the Rift


[OPEN] and the thoughtful won't think

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#1
Not the five feet of water to your chin

It took me longer than it should have to realize she was following me, mostly because I was so caught up in my thoughts.

I feel very little guilt for having taken out my feelings on her, dwelling instead on the empty ache that has filled my chest in the time it has taken me to reach the outskirts of the Rotunda’s quiet, serene wood.  I had been minding my own business, content to pant and seethe alone on the beach – a fate I had assigned myself when I’d decided not to return to the Basin, or to seek my father in the Edge.  It wasn’t until she decided to interrupt that solitude and reaffirm that loneliness that things had gone badly, and it wasn’t my fault at all that she was such a bitch.  Who does something like that, anyway?

“Oh, hi, I see you are upset.  I’m going to show up to leave, and show you just how little anyone really cares at all.  Have a great day dwelling alone in your self pity!”

How could she be surprised when I tried to bite her head off?  It wasn’t like she and I had ever had a conversation that didn’t entail shouting, arguing, or her stomping hobbling off like a pretentious turkey, and I certainly wasn’t going to let her rub salt in my wounds.  

Besides, the fight had been a nice distraction from the swirling sound of Aithniel’s voice and laughter chasing me through the wind.  Now, I’m left alone with it again, and this time, her ghost is accompanied with the spirit of all my failings, and the hollow drone of a heart that has been temporarily shut off.

So, when I at last notice the shadow of stupid, selfish, ugly Erthë dancing on the swaying grasses of the meadow, the peace of my forest so close by, I can’t help but snarl and stop to glare up at her; whatever hope lay in me that it was just some other unfortunate moron drops hard into my gut as the white of her skin is illuminated by the afternoon sun.  Whatever happened to just wanting to go back home?  I really don’t feel up to hearing about how horrible I am again.

Can’t she just leave well enough alone?

Of course not – she’s a woman.  

"The Edge is that way," I grumpily half shout at the sky, pointing roughly at the Moon’s wood with my horn – though I think we both are well aware that she knows that.

[ OOC:  A continuation from the hidden won't hide

but the inch above the tip of your nose.

@Erthe

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Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#2
You're so cold but you feel alive

It took him long enough to notice. To be fair, Erthë hadn't exactly shouted after him, begging and pleading him to wait for her (quite the opposite) but for someone who was supposed to be a hero, survivor of a glorious war and asshole extraordinaire, he sure didn't pay a lot of attention to his surroundings. She probably ought to be pleased about this, as she had no greater desire to speak to Rikyn - trying would be like volunteering herself to the grating ululations of seagulls, constant and never ending - but instead this lack of awareness only annoyed her. Was it really worth her time to worry about someone as dull as that? Was she not better off concerning herself with less stuck up creatures, who didn't hurl insults at her every other word or less?

If she could have, Erthë would have turned on the spot and returned home, or better yet not followed the overgrown brat of a stallion in the first place. But she couldn't. The words he had chosen to use, subconscious or not, kept gnawing at her, itching like fine sand stuck beneath silken pelt. They left her with a feeling that she had missed something, as though a crucial part of the whole encounter had been left out, a vital scene skipped out of neglect... or perhaps because of a greenhorns inability to follow through?

This simply would not do. She might not be much of an actor, but the filly would bite her own tail off before she became a sloppy one. So she followed him, hovered over the bay unicorn like a guarding angel, or perhaps a vengeful spirit - refusing to leave him be until she had figured out what she missed.

When he finally did notice her presence, he of course had to state the obvious. Any other time it would have warranted him a snaky retort, but Erthë was there to repent, to learn and not repeat her past mistakes (providing she had made any, which she still didn't wish to believe). So instead she simply offered him a sweet little smile and adjusted the angle of her wings so that she would descend slightly, falling in by his side so low over the ground that her feet would brush through the tall, flowing beach grass if she let them drop.

"I know. I am not going home."

