into the sea, you and me
all these years, and no one heard
i love you, let's go

It feels like shame when it hits, hurting like the burn of aged whiskey hitting the back of the throat. So much of her life has been spent as far away from the north as one could possibly imagine, and now, at the opposite ends of the spectrum, she wonders what it would have been like if she had just stayed in the north, never once thinking the Dragon’s Throat as a chance in life, if she had gone rogue, never thought about chasing that dream that carried her to where she is now.
A failure.
“No.”
They meet at the same point in time, different locations coloured with far from alike hues. Her’s barely hold a single emotion to them, empty, like the ocean, with seemingly nothing to give after having given damn near everything. His holds a sadness, so foreign that it makes her wonder if he’ll push through it, heavy and dampened by her storms because not matter how much Sikeax leads herself to believe that she is selfless, Hobgoblin will always be the one that she is damned to be selfish to.
Out slithers a sigh, full of disappointment aimed at herself. Pawing follows short, to which he watches with a dull stare, eyes fixated on nothing but her, yet blurred, as if distant. More shame, sorrow, heartache.
She could treat him better than this, but here they are, equally suffering at her fault.
Again.
“I don’t think you should think of me like that.”
A tilt of the head is caught in the corner of her eye, watching his bulky head move to one side, the left actually, his favoured side if a useless fact is need. He looks out of place in the melting snow and the peeking grasses, living in a body made perfectly for the sea, resting miles inland surrounded by mountains and hiding out in the valleys that have sparse trees inside, tucked up in the belly of the north. Actually bringing the thought process through her head brings a thin smile across her lips.
Warmth.
The simple way to describe it is when one is to sit at the perfect distance from an inferno, heated but not burned, no discomfort from the scorch. It has butterfly wings that it uses to flutter through her body as it filters in. She looks back to him to discover that he’s got that stupid, useless, probably fake smile that leopard seals have, jaw slightly parted but not aggressive. Happiness and hopefulness are the emotions he pours over himself at the sight of her own, or at least as he can tell, and it takes everything she has not to chuckle at him.
Well, not exactly everything works because out it comes, tumbling out like pebbles, warnings before a rockslide that no one can be sure is coming.
“You no failure. You do good. Hobgoblin think You good.”
Her small smile buds into a full-blown grin, pushing to the points that it aches lovingly in the fibers of her muscles and the feel of his skin is surprisingly cold, slick as she presses the length of her lower face against his shoulder blade.
“Thank you.”

OOC: HERE, HAVE A MOMENT. c':
Hobgoblin is looking ridiculous in his leopard seal form. 

       


Manon breezed through the snow with easy grace, long limbs moving smoothly despite the substantial chill. Her blood moved throughout her slim body, hot and raucous and determined to warm her regardless of how cold the Steppe could be. She could feel the air burning her throat with each long breath, rushing downward into the depth of her lungs only to return as warmth - a cloud of condensation hovering about her soft lips as she walked. Having seen little of Helovia but the Edge these past few months had made her determined to discover the rest of the area, if not for curiosity then for self preservation. Sunlight filtered weakly through sparse clouds, planing her sharp angled face with insubstantial colour and catching in the silver of her eyelashes. Manon paused mid-step, a hoof half raised as she surveyed the valley below her. It was slight, a mere nook in all the wild of the Steppe. Scattered within were crooked trees and patches of thin, struggling grass poking through the damp snow, a meagre meal if anyone were truly hungry but -- tucked away and looking quite alone, Sikeax.

Manon could not help the smile that caressed her velveteen lips, nor the spark of remembrance and pleasure that lit up her silver rimmed eyes. There were those same gentle eyes, the smooth flush of her soft skin, and her hair like silk tumbling over her shoulders as if it just fell that way. She'd always found pleasure in simple beauty - and Sikeax had it in excess. Manon paused for a moment, still scanning the valley, before dropping downward and toward the woman she had not forgotten. Had things been different, she could have ended up at the Throat with Sikeax. There seemed to be a conversation going on between Sikeax and Hobgoblin (someone Manon had forgotten about, much to her displeasure) so she slowed her elegant walk and waited. She watched Hobgoblin with interest, taking in the leopard seal with a scholarly patience before allowing her eyes to trail back to the satin sight of Sikeax's skin.

