the Rift


[PRIVATE] The Land of All

Ru Posts: 130
World's Edge Captain atk: 7.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.1h :: 3 [Tallsun] HP: 60.5 | Buff: Novice
Mar
#1

R - U

She stared down at her reflection, clear, unfamiliar and foreign to the feathered mare. It didn’t strike her, as it might have once upon a time, that she looked like her mother. Ru wasn’t entirely feminine – she realized instead. Sporting a charming beard that curled underneath her chin. A robust figure, made more out of angles than the curvaceous sides of a lithe and proper thing.
 
The mare was alone out there in the middle of the dome. Her feathered tail twitched with unease. How was she supposed to feel about that creature staring back at her? With unfeeling, endless eyes lost to the stupor of an eternal sky. She had grown. She was starting to flesh out from her foalish ways. Ru’s eyes flicked against the new scars added against her pelt.
 
The idea that she’d been marked wasn’t entirely appealing. She’d failed to protect herself, her weakness gave in and she was awarded by their scathing appearance instead. Should she be proud? Pride hardly danced in that exuberant soul. Who felt only the need to prove her peers wrong – that she could be better and greater than what they perceived. Chipping away at the outlandish desire of community - of purpose and being desired in return.
 
Ru shook her head, jaws clenching before she tossed her head upwards. Ripped her gaze from the mirror below. Feeling unsteady as she picked up into an easy walk. The coolness of Birdsong breezes swept through. Pressing against her skin with the gentleness of a lullaby. Soothing against the turbulent emotions twisting, and fighting for dominance.
 
To be a warrior.
 
That was one of them – and frankly, she only had the stories her mother had uttered to guide her journey. Besides the obvious: to protect, to defend, to place soul and body ahead of the herd. What more was there than duty?
 
Prestige? Recognition?
 
Chaos?
 
Fighting had the appeal of dominance to it. The risk of dying, the high of all the fear pulsating with each beat, the struggle of facing each win with every failure.

--

 
The sun continued to shine down below, as the dunskin pegasi wandered the wet grounds. Lazily pressing forwards, pausing – as the waters rippled with the signs of life swimming underneath.


Image Credits
@Zèklè
@Charks (Zero's thing wasn't tagging, so I tagged your OOC if that's okay! XO )
Please Tag
Permision to use any violence/harm; nothing that would cause immediate death

Zèklè Posts: 166
Outcast atk: 8.0 | def: 10 | dam: 3.5
Colt :: Pegasus :: 14.1 :: Three HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
charks
#2
A year from now we'll all be gone
All our friends will move away
And they're going to better places
But our friends will be gone away
This isn't where you're meant to be. What are you doing here?

It's a question you seem to ask yourself a lot these days - What am I doing here? What am I doing here? What am I doing here? (Repeat ad nauseam - you get the idea). Being homeless is hard. For most of your life you've had a pretty solid grasp of where you are, where you belong; you've had a place to go back to and sleep, friends to turn to, family to love. You've a had familiar landscape, be it rolling foothills or desert sand. You've had landmarks, which is important, because you're miserably adept at getting lost. You've had somewhere stable in an unstable world, somewhere constant and reliable, somewhere home.

Where that is is a mystery.

For now, you're homeless. Vagabond. Wanderer. Lost. So of course you go to the least concrete place you possibly can possibly think of, because if you're going to get lost you're going to get thoroughly lost, goddamnit.

----

Hours later - or has it been days? - you certainly are lost, and lonely, and quite ready to move on past your morose mentality and get back to living in the real world. There's something unsettling about this place, about the way the world seems to curl up into a sphere, a snowglobe with you caught up in its center. You cannot find the horizon - looking for it makes your head spin and your stomach churn, and so you try not to focus on the uncomfortable endlessness of the mirror world. Instead your sunbeam gaze skids over ripples and past the slightest shifting of watery sand, seeking desperately any sign of life, any guidance as to how you might escape. Perhaps a good plan would be to simply walk straight in one direction - surely this place has to end somewhere - you came in from somewhere else, after all. But no matter how you try to maintain a direct path you always seem to turn, your hooves tracking an endless circle of hoofprints that disappear into the glass as soon as you raise your legs.