Languid strokes of the broad wings kept her afloat, drifting lazily on and off on the beach in pace with, and sometimes around Rikyn should his pace became too slow for even her patient cruise. Flying had drained some of the worst ire from her temper like it always did, and the satisfaction she gleaned from being off her feet, at a higher elevation and in all likelihood faster than the stallion gave Erthë the energy she needed to maintain this new angelic patience that was so unlike her true self it was almost laughable.

"Where are you headed?"

Not repeating new patterns included making new ones. A simple question might accomplish what shouting had not managed to do - there were only so many ways to answer this, and if Rikyn managed to make himself an ass by answering this then she would probably give up on him for good.

Please let me give up and go home.

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Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#3
Not the five feet of water to your chin

Her silvery hooves whisper over the grass alongside me when I try to carry on with my day, my best attempts to leave her to haunt someone else leading me into conversation, rather than full fledged avoidance. The weight of the wind levied downwards by the pull of her wings against the air makes my skin tighten with each chilly gust, the proximity of both her and flight making my frown so deep that I almost worry it’ll stay that way forever.

Her smile and kind words, in response to my terse and more complex version of “bug off, Erthë,” are almost what I’ve come to expect from the snowy nuisance. Still, she earns a roughly grumbled harrumph of of course not (and a little bit of curiosity thinly veiled by disgruntled noises), the ear nearest to her rising to catch the whoosh rush of her wings against the air, and the sound of her contemptibly sweet voice. When she asks where I’m going, I carry on a good many feet as if I didn’t hear her before I bother to answer, deciding it can’t hurt to oblige whatever selfish need has driven her to continue to bother me when she so desperately had wanted to go home earlier.

No Fucks still active, I don’t have room left in me to be angry at her, instead wishing that she’d taken her own words as seriously as I had, and gone back to the Edge. Besides, all that shouting seems to do is make her be even more annoying than she manages when I simply try to ignore her. I also know from past experiences that I have to answer her, or she’ll probably just keep bothering me until she wiggles far enough under my skin to get a far more explosive reaction than she warrants.

"The pavilion," I say, assuming she knows where it is because she is nosey and bothers everyone everywhere. Regardless, I guess that’s where this path would have led me – not that I’d actively had a course plotted, my hoofs functioning on baser systems that activated when I was preoccupied with my thoughts. Besides, it’s sort of become my home away from home, a good place to come and gather myself and think through things.

Like, for instance, where home was.


but the inch above the tip of your nose.

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Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#4
You're so cold but you feel alive

Finely chiseled ears twitch to catch the sound of his voice over the heavily sighing wind, words spilling forth with surprisingly little resistance. The time it took him to formulate such a simple reply is laughable of course, yet Erthë finds it to to be a pleasant surprise. Imagine, for there not to be a single insult wrapped within those five syllables! It was a record of some sort, no mistake. The answer in itself forced her to think however, because the 'pavilion'... Was there such a thing? She new of the Caves and the shrines in the Veins and the Grove hidden amidst mist and swaying leaves, but a pavilion...

"I don't think I know of such a..."

And then, quite suddenly a memory surfaced of sunlight playing through colored glass raised high on marble pillars, a round structure standing amidst water and trees and clinging rose vines, of a heated argument between light and dark and another quiet, peaceable conversation a wing-blessed tiger.

"oh... Oh! No sorry, yes of course I do! You mean the old round one, yes?" For the first time ever in his company, her smile became genuine. The effect was not unlike the first appearance of sunlight on the spring side of winter, when the thick clouds parted and the full radiance of the light was reflected upon freshly fallen snow. Pure and blinding and completely honest the young cygnet beamed at Rikyn, laughter beading upon every syllable as she continued;

"Haha I had no idea you had an eye for art, Rikyn! Of all the places in Helovia, you choose the most beautiful one! I can appreciate that."

