands, I couldn't bring myself to play such a foul joke. So my lips remained sealed.

Children would only cry, after all— not protest or demand forgiveness. They would not pose a challenge or a threat— they would weep simply because their idol, their own mother had been insulted.

I would not weep, not even a twinge of defensive need arose when she attempted an insult at Mother. Despite my conditioned love for the woman whose womb I originated in, I could not love her more— I could not defend her honour when it is hers to defend. It is not my place— even as the son— to do what she is supposed to. So I simply stand, watching the sooty features of the child turn into pitiful rage, an anger simply because I poked fun at her mother. This amused me, watching her face sour at my remark. "Why do you defend your mother like this?" I ask her, looking down upon the rage red mask with utmost pride, that my words sparked such an amusing reaction from a babe who was even younger than the body by her side.

"Well then I would be dead." I tell her matter-of-factly, looking upon her with a raised brow. And if that didn't kill me, the pain of having my essential organs torn from the cavity in which they belong certainly would. Her insult sails over my head (if it could even be called such), completely ignored because it was so impossibly weak, even a newborn (isn't that what she is?) could create a better come back than that. "Yes, and so would you." I confirm, knowing full well that it's true. If either died, we would rot and become just that— smelly, gross carcasses for scavengers to tear apart when their stomachs rumble and their eyes sharpen with a trivial need to survive. That is a fate I could accept, so long as my body is shielded from curious children (like this one), who might have their companions engorge on my entrails, or poke fun at my decomposing tissue with gruesome glee in their beady eyes (almost like vultures).

"Talk."
kid
image credits

@Oizys

made by reli

tag me in everything

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#7


The gargoyle has not experienced many emotions during her life.

She knows curiosity, intrigue, which led her to finding Ker's egg and to examining the gory innards of this fawn. She knows bloodlust, as she stabbed the wolf and enjoyed it. As much as she doesn't like to admit it, she knows fear, as only a stone would fail to feel such an emotion in the face of Father and his harpies. She knows pain, as her face was shredded by eagle-claws. She knows affection - is it love? - for her family, and she knows respect, for Father's power.

But, until now, she hasn't known dislike. Today, she feels it for the first time, towards this boy, this insulting thing. How dare he? Does he not know who she is?

Ker screeches her agreement. It is not a pleasant sound.

Oizys' tail swings hard around her hocks, whilst her ears disappear into the tufts of her mane and her cold eyes darken dangerously. Her heightened emotions, her racing heartbeat, make the Cough threaten to show itself again, but this time she forces it down with considerable irritated effort. Not now. His words grate, and now she knows frustration, too. Frustration that she has no comeback, that she isn't yet smart enough to articulate anything in response, anything that will make him hurt, too.

One day. One day.

"Fuck you." That's all she can summon, and she doesn't even know what it means - only that it's bad. Why do you defend your mother like this? he questions, and the gargoyle's ruined face contorts into a frown. "Why don't you?" It is unthinkable for the girl not to stand up for Mother, Father or Sister. The way she sees it, if someone insults them, they insult her, as she shares their strong blood, their genetic code. That is not acceptable, and so she defends them - it is unthinkable for her to not. So why doesn't he?

She takes a step closer, launching her ears forwards and arching her strong young neck. She stands tall in the face of this...this thing, this boy. Ker, her fill eaten, scratches and claws her way up Oizys' back and waddles up between her withers so she can glower up at the colt too. Normally, something grey, ugly and fluffy would not be intimidating in the slightest, but the eaglet's face and viciously hooked beak are coloured crimson with the blood from her feast. It is not a pretty sight.

"I bet it's 'cos your Mother doesn't even want you." It is a wild guess, the only thing she can think of that may wound him - she ignores his other words, seeing them as beneath her.

image credits


@Kid

[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS




Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#8
the boy king
The sweet syllables of my insult hit the filly, the impact bringing her ears flat against her skull and her eyes darkening into storms. Her skittish tail flicks along her ankles, twitching compulsively in an obvious act of annoyance. Her inability to give me a good comeback, simply responding with a bitter fuck you, it makes me smile because I won. "Babies shouldn't swear," I chide, looking down on her with subtle distaste in my gaze as my chest heaves forward and my ego inflates ever larger.