"I told you we would meet again." She interrupted, waiting patiently for Sikeax to turn - if only so that she could meet those tender sapphire eyes once more.

into the sea, you and me
all these years, and no one heard
i love you, let's go

‘I told you we would meet again.’
Each syllable grabs her by the wrists and shakes her harder, the last word reaching up to clasp her frail, thin, feminine neck in the hold of a delicate fingers, fingernails probably never having held a speck of dirt beneath them. It rings bells that play the tune of deja vu but Hobgoblin is in her head, screaming in rage, a tsunami wave that tears down the world as it crashes into her coastline. His body explodes upon impact, and she isn’t sure how to accept the sensation of his body, once solid, giving way beneath her and dissipating before she knows it’s happening.
It makes her want to cry. That’s the only way for her to explain the first time she’s truly felt Hobgoblin’s transformations, and now, she isn’t sure how to feel about the sight of them. But this isn't the time to think about that. She has to worry about something else because no longer is she harbored in the safety of the Dragon’s Throat. Mercy is a sword wielded by the owner of the voice behind her, and mercy is a blade that lets itself be passed freely as encounters and interactions will let have it.
She swallows her happiness and the beauty of their brief connection so that worry and fear can take its place.
She pulls herself away, or well, out of Hobgoblin, who has made the decision that his Wendigo form will be more of use to him in this situation. Except, much to her surprise, there is no hiss, widespread jaws to flash and announce teeth that he is more than glad to take their company into the grasp of, only the cold, hard stare of pitless eyes digging craters into the body of a mare that looks like she is already well on her way to make those holes in her. Brows knit into a tangled mess of confusion. The muscles around her eyes tense as she squints, driven into valleys and mountains like those surrounding them as her thoughts run into one another.
But Sikeax hasn’t actually made the complete motion to see Manon yet, so her observations of the situation comes simply from what Hobgoblin is putting out on display.
Which is nothing, because he isn’t really sure as of how to take someone finding him soft-hearted, not loving because dare someone come across him being one of those weak, idiotic slaves like the other companions he has come across, but nonetheless bonding and even comforting Sikeax. This isn’t something he does regularly, damn, it’s not even something he’s done before.
The feeling welling up inside of him is embarrassment, but because he has never felt it or known it before, or at least this deeply, he doesn’t know the name of it. All that he knows in this moment is that is burns in a funny kind of way. It isn’t shame, no, he knows shame more than well from what Sikeax has made him feel from the last moons, yet he can’t seem to imagine why he wants to duct away from both of their sights.
It makes things worse that Sikeax is giving him another one of her looks, like a bird has just shit on the end of her face and she doesn’t know what it is and how it happened. He tries to kill off the emotion with imagining just that, the look of surprise and the sheer stupidity that would take over her appearance.
It doesn’t work. He can’t even bring out a fucking laugh from himself, mentally and physically.
The good news is that Sikeax has turned her attention to the speaker. The tension in her facial muscles have found the slack they need and are givng away, slipping into a position that gives off little information.
She, like Hobgoblin, isn’t exactly sure as of how to feel, but what is building inside of her is far from what he is feeling. Mostly, she’s still confused. There is the faintest memory of Manon saying something to her way back when, and if her brother was actually paying attention at this very moment, then he would had indulged himself in teasing her over how those words had been used. But no, Hobgoblin is still trying to think up of a way to get out of this.
He finds it in his most useful of ways, if anything, and quickly shifts, groaning as the discomfort of the ground against his body returns, ducking his head away to the side so that he carries the appearance of a disappointed pout, not even caring to acknowledge the two women. A low huff pushes out of him for good measure, just in case neither of them can figure out how he feels right now.
Sorry is all she can try to comfort and apologize to him with. A short mumble follows but nothing else.
I really, truly appreciate that though.
Nothing, just gone.
Discomfort produces her an awkward smile to work with. She feels the aftermath of her brother’s embarrassment but some of her own because so much has happened since she met Manon in the Threshold, and the mare’s name is there, but fuzzy. It brings a strange sensation to her touch when she reaches out into her mental-scape to grab it and make use of it. The majority of discomfort returns because Manon is still beautiful, living like the world has left her untouched to avoid placing sin upon itself to change her, and that Sikeax has fallen into an abyss of disrepair and self-loathe. Sea salt breathes from her pores, her coat has paled from its past vibrancy, received from the Dragon’s Throat’s blood sands, and the braid in her tail that she had once been so proud of has fallen to pieces, now made into ugly knots only so it’ll hold itself together just a bit longer. Her prized koi has made its way back to her neck safely to escape the hideousness of her tail and the weak threads keeping it in place.
She chooses to give Manon her all though, ears rising to attention as she collects herself in a short breath of air, chest blooming in the fullness of her lungs.
“I didn’t think it was a promise. Not a lot of people make them or keep them these days.” But she can’t help but admit that it is flattering for someone to keep a promise, especially for her. There is also the fact that she has no reason for ill against her, which encourages her curiosity to want more out of this meeting, but nothing is pure.
Even she isn’t pure, no matter how she might come off. Everyone has their sins, so Sikeax cannot welcome her extravagant company with open arms and any flirting touches that Hobgoblin would suggest if he knew the full extent of their previous meeting.
She needs to know and learn, study and expect before she lets this go any further.
“Manon, right? I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a while and there are more faces in this land than one can count.”
It’s going to destroy her if she’s wrong.
“Can I ask you something? Why? Why are you looking for me now? I don’t think I’ve done anything to bring your attention to me this much, and it seems somewhat strange for you to search me down when we’ve only met once.”
“Silver-Hair like You.”
Don’t be crazy.
“Silver-Hair look You funny.” To which the disfigurement in her brows returns, and she doesn’t catch herself turning away to look at him with surprise and slight hate, only to receive the same, strange smile of his current form’s species painted across his lips.
She doesn’t. She whispers to him, harsh but not aggressive, enough to get the point across. Another huff, another display of ‘no fucks left to give, all your fault, Sikeax’ straight from the source.