Forgetting that she was supposed to be angry at him she thrust down the wings in several powerful bursts and shot up into the sky, pirouetting as she went - too giddy to suppress it, much too full of new energy to restrain herself. This was a new discovery! A part of her wanted to laugh in a different kind of tone and taunt the stubborn man, say 'It doesn't suit you!' with a malicious grin and see him snap as the insult penetrated deep beneath his defenses. But for the sake of change, Erthë swallowed it. What could ever be wrong with appreciating the beauty of things that undeniably touched the heart upon witnessing them? Were the beautiful of heart the only ones with a right to appreciate it? If so then she was a criminal too, because beneath the shimmering porcelain facade, the thoughts of this doll was not all that innocent. Rikyn in turn might shelter a heart of purest gold, though he did a banging good job of hiding it.

"I like it there, would you mind it terribly if I came along?"

She grinned at him as she came swerving back, flushed and a little sweaty from the aerial dance, hair tousled and windswept into sun-kissed clouds of flowing silk. The silvery tones were teasing, daring him to say yes and find her tagging along anyway - but something in her gaze suggested that maybe, just maybe she might listen if he was completely serious about wanting to be left alone.

Maybe. If he asked nicely.

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Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#5
Not the five feet of water to your chin

She chatters in way that I’ve come to associate with women, or men who might as well be ladies themselves, her smiles swift, her laughter free. If I was of a mind to let it rattle me, it would get on my nerves that she is so unfettered by the shackles of life, but as it is, I simply ignore it, continuing on as if she isn’t prattling on about the Rotunda we make our way towards.

That she accuses me of being blind to beauty makes me look at her with a much longer look than my cursory glances (to allow her the assumption that I really care at all that she knows where we are going). Still, I guess I can’t blame her – it’s not like she’s got to know me much more than the swiftness of my tongue and temper, or the indignant way that I can treat those I feel have slighted me. Besides, its not like pretty things are exactly a man’s forte, anyway, and it could be quite simply that she thinks of me in a soldierly way, the sort of fellow who sees the world as pinpoints on a map of strategy – but I am a scholar, as well as a man of conquest, and I know pretty things when I see them. Her playful spin through the air draws my eyes up from the muddy, snow pocked road, the fresh smell of crisp snow radiating off of her in sharp contrast to the impure mess that this weak winter has left behind.

Pretty things, like her, all smiling with her curls tousled in her face, the sunlight breaking through the gaps in her feathers and shining through the outmost ones, His long, golden fingers draped across her shoulders, and spilling down her blue tinted bodice.

"I may be an ass, but I’m not blind," I mutter at her.

Being pretty, however, does not change that I hate her, or that she is flying on her freaky bird wings.

I snort, almost in response to her question as to whether she can tag along – but its really just to clear my head of the distraction of female allure (no matter the species), my golden eyes snapping back on the path ahead. As much as I mind her coming, I don’t think I can divert her.

The snort leads, within very little time, to a short sigh.

"I guess," I remark, "though it may be disappointing."

I borrow her own words, from earlier in this day – as if to accent how very peculiar her kindness is now, in contrast to her riled outrage previously, and to remind her that I haven't forgotten the way she'd so crassly prodded at my feelings to appease her own frivolous whims.


but the inch above the tip of your nose.

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Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#6
You're so cold but you feel alive

If Rikyn found her sudden sweet words to be unsettling, it was perhaps a good thing he had no knowledge of the calculating mind that hid behind the facade. Oh, Erthë was honest in her curiosity, genuine in every display of emotion from the childish pirouettes to the teasing taunts... but it was only skin deep, this soulfulness. Under every vibrant, blinding display of personality rested a shadow, ready to spring forth at a moments notice. Angry, bitter, sarcastic and cynical, a counterpart as ancient as her smile was young - and it never rested, always leered around for a chance to strike. She was the silver lining and the cloud, a bright light dancing in darkness - an angel stepping over corpses on her road to heaven.

She grinned as he muttered, a rosy smile full of barbs that suggested she comprehended his jab.

