| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6 |
| Stallion :: Hybrid :: 16'3 :: 3yrs HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Zuno |
06-05-2016, 10:51 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-05-2016, 10:52 PM by Zhu.
Edit Reason: messed up colour coding
)
Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb
It has never stuck him to think of what might be outside of the southern lands where he constantly finds his youthful self confided to, that there might be seas of white that bites with teeth of ice and mercilessly kills, following up it’s ruthlessness with an insult to the flow of things by holding the corpses in perfect states, as if they still live in breath. He doesn’t remember his first meeting with his father, how his mother had recklessly pulled his once small, frail boyish body into the peaks and valleys to unknowingly meet a man who played what he considers the most important role in his life.
Or at least, for now.
Patches of snow are scattered across the expanse. Grasses are clawing their way through them and reaching for an empty blue sky that he has spent what feels like hours beneath, studying how the ground reminds him of his father’s face and how the sky is like his mother’s eyes. At some naive post in his younger months, he would have worried that the sky was indeed his mother’s eyes, that she was watching and spying upon him and his every motion like she does with Hobgoblin, but he has learned to outsmart her. She has gone useless, and when her teats dried because he no longer required her milk to survive, their bond stretched further and further, thinning like the snow. Soon, his thoughts of her will be like the snow in the desert: rare, painful, and short-lived.
His legs draw out into long strides, moving a slow pace as the world lengthens out. He wonders in the back of his head if it ever ends, or if the mountains in the distance, painted shades of blue and purple with white heads, climb into the sky and then empty out to make more vast valleys. Was there ever a sea that swallows the entire world, as the one around the Dragon’s Throat does? A frown courses over his lips, brows drawing into knots and reaching towards one another as he thinks.
“Nem lesz vége a világnak, ha hozzám tartozik.”
In the back of his mind, he scolds himself for the release of his words, of prophecies that aren’t yet fulfilled.
Hungarian: There will be no end of the world when it belongs to me.
"Talk."
zhu
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
| dark |
You think that you can run from your problems, that by slipping beyond the walls of your burdens you can be free to do as you so please— the sick truth is that life doesn't work this way, that your issues will always be there before you wearing a bigger grin than the last time you saw them. And much to my dismay, I'd run from one problem head on into another one. When you get this far north, you begin thinking that perhaps for just a moment you can breathe easy and not be crushed under so many expectations. But today's my luck day, and I run into just the problem I was looking for. A problem that was tall, dark, handsome and (often) increasingly more frustrating with every interaction.
On the run from a frustrated and fuming Mother, I so luckily happen to stumble (rather unfortunately) upon another wonderful problem I haven't exactly bothered getting around to addressing (just another thing on my to do list I suppose, right after 'finding a flying pig'). Despite being caught up in a tragically unrelenting funk where everything seems so far away and my eyes can only focus on the earth before me, a familiar smirk crawls across my lips as bubblegum gets drawn to a familiar onyx bulk. For a second I shed my dulled, monochrome hide and spring forward into a world of temporary colour, having been itching to be freed from my binds for quite some time now.
"Well, well, well— I thought I was supposed to be the lady in waiting." A sly grin catches my black and ivory features, eyes catching the delicate beginnings of sweat along Zhu's neck, darkening the midnight coat into something even blacker than black. Unlike previous encounters, he's unaccompanied by any ghastly screaming deer or blubbery masses— entirely alone (with me). My head pivots, surveying the despairing emptiness around us, not another living creature in sight for miles (not that I can even see that far, it just becomes a massive blur farther along). It seems fitting for someone so quiet, so reserved and cold, like he belonged here among the slowly melting ice formations and the empty howling of the wind, wrapped up in frigid nothingness for an eternity.
"What brings you to such a desolate place?" Might as well strike up a conversation while I still have his attention (who knows for how long).
"Talk."
|
kid run my reputation.
|
image | coding
@Zhu
tag me in everything
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6 |
| Stallion :: Hybrid :: 16'3 :: 3yrs HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Zuno |
Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb
Life must laugh at his misfortunes. In the time that he has spent trying to leave the south, rudely ignoring any drawn eyes or voices that happen to carry in his direction, he has been somewhat happy. He is free from the side of his mother and Hobgoblin, far from the drying heat that is now turning his home into a killing place. The desert is becoming an oven, and even the gathering power of the northern winds that howl across the flatlands cannot cool the heat that has gathered in his body.