I look her over at her next question, eyes settling on her sickly little nubs that signify her inequality to me, that mark her as no more than the dirt beneath my hooves or flies buzzing about my head. And she had the audacity to question my loyalties to Mother, to demand to know why I did not defend her the way she did her own— I want to laugh at her for thinking she deserved to know my personal affairs. It was my business to keep, my secrets and thoughts to hold dearest— nothing that could be shared with someone so pointless (no pun intended). "Why would I tell you?" I stare her down, lip twitching with displeasure for her poking and prodding. She doesn't deserve to know anything about me, and if she thinks she does, she is very wrong.

Shit does not get recognition or compensation.

Shit shouldn't even talk (why am I even bothering with her?) I watch her carefully, stepping closer and arching her neck like she has a thing to prove, like that will intimidate me. She's very wrong (it seems to be a trend with her), because all I can do is seal my lips from letting free a mocking laugh. How stupid can she get?

Even the baby bird is trying to look frightening, but much like it's bonded it fails. If I so wanted, I could probably smash it under my hoof and watch the girl's face sour as she loses something she never should've gotten in the first place. But the chick is safe, perched on her withers after a struggle of clawing and climbing over thick grey skin. Its crimson battered fuzz makes it no more threatening, my own blood spattered chest puffing out as a challenge.

Her next sentence strikes a cord, stomach clenching as the venom drips from her young lips. My lungs burn as I inhale for a moment, taking in the fumes of her insult and wanting scream at her. How dare she! I make no motion that I was affected by her words other than the flick back of an ear— a sign of annoyance more than of hurt. Because she was right, her wild guess was correct. But I wouldn't admit to it, wouldn't tell her that Mother didn't want a god-sent child who was so small and weak. I grit my teeth, looking at her with slightly narrowed brows. "Look who's talking, I bet your mother didn't even want to save you. What if she wanted you dead?" Burn bitch.

"Talk."
kid
image credits

@Oizys

made by reli

tag me in everything

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#9


Babies shouldn't swear. "You did," she points out, an unpleasant tinge to her voice. She feels terribly...strange. Her flesh is tight across her muscles, like it's suddenly become too small for her, and every part of her body aches. She doesn't yet understand that this is what anger feels like. She doesn't yet comprehend that the tightness of her muscles is the small, sane part of her mind holding the rest of her body back from attacking him; it, unlike the rest of her, knows she is no match for him. It and it alone is keeping her from a thorough beating.

Judging by Ker's pained expression, she's feeling the same queer emotion as well. After all, they are mentally linked. The eaglet's tiny, fledgling mind is an open canvas to absorb Oizys' thoughts and feelings, and she feels her bonded's temper keenly. It makes her bloodstained beak arch and her grey feathers flex, whilst her pathetic chicken-wings beat futilely against the air they are not yet strong enough to capture.

Oizys suddenly pictures Father raging onto the scene, dismantling this boy piece by painful piece. The image, unrealistic as it may be, brings a cold smile to her face. It cheers her up immensely, and she finds herself relaxing again. Her muscles unclench, and her tail ceases its angered flickering.

Why would I tell you? "Don't give a fuck whether you do or not," she says casually, feeling a thrilled shiver down her spine at using that Bad Word again. She decides she quite likes the Bad Word, and makes a note to herself to use it more often. Not in front of Mother, though - she thinks the ironheart would have an aneurysm of horror, and then where would she get her warm, sweet milk from?

Ah, then - suddenly she's struck gold. He slams back an ear, and the gargoyle's cold eyes glow with pleasure. When he speaks again, she giggles. Now she has the image of Father devouring him in her head to look at whenever her temper starts to rise - now she knows that he can hurt, too - she doesn't find his insults quite so grating. "Don't care. Father wanted me dead, don't matter if Mother does too." She shrugs nonchalantly, as though parents contemplating infanticide is just another thrilling yet unremarkable tale on her quest towards greatness. And, indeed, she is strangely calm about it. Father wanted her dead, but now he doesn't - he saw the strength in her and Enyo, and let them live. She's sure Mother wanted them dead at some point too, when they curled like parasites in her womb, but now she loves them unconditionally and would die to protect them.