"Oh, don't worry, I think I will survive" she said sweetly. A sequence of rapid wing beats saw her speed on ahead, taking the lead as they left the beach behind and made for the forested area where the ancient structure was located. Flat, sandy dunes turned into rolling hills the further inland they went, ridges and valleys covered in brown, dry grasses and interspersed with copses, groves and patches of sparse woodland. Reaching from the western sea to the southern borders of the Deep Forest, these vast grasslands were an extension of the Thistle Meadow that covered nearly the entire mainland of Helovia, differing from those rich pastures only by name and location. The belt of forest that stretched down from the Edge and the Hidden Grove towards the Deadlands thinned out to form this meadow sprawling with life, rich and prosperous - if wild and feral by nature - even at this time of year.

Patches of sunlight glossed over their backs as they traveled in relative silence, Erthë finding it best to keep herself quiet for a while rather than cause another explosion (though it was tempting, she had a feeling Rikyn had a lot of buttons waiting to be pushed). Though the ocean faded into a thin line of shimmering blue behind them, the wind was steadily picking up again, clouds flying like tattered rags across the firmament. What little warmth the late winter sun provided was stolen away by the bitter cold that the gusts brought; Erthë caught herself shivering as the icy fingers searched their way in beneath patchy, half-shed coat and fine, insulating down. Normally she loved the cold, being a creature of winter and bitter temperatures - but there was something ominous about the rate with which the wind picked up in speed.

Feeling relief as they neared the Rotunda, the filly ceased her struggle against the fickle weather and landed, tucking the wings firmly against the sides as she hurried in among the trees. Though barren still and giving little shelter to speak of, it was still better than to brave the force of the gathering storm in the open. Looking about, she absorbed the scenery around her in a single, sweeping glance; the thorny rose vines that whipped and snapped in the wind, the swaying treetops that cast strange shadows over the roof of the single building that centered the copse. For once, there was little about the structure that impressed her. No sunlight shone through dirty glass panes to cast colorful lights across the floor and the columns looked old and worn in the overcast light. Shadows were lengthening as the day wore on and the waters in the nearby pond remained frozen, the surface milky and scarred and littered with debris from the surrounding vegetation.

Yet, for all its shabby gloom she still relished the sight of the place. Hurrying as much as she could on gimpy legs, Erthë made her way up the faded marble steps and in beneath the roof, just in time to feel the icy kiss of rain  - or was it snow? - upon her skin.

"It's really picking up" she noted to Rikyn as she made room for him. "Looks like snow... spring is late this year."

Not that she really minded... it was just all she could think to say. It suddenly struck her how awkward it would be if they ended up trapped in there. Two persons who didn't particularly like one another, forced to accommodate the other for Gods know how long.

A shudder made her wrap the tail tighter around a leg, brought on by more than just the bad weather.

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Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#7
Not the five feet of water to your chin

Erthe’s sarcasm grows dull, and she gets no witty remarks but another roll of my eyes and a snort of why by Time’s Beard does she stalk me so much? Part of me watches her speed ahead of me on her white wings with the thought to reach out with my spark and pull her to the ground in a mess of feathers and crooked legs, but the more somber aspects of myself, the ones currently steering the ship, would rather let her fly away, away, into oblivion, unscathed. My bloody ankles throb as I pick up the pace to a floating, smooth trot, the ease of the speed produced by the sway of my long legs and muscular body the sort that I take for granted, especially in the company of one who must fly to keep ahead of me at all.

I notice the storm’s arrival with much less concern than the dove, so used to the blizzards of the North that I hardly believe that this one is dangerous, so far inland from the sea – the only other place to produce colds hardy enough to make my skin tremble, the caps of the steel gray water white, violent as they threw themselves with mighty force down onto the pearly shore.

Not being one of my skills, I am often less than sensible when it comes to the decision to take shelter from a storm – both literally, and metaphorically.

