the Rift


[PRIVATE] never gonna escape each other

Sikeax the Sea Soul Posts: 355
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16 hh :: 5 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Hobgoblin :: Common Rougarou :: Water & Seoul :: Plain White Dragon :: Toxic Breath Zuno
#1
Nighttime comes sweetly tonight. The moon is full-bellied, pregnant, lazy with glazed eyes in the sky as starlight becomes less useful in its presence, a mother telling her children that now is the time to rest, under her watchful eye and protection.
Yet against all of the comfort in this place, sleep flees her. She stands solitary with no hunger in her belly and sleep clots her eyesight into nothing but blurs. Any movement is small, the idle chewing of grass despite having spent the day doing just that, the flicker of an ear to meet the location of an owl in a tree nearby, an empty shake of her tail to swat invisible flies. Hobgoblin, on occasion, stirs in his sleep with nothing more than small noises and the twitch of a foot that isn’t there, the caution in his ears that make them jump at the slightest sounds.
He has never been much of a deep sleeper anyway, yet alone one who relishes in the idea or act of it.
So in her discomfort, all she can do now is pace, letting the sighs flutter from lips as each dip into the grasses next to Hobgoblin and the forceful closing and holdings of her eyes brings nothing, waiting impatiently for the dreadful arrival of morning.

OOC: Hobgoblin is in his wendigo form and cutely curled up in a lil ball on the ground asleep.

"Talk."
sikeax the sea soul
i have buried you in every place i have been,
you keep ending up in my shaking hands

image | coding

@Kid


you were angels,
so much more than everything

:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed


Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#2
everybody wants to rule the world
It takes months to find myself again, lost to the fleeting fantasy that everything was just fine, forgetting myself in the idea of perfection. The world has fallen away from me, peeled down to nothing but whispers and the lustful touch of men desperate for company. I know just what they all want, and know I can offer them the company they seek, but my mind eludes me as they love upon my curves and pleasure themselves with my restless body.

I pushed myself out into the world, desperate to find my mother (to find Sabre, I miss her, I need her) despite the healing wounds that stretch across my skin from her parting. I know I will not find her, but I still try, hollowed without her fury, the cruel lashes of her tongue and the emotional scarring she left for me that littered my existence. I didn't  know what I was without her, seeking her approval and affection teeth sinking into my neck because I couldn't prove myself worthy of her affections (those were her affections). She pushed me away, rejected me, hated me, and I felt something when she screamed, when her mouth foamed and eyes blazed with a fury I never knew any living creature was capable of. But in her absence, I was purposeless, useless. Without her to impress, who was there?

I returned to Helovia empty handed, with nothing to prove I had ever gone looking for her, no proof that she or Sabre remained alive and well outside of Helovia's borders. I thought for a second that I witnessed the fleeting figure of my mother, weaving between the trees in an attempt to escape my sights, but could not prove that it was her, for whatever whoever it was had disappeared into the forest. I encountered herds, warring bands and nomadic groups, each offering me a place within their ranks. I denied them all, despite the temptation of leading a life outside of Helovia, of being someone great outside of the world I'd grown to know so well. The harsher groups took less kindly to my rejection of their offer, lashing out. I felt alive when I fought them, interlocked in a battle between behemoths that even Volterra could stand no chance against. I showed them the power of a land they had never graced, of a will they could not break, and they crumbled to my hooves. I did not escape unscathed, returning to Helovia with a new layer of scarring to weave stories for (who will ask for the history behind them?)

I sought out Zhu after our encounter, trying to find closure, to find meaning behind the actions that took place in the dead of night (why had he left so suddenly? Why did I linger for so long on it?). I sought another sibling of mine, for Helovia was littered with them, but not a single one turned up. I longed for parents, for someone, for being so isolated and alone was driving me mad.