OOC: Hobgoblin's forms go from, in this order, leopard seal, wendigo, leopard seal.

       


Manon took the moment of silence to recollect her memories of the amber hued woman in front of her, and of her companion, and came to the realisation that Sikeax was not the same woman she had been when they had first met. It seemed such a short time to have changed the woman so much - and yet here she stood, more dejected and perhaps even more insecure and self-loathing. Manon took the time to notice the small details about her, the smudges of dark underneath her crystalline eyes, the unkempt appearance of her hair - and yet she still found Sikeax more beautiful than ever. This was honesty and pain, all written across champagne skin and weary expressions. While Manon had never supported the idea of ataraxia, she almost wished she could gift it to Sikeax now to ease the pain that echoed quietly in the recesses of the woman's ultramarine gaze.

Instead, she tried not to be offended at the lack of recognition - or at the almost accusatory question of "Why?" An amused smile lingered on her soft lips and she volunteered "If it helps, I wasn't here specifically to search for you -" Manon turned to Hobgoblin with a raised brow "- that was just a pleasant coincidence." She moved subtly closer, warming her long legs with the slight movement and noticing, not for the first time, how lovely the condensation from her own breath and her companions was. With almost a second thought she nodded her slender head curtly as she added "It is Manon by the way." This time she looked at Hobgoblin as she announced "I'm not entirely sure we've properly met, but it is such a pleasure to meet Sikeax's..." her voice turned sensual "Other half." This was not the Sikeax she had met at the Threshold, and as such Manon wasn't entirely sure how to approach her - but she could not resist blinking her long silver lashes at her companion and then, less subtly, at the woman herself.

In truth, Manon was not entirely sure why she had been so eager to see the soft hearted woman again - except that she was beautiful, and exceptionally so, in Manon's eyes. There could be nothing more stunning than a woman who didn't know she was beautiful. Manon moved closer again, this time close enough to reach out and touch the soft skin of Sikeax's shoulder - though she made no move to touch her. It would be an awful shame to scare Sikeax away but even so... Manon made a mental note that one day, whether it be consensual or by force, she would feel how soft the other woman's skin was. Dragging her opalescent eyes away from the satin shoulder Manon met her companions crystalline gaze and asked abruptly; "Why are you hiding here? You're far too lovely to be tucked away in such a corner of the world."