Abruptly you halt, frustration drawing ugly lines on your normally cheerful face. What am I doing here? you question again, bright gaze falling to the mirror below your hooves. The reflection that stares back offers no answers - it merely returns your stare, impassive, unashamed by its collection of scars and missing wing, the metal that creeps like poison out of its barren side. You shiver, your frown deepening. To your tired, claustrophobic mind, the thing that glares back isn't you: it's a collection of memories and mistakes, a sculpted homage to your internal injuries and external scars, your external failings, your disability.

No wonder you can't find a home, it sneers. You can't even get out of here.

And just like that, you're angry. With all the expressive rage of your sire, your dam, you rear, your forelegs rising in the air before crashing down onto the twisted reflection, water and sand flying in the wake of your wrath. "Stop it!" you shout at the demonic likeness, voice high and frazzled as your hooves continue to tear into it, now stomping, now digging, now just flailing uselessly at the ground. "Stop it!-" but your voice sounds too loud, magnified and contorted by the bending sky, the concave earth, and your shouts sound like laughter-

And before you know it they are laughter, and you're the one laughing, kneeling, your front knees buried in the shifting sand, your laugh uncontrollable. Have you gone mad, Zero? Has your poor, innocent brain finally split like the egg you came out of?

At last your laughter seems to subside. You inhale air, gulping it down like a starving fish, your sides heaving and the occasional giggle still slipping past your lips. Your gaze is trained upward, now, at the dome of the sky; you grin at it, defiance spread across your face, and announce to the broad and listening expanse, "I really hate this place."

image credits


@Ru omg I have no idea what happened

Ru Posts: 130
World's Edge Captain atk: 7.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.0
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16.1h :: 3 [Tallsun] HP: 60.5 | Buff: Novice
Mar
#3

R - U

Ru’s thoughts hum about. A backdrop of chatter that is muted to the sudden yells that stab into the quiet. Lending a sharp frown upon her face, and a lofty grunt that falls out between her lips. She picks up her pace, disturbing the clear waters with the rumble and splashes of a trot. Following the echoing “Stop it!” – ‘s that cascade across the terrain.

She can’t trust her eyes, fooled by the warping effect of the Flats. She squints them nonetheless, and trusts her ears to lead her closer to the source.

The voice quickly digresses into fits of laughter. And it’s perhaps the end of this laughter that she spots the lone stallion; dark and feathery, and – she can’t quite see or tell what other features mark him out just yet. The mare hesitates as she makes her approach from behind him. Narrowing her gaze out of suspicion, and keeping still as he moves to his knees.

The voice, the one that submerges doesn’t sound very old. With a gruff huff through her nostrils, she picks up her pace and decides to shift her position – so that she’s coming from his left side instead.

A less likely chance to startle him.

Curious eyes spot the metallic patches that take the place of a should-be wing. And wonders briefly – if it hurts, if it's hard as it looks, and chafes against his skin in the cool weather. Regardless she approaches the heaving body, sunk half into the water. Eyes scouring for wounds; trail from the warmth of his russet flanks, to the curious patch of feathers that sprout from his rump – and – finally his face.

“… ahh?”

A warbling coo exists her lips. Her expression taught, as nostrils flare for the smell of iron or sickness. Regardless of her tense state she lowers her head to the water angled towards the stallion’s head, and approaches with the warmth of a ‘well meaning’ croon.

Did he say hate a moment ago? Was he sad, angry - mad?

Ru stays; somehow he seems familiar to her. As if the pieces of him that filter back to her are pieces she’s seen before. But at this moment she can’t quite pull them out from memory.

Image Credits
@Zèklè :: XD
Please Tag
Permision to use any violence/harm; nothing that would cause immediate death


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