Even Volterra had disappeared on me, and it was obvious I was desperate for trying to bury my sorrows in him, for wanting to spill out the emotions and thoughts that brewed beneath my skin in his presence. I was still hesitant to trust him, even though he boasts that he is active within the lives of his children, I still wonder how true that is. But I cannot talk, because I am an absent brother, a fictional child donning the trademark skull, a ghost wandering the night with just my ghastly features to identify me.

I had ventured to the fields mindlessly, hooves kicking up dirt and grass as I make my way along a lightly beaten path, appreciating the chill of a Birdsong night after spending too long away from Helovia. Bubblegum pink catches on a soft blue glow from afar, brows narrowing as I draw closer, legs trembling and mind reeling as I stumble my way to her— she is nestled beside Hobgoblin, draped in pale white (the screaming deer, ugh, probably my least favourite of his forms) and curled up in the grasses, silent. That's a first. I approach with caution, hesitant to disturb Sikeax, to intrude on the quiet hours before dawn.

"Sikeax?" My voice cracks from disuse, unsteady and quiet, barely a whisper as I inch closer to the pair.
"Talk."

the boy king
image | coding

@Sikeax

made by reli

tag me in everything

Sikeax the Sea Soul Posts: 355
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16 hh :: 5 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Hobgoblin :: Common Rougarou :: Water & Seoul :: Plain White Dragon :: Toxic Breath Zuno
#3
Hobgoblin is a restless sleeper, and the reminder of it leaves her unsettled. It won’t last, the night tells her.
But nothing has lasted for forever. The time with her children has not lasted, her time as a member of the Dragon’s Throat, all of it, feels lost to the past and wind now. She has little to hold onto, and with the last of it tucked surprisingly neatly beside her, fast asleep aside from the occasional stir that stirs her into worry, her grip on him is harder than ever.
One can only imagine the upwelling of sadness in her when he comes to move, whining softly like he’s one of her children, unintentionally reaching into her ribcage and giving a firm crush to her heart. It brings more of him to life, despite his appearance.
“Sia?”
It hurts more and temptation is screaming at her to yell at him to not call him that, but they’ve changed because the world forces them to, and it is what keeps her from it. His head is almost at full mast when her name trickles out of Kid’s throat. Vacant eye sockets, coloured with milky white, both from the moon and the bone making up his head, let her know that there’s still enough time. Hobgoblin is not too far into consciousness to escape sleep.
“Hush,” Aches fill her up as his head holds its position, still locked in sleep but alert. Hobgoblin is one of her children: she has raised him, she was the one who took him when he needed someone, from this exact same place so long ago, and she is the one who has been beside him his entire life, teaching him, pushing through every hardship and miracle there has ever been. So why would it be that Hobgoblin doesn’t deserve the exact same treatment that she has given the children from her womb and the ones given to her from the world?
my dear.” Soft, feather-light happiness kisses her with faint touches of warmth. Hobgoblin’s head dips back to the ground as her own rests against his body, pushing through until the ground beneath him is touched by her muzzle. The scent of his ghastliness is off, but it is not like she has never taken the time to test it. Aged blood, sea salt(just like her own), something she can’t figure out where it is to put her finger on it. All of it takes their own personal puzzle piece and fits it into a single mass that now that she thinks on it, she couldn’t live without.
His only response to squirm his legs into the ground and to push into her body more, seeking comfort and companionship.
She gently removes her touch from him when she feels it is safe to do so, turning to Kid with eyes full of restlessness and sleep, each tired shade of blue writing burden-heavy poems to match their sorrowful colours. She has seen so much better, but looking at him now, filling herself up with worry because here is one, another, someone she loves so deeply but feels nearly confused at its presence in her heart, he’s probably in the exact same spot as her.
“Kid,” A feeble attempt is done at filling the tone used to say his name up with softness, but instead, only manages to let it crack with the weight of love, worry, and joy that he’s still alive.
If only she could say the same thing for Zhu though.
kicsikém, how have you been?” The words feel foreign on her tongue, and while they still are, the value of them brings a thin smile across her face. “I’ve been worried about you.”
And Zhu, but he’s gone.