Shit happens, and people change. The gargoyle doesn't dwell.

"So why's your Ma hate you?" she questions, feigning interest and sympathy as she inserts a croon into her squeaky young voice. She wants to twist that knife deeper, try to get as big a reaction from him as he did from her. Ker giggles nastily on her withers, puncuating her words. "Is it 'cos you're ugly, or is it 'cos she hoped your Father would kill you for her?" She tilts her blackened head, blood-tipped horns pointed like rude gestures into the heavens.

image credits


@Kid

[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS




Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#10
the boy king
I raise a brow at her response to me, unamused and lightly annoyed that she called me a baby. "I'm not a baby— I'm older than you." I sneer, lip twitching in disgust that this child thinks that she was anything better than me, that we were on the same level. I was heir to an Empire, she was nothing— she was less than the worms in the dirt, than the sweat that clung to my brow and the flies that landed atop my hip during the hot summer months (that I haven't experienced yet, but soon).

And I see how quickly she angers, how her temper flares and her muscles tighten and tremble. She is a meek sight, a laughable sight— she is pathetic and smaller than I (better enjoy it while it lasts, I won't be the tallest for long), and I can't help but look her over with disregard over her foolish fury. Even her chick is enraged, flailing its disgusting little wings at me like that will do anything to deter my opinion about the idiocy of the two before me.

Somewhere I'm hoping that she'll try and attack me with her needle sized horns, slashing and jabbing with a recklessness only a fool could manage (to which she was). So I arrogantly look upon her with disapproval at her language, shaking my head like it was my right to tell her what she could and could not say (for it was, as the hair to a grand empire). "Well then why did you ask?" If she had not been searching for an answer, for an upper hand— then she would have let the subject be. But with a mind where little thought influenced her words and actions, the question came and from it no response. I simply drew back an ear and shifted my gaze to the water colour world beyond her petite monochrome figure, finding the smudged lines and indiscernible features of nature to be far more aesthetically appealing to look at than the appalling child at my hooves.

"It's a shame he didn't off you— the world would celebrate having one less of your kind." But it was most likely that her father was just like her, that the diseased blood of a mongrel crept through their veins and grew hosts in the wombs of idiots. I wanted to spit back, 'at least he knows you're alive.' Because Volterra has never before laid eyes upon me, he's probably never even heard my name before. I bet he doesn't even know I (or Sabre) exist. A plus parenting right from the get go (it seems to be a trend with my parents).

I didn't have a reaction to give for the flatness of the tone the filly spoke with, her midnight face and etched wounds focused solely on me, haunting me for I knew well that my future looked like that— that Mother would one day be unable to hold back and I will suffer for her mistakes. There will be no anguish or despair for her crimes either, just bitterness and ignorance, a stubborn personality that would seal her lips from ever speaking of her foul temper. So I will stand and wait for that day, in constant uncertainty if that day be today or tomorrow— if I will live to see the Tallsun months and become the Emperor Mother dreams of.

I give no acknowledgement of her words, ignoring completely the insults and accusations (of being ugly) and just laughing, blatantly letting loose a tremor of giggles that erupted from her pitiful attempt at low hit to my feelings. "I'm the prettiest thing those eyes of yours will ever see," I tell her matter-of-factly. Perhaps in part I believed it true, that my macabre mask and brindled limbs would be the prettiest scene those stormy eyes of hers would ever witness.

"And my mother—unlike yours— doesn't rely on anyone else to do things for her. If she wanted me dead, I would be. She isn't a lazy idiot like your mother, or a failure like your father." I don't even address Volterra, tail swiping against my thighs to accentuate the end of my sentence, a high and mighty look befalling my face as I wait and watch the girl's spattered features, awaiting the tears that I so eagerly hoped to receive for my dedication and willingness to bring ruin to her insignificant existence. I was probably going to be the most important and kindest person she ever talked to. Although there was no hope for her— she disgusted me and did no job of saving herself from my future wrath. For when I wield the king's scepter and tow calamity in my wake, she will be of the first to know my royal fury.

