Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
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Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
05-10-2013, 12:41 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-25-2013, 09:18 PM by Africa.)
![[Image: 515b833f251f3]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/515b833f251f3)
Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding
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“Rain, rain, I love you
Most folk don’t, but I really do!”
It was a well worn goat track that she was following; etched deeply in sections along the way to harbour the relentless rain in shining, rippling pools. These she took juvenile pleasure stamping through, giggling with shrill, unbridled delight as the waterlogged mud splattered in terracotta-hued protest up her lean swinging legs. The day had been decidedly gloomy and wet, though Africa- who naturally found pleasure in the most mundane of occasions, had braved the cold, unpleasant weather to play. Determinedly the thick, dark-grey rug prevented the sunlight’s escape- and she pretended as she danced between puddles, that the rain falling in wind-driven sheets around her was the resulting spill of a supremacy battle between the two- it was not blood though, the young peaceable grey had assured herself a number of times.
“Sun, sun- rain won’t let you through
It will heal the earth and help plants grow new!”
“It really is win, win for me you know.” Africa reassured, pausing to glance upwards and grin warmly. As a keen botanist, she could see the value in both important elements. “Although... She continued, lowering her voice to a whisper and suddenly screwing her nose up, “Between you and I, I rather prefer to soak in warmth than wet.” The young horse leapt away from the steamy fog which lingered lacing her words, her uttered secret, laughing with shameless amusement as she cantered a small way further, before parting from the effortless guidance of the winding path. Between care-free bucks she stumbled up the waterlogged hillock, her sharp hooves leaving cruel indents to betray her hasty passing.
Africa was travelling south of the long swaying grasses of the thistle strewn meadow, but east enough to be well clear of the ferociously burning, perpetually smoky heart of the land. She was confident enough there, for the terrain unfolding before her was reasonably familiar- though darkened by the persistent rainfall, and saturated through. Many months ago she had ventured through this vicinity during her earliest time in Helovia; she had met a young (rather aloof) unicorn called Vy. So much had changed since then, both her maturing experiences and slow and a very gradual advancement out of blissful childhood. Even those early memories were rarely revisited; they were mere notches in her girth of knowledge and understanding now.
She neared the stream, and with widening eyes was disheartened and surprised to find its gentle trickle had become a roaring rapid, churning and frothy as it pummelled an ever expanding course down towards the south. “Goodness!” She exclaimed presently, undeterred by her presumed solitude. “How ever am I supposed to cross you?” Africa’s face lowered, her nostrils flaring to issue the angry stream a frustrated snort. Soaked to the bone, and at the mercy of the bitter bite of the late Orangemoon wind, the dapple grey felt a wicked shiver crawl beneath her skin, and all the way up the length of her flinching spine. She murmured something beneath her breath to reiterate the inconvenience but turned away as she did, grimly surrendering to the resolute conclusion of her aimless quest.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.
S h a j a k e
Rain drops fell upon his dapple bodied, waking him up more than he needed already. The air held a crisp, cold breath to it, and as he let a sigh be released from his black lips, a cloud of fog rose. Thunder spoke to him in the distance, he already listening to it as his mind attempted to him something to this place to work him up. Being in the Woods, surrounded by trees, fog, and limited amounts of sunlight had only left him to wonder what was taking him here. Far off in the distance, close enough to see the outline and basic shapes, yet see no features, stood the black figure that was haunting him. It still spoke to him, begging the green eyed stallion to only follow it more. Lately Shajake was becoming sick of it enough that he had followed it. Far out of the deepest section of the Deep Forest, and into this strange place here. He'd only been there for two hours before the first rumble of distant thunder awoke the world, and the rain drops fell in slow yet steady waves. The whisper from the figure came out, pleading with him more. Snorting, he took a few steps before moving into a steady trot.