"Talk."
sikeax the sea soul
i have buried you in every place i have been,
you keep ending up in my shaking hands

image | coding

@Kid


you were angels,
so much more than everything

:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed


Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#4
everybody wants to rule the world
Her voice is unsteady, her eyes tired, her face hollowed. She looks like she's seen a million wars, witnessed the loss of a billion lives— lived a billion lives, over and over, and every single one, she has felt some great pain. She felt every sharp breath from crying over tragedy after tragedy, felt the agonizing pain of abandonment, the exhilaration of love, the stabbing emptiness of betrayal. And she has grieved, mourned, over her own story, for she has not yet come to the final act of her gruesome tale.

I think I want to cry, with the way my knees shake and eyes moisten, but I cannot— I stopped being able to cry long ago, when all my tears had been wept on the nights spent alone, without Sabre, without Mother without Volterra. Instead I stand with a trembling lip and unsteady legs, sucking in air like it's all I know how to do, it's all I've ever done. I want to say something to her, to rush forward and crumble before her hooves and weep the way I did on the night we first met. But I simply stand, with upturned brows and a sorrowful expression.

We have both changed, molded and twisted by what life has done to us, I do not know how to reconnect with her, how to act now that I am less of a helpless child and more of a— helpless teen? Melancholic mess, an isolated and forgotten son of a man who has not even given him a second thought (does Volterra remember me?). Perhaps no time at all has passed since I took my first harrowing steps out of Helovia, maybe too much time has passed. I should apologize for leaving, for forgetting that I wasn't so entirely alone, that there are still people who care for me, but so selfishly I left.

I do not know how to answer, do I lie (I'm doing well), do I tell the truth (my mental state is in ruins and Mother has left Helovia, I am deeply emotionally and physically scarred from the things she did to me, but I still feel grossly attached to her). What do I say? I open and close my mouth, thinking thoroughly on what it is I tell her (don't lie). "I've... been." I've existed painfully, dragged my heavy soul back into Helovia and found myself purposeless and practically worthless— some broken king without a throne to sit, without a crown to display, without a pedestal to be raised or people to raise him. He is not a king anymore, just a man. "My mother has left, but I cannot help but feel... lost without her? She was nothing but cruel to me, but I do not know who I am when she is not here to remind me. I went looking for her, I must be mad! I- I looked for my abusive mother, because I cannot remember who I am when she is gone. Isn't that fucked up?" I mutter to myself, knowing that my eyes yearn to cry, to sob and let me be a mess, but I cannot (there is too much sorrow clinging to us already).

But I need Mother, I need her to beat me over the head and scream of my uselessness, my pitiful state of being and my weakness. I cannot compel myself to be some mighty king when she is not here to push me, to shove and kick, to make me do something about my worthlessness. And if she does not come back, who will take her place?

"And what of you? The Throat?" I don't ask of Volterra, letting my throat tighten and teeth clench before his name can spill out. He may have tried (and for a moment, succeeded) to earn my respect, but it has been washed away in the months I have not seen him (it's my own fault, but I will blame him anyway). Maybe I'll have to follow the trail of all new spawn, watching the signature skulls surface on a hundred new children from all over Helovia. And where will he be? Fornicating at the head of the trail, producing another one.