"Talk."
kid
image credits

@Oizys

made by reli

tag me in everything

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#11


I'm not a baby, he protests, and she lifts a sardonic brow. "I beg to differ." Big words for such a little girl. Ker ceases her flailing and instead politely and hopefully asks Oizys if she can peck the boy's eyes out. No, is the gargoyle's blunt reply, so forcefully it almost knocks the chick off her back, to which the eaglet drops a thousand ":( :(" into her mind. Oizys isn't quite sure why she rejects the very appealing idea - probably because Ker's inability to fly would make eye-pecking rather difficult. Maybe when she's older...

Why did you ask? She shrugs, wishing the bone-marked little shit would just drop it and stop trying to tie her in knots - does it make him feel strong, to be able to outwit a tiny little child? There is no doubt that Oizys is not his intellectual equal - if she was older, she might have more of a chance of creating better comebacks. Alas, age is not on her side. "S'one of those questions that don't need an answer. A rhe...rhet...yeah, one of them." The word escapes her fledgling tongue, and she quickly gives up.

The insults get greater, but Oizys schools herself not to react. She won't give him the satisfaction, dammit. She focuses instead on that image from before - Father, bringing mayhem and agony onto the stupid little boy, and now she has an extra bit to add to her fantasy as well in the form of a fully-grown Ker pecking his eyes out. If she turns her full attention onto these pleasing images, it means she can overpower her rising temper, stifle her urge to strike...

It isn't foolproof, but it prevents her lunging into a battle she knows she wouldn't be able to win. Yet.

When he laughs, when he insults her parents - how fucking dare he - it pushes her newfound resolve to its limit. Her eyes blaze and one small hoof stomps onto the ground in irritation, but this, and her pinned ears, is the only sign of her annoyance. Again, she focuses on the image...Father's horn, in his flesh - he wouldn't go for the heart first, he'd drag it out, make it last; Ker's beak, my horns, torture from three sides... A sedate smile spreads across her face, and an ecstatic sigh drags away from her jaws.

She can't fight fire with fire - she's too young. But she can fight fire with ice, because what's more annoying than seeing your insults land on happy, smiling ears? "You really don't like me, do ya?" she wryly observes, tilting her head. Her voice is now devoid of anger - she has her lovely fantasy instead - and is calm, cold, unremarkable. It is a statement more than a question, but she is genuinely curious why he seems to hate her so much. Even as she speaks, she has her joyous little images in her head, wearing them like armour to deflect the blows he throws at her.

image credits


@Kid

[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS




Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#12
the boy king
I roll my eyes at her, because she was a baby— she was months behind me in terms of age. I was the eldest, the idol she should be admiring and looking up to (she would never be anything near my level, but she could dream). My belief that her brain got jumbled around is backed up by her statement, ears falling back slightly as I look upon her with distaste. "If anyone's the baby here, it's you." It was a fact, she was a baby in all sense— physically and mentally she was a child, and nothing could tell me otherwise. And I was so obviously older, noticeably more developed than her, with a taller stature and thicker build— I was more mature in every aspect.

"It's called a rhetorical question." I tell her plainly, knowing her lack of vocabulary originated from how young she was— not from how simple minded or purely stupid she is, although that may have played a part. But I didn't hold it against her, because I'd had much more time on this world than she had (and hopefully ever would)— so I let it slide with a subtle shrug. Maybe she'd get lucky and stay here long enough to be a worthy opponent in a serious match, but for now she was a quick warm up for the world beyond her, the world I saw in lost detail and smudged hues.

The little mongrel throws down a foot, ears flat and face twisted. Easy to anger, I make this note subtly. If I'm ever to run into her again, I will remember how easily upset she becomes, and with this knowledge I will pull her down. One less bitch in this world. So I sit back, witness her thrown her tantrum and smile at how wonderful it is to upset a child (like stealing candy from a really angry toddler), especially one who can't do anything. It was a warm up, the beginning of something far beyond just her, soon I'd move up to bigger, smarter opponents— ones who actually posed a challenge rather than a target.

A coy smile graces onyx lips, smugly looking down upon the little girl before me.
"What gave it away?" Sarcasm was my weapon in this conversation, wielded recklessly with my mocking glare settled on the ashen face of the child. Our banter was a childish matter, it was falling from our tongues in rapid succession— had we been older there would be no words exchanged but hooves and blunt teeth, threats of destruction and ruin. Perhaps it's better we meet now, when our bones are still developing and our bodies are not physically capable of carrying out physical blows just yet.