It only took a couple of minutes before he came upon the section of area where the dark figure had stood. Now it had left him, and his old friend came out to visit him. Unlike its twin, the white figure had always stayed close to him, and fed him dark thoughts. Dark thoughts that included him killing others, taking life from others, and feeding his darkness more. Over time he decided to name the white figure Kwiussa, after a stallion he'd known in the past. Someone of the first few to feel his darkness. Kwiussa stood next to him, feeding him more thoughts. A barrier slide up and over his broken parts, yet the ghost-like essence of the picture always slipped on through the concrete and spoke to him more.
He turned to face his correspondent before it burned away into invisible ashes. A voice, a real voice broke the silence inbetween the rolls of thunder and rain falling from the gray mass above. Recently his broken up mind was set upon aggression and exciling himself, yet the voice was more female than a male's. Having only met the guys here, it brought to his attention that a female brings more possibilites.
She wasn't too hard to see moving through the tall grasses, bouncing and leaping about. Automatically she annoyed him, a frown of annoyance sweeping across his face. She was heading towards a stream, its outline already able to see as a break in the grasses. A stray thought of seeing her fall into it and hurt herself, hopefully hit her head on a rock, and kill herself. He laughed inside of his head, vocal cords never holding much usage after the loss of his brother. They were frozen over like ice, and most of the time, he didn't wish to take the time to unfreeze them.
His pace was steady before he found himself close to her. This close, he caught her talk about trying to get across the stream. Green eyes went to the stream, the waters racing. A white figure appears to his left, the mare forth up to his right, and he can feel the whispers of thoughts the figure gives him. 'Kill her. Kill her. Kill her now. She'll be easier to kill than anyone else, wouldn't you know?' He smirks at the given thoughts, the darkness overtaking his mind and pulling the strings. The disease was becoming his puppet master now. Yet looking out across the meadows, there it was again. The same phrase being repeated by the black shape. His mind was only to the white figure's thoughts and trickery, therefore he let himself step into the moving waters to shift towards her.
It didn't bother him to be in the rage of the water, the rain fueling it only more. His black mane and tail fell flat and heavy over his dappled body, the irregular blaze over his face jutting over his right nostril. He wore perfect smile as he approached her. Now he could see her well. Wings, odd colours, and her actions only told him she was somewhat dumb. This, if you have dark thoughts across your mind, was the dinner bell ringing. Now only to get her attention.
Within his neck, he was able to feel his vocal cords attempt to revive. She would want conversation one way or another, and he wasn't much to displease a maybe victim to his wrath. He seemed free enough to let out a chuckle towards her, hoping this was enough to catch the winged mare's attention. Someone like himself was completely ready for any annoying thing she would give him. In the distance, there was no more dark shape begging him to follow. It was only the white figure, feeding him more and more dark thoughts. These thoughts fueled him as he approached, darkness taking over. Voodoo doll to the disease of the mind, and right now he was the voodoo doll doing all the fun here.
"And here lies the words of a man void of a voice."
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image credits
table by whit
Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
|
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding
|
She hummed idly, a tune which bore no lyrics- the mood had been somewhat broken by the untimely death of her game. Africa trudged a bothered step forward, glancing in the moment downward to see the horseshoe print left behind; the scar inflicted by the warrior whose hooves were sharp and decorated with the shining blades of thirty knives- no wait, thirty five! Africa arched her neck and pressed as much weight as she could muster into the next step, sinking and cutting even more deeply than with the last. “Fear me!” She demanded aloud, pointing her toe brazenly into the flailing mass of tyrant grasses as they waves in helpless surrender to her might and power. She thought about Midas, and clothed herself in his magical coat of silvery steel so that she too would be invincible.
The young mare lifted her foreleg as high as it could stretch before lashing it down again with a playful mock sneer- because realistically, sadism had never found residence in her heart, nor wickedness through her untarnished mind. “You!” She directed the accusatory cry towards a lone daisy who had curled its petals, guilty and shamed by the valiant presence of Africa. “You are a spy, and for that treason you are now my prisoner!” Her regally arched neck snaked out to whip the betraying bloom from its nest between rich emerald clover. Tenderly, she clutched the captive between her teeth- naturally the value of such a prize would be lost if she bruised it or returned it to the Throat unfit and suffering. Kri would undoubtedly chew her head off for ruining the brilliant opportunity to squeeze secret plots and motives from its very core. The rain washed away the flowers culpable tears, and the dapple grey horse was glad because, she hated to see others weep.