"Talk."

the boy king
image | coding

@Sikeax

made by reli

tag me in everything

Sikeax the Sea Soul Posts: 355
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16 hh :: 5 years HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Hobgoblin :: Common Rougarou :: Water & Seoul :: Plain White Dragon :: Toxic Breath Zuno
#5
While she can never be sure of it, there is always going to be a special one in her life that she cannot detach herself from. They brew her emotions into a lethal concoction so strong that even thinking of it sends her reeling, and as much as she tries to put reasonable names to it(Zhu, Tonka, Volterra, Amara, Cera), she’s always going to be wrong. Each of them bring something powerful forth, deep from the soul where it has lovingly grown them, constantly stubborn and ignorant of any logic, but they will always be only that.
She’s not going to admit it now, and there’s still a good chance that in the future she will do the same, but the one is Kid.
He feels like her our first born, a twin along Zhu that her womb didn’t carry but nonetheless breathing agony into her. She loves him now like she loved Zhu on the day that he first looked upon the world, cold, scared, shivering under the assault of his mother’s ferocity set on keeping him(and only him, he was all that ever mattered then) safe.
And having to see Kid in this state breaks another piece of her heart. Before long she’s going to have nothing left to break, having wasted it all on every poor soul that she lets herself become attached to blindly, but that again is another day. Sikeax still has a lot of it to destroy before she can be free of it entirely.
The look he wears rolls her chest cavity into knots. An invisible hand places itself around her windpipe to add that singular ache in her throat that comes from such sensations, holding back the effort to sweep him up in her arms and weep like a rainstorm, but Hobgoblin comes first right now.
Whether or not that is a bad mark on her mothering skills, she doesn’t care.
She gives him back the watered down version of her feelings. Her tired eyes work feverishly to gray, sunken in and laying low as the weight of her brows rolls in from above. Painted across her lips is a frown, equally weak. She can’t find the right words to say when he speaks of his mother, the connection he feels to her despite her treatment, the searching, all of it.
But maybe that’s how Zhu treated her, only in a different way.
“I don’t think that makes you mad.” The first of her words come out like evening winds, soft and tired, lazy as the day bares down upon them as the last of their energy flees. “Maybe you should try being who you want yourself to be, without her. If she’s gone, then let go. It’s for the best.”
Then why will you not let go of Zhu?
She hates herself for her hypocrisy, but hides it too well. No one needs to know except herself.
He rips the conversation out from underneath their feet, but before she can enjoy the comfort of talking about something else, he brings in the worst. That lump in her throat is growing tighter, pushing the life out of her until there is nothing left. Shame herds her eyes into looking another direction, downcast as the world slowly cuts away.
She pushes her fist down her own throat and grasps it, pulls hard as she can, and returns with said lump only to cast it into the sky, the only place she can’t get back to it.
“I left. It was for the better.” Cold, steely metal shaped into words that she can barely bring herself to make. She doesn’t want him to know only because she can’t imagine how he’ll look at her if he knew.
What she can’t keep herself away from is knowing how’ll take it.
She comes out of hiding to watch, eyes more awake than before but barely enough to make much of a difference. There is one other thing.
“Your father is there now, if you’d like to know where he’s at or maybe see him. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

OOC: sobs because you deserve so much better of post quality but i can't imagine making you sit any longer on this I'M SORRY

"Talk."
sikeax the sea soul
i have buried you in every place i have been,
you keep ending up in my shaking hands

image | coding

@Kid


you were angels,
so much more than everything

:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed


Kid Posts: 122
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
dark
#6
everybody wants to rule the world
But it does make me mad (not mad, crazy, insane, etc), it makes me furious that I cannot separate myself from the abusive woman who called herself my mother, who told me she was the one who brought me into this hellscape of a world, and the one who could take me out of it. I wanted to grind my teeth together and smash my head against a tree until I forget all about the heavy, constant beatings I faced, how I should've just run the way Sabre did, should have left Colt behind and never allowed such a twisted attachment to grow. The dependency is merciless, tearing me apart slowly, steadily, cleanly taking me apart piece by piece as I sink further without the mother I couldn't even consider a parent. She did not love me (at least, that's how it felt), she did not care for my well being, her idea of the "Perfect Son" left her constantly seeking to shape me how she pleased— she did not want to raise me as a son, as her child, but as a king, a warrior, a soldier fit to take on the world, a general to a legion, she wanted to create something akin to a god. What she wanted to achieve would never be possible, but she never realized it, not while she loomed over me and chided me for every wrong breath.