Chances are it might just be rage as something he cannot forcefully ignore breaks the screaming that he’s grown accustomed to. Kid’s voice.
Teeth grit against one another as he attempts to force a long, heavy sigh from his muscular chest, thrusting it outwards with fresh, growing muscles bursting forth. Behind, his tail hangs and swings with annoyance. His ears refuse to move, because now that his horns are beginning to extend around them from behind(something that he would have never expected), moving them results in the embrace of the two. Something about how cold they feel keeps him away.
Maybe they’re holding his heart.
The emptiness swallows them both like the sea swallows his mother from time to time. In this abyss is he forced to accept that Kid is indeed his brother, brethren, something that emerged from the same pair of testicles as himself as a very different sperm, harbored in a womb that was not his beautiful mother’s until it finally grew tired of him and threw him out. Does Kid’s mother even care for him? The idea of someone caring from something so weak makes him chuckle, and without control, the deep noises roll from his throat and grind along their walls till it breaks the wall built by his jagged teeth.
He is becoming a man, and therefore Apa, no, Volterra would prefer that he act as one. And acting as a man, a true warlord that he is destined to become by his own accord, requires that he acknowledge his lesser, weaker sibling regardless of how it makes him sick.
The stress in his bones and muscles try to release, tail slouching and dipping as he lets forth a long sigh.
“It’s too hot back home. If it’s desolate and hot there and I don’t like the heat, then I’d rather be where it’s desolate and cold.” Moon eyes draw closer to him as the shadow man’s head turns to his blood mate, paying attention to how the boy’s shadow draws towards his own body as their time together increases. A step is made to break the motion only momentarily.
“And why are you here? Did you not have something better to do with your mentor?” He hasn’t forgotten how Kid has specifically taken the effort to mention their father’s sibling, how apparently ‘close’ the two have found themselves to one another. “Has Nymeria gotten bored of you?” The mental image comes to his mind easily, how Kid’s voice finally overstays it’s welcome, how his chattiness finally throws Nymeria over the edge, giving some sort of insight to the scars littering his body.
"Talk."
zhu
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
| dark |
The false smirk stays plastered against my features, utterly painful to maintain now that I've realized how little I'll get in response to such an open (and warm) greeting. The twitching bicoloured tail was enough evidence to prove my point exactly, the aggravation already apparent in the way it moved against Zhu's subtly feathered hooves. It was a pointless act to keep up before someone who was just as still and cold as the landscape— perhaps just as unforgiving and harsh as well, with bitterness and hatred already rooting themselves deep into the young, numb heart. I could only watch it spread, until Zhu was some mass of muscle with a silent brain that stored useless emotions, a walking, breathing figure shrouded in the deepest hatred and the worst temper. How unpleasant to be related to such.
The low, guttural laugh catches me by surprise, uncharacteristically feminine eyes casting a suspicious gaze over my brother— was he mentally sound? In the months I'd known him he'd never laughed, never let loose so much as a few words and some heavy sighs (perhaps a sob or two), such an action was a rare thing to behold. Never had he made even the slightest attempt to laugh, to do anything amusing or say any sort of joke— he was so serious, almost too much so. As much as I want to ask what's got him so cheery, my lips remain shut as my subtly elevated brows return to their usual position, deciding to stay quiet after such an event as this (he would probably reply with something sadistic anyway, I wouldn't put it past him).
"Ah, was it getting too hot for that ice cold heart of yours?" I offer, corners of my lips twitching in an attempt to smile (but failing), eyes focusing on the movement of my pale shadow— the blurred length stretching, reaching out to kiss Zhu's own shadow (are you kidding, even my shadow?), much larger than mine as it fails to reach its destination when he too notices, moving his body to deter them, even after they were so close.
The question he asks makes my body shift out of discomfort, showing no sign of such other than the exchange of weight from one side to the other. It wasn't like he was demanding the truth from me, seeking to know why it was I'd decided to wander so far from my home in the forest where it was ultimately much better (there was food, water, shade, Mother).
"I just needed a moment away from... everything." There was too much weighing down upon that word, too many things that could fall under everything. Zhu and our relations, was one of them.