into the sea, you and me
all these years, and no one heard
i love you, let's go

Everything about this meeting feels off, but Sikeax can’t help but enjoy the distasteful sensation of entertainment in it. There is something about how Manon acts that intrigues her, might it be the slipping grace of her elegant tongue, the curves in her body that portray themselves wonderfully in the fluidity of the mare’s movements, or just the fact that this meeting isn’t completely haunted and, or possibly, probably tortured by her fear of the world.
Manon is clean, fresh, a saint in a world of sinners, but that is not to say that Sikeax still doesn’t trust her. Its just a pretty face gifted onto a body of miracles, a brain that probably has other things to think about other than her.
Hobgoblin doesn’t bask in the sensation with her. Embarrassment proves to be a sour taste in his mouth that can’t be washed out with anything. He doesn’t exactly try though. No, Hobgoblin is not that burdened by it.
But what he can feel is Sikeax’s tension, the pinpricks of discomfort and confusion, the edge of suspicion creeping ever closer, regardless of how little of it she chooses to show. His hatefulness is getting the better of him. It rounds the corner on ballerina leaps and has the same silver hair as this woman whose eyes are lingering only mere seconds too long on his bonded and him.
And if he has learned anything from his bonded, it is that lingering eyes always have an agenda.
To make matters worse, there’s a smile hanging up on the rack of her lips. She cannot keep her eyes and mind from it, rolling a batch of sea foam beneath her skin that gathers up her stomach(and rib cage? The feeling wiggles out to freedom from under her finger’s pressure right as she comes to believe she has a hold on it), humming a tone of waves and gull cries as it tosses it into the air.
‘No’ is what Hobgoblin proclaims at the sight of it, but what it really sounds like in the two of their heads is “Fuck off, Wound-Body.”
The new selection of naming brings nothing new to their table. Sikeax stares at it with distaste and disapproval, a frown that says ‘You could do better.’ as Hobgoblin returns with a look of rebellion, harsh, hard features that threaten and engage.
Display of weakness, to no surprise, has become one of his anger points.
Hmph.
Neither is sure who it came from, so let’s agree that it came from both because that is exactly what they are feeling, in different contexts. Hobgoblin’s is disbelief in her words, as is Sikeax’s, but Sikeax tricks herself into believing that maybe she is telling the truth and that this is the impromptu completion of a promise that she is sure was never meant to be completed. They just don’t work that way.
The expression that leaks across Sikeax’s face is one less true of her feelings. Her jaw tenses on one side but discovers slack in the opposite side, once contained brows gradually climb their way to a higher altitude, where they question her company with little amusement. The emotion in her blue eyes is lazy. It simply shows a half-assed display of questioning.
Hobgoblin, like the polar opposite he intends to be these days, glares. The stress in his shoulders has faded. One stands at salute while the other lurches downward, further into the mess of nothingness and transparency that his legs become before the ankle begins to even think of existing. Everything slopes off into one general direction to landslide into a painting depicting an overall expression of ‘are you fucking serious?’
You can see where their equal ‘hmph’s’ make entrance now.
The raised brow that Manon gives? Had Hobgoblin had skin, muscles, the entire works of bodily stuff that makes up a face, she would have been greeted with a snarl, but there is no visible nose for him to crinkle, just teeth that have no lips who stand idle, docile, useless predators with a hidden agenda.
Darting eyes sprint to lifting knees, and Sikeax finds herself doing the same, only in the opposite direction. It is not meant in rudeness. Well, actually it is, but she’s not about to admit that. There are more important things to fret over and Hobgoblin is definitely not taking control of the wheel here. Ignorant pain, the kind of muscle ache that hums itself as a lullaby into life when one moves in a funny way, pops up in her neck as she tucks it into herself. The height in her brows has turned back into those crumpled-up knots again. Even her ears are cowering from the approach.
A shake of the head follows short, teamed up with Hobgoblin pushing his own forward into announcement as a warning, oblivious as to how there is nothing to threaten with here.
“I guess we could go with that.” Distrust plays the flute of her voice. Suspicion pulls the ropes that lift, drop and move the fingers needed to play. This, all of which she makes slightly obvious, just so that the point will get across.
Weak relief hits her at the knowledge that she wasn’t wrong. The playing field has (somehow? maybe?)leveled itself now. Everyone knows each other, Hobgoblin doesn’t give a fuck(but this isn’t out of the ordinary, so no cause for worry), except there seems to be the fact that this woman cannot learn the meaning of personal space.
Hobgoblin, again, to no surprise, is the one that has enough in the end of it.
She has paid too much attention to him, too many darting eyes and seemingly endless stares, flashing smiles and fluttering lashes that he finds no purpose to. Yes, the pretty, silver colouring in them is very nice, he’ll give her that, but he cares nothing for beauty. Sikeax could be a whale carcass that he was forced to spend his entire life attached to, feeling whatever (probably)god-awful emotions that come with rotting and being eaten at the bottom of the sea and he wouldn’t blink an eye to it, and that’s pretty damn ugly. He’d still hate and love her the same, or maybe not. You can’t be sure of those things. Chances are he’d take part in eating it before he even thought about it.
But the thing is, they aren’t leaving him alone. They’re there, they’re alive, they’re a thing in this world that is happening when he isn’t particularly interested in putting up with them. So he goes for his logic, which for this scenario, is hard eyes and a stare that won’t give up til he works up the effort to break himself apart and drop to the ground, completely, utterly done.
All of this can’t help but make her annoyed, scrunching up the sunburn-scarred plains between her two nostrils. It feels too much, like an effort is being made that isn’t needed. She is not one for buttering up and flattering when the comfort of warming companionship and unexpected, easy conversation and company filling up the room makes her sigh and melt with relief.
“His name is Hobgoblin.” She throws it out there with blunt force, like it needs to be said with. Those fluttering lashes are returned with stone features. Now, she intends to give nothing out. Suspicion has finally made it around to her and is fast at work, whispering things in her ears. It wears Hobgoblin’s voice.
“Know.”
She left with Tilney to the World’s Edge. I don’t see a reason why anyone would want me except from those in the Throat.
“They know???? Help?”
I doubt it.
‘You never know’ brows meet her as she turns to take one look at him before fading into the silver of his body.
She comes back to reality to find that her notion of Manon’s lack of knowledge of personal space is true. No time has been wasted in her making up the slack in their positions, inching closer till even Hobgoblin shares unsteadiness with her.
Even with the world all around them with everywhere to run, she feels trapped, caged, with nowhere to go.
What comes out of her next makes her sink into her own body, turned into a depth-less sea that she can let swallow her up as much as it wants, safe.
“What makes you think I’m hiding?” The force in her words is unexpectedly strong. She doesn’t mean the snap, but there it is, already out in the world. “If I want to slink away to the North at any reason, I don’t believe there is a single problem with it. I don’t think I need to produce a cause to it.”
Hobgoblin’s bulky mass of a head slings round so quickly that he might as well throw some slobber with it. Anger is bubbling but it isn’t exactly his.
Too bad he hasn’t really been paying much attention to them.
“If you’re going to ask me why I’m so far away from everyone else, then how about I ask you why you’re trying so hard? Sweet compliments and such forward approaches won’t win everyone if that’s what you are trying.”
Embarrassment pings off of her forehead and worms its way in because it is not till now that she really comes to acknowledge that maybe Manon actually is flirting with her. Hobgoblin chuckles in the back of her head and she hates it.
It finds its way in when she sighs and accepts the weight of it on her already heavy heart. The sigh blossoms in her chest as she mentally rolls her eyes, unsettled by the fact that this could actually be happening and the memory that her last lover(?????) has been the cause of her agony, a curse on her well-being without the intention of it. It’s not something she’s looking to reacquire.
A solution rises about the same time that it makes its way to her face. Her ears are cast backwards but slouched, there is a far greater slack in her muscles now that they look like they might break from her body as her lips curl inwards and frown in a most unattractive way.
Yet, nonetheless in a matter of fact way, like she has thought this through and has had it happen thousands of times over(which it has not), comes “Some of us prefer comforts similar to that of attempting friendship instead of, uh…” Words tumble over one another now that she finds herself at a standstill. “such straightforward flirting.”
Giggling. Oh, how she hates it, checking with a sideways glance to find that Hobgoblin is grinning with content.
“If that happens to be what you’re doing.” And if not, may the Gods have mercy on her poor soul because this will be what does her in.