The flooded watercourse roared, its churning body drowning out all other sound aside from the constant drum of steady, heavy rain. Africa certainly never heard the stranger wade through her obstacle, nor was she aware that he had slipped, wraithlike, from its overbearing current onto the sodden loam at her rear. The dim murmur of a throaty chuckle drew her black-tipped ears around to find him first; her milk-white face following, glazed with a wide-eyed most surprised expression. “And who are you?” She questioned suspiciously, narrowing her pale golden eyes to examine the stranger’s being. “You are also a spy!” Lost to the illusion written by her overly vivid imagination, Africa spun quickly in a tight circle- very warrior-like, to face her foe head on.
“Wait!” She sighed, relaxing her entire body for a second and placing her prisoner at her feet before sliding a rock across its stem to prevent cunning escape. She danced forward towards him, her sleek wet armour clinking with the bounce of her lovely movement. Just before she reached him, Africa fussed with searching lips through the supple grass, rising again with a soggy mat of old crushed leaves; all fallen a long while ago from the now naked ash tree under which they both stood- well almost. Pretending the flimsy litter was copper chain-mail (not as effective as Midas’s of course); she shuffled to drape it across his back. If he was to stand any chance against her prowess, he would need armor too.
“There!” She said brightly, with a smile that defied the morose day surrounding them. Hurriedly, she manoeuvred backwards and lifted her face high into the air to peer down her nose at him from beneath her plate mask. “What say you, villain!” Naturally Africa lowered her voice into a ‘terribly fierce’ bellow at that point- obviously, she would have struck fear into the heart of any present to witness the confrontation.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.
S h a j a k e
OOC: Hey, I kind of made him a slight playlist for him. Feel free to listen to it while reading his posts.
PLAYLIST
'Kill her now! She is on the brink of her own stupidity with her armour, as if she is some powerful murder against a proven murderer like yourself.' Murderer. The word lingered about within his head, reminding himself of the dark tasks he had done. A faint glow came from his left before he knew that the white figure had left him. He stood about alone now with this idiot mare here, adorned in armour that made her look stupid when he had watched her attempt to take a flower hostage as a spy. Was she dumb enough to bring it back to her leader? He took steps towards her before she began the assault of words towards him.
Clunk.....Clunk......THUNK.
The first of warmth from the gears attempting to take action within his mind fell down into his iced throat. It slipped over his vocal cords, gentling touching them, as if running your fingers over an object, to melt them and awaken them. He was reminded of how bad his voice was. It was deep, rough, listening to it you'd think it belonged to a monster and demon. Those words just happen to fit the green-eyed dapple gray stallion to well. A smile sweeps across his face as he calls him a spy. His gaze turns dark and cold as it lingers in her golden eyes. The face plate cannot save her from his stare. Company returns, and the disease takes more controls. This time, with his gears working, it flings fire down his throat, and burns away the ice in rampt attacks. Suddenly, it grabs the reins, and takes full control as the white figure stands beside. His black friend to the constant distance has left him for this dark moment.
"Sha...Sha....Shaja.....Shajake. N..Nor vil...villian." A quick breath is brought in before it takes full life. His voice carries the same dark, demonic voice like it always has. It was even been there when he was just a foal. Then he was solid black except for the odd blaze that took a jagged effect over his left nostril. When he spoke as a child, it scared the others away. How they knew his fate, was just simply a sign of their destiny. "Only murderer."
Now a word that troubled him at first has taken on a welcoming feeling. What a surprise as he feels the white figure touch him. Shajake only takes a quick step to his right, evermore towards the winged mare. Oh how idiotic her given appearance was with the armour. He gives another chuckle to her as she stares down to him. They stand at almost equal height to one around, he only a few inches higher. A few steps are given to move himself out of the rage of the water as rain pelts down harder. Thunder roars overhead as the gray mass releases even more slaughter to them. As he leaves the water's might, a strong exhale is given as stream rises up, and moves in to shroud his green eyes. It lacks the strength to cover them for their brilliance of colour.