The mocking mention of Nymeria, the lingering silver eyes on the etchings upon my back— my stomach turns at the ideas that could be plaguing that thick skull of his. A grueling smile falls over my features, eyes darkening as my words fall flat from my throat, no childish jokes or teases to follow. "No, and these aren't from her." My eyes are cast to the side in an attempt to motion towards the various scars across my back, some still healing wounds among a thousand older ones— some dating back to the first weeks of my infancy. I wanted to shake my head at him for being such an idiot, for thinking that Nymeria would ever have the heart to do such a thing to me (to anyone). As reserved and cold as she is, I have a feeling that she could never bring herself to such low levels as to beat someone weaker into submission, into agreement.
"Talk."
|
kid run my reputation.
|
image | coding
@Zhu
tag me in everything
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6 |
| Stallion :: Hybrid :: 16'3 :: 3yrs HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Zuno |
Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb
The more scars that appear along his lesser brother’s body, the more he finds himself intrigued, counting their forms, following the lines that become islands among the sea of Kid’s coat. His own body is perfect, a definition of how well and attentive both of his parents have been in his raising for the past few months. Kid shows laziness, carelessness, and overall bad parenting in his existence, and while Zhu believes their father would like him to look upon Kid as an example of something he should never strive to be, their eternal connection through one man’s foolishness almost tempts him to lean to what his mother would have. Sikeax would have asked him to feel pity, to care and to help him learn how to achieve something greater in this world when obviously the world has taken measures to ensure his demise and failure.
Somewhere inside of him, he feels himself lean towards this. This is his brother, sharer of his blood, each other attempting to be near one another in both colour, personality and quite possibly a goal, that being winning over Volterra’s utmost pride in their achievements. For today, he can feel pity, and choose to get over his hatred for something so weak.
Kid is just… wasted potential, as his mother would have told him. He only needs the push.
What is said about his ‘ice heart’ flies through one ear and out through the other, hanging within his brain long enough for Zhu to begin regretting his decision. Only a glare and a light contortion of the corner of one side of the mouth is given in response. His heart is not cold, it is simply reserved.
The answer to his question finally puzzles him, aggressively thrashing his tail as his extremely rationalist mind works diligently to figure this issue out. Everything? Did the grass do something to him? Taste badly? Had the clouds soured his mood because of its te-
He stops himself there.
Nothing could put a damper on Kid’s always upbeat mood, not even his constant cheerfulness and Volterra’s ability to stick his dick in places it didn’t need to be.
But this is also a chance for them to ‘brothers,’ and act as such, and if any of the foals that he had encountered in the Dragon’s Throat where there was always an abundance of(hopefully not courtesy of their shared sire), it is that siblings somehow find enjoyment in annoying one another. Which quite possibly may be the cause of his hatred of Kid.
“Everything? The Sun? The grass? The sky? Have your meals gone sour? Surprised to see your personality hasn’t followed with, but oh wait, it already did. Apa’s stupidity with his dick seemed to have already ruined it.” He dips his head into his company’s range now, pressing his lazy ears forward as his forehead and blind eyes grow ever close to those abominations.
“Does Nymeria not care to teach you to be rational? You cannot escape everything.”
He draws away with a slow, graceful motion, resuming his previous gate and following the invisible path that he attempts to etch into the growing grasses. The small snap of words that haunt behind his staring at enough to make him roll his eyes. The pity business is obviously not becoming his game. “Then who attacks you? Your sister? Your mother? The man who might have tried to act as your father when Apa was too busy finding more mares to impregnate?”
It’s not like he chooses to care.
"Talk."
zhu
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
| dark |
I wonder if he knows that I can see his wandering eyes, that I can feel his moonlit gaze washing over the layers of fear collecting upon my hide— the memories of nights where I wasn't sure whether I wanted to wake up in the morning or just wanted to slip away in my sleep and never have to face anything or anyone ever again. As head strong and courageous as I could be, I find that facing Mother is something I may never be prepared for.
There is a foul air around us, some unspoken distance between us (between blood)— vile and churning between brothers, souring the seed and creating something impure and disastrous. Our relationship is already rough and rocky as is, a tragic beginning to some more than brotherly love.
He babbles, the sky, the clouds, the trees, the air— it's almost like he's listing everything he hates (it wouldn't surprise me in the least). It was different to hear him talk so much, so openly before me (because we all know he hates my guts). All the while as he rattles things off, head leaning in close and ears swiveling forward and neck craning to reach down to me (although in some cases height differences were a blessing, they were a curse right now). I meet him head on, blossoming pink meeting a dulled white, sly smile creeping onto my face as I lean in just a little closer to Zhu and keep out eyes locked together. "Do you kiss our father's ass with that mouth?" Because let's face it, Zhu sucks up to our apa (as he likes to call him) more than I have with any adult I've encountered. "I thought you were supposed to be daddy's little princess? What happened? Are you mad that you have to share that title now?"