OOC: please take my awkward child she is terrible
hobgoblin changing any shape adds up to what he does in the before post!

       
The wind caressed the silk of Manon's hair with cool hands, brushing the sharpness of her cheekbones and sending vibrations through her long silver lashes - and with it's gentle stroke, it took away her pleasant demeanour. Manon did not take kindly to insults, and reacted even worse to rejections - unwarranted rejections, to her eyes. She regarded Sikeax coolly, fire burning her slim belly as she allowed the amber hued woman to run out of words, her gaze unrelenting and incredibly sharp. Finally, she shifted a little upon her dainty hooves, moving backward imperceptibly. A slow breath crept from her throat before, in clipped tones, Manon spoke: "There is nothing more distasteful than self loathing, Sikeax." She turned her head abruptly to the east, shaking it in disapproval "Perhaps if you were to engage in the real world again instead of hiding in this cold corner you would see that." Yet she could not keep her multihued eyes away from the woman before her, turning her head back to regard Sikeax with something close to exasperation, and closer still to impatience.

"The way you think about yourself determines your reality, and as such - your reality has become bloated with the idea that you have been wronged, cast out, abandoned. But it is you, Sikeax, that has abandoned the world." Manon sighed, fierce and enigmatic before raising her voice further "Some of us prefer to let our intentions be known. When I know what I want, I reach for it. You are what I want Sikeax, and I'm not about to be fucked over by your self hatred - not when I can see how special you are.." the anger faded from her husky voice, her words trailing into nothing as she sucked in another sharp breath. She was not often one for outbursts, and hadn't intended on admitting how she felt, or how she thought of the elegant woman before her. A harsh grimace transformed her lovely face for only a second before Manon turned away, not regretting her words but perhaps wishing they had come at a more convenient time.

"Sikeax," she began, softer now, "I'm not asking you to be with me. I'm asking you to return to yourself, be better, Sikeax."