Somehow he is beginning to have fun with this little mare near him. A look of question is given towards her as he waits for her to give him an idea of who she was; she seemed so intent on figuring on who he was, might as well spill her own beans right now. The stray thought brings a laugh inside his head. Already he has begun the process of bringing his vocal cords back to their original state. She was going to force conversatio on him, he knew this too well. Might as well make it fun for her.
A slow movement is taken as moves away from her. Thin mist takes place in the grass as the rain becomes lively. He takes slow steps and sutle motion around her body, looking over her body and armour. At the sight of her wings, something within lingers with curiousity. He'd seen others with wings, reminding himself of a stallion who acted quite femine named Eios. It brought only a chuckle to his insides, locking away so that she wouldn't know his thoughts and emotions. This little mare was going to a trip with his mind. One fun little trip a cruel man like himself would surely enjoy.
"And here lies the words of a man void of a voice."
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image credits
table by whit
Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
|
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding
|
He’s playing! Africa’s thin black lips peeled back from her off-white teeth into an expanding grin, if only momentarily. The obliviousness of her carefree nature allowed her to remain unmoved by the sinister grip of his shadowy, outstanding green stare. They were each playing the role of a character in her make-believe world- she the faultless, valiant hero; and he the menacing criminal, borne of feeble hearted nightmares; and he seemed to fulfil the position effortlessly. In the same second, she danced with giddy enthusiasm on the spot as though with spring-jointed knees, the exciting progression of the game with this new addition quite overbearing as it were.
“Wait, wait that’s ok...” Soothing quickly, interrupting when he spoke, not entirely understanding his broken attempt to introduce his true identity. Still bopping beneath the drenched flap of her thick grey hair, she reached in an attempt to tap the jagged white which stained the flaccid, curve of his nostril. Water dribbled from his tapering muzzle like a spout. The sound of his deep voice was demonic, gruesome even, she thought pleased still further by his effort to act the part she had allocated him, and arched her neck all the more to settle back into the play.
“Only murderer." He seemed to continue, despite her insisting the game continue without his input. With a tolerant sigh, she peered across at him from beneath the shining rim of her make-believe armour. “Technically, a murderer is still a villain. But if that’s what you prefer...” Obligingly, Africa shuffled forward to nuzzle the debris she had sprinkled across his ebony back, away. “Murderers are deviants dressed in black, they don’t wear chain mail...” She explained as she worked casually within his personal space. There wasn’t much costume to add because he was already clothed quite appropriately in the darkest of immoral blacks. She paused, murmuring something beneath her breath, then added quickly with a glower- “They have horns too...”
Put off at the thought of having to create him into a Unicorn, Africa glanced pensively at her prisoner- still trapped and perhaps even drowning beneath the rock where she had initially stood.
“I don’t suppose you want to help me take it home? They always struggle and writhe.” Returning her pale yellow eyes to investigate the stallion’s expression Africa smiled again. Having shed her pretend variation of Midas’s armour, she was able to view him more clearly and she was immediately surprised that while the rest of her fantasy had evaporated, he still appeared intent to act out his character all suited up and menacing. Innocently she neglected to recognize him as a threat though, and remained fairly content as he lingered in her company.
When he started circling her, Africa frowned. Still the rain poured about them, and she shivered again, generating heat as best she could, given the wretched state of the weather. “Sooo...” She began, following the almost predatory nature of his movements with narrowing eyes. “What are you doing all the way out here anyway?” Based on first impressions she presumed he most probably lived in a cave deep within a forest or somewhere equally as dark, dank and uninviting. She thought as he continued that he seemed to lack social grace. There was certainly something unsettling lurking within those creepy green eyes.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.