I look at him, assessing what little damage I'd done. I decide to set one thing straight, to make sure he knew how little I thought of his childish hatred. I would try to get across through words for now, but with as thick a head as his, I certainly wouldn't be able to reach him fully (like father like son I suppose). "Don't you dare think you're any better than me because you have Volterra's favour, because you were born from a loving mother, because you've got a physical advantage or think you know what's right and what's wrong. I'm not an idiot" He draws away, elegant in the motions he carries out as he begins to move again, talking as he goes.
My muscles tense, eyes drawn to the black figure moving ever so gracefully away, carrying himself with the air of someone so ignorant, so arrogant (not that I can complain), after talking about something so serious. My brows narrow as thick legs work rhythmically to catch up, mouth gaping as I accumulate an appropriate response to Zhu. "My mother." Let him piece it all together, let him realize how lucky he is.
"Talk."
|
kid run my reputation.
|
image | coding
@Zhu
tag me in everything
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 6 |
| Stallion :: Hybrid :: 16'3 :: 3yrs HP: 61.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Zuno |
Nightmares and violent shapes
the state of dreaming
has left me numb
Kid’s eyes are nothing to him. They approach the hide of his dark features and lock into the vast, white emptiness of his pupiless eyes and hang there. Not an eyelash is moved, but the more that his brother chooses to stare, the more that he studies, shifting the stones within his skull at small intervals until they break each other’s grasp. Lips pry their mangled bodies from one another as he draws, moving effortlessly as he speaks. He wants Kid to see his teeth and the jagged points, the mess of bone mountains staining yellow and green in his pit. He wants intimidation, wants to see Kid figure out that he will waste no time in destroying what a lovely face he has with his jaws. They are his most valuable weapons, unsuspected and hidden, and most of all, deadly. An evolutionary advantage that will favour him every day from the moment that they exposed themselves.
“You are the idiot here. I thought you were the one with the brains. Do you not listen enough? Don’t you care to think? I don’t care for him. He’s only a means of gaining an advantage over others. He teaches me to fight, how to speak a language that secrets can freely exchanged over without worry of comprise, the things I need. He has nothing to give any of us. If he did, would he have not a crown? Would he not be known in this land more? My mother is rather high standing in the Dragon’s Throat, and she and none of the others, definitely the leads, have spoken nothing of him. He is simply a face in a sea of many more. A lie. A failure.”
A scowl freely paints itself across his features now, slowly his gait as his tail catches upon something and drags. The violent thrashing that follows bring him no suffice. “Halt.”
Whether or not Kid actually does stop, he doesn’t take the effort to look. The lengthy mass is drawing around his hind legs like a large snake, and in its wake hangs a branch. Small, but enough in size that it drags the ground and entangles itself in anything strong enough to hold it. As the tip draws nearer to the hind end of his shoulder, the eminence weight of his appendage catches him.
I’ll have to cut the hair away in the future. But how? A few attempts at capturing the branch pay off, and he can only try to hide the wince that draws over him in the shape of wrinkles as long, coarse locks of black and white hair remain attached to the body.
It’s thrown away without second thought. Cosmetics aren’t his thing.
If Kid’s eyes are watching, he gives no response, whether it be physically or through words. A common misshapen, meaningless in the flow of his life. At least it isn’t thorns or Devil’s Claw.
Any insults that might have swung from the string of words erupting from Kid’s mouth like a river are ignored. Kid’s rage seems childish and useless. He lets it weigh him down, and for a second, Zhu questions if it would work against him, if he could actually destroy Kid with his hateful feelings.
“My mother is indeed loving, and I do have the physical advantage, but what does her love have to do to with me having the advantage? I have no control over right or wrong, and so do you. I’m only what I think is right.” He pauses, stopping his flow of words to think in silence. A bird flies overhead effortlessly. The clouds drift without even a clue of the two brothers below them.
“For me. I do what I must to succeed.”
Thunder does not follow in the wake of his brother’s movement. The grass doesn’t even quiver when he passes near to them, swaying only when a light wind, parted by the force of Kid’s body, strikes them. Zhu doesn’t slow for him, nor does he pick up the pace.