The hollowness in her voice makes me question what thoughts are churning in that head of hers, whether she was mentally sound or her father's beating rattled up her brain a little too much. It's unsettling, the dullness in her eyes that swallows her up almost instantaneously (is this her way of getting back at me?) "Well aren't you a ball of sunshine." I comment, assessing the expression worn on her face with observant bubblegum eyes. Her distance wouldn't frustrate me, it was a challenge now— a challenge I'd been waiting for.

"Talk."
kid
image credits

made by reli

tag me in everything

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#13


She does not dignify his earlier words with a response - you're a baby, no you're a baby isn't going to get them very far, and Oizys isn't quite puerile enough to demand the last word. Not that it bothers her, but she is genuinely baffled why he seems to loathe her so much. Is it because she is a girl, and he is male like Father? No, not like Father; he is a quivering, snivelling brat before her sire's savage beauty, his palpable, stone-hard rage, his harpies...

Her fantasy elaborates further, now. Instead of her father and her eagle killing the boy, she imagines him surviving their brutal ministrations. She imagines him with scars like her - she imagines the world mocking him for them. Bleed, pretty boy, bleed.

Ah, she has grown rather fond of this little daydream of hers. It is a dreadful shame when she has to tear herself back to reality.

She tilts her head, focusing hard on her image, struggling to smother the anger that still bubbles within. She is unused to this; to being treated like shit, instead of a goddess. "Why do you hate me?" she questions, her voice as neutral as she can make it, trying to sound mildly interested rather than confounded. She treats him like she treated the dead fawn; something to be poked, prodded, examined. "Just 'cos of my horns?" Her cold eyes scrutinise him, her temper quelled beneath the fantasy she keeps replaying in her mind.

Ker, with a final withering glare at the colt, hops back down to the carcass, her hunger reignited by Oizys thinking about it. She heads for the eyes, pecking them from their sockets, pretending they belong to the boy.

image credits


@Kid

[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS




Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#14
the boy king
The question comes from her charred lips— announced with the tilting of her marred head, eyes staring deep into my existence (I feel barren and uncomfortable) as the question is asked. I should have known that in time it would rear its head, that this ultimate question that I have contemplated in the early hours of the morning would slip off of someone else's tongue one day— and I would be the one to pay for their curiosity. I hadn't spent enough hours in the night contemplating such ideas to even give anything remotely close to an answer— one that would be both satisfactory to the one who dared to ask, and to not reveal enough of my own personal beliefs to become a vulnerable target.

I shrug my shoulders, looking down at her with a blank look worn over my skeletal features (I don't need her pestering me about my expressions when the pressures of this question weigh down my body). I don't know, I don't know why I hate her (I really don't)— why her horns offend me so much and force my stomach into knots and make my tongue swell with bitter distaste. Why the idea of her kind roaming so freely makes me furious, makes me outraged and hurt that such a thing was possible— but at the same time all these feelings felt— false. Like they weren't coming from me, but an outside force (Mother) that firmly crammed them all into my head in a flurry of aggressive motions, stuffing soured ideas and opinions into me. As though someone Mother had beaten them into me, twisted me into exactly what she wanted until I spewed her opinions and theories rather than formulating my own.

"I don't know." I answer simply, shrugging again to emphasize that truly, I had no idea. Mother has raised Sabre and I to cast long glances down upon the inferior races, towards the flighty cowards and horned fools who dare to deem themselves kings and queens with their false crowns (they may believe they are natural born rulers, but they are idiots). And there is no doubt that I do feel something towards them, but these indiscernible feelings of my own hate and Mother's fog up my head, making it increasingly harder to decide whether this deep rooted hatred was my own or hatred built up over generations, passed onto me through each connection of hoof to flesh from mother to son.