'She's not worth much time, is she? Kill her off now. It might be best for her own stupidity.' The white figure is getting high and he is noticing it. Green eyes seem to be locked on the fact that this mare, who has no idea what exactly she is facing, a little idiot who needs to run back home before the proven killer can touch her delicate skin as a disease feeds him evil, is smiling. She is only that stupid, and he is seeing it more and more. Curiousity is lost as she dances -again, like an idiot before a monster- in front of him. Disgusting fills him. How is he to have much time for this little mare, and even more, what has brought him to be so close to a living essence? Answers come when the black figure returns, and speaks to him in hurried tone. It slides across the mist, only his ears catching it. 'Come along, come along little murder man. She is not worth the effort to see her own bloodshed at your hand. Come along, come to my welcoming grasp. There is more to this direction. A troubled and confused thought passed through him as he keeps his eyes locked to the black figure. The white one takes no action to how the dappled stallion stares, except, like a moth is drawn to a light in the dark, it goes to the call. Shajake, with thoughts of murdering this annoying winged mare, stands ground in the mist. There is work still to be done here, best not to let the task at hand be thrown aside, as this one seems more favourable to him.
Though, as she throws her words in as he speaks, the plot he has in store only becomes closer and closer to what is awaited ahead. It might be the moment she attempts to touch his nose that sets him off, and sends the black figure flying towards him and the mare. Now is the moment a new gear, only covered in dust and shrouded in spider webs moves. The gear that moves is the one to start the process he used to kill the past. Others would move as this one began to move about, slowly but surely picking up speed, it works the rest. This isn't the time yet. She must do more to make him take the first step.
Yet it is still the fact that she almost touched him that sets him off.
In his own fury, he slings his elegant head towards her own, in attempts to hit her with it. He means to injury her, to give her what will be only the start of something if she doesn't hold her own. Tooking a monster is not something you should attempt to do. Now now, didn't your mother teach you not to talk to strangers? They might decide to kill you.
Having recieved a sigh from her, he smirks. 'How much longer, boy?! How much longer are you going to take her stupidity before snapping?' The voice of the white figure is breaking up within his mind before taking on the same sound Shajake has been awarded with after constant silence. He can only let the white one speak for him. A voice may still be active within him. Where is it now? Just search for it boy. Just having her tell him that a murderer is a villian is enough to make him annoyed by her. This here is the type of horse you come across that only makes more and more annoyed everytime they open their mouth. Time to let the white one speak through his own voice.
"Only the murderer is the highest class of villians. It stands alone." The words that come from his mouth are not his own, only the words of the white one. They pass between his lips having recieved no effort from the dappled stallion. Disease finds a way to take control of its victims one way or another, and though the words he say are truly words from Shajake's mind, he is only copying them from what his disease wants him to know. As of how this one treats him, this disease has greater signs than others.
Feeling touch upon his own body seems unreal, and as she says he must be dressed for the part he has recieved in a play she wrote herself, he finds himself already dressed. The mental pair ignores her, and leaves them. Alone, with this weirdo. What could be worse. Each touch she gives him, he reminds himself that later on he'll find a way to seek revenge out on her. She'll pay for this, oh yes. This isn't something you get off so freely with when you're her classication of idioticy.
The weather and its cold touch doesn't seem to bother him much more. Secretly he might just be enjoying himself, but gears are still moving, and ones pushed into dark corners long ago move again. A mind can rebuild itself, and that is what his has decided to do. Follow on with her pretend game, and he'll find himself something to do as acts of revenge. And suddenly she wants him to be a unicorn.
Disgust floods through his veins at the idea of being one of those racist, wanna-be murderers. If an equine like himself could kill and rampage about, it is simply easy to know that anyone can kill. He listens to her ask if he wants to help her take her 'prisioner' home. A laugh is put outwards as he thinks of stepping on the flower and ending her stupid game. Reality check please?
Maybe it is the fact that he is now sure that this one is just that dumb that keeps him from doing something like killing her. She smells like a herd, and at the expense of killing his only family in the past where there was no one to go after him, she could have an army after him if he fucks up. Finally, he sees the moment she figures out what is exactly going on right now. 'Well Shajake, she has caught onto you finally. The white figure gives him words he already knows. Now that he is at her full attention, he can take more serious action towards her. See what you were ignoring now, little lady? Ah yes, seems that you have just perfectly now.