What I do notice is that the salt smell of the sea has been replaced by the bright smell of crisp snow, the hidden gold of grasses not yet foraged from beneath the veneer of white, and that the earth beneath us is rich with the scent of the earth, rather than the dusty odor of sand. The pretty forest that surrounds the Rotunda almost appears as a solid wall from the copses that litter the meadows at the heart of Helovia, the small saplings of its edges, gnawing into the sprawling hills and meadows year by year, passing us by. If I was to pull North, we would be on a direct path to the Edge – though the thought of abandoning the trail to wade through the ankle to knee deep snow on the way there was less than appealing.

I look ahead to her and wonder how far I could dash away from her before she noticed I was gone, the winds (they’re picking up, aren’t they?) tousling my forelock through my line of vision, hopefully a loud enough sound in combination with her flight to cover my escape. I’d use the trees to my advantage. She couldn’t chase me if she couldn’t see me, now could she?

She lands, almost as if she hears my thoughts out loud. My gaze narrows in contempt for her horrible timing, how she seems to just know when to take an action to have the largest effect on my temper; there is no way I’ll be able to get away with out her noticing, now. Still, the sight of her hobble as she hurries clambers through the trees and underbrush softens that anger, some sort of pity blooming in myself that she has been so very cursed as to be made physically useless. For the first time since our unfortunate first encounter with each other, I actually manage to wonder how she even got that way in the first place. I actually notice that, back then, she hadn’t been quite as ambling, quite as slow.

I look at the horrible mess that is her leg, the burden that makes her a hobbling joke on the ground.

That the Rotunda is so bleak and colorless in the approach of the storm is fitting to the mood that takes over the emotionless expanse that had stretched out and hunkered over my thoughts. It’s slow, the growth of the empty feeling that is not nothing, the gray black sensation of melancholy, always returning to me at these moments when I am forced to realize how very, very unkind this world we have been born into is.

She was only a child, my brain mutters to itself as her hooves clink on the stone steps. I follow behind her, absent, distracted, the usual gleam in my golden eyes lost to the thoughts and shadows which besiege me. Where were her parents when whatever happened to her happened? follows, the second time I’d thought it of the snow filly, the first time having been at a battle against the Bear, beneath the crackling might of Time. She been thrown aside during that fight… or was it another that I remember her lying still beneath a painted man?

We’re both beneath the unlit glass roof now, the wind almost roaring, whipping around the tall pillars and sending them with warping ripples in all directions, the cloth occasionally snapping loudly. All these things are distant, like I’m using the power of my spark, like I am not in myself, but outward… but inverse, as if I have drawn myself further into the vessel of my body, into the hidden compartments of my soul.

Does she… does she not have family?

It’s really picking up. Looks like snow… spring is late this year.

Is she really alone, like me?

I only now realize I’m staring at her, probably have been for long enough that she is uncomfortable. I pretend like I hadn’t been doing it at all, clearing my throat from the extended disuse between here and the border of grassy sand ensnaring the beach. My shoulder shrugs at both comments.

"I like snow," I remark, because I do, and look out to the rustle and sway of the branches over the creek’s flow. That it’s going to storm only makes this all the more perfect place to come, to think through my dream. The horrible state of existence is likely a topic I’d broach as well, if she wasn’t here.

I know enough about women, young ones, especially, to know I’ll get no thinking done today, not so long as I’m not thinking out loud, and including her in conversation. I’d wanted to share my thoughts with Sjal, when we had talked of Gods, of realms beyond Loorien, her crown and barren shoulders an invitation to bear my soul - but Erthe?

I often wonder if the Lord Time delights in sending me his hand crafted nuisances.

"Not to sound like a total ass, but why are you always alone?" do you not have a family? kept silent beneath my tongue; I ask the trees at first, looking over to her only when I refer to her as “you.” Memories of my own first year and a half are filled with walking with mother, the sound of her voice, and the laughter of my friends; they all flood to mind when I ask her, because I honestly can’t imagine being alone out of anything but choice, having always had friends and family to turn to, even now.



but the inch above the tip of your nose.