So I leave it alone (as alone as I can when a curious child stands before me), hoping that the pitch black babe will drop the topic as quick as she'd picked it up— I had no intentions of catering to her every question. I wouldn't elaborate on my answer either, having no interest in telling her any more than I thought necessary. If she continued to seek out answers, she would find only a snide remark to be shot back at her (as is my specialty)— and I could simply walk away if even then she persisted. I would leave her mid-sentence, her curiosity still itching its way through her gut, clawing and pleading to be satisfied with the release of a barrage of questions that littered her puny head.
"Talk."
kid
image credits

@Oizys

made by reli

tag me in everything

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#15


He shrugs, and the bitch's eyes narrow at him. He must know why he hates her. She knows why she hates him (although hate is a strong word, and the gargoyle isn't fully sure that's what she feels - is he worthy of kindling such an emotion in her?). It is because he has insulted her, made her feel stupid beneath his older, maturer glare, because he ignites something murderous inside her.

So surely he, in all his wisdom, must know why he hates her?

I don't know. Oizys' cold grey eyes narrow further, and her tail resumes its idle twining between her hocks. "Well, that's dumb. You must know." Does he have no grasp of his emotions? Does he not understand what makes them? Oizys is young, but she has a rudimental idea of what triggers each individual feel. It baffles her that this boy, so much older, so much more hardened by the world, does not have that intrinsic link between the what and the why.

Unless he does know, and just doesn't want to tell her. She sighs dramatically - boys! "What if your Ma had a kid with horns? Would you hate them?" That charcoal head of hers tilts, a thousand questions bouncing around her mind - whether they will be answered or not remains to be seen. Part of the girl wants to leave, leave the boy-child to his anger and his musings, but the rest of her is imbued with morbid curiosity that just cannot be sated.

image credits


@Kid

[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS




Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#16
the boy king
I'm still so unsure, not knowing how to describe the feelings that aren't my own. Yes, I hate her (surely I must, that's what this feeling is right?)— I've been taught to hate her. Yet I can't tell her why, shouldn't I have a reason? My brows narrow at her questioning my inability to explain, worrying my lip between my teeth in a moment of deep thought.

Suppose that I don't hate her— or any unicorns or pegasi or what-have-you— that I've just been keeping up this mindset to appeal to Mother, and in truth I'm curious about the mechanics of wings and the growth patterns of horns. I maintain this appearance of racism to appease a dam who beats me, who hates me. Why should I continue to keep this up when she already doesn't approve of me (what more damage can be done?)?

So I shrug my shoulders at her, looking at her thin little horns— just beginning to grow— and give her the best possible explanation because at this point, I'm growing careless and I need to tell someone about this new discovery (and aunt Nym isn't here so this girl's the runner up). I'll just keep it short and simple, not give too much away, but enough to (hopefully) satisfy her. "I guess it's because Mother wants me to."

I almost burst into laughter at the prospect of Mother having anything non-equine— it would never happen. "Mother wouldn't even think of going for anything but an equine," I answer her firmly, sticking to the idea that Mother would be absolutely repulsed by thinking of doing anything with a stallion that wasn't an equine. Her hatred was far too real and deep rooted for it to happen, beaten into her as harshly as my false hatred was— except hers was genuine and she was passionate about her equine only empire (the one I was to inherit). I skip the other question that arises from the sooty child, choosing to completely ignore it (as it doesn't apply if Mother wouldn't ever produce a non-equine child).

And there's also the thought of Sabre thinking the other species are disgusting, sickly and unwell with their tainted blood. Is she truly against all but the equines, or is it just a facade to entertain Mother? This possibility that she genuinely hates others makes my stomach turn, shoulders tensing at the idea that I'll be rejected by my counterpart as well, a disowned piece of the family.

"Talk."
kid
image credits

@Oizys

made by reli

tag me in everything

Oizys Posts: 134
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow
#17


Because Mother wants me to. For a moment, she thinks this a statement worthy of mockery - a gleeful smile begins to spread across her jaws, sensing a chance to fire more insults at him, to mercilessly tease him for being mummy's little minion. But something makes her hesitate. She thinks of Father, his harpies, his power. He is the only thing Oizys fears, and she knows that if he told her to hate someone, she would do so, without question. If he told her to hate an entire species, she would - because he knows best.