Question so seemingly helpless is offered at him. He will not tell her the truth, that he is following something that a disease that has taken over almost all of the sanity of his mind has been pulling him about like a dog on a leash. He will not give her an answer, easy as that. Instead, if she expects something out of him, might as well answer the questions for him. Now is not the moment to stand about and have a fun little happy time. Now is her time to see he is not playing the game she wanted a bit ago, and that here, the dappled gray stallion whose green eyes belong somewhere in horror movies, a voice that came from a demon, could be the undying fate she never expected. Here was the moment she'd learn things aren't all happy-go-lucky when accomplished murderers treat you like a piece of prey.
"talk talk talk"
“BUT THE TRUTH IS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD; ITS A DANGEROUS THING." - MICHAEL SCOTT .
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Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
|
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding
|
Africa’s bubbly personality overflowed with the foolish, credulousness of youth- yes. Eyes sparked perpetually with wild, untamed enthusiasm; her humble tongue spilling untainted, defiant optimism- yes. Mind was a teeming lake of vivid fantasies and inexhaustible dreams; her brain a vessel, yearning constantly, with an insatiable appetite for knowledge, for understanding- yes.
The young dapple grey Pegasus was indeed the quintessence of each of those qualities, and while her light-hearted and childish facade emanated sickening bliss perhaps every hour of every day, tarnishing notches had been drilled into her belt of life experience. She was a fool it was irrefutable, with a primitive emotional structure that was easily sidetracked and influenced. But with her simplicity came a natural impulsiveness, intuition to rival the most trained villain- or murderer, and her cupped ears followed this murderer’s circling path closely.
She wasn’t frightened so much as puzzled by the archaic lustful hunger spewing unrestrained through his mostly creepy expression. Africa’s peaceable eyes remained narrowed, and she peered cautiously at him always, through thick black lashes beaded with shimmery droplets of water. The stallion, whose dappled coat was very much darker than her own saturated cloak of white and grey, did not answer her and she sighed, unenthused by his lack of social etiquette- or rather, the social-retardation that seemed to occupy his monotonous, constant sneer. It was not often that her patience was tested, and while she shrugged the frustration with the cascading streams of water from her shoulders, Africa couldn’t help but be bothered by his tactless manner.
“I’m getting cold...” She muttered, glancing beyond his slinking frame as he passed by the raging stream again. He was losing her focus, her interest, very quickly. “If you’re going to be boring for the rest of the afternoon I would rather just go home.” Africa offered a fleeting, genuine smile, an assurance to both herself and him, that she was not being rude or obnoxious- not like he was. This green-eyed stallion was the first encounter she had ever had with insanity, and although she could not have realised his disease plagued mind, she found his company unnervingly tiring and awkward. She flicked her tail, waiting with baited breath for his to shed the charade.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.
He is intent on making her stick around. Losing this opportunity - like it had anything to do with the dappled stallion, she just happened to amuse him in a sick way - given here was anyone. Snickers came from his partner, the black one gone. Gone for good hopefully. The thought that came through was much less a sign of the last shred of willpower his sanity still held before the disease was quick to take away. Ignoring the fact that the winged mare was in front of him, and could see his every action, he turned his head towards the figure and gave a glare before it burned away into ashes. Letting something like this feed into his reality was bad enough, and having it in front of this creature was enough. Rain reawoke him, and as his attention turns to her, a smile of almost pure evil comes across his face. 'Pretty little thing if you enjoy that type. Yet she isn't Esfaere, is she? Just kill her.'
A look of disgust comes across his face was his mind begins to break away and speak to him. This goes on for years, and how is it now, that in awkward company of a damned mare(yet he is reminded he refused their prescence for times on end in the past), that cursed mare comes back to his mind. It is quickly brushed away and ignored.