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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#8
You're so cold but you feel alive

Erthë tried to make herself comfortable. In the narrow space it would be cramped and difficult to attempt the sorting out of misaligned feathers the erratic winds had caused, and while she longed to lose herself in the familiar ritual of preening the girl was reluctant to let Rikyn see how discomforted she was by a bit of mess. Instead she settled for making herself look somewhat decent, shaking out the tangled hairthat that tightened up in the damp weather until it hung in heavy, glistening coils down to half her neck. One day it would be a blanket of silk to tickle pale knees in seductive sways, but for now it remained on the shorter side; slow to grow, slower still to admit her any of the grace or elegance her born nature suggested she ought to possess.

She sensed Rikyn's eyes on her, but gave no sign that she noticed it or indeed felt unsettled by the quiet scrutiny. Patience was not her strong suite, but she could be persistent when she wanted to. Growing up as a wild child with the need to hide from all sorts of dangers - imagined or real - while mother was not around she had achieved a perseverance that, paired with the fatalistic notion that things would happen when they did and no sooner, allowed her to wait quietly until Rikyn broke the silence on his own.

His comment was off handed, as noncommittal as hers had been. She nodded and hummed in agreement (wait, they actually had something in common?), eyes moving to touch upon his lean frame with unreadable expression.

"Lets hope it blows through quickly" was all she said, voice quiet as she leaned against a withering stone column and stared out into the gathering darkness. Night would fall soon if she was any judge, and what little light remained from the setting sun was swallowed up by heavy clouds. The perspiration remained undecided, caught halfway between rain and snow and coming down so hard that the difference was marginal. If she stepped out from the shelter the downpour would feel like needles against her skin, ice to prickle and sting and cling to every inch of her being until her body was heavy with building ice.

Indeed, Erthë enjoyed snow. What she did not like was the feeling of slowly turning into a sentient icicle - something she was doubly prone to because of her cold, heat less skin.

Expecting the silence to drag on much longer, she blinked in some surprise when the young bay raised his voice above the sound of pattering against glassy tiles. Turning to look at him, Erthë was startled to see an almost thoughtful expression on his face - at least that was how she interpreted it, quiet and almost stoic as he appeared to her - and the question in itself was curious.

Tilting her head in honest puzzlement she said; "I'm not, though." It sounded almost like a question. Was that how she appeared to him? "Right now you are here too, aren't you. Mmmh, but that's not what you mean, is it..."

The filly pursed her lips as she considered the question, intelligence shining within the clarity of her gaze. "I suppose I just haven't found someone who can keep up with me" she finally said. "I've inherited wanderlust from my parents, you see, so while I like being at home I like seeing the other side of the horizon even more. No one express any interest in tagging along whenever I take off, so I just do it on my own."

Shrugging, she glanced at the horned stallion to see if the answer was satisfactory. Erthë had never thought of herself as being alone. Solitude was something so natural to her that it had grown habitual, just as it was habit to always carry around what possessions she owned or linger of the image of the Goddess' smile before she drifted off to sleep. She had friends and acquaintances across all of Helovia, from the familiar faces in the Edge to brief acquaintances like Rikyn himself, Volterra, Murtagh or Maren. It could go days, seasons even between seeing any of them, yet she did not feel lonely; closing her eyes was all she needed to feel them there, present within her warm, generous heart.

It was a curious thing, to suddenly see herself from the perspective of another. She was frighteningly young, though she did not feel like a child - she hadn't in a long while, not since her mother passed away - and it was true she always appeared on her own, popping up here and there like a restless spirit unable to find rest.

But, she thought to herself, the same could be said for the arrogant unicorn next to her.

"What of you?" she asked, suddenly curious despite the near instinctual reflex to say something snarky. "Do you spend much time with your kin?"