The fact that he says his mother treats him terribly doesn’t bother him. Mothers can be cruel. Sikeax has told him about her own mother, and he is aware of his luck in her treatment. He hopes that if he ever chooses to father children that their mothers will take the time to love him as she has. It opens space to better things.
No words pour from his vocal cords. He simply processes, questioning if he should offer fake pity or not. Is he worth the ‘I’m sorry’ or would silence suit him more? The silence is sure to bring out useless words that end in, yes, an attempted act upon Kid’s face with his teeth, and while tasting blood over his tongue would sound nice to their Apa, he is feeling particularly lazy with such things. “You’ll be glad in the future when she’s taught you how to take a punch and you can lie about the scars being something else. Mine would have taken even the smallest away with a blink of an eye.”
He doesn’t know if he means them out of pity or respect, or if he’s simply saying to avoid having to act out on his previous threat.
"Talk."
zhu
| Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
| Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
| dark |
Zhu claims Volterra is (as I've always known) a nobody— that he has nothing to offer, nothing to give, his kingdom is but desperation and weeds (if anything at all). He is no glorious warlord whose name has spread through these lands like a tremendous wildfire, whose very presence makes others bow in respect at the greatness he has achieved. He is a giant fool with no worth, a man of little value— a faux king. My lips twitch, eyes sweeping over the bulky black body as he preaches how clever he is to use Volterra until he has nothing left to give him.
"But who's to say he won't gain something? Who's to say he will always be a no one, that one day he won't just be a peasant among kings? What will you do then? Will you try to mend a relationship you abandoned to get his favour, or will you continue on in your struggle to achieve greatness?" I stare at Zhu, brows gently narrowed as I continue. "I take what I can get, I don't waste time trying to prove my masculinity by dominating everyone else in the game. But you do you," I shrug half-heartedly at him, eyes wandering away momentarily from him.
I intended full well to use Volterra, to gain all the had to offer— to be his most prized child, to earn the adoration no other would receive. I would take all that he would earn, pull it out from under him and profit. This world wasn't going to wait for me to claw my way through the shit life throws at me, it was going to let me dirty my hands for nothing but recognition from a handful of others (maybe two). Zhu wanted to prove his strength, wanted to show the world that he was built from the ground up on nothing but motivation, that his power was earned through hard work and determination. But I, I wasn't about to waste half my life trying to become some self made man— I was going to get there other ways.
I turn to face him when he demands that I halt. My hooves work against the snow beneath us, leaving deep impressions as a result of my inability to stay so perfectly still for even just a moment. My eyes catch the tangled branch among white and black, watching as it's ripped away, taking with it unkempt locks of hair. Ew. I observe the condition of Zhu's tail (it's so long), taking note of the quality of the uncared for hair. Unlike mine, there are knots and tangled masses, rather than flowing smoothly and cleanly it is a disaster (does he know that he should at least try to make it look nice?).
"Teach me the language." This is no possibility, no hesitant question— this is a demand, something that has been welling up from the moment I heard Zhu and Volterra exchange foreign words (before me). I seek the secrets hidden behind different tongues, hungry (ha) for the language passed down through Volterra's family. I'm desperate to learn what I can get away with when there's Hungarian pouring from my lips.
I don't respond, don't open my mouth to defend my opinion or myself— I let the silence stale between us, flourishing from my inability to formulate anything (there's no words). He had an adoring mother, one who say to his every needs, whose greatest masterpiece was him— Mother thought I was her greatest mistake, that Sabre should have been the only one (now look who it is) born, that I should have remained a hopeless useless egg in her ovary. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that her beatings would make me stronger, that the pain of her love would be the thing that kept me going. Perhaps I am the one with the advantage, that I can withstand such pain, emotionally, physically, mentally— that even at such a young age I'm already falling numb to the world around me, that all those bruises that flowered against my sides have helped me understand the pain of living.
Uncomfortable (for once) with the topic lingering on my abuse, I turn to Zhu and ask of his mother, rather than let the conversation remain where it is now. "Does she have healing magic?" I'd only come into contact with such once, when the cerulean horned unicorn kissed away the pain of open flesh, who held me close like a mother should (the way Mother doesn't).
"Talk."
|
kid run my reputation.
|
image | coding
@Zhu
tag me in everything
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