Her pent up frustrations on my inability to be exactly how she wanted caused a great deal of problems, and eventually she burst. It was something so damaging, scarring me on physical and mental levels, in ways I could never shake off. My body is a field of blooming scar tissue, flowering scabs and hairless patches, from hidden bruises and rough treatment, my body has been treated all too terribly. How have I made it so far? And the finale to her grand scheme, the sudden, premature ending to her experiment— she recklessly ruined me, she left me sobbing and broken, fractured and bloody, choking on spit and crimson copper, running thick over my face and staining my sides as she turned away from me and never looked back. She cut me off there, that was her signifying the end of it, telling me that I was no longer in need of her support, that she was giving up. I wanted to believe that it wasn't her giving up on me because I could not improve the way she wanted me to, but her showing me the way to becoming better than she ever could have dreamed— I just had to take those bounding strides to becoming something greater. How? I'm not really sure yet, but I know that whatever may happen, I will make it (I'll be okay, right?).

I shake my head, looking down at my hooves and taking in a deep breath. I know, I know, it doesn't make me mad at all. But, I cannot help but feel that I'm less, that I'm unstable, uncertain, without her to guide me with her teeth and hooves. "No, it doesn't... but it's still messed up." It feels like it is fucked up (almost as messed up as the fact that I fucked her son... my brother... fasz), and pretty high up there too, because who wants to face deep emotional and physical pain? Me, apparently.

"Who I want to be?" It's not like I've never thought of it (a king! The King!), but I could never make it happen, one man cannot do so much, not alone. Except I'm too much of a stuck up bitch to accept help from anyone, if I need want someone's help, I'll ask them, not vice versa (okay shut up Kid, stop being a narcissist and deal with the current problem at hand).
"I'd have to... think about that. I've always wanted to just be... someone who would impress my mom? Or... others..." ...someone who could be admired, idolized, appreciated. A powerful someone, with the ability to control an entire nation with a wave of the hand, so seamlessly ruling the world without mercy, feared and adored all the same (man, I just need some love and validation).

I wince at the way her face sours upon mention of the Throat, letting my ears fall back as I watch her cerulean eyes find solace in meeting the distance, knowing I've plucked at the wrong heart strings— the pain is fresh, new, a constant throb that buckles the knees and dips the head, I want to take back what I said, but my ignorance remains as present as ever (I'm sorry). I keep pushing, drive the knife further into the wound, twisting and grinding against the open flesh as I press on.
"Why? Why would you leave? What happened?" I can't tell if there is genuine concern in my words, (embrace your worry, stop being a bitch! You care, asshole!) or some sort of need to know why she was pressured into fleeing her home, why she crumbled beneath the judgement and left them— what did they do to hurt her this way?

I step forward, voice quieter now as I reach out to the amber champagne,
solemnly reaching out for some sort of comforting contact (for me or her?), whispering a mangled apology. "No matter, I'm sorry." I do not know why I apologize to her, why the words slip from bicolour lips, but they do, and I let them. Whatever the case, I hope she is not upset for my questions.

And Volterra? Well, he isn't my first priority, but knowing that he is there, in the Throat, means that there must be a hoard of his children there too. I offer something of a smile, melancholic and somber as I nod my head upon receiving the information, thankful for it even if I may not use it. "Köszönöm, I may consider seeking him out." It's unlikely, but maybe. A check in perhaps, something to see how he's doing, how the countless children of Volterra are faring (probably motherless, only looking to that "fuck first, think later" stallion for guidance, ouch).

"And what of you, Sikeax? How are you?" It's only something to keep the conversation, a desperate attempt to divert from the dead end (or absolute despair) our talk was headed towards, but considering her reaction to the Throat, I begin to think that this may be a bad choice.  

"Talk."

the boy king
image | coding

@Sikeax <3

made by reli

tag me in everything


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