The wind howled and the sleet pounded against the roof of the rotunda, but the cygnet barely noticed as she focused her attention on the enigma of an arrogant rascal that was Rikyn, interested despite herself in hearing the answer.

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~| Use of magic and violence is always permitted |~
~| Please only tag in opening posts |~

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#9
Not the five feet of water to your chin

The hope for it to blow away soon resonates with me as well, the close proximity of the pillars more invasive with her wing’s breadth; though she tucks them, tries to keep them out of the way, I have the sort of mind that becomes more and more aware of their dusty air smell the longer I’m here. I don’t answer her. She’s got too much of a mouth on her to handle my honesty with the tact Xynia had, or the equal bluntness with which my blade brother and Aithniel spoke. Besides, just like Aithniel, its not like she can really help the strangeness of her being.

That was her parent’s fault, as mother had reminded Thistle Sister, many times.

So it was the Sun’s fault, I thought now, smiling in an oddly out of place fashion that my mother had dared deem a God to blame. Even when I’d told her what I’d learned, she’d kept on about how it was a piteous shame that a Divine being had left his child to starve, that even the Gods with all their “we should get along” jibber jabber had been reduced to knowing their hybrid offspring was unworthy of love, or life.

My mother is an idiot.

I look over at Erthë and wonder if any one has ever told her the truth about herself before. I wonder if she’s ever had to cry into her brother’s shoulder while he tried to console her for simply being. She certainly hasn’t ever had to deal with the emotional and mental battle I deal with on a daily basis, the same one going on right now as I decide that I might want to know more about her. Even if knowing might mean that I came to care for what became of her, that, when I was ultimately forced to push her away (her children born winged, her opinions unchanged, her heart wild, soul tethered to the fate of stardust, not an eternal life of plenty) as I had been forced to push away Aithniel.

I could not be the Brother of a girl who called a God father. It was too dangerous for me, and for her.

So why did I dream of her? Why does she taunt me, still, into becoming close to a girl I shouldn’t?

It’s all so confusing that I don’t even show any exasperation for Erthë’s stating the obvious, as I usually would. By the time she’s genuinely answering me I’ve put aside the heavy pull of my sister’s memory to listen to her answer, finding the words “parents” alongside “wanderlust.” No one cared when she left, she says, and I can understand that feeling; I’m pretty sure only Aithniel really knew I was gone out of all of them for a long, long time.

Was Erthë a gypsy child? Did her parents leave her as soon as she was old enough to graze on her own to chase their own adventures?

Why the fuck did I care?

All it gets me is questions about me, whether I spend time with my kin or not. The answer is a blade twisting in my chest because it brings to mind mother’s defiant, golden eyes awash with hurt all over again; it makes me see Aithniel’s dark lips curve downwards, her heart’s breaking camouflaged by the shouts she casts in my face. The only face that comes to me that does not feel me with a desperate sensation of failure is my father’s, but it is distant, and there are bags on his shoulders as he leaves my home to find a new one.

No, no I fucking don’t see my kin.

"Sometimes. My dad lives in the Edge," or he’s supposed to, anyway, I lie, because while I can honestly tell others about themselves its almost impossible for me to be truthful about myself, "I guess that might have been why I was down there."

And what could he have told me, to ease the ache?

Nothing he could do could change what was or what had already come to pass. All he could do is tell me to suck it up, and carry on. Hearing it commanded wouldn’t make it any easier.



but the inch above the tip of your nose.

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Erthë Posts: 440
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Filly :: Hybrid :: 14,2 hh :: 3 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Chan
#10
You're so cold but you feel alive

She looked surprised at that. It was a lovely expression; all wide eyes and perky ears and fluttering tresses as gusts of wind searched its way in to play with her hair. Made even more delightful for her lack of effort and unawareness of her own benefits, Erthë smiled at the young stallion with apparent delight.

"Really! Who is your father? Maybe I know him, I've been living in the Edge for some time now. You should have said something! We could have gone to...! to find him..."