She obeys her mother too, of course, but only when it suits. The woman is a soft touch around her children, and the gargoyle cannot imagine her staying angry at them for too long. But Father...oh, Father's wrath would be endless, boundless! Her pathetic little life would not be worth living if she disobeyed her sire. Is that what this colt is like with his mother? Has he been groomed and trained to hate by a parent he idolises? Oizys has obvious scars from the one time she let her Father down, for her mere existence, for her lack of a dick - does this boy have them, too, but hidden beneath the surface? "I understand." For the first time, her voice is devoid of venom - it does not hold the patronising, hateful tones of her earlier words. It is almost mature in its neutrality, although sympathy is carefully kept far away from her tones.

His assertions that his dam would never bed a none-equine land on largely deaf ears - she's still dwelling on his previous statement. She can't fully comprehend why it has touched such a strange nerve inside her, inciting bizarre feelings that she hadn't before considered. Empathy is for the weak, and yet this is what she's feeling towards this annoying, foul-mouthed little boy. For fuck's sake, she hates him, and yet she sees a kindred spirit in him after that last sentence of his. They are both puppets to one of their parents - the only difference is, Oizys adores the awe she holds her sire in, the pedestal she puts him upon. She does not know if this boy feels the same, or if he resents his dam for breeding him to hate.

Ach, this is all getting far too deep. She preferred it when they were insulting each other.

"I'm gonna go." Her voice this time is almost manic. Instead of fantasising about poking his eyes out with her eagle companion, she's fantasising about giving him a hug and saying I know that feel, bro. But eurgh, why would she do that?! He's a vile, obnoxious little shit, who insulted her parents and her family and her, and that is a hanging offense. But I know why he did it. I understand. Ugh, stop that! This intense mental battle is why she needs to get the hell out of here. She doesn't want to feel these particular feels.

She leans down, scoops up Ker between her gums (ignoring the eagle's howls of protestation) and scurries the hell away, before she does something she'll regret...like show him some affection. Eurgh. Vomit.

image credits


@Kid OZZY FEELS FEELS SHE DON'T WANNA FEEL. feel free to have him stop her if you wanna continue <3

[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS




Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#18
the boy king
The ticking seconds of silence between my words and hers drive me into a frenzy, my still body tingling with a need to do something. As a child plagued by constant movement, the lull of any action makes my muscles twitch and tail flick at my thighs— I'm even bothered by lack of insults flying through the air. As crazy as it sounds, I liked the banter passing between us (even if it was at an intensity beyond children), craving those mocking words directed at Mother and myself and my witty comments to shoot right back in retaliation.

What hits me is her words— "I understand." It's spoken without the venom that had coated her previous sentences, taking me aback. My eyes flutter momentarily (you could miss it if you weren't paying close attention), growing subtly as they settle upon the blue-grey ones of the unicorn. Oh. It feels like a powerful punch to the gut, to come face to face with someone who suffers the same fate I do— my eyes lower to the earth beneath her rather than her herself, fearing what I'd see hidden behind her intense gaze.

My stomach knots as I remember her recalling her father's feelings, how he wanted her dead. My ear flicks back, bubblegum settling on the healing scars crawling over her face— my own scars burn with sympathy, a strain in my muscles as I clench them and tremble ever so slightly in remembrance of the intensity of pain they brought. With each strike my skin split and bruises blossomed, racing down my sides over the span of an hour as Mother's relentless discipline continued. I want to apologize to her, to sympathize with her for her suffering (we are one in the same)— but I hold my tongue and let it pass, not in the mood for some bullshit heart to heart with a stranger.

"I'm gonna go."

My thoughts are drawn back when she speaks again, looking at the sooty child as her words frantically stumble from her lips— not hesitating to take up the feasting chick (who screams while hanging between her lips) and turn tail. I do not protest her making her leave, (for once in my life) do not speak as she turns away from me— leaving me to awkwardly stand alone among brittle and lifeless plants. She takes no time in getting away from me, eyes hovering over the deer's discarded carcass as her hoof steps get farther and farther away until there's none at all. Even after she's gone (at least I think, maybe she's still out there but she's so small she's dissipated into the blurry background) I stand my ground, looking up from the ground to where she had been standing minutes ago, wishing her well in handling her parents (yes, the ones that I insulted). I turn my back now, leaving behind the rotting deer and its foul scents, dragging behind me the outrageous idea of independence from Mother and her ideals.

"Talk."
kid
image credits

made by reli

tag me in everything


Forum Jump:


RPGfix Equi-venture