She speaks of the weather, and he ignores it as the weather seems welcoming to such a dark creature like himself. A smile given towards him, and a frown returned to her. Hearing her wanting to leave makes him frown. Why leave when the fun is only just beginning? Though his vocal cords are having a difficult enough time getting around to working normally, but today can make differences if he wishes to.
"The weather isn't much to fret over. Lets not leave when the fun is only beginning. He can throw a sick smile towards her. So innocent, and so lost. A chuckle comes from his. A voice floods for his mouth filled with the macabre sound it carries so well. Just here is a king prepared to take another prisoner. In the distance, he is never alone now. The black one stands in the rain with no voice now; fear seems to have taken over the disease as it can tell it has taken him too far. He leans in, almost to touch her before pulling away and walking in to the stream. Water slips up his black legs, gribbing at him as it begs to take him down stream. In the process of stepping away, he feels like himself step on the flower that she intended to take home with her and simply laughs. Back turned to her, this is some sick enjoyment he is getting that is not fed by the disease, yet by the fact that he was lost to it forever.
"Shajake."
"talk talk talk"
OOC: Sorry he's so weird.
“BUT THE TRUTH IS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD; ITS A DANGEROUS THING." - MICHAEL SCOTT .
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Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
|
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding
|
“The weather isn't much to fret over. Let’s not leave when the fun is only beginning,” he put forward through a sick, off-putting smile. She fidgeted uncertainly beneath its presence, though still the young mare was not alerted to any foul-intentions lingering behind the stallion’s green-eyed stare. He laughed then too, and Africa’s nose screwed with distaste as the grotesque sound carried through the rain as it continued to bucket down around them. Reaching to tease her with a swift, almost-brush of his whiskered black lips, the stallion recaptured her straying attention before turning from her. Quietly, and with some reserve, Africa watched him re-enter the stream. The water’s furious rush had not eased at all, and she worried as he paused within its rough, callous drag that he might be swept away from her.
“No wait!” She blurted, dancing forward as though it might reel him back onto the embankment, and the safety of (waterlogged) solid land. “You’re right, I agree.” Quickly she spat the words to appease him, willing him from his watery grave and back into her comfortable company. “We can take the prisoner back later.” Africa passed a stern glance back to make certain her captive flower was still pinned beneath its rock- and it was, still quite secure. Resigning to his manipulative manner, the grey mare chuckled softly, amused, and insisted conclusively that he come back out with a sharp luring gesture. “What would you like to do? Walk? Talk?” She paused quickly with a narrowed gaze before adding- “Well maybe you should let me do the talking, you aren’t much chop at that...” Africa smiled through the rain at him and laughed coyly at her playful taunt.
[ooc: Nooo!! Don’t be sorry :) I love the set strength of his character]
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.
He can stop, like she pleads with him to do, or he can move on and ignore her plaint cries. And yet as he can her move about, he can only stand still as a voice slips through his mind with a candid tone. 'She calls for you, Shajake. Is this not something that has happened in the past, or are you making this up so you can look wanted?' The voice is followed by a laugh, and as fast as it came to him, it is gone. One green eye moves to look at the winged mare. Has she spoken her name yet? No, undoubtly not. A chuckle slips from his black lips before one leg is lefted and he moves it to his left to turn around. She pleaded with him, and seemed bothered by the fact that he was fixing to run off. Stray thoughts of the mare he once loved comes to him before they pass away. Compared to her, this mare was meaningless. He changes her agree with him and waves it off. Is her acceptance to his words that important to him that they are simply brushed off with a mental wave of a hand?
Each step through the rushing water seems so simple to him as he almost glides through it. The mare stands on the shore as if waiting for him to return to her, and as he does walk back to shore, not because he wants to, but because she had asked, and as he touches shore, the first actually feeling off how cold the water truly was comes across him. Rain is not an issue, it can only make you shiver and shake as it buries you in it's onslaught of hatred, though the water in the stream holds a different story. It is cold, holding no mercy as it throws another icy stab to his skin. This is not something you can simply ignore, and as each hoof is on completely ground, she happens to speak more. Words about the flower come to him, but what meaning do they have? It's just a flower, what meaning does it have to you? When you go home with it your whole herd will laugh at all of your stupidity. He can only wish to stay that to her, but already knows it would hurt her. Remembering what had been said earlier, his attention goes to find a place to stand where the storm won't bother them so much. There, in the distance, stands a lone tree that could be used as shelter till the storm was over. The idea of standing under a tree with this little thing here made his stomach churn, but the weather was annoying enough. Better to cut your loses and not die of some sickness gained when you stood about in the cold.