But then, maybe not. Recalling the quiet standoff on the beach her expression fell, vibrant smiles dulling as uncertainty surfaced. What was she doing? Acting so friendly with this person, as if they were friends - when in reality she knew nothing of him and wasn't even sure she liked him. Whatever it was that possessed her to intrude upon Rikyn like this was fading, half forgotten - and in this moment all the girl could feel was awkwardness.

Attempting to pick up the smile again but failing, Erthë sidestepped away from the dark-coated man and leaned a shoulder against a column. The surface was smooth and cool to the touch, with a removed solidity that felt soothing. Averting her eyes from the unicorn, she turned her eyes out into the storm. The wind howled, the perspiration an undecided mix of rain and snow, cold sleet where shards of ice mixed in. Skin-shredding, merciless, uncaring... Breathing in the scent of moisture, petrichor and decaying matter she felt a sudden pang of regret. That the season would end was sad, in more ways than she had the words to describe.

"I wonder how long this will go on" she mumbled, after long moments of silence. She sighed, and followed the cloud of breath as it rose towards the dull, matted glass above.

Image by Memuii || Table by Wanderer


@Rikyn

~| Use of magic and violence is always permitted |~
~| Please only tag in opening posts |~

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#11
Not the five feet of water to your chin

We could have gone to find him! She prattles on. An ear angles to catch her words, my eyes still out in the trees, the drifting sheets of the blizzard; if she saw my eyes, she’d see more emotional bullshit writhe through them. I can’t take her to meet my father. That’s like… something boyfriends do with their girlfriends. Annoying snowflake Erthë is definitely not my girlfriend.

Besides, we aren’t even really friends, and father had been at the secret meeting all those whiles ago that mother had dragged me to. Somehow, I didn’t see him really being all that excited to meet some hobbling, winged herd mate of his who managed to aggravate his son every chance she got (and I don’t really want him to know I’m even spending time with her). The opportunities to disappoint your dad into a heart attack come up every once and a while, and a good son does his best to not cause tachycardia whenever possible.

A good boy also does not snort in harsh humor at such a stupid idea as going to meet my dad with someone like her.

Though, I do admit to myself that it would be pretty neat to get to explore the World’s Edge. Having never been any further than the gateway and some meters in (stupid guardian mares throwing sharp things), the unknown is enticing. Also enticing is the notion that I could be mean to the little hybrid girl again – but the proximity of our bodies and the howl of the wind outside make me change my mind.

Thankfully, she trails off, sparing me having to tell her that I’d never go to see my father with her for a multitude of reasons, reasons which were complicated, and that would probably rouse her temper. I didn’t want to have to do something like body slam her in the middle of my favorite wild place; the silence that carries her shoulder into a nearby column, and her eyes out into the storm is a welcome one. I would let it stretch, as I tend to do with just about anyone, falling back into thoughts, memories, and the vision of the blizzard blurring the world beyond the marble and metal structure.

Everyone talks too much, I think when she ruins the quiet pool of self I had been eagerly lowering my consciousness into, a thought that surely will come more and more often the older I get.

"Who knows?" I answer, pondering just walking out into it. I can walk just fine, and have no wings to worry about hurting with the gales. Stepping forward a pace or two so that my head cranes out of the rotunda, I peer out into the white, lifting my eyes up to the gray and ivory swirl of heaven above. The Sun is faint, a sickly stain of yellow in the bending body of gray. When I come back into the muted shade of the snow blanketed glass awning above, my face and forelock are dusted with a sparkling multitude of flakes, which I cast away with a bodily shake (a clamorous clatter sounding as my hooves strike and slide against the stone floor). "Looks like it’ll be a while, but it’s hard to tell with snow."

For the first time since I’d stomped off the beach and off this way, I let a real smile through, perhaps invigorated in some way by the snow’s kiss.

"What, are you bored or something?"



but the inch above the tip of your nose.


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