A little laugh, or could you say chuckle, breaks the silence. It turns all attention he has towards her and makes him wonder what has made her laugh. The white one has only to come to stand beside the mare, almost tempting the dappled stallion towards her. It disappears as he growls, letting it only be heard within his head. Growling outwards now could result in looking awfully strange towards this one. How'd she react, he is unsure of, and ultimately unwelcome towards.
Presented with a question, he groans at the idea of talking. Walking is fine, yes, but maybe a slow conversation can be fine. She then states to do most of the talking as he doesn't speak much. Hearing this is some type of welcoming feeling to him, and maybe taking refuge with her is as normal as it seems; he can accept her company for now it might not be as annoying as it seems. Well, as long as she doesn't turn into a complete chatterbox.
"There is a way to get out of the weather over there-" He gestured to the tree with his head, black forelock moving with his motion"and if you wish to keep the conversation favouring you speaking more, myself speaking less, I shall accept a small conversation with a walk." Somehow, the stallion is startled by the fact that he speaks this much at one point. Usually it was enough said to be pulled out as a conversation with anyone. His voice is still raw and demonic, anyone passing by would be startled by the sound of it. A pain within his throat reminds him he does not commonly speak so much, and as the disease tweets and moves a new gear within his brain, the black figure shows it's ugly self again, and speaks something to the stallion. Yet it almost comes inaudible, it is barely enough to be heard. 'Follow me, and quiet smelling the damn roses along the road.
It seems all to well for him to ignore the words from it, but this time the disease is harsh and the white one seems troubled before it lingers away in the thinnest mist that hangs over the grasses in the meadow. He recoils in disgust towards the black one and is careful to hide it from the winged mare. For once there is interaction other than speaking to the disease or some annoying stallion he had came across one that's only purpose seemed to be to scream at him when he didn't speak. Now now, how are you to know that someone isn't much for conversation when they say one word to you and then be quiet for the rest of the time. Idiots, what idiots. And what a waste of time.
"talk talk talk"
OOC: I have to say, Africa is so adorable! Like adorable that you want to take her home and just cuddle her. <3
“BUT THE TRUTH IS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD; ITS A DANGEROUS THING." - MICHAEL SCOTT .
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Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
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Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
Africa
Relief was an understatement; Africa was overjoyed to witness her companion return from the brink of almost certain death. She could easily have misunderstood his masculine strength and ability to ward off the hungry tug of raging water, having never had much to do with the opposite gender in the past. She was relatively innocent in that respect and naturally presumed he would be as vulnerable and pathetic, survival-wise, as she. He slunk back up the bank quietly, artfully; and the delighted young mare rushed to nuzzle his saturated shoulder- though its soaking was courtesy of the rain, rather than the hock deep river-rapid. She was wet too, and bitterly cold, but that didn’t matter as she dutifully tended to her friend’s comfort.
All the while, Africa remained blissfully unaware that her carefree innocence grated on the nerves of mostly all of those who she came into contact with.
The darked dappled stallion moved forward, and she remained patiently in place despite a growing urge to follow and fuss. He didn’t drift far at first, and she watched with a thoughtfully tilted cranium as he seemed to survey the area around them for something- or someone. "There is a way to get out of the weather over there." He stated blandly, and because it was the greatest amount of anything uttered by him since their meeting she bounced forward to press her fluttering nostrils against where she presumed his shoulder would be. At the same time, he signalled towards a tree not far from them and continued with his rather sick, stomach-turning voice- "and if you wish to keep the conversation favouring you speaking more, myself speaking less, I shall accept a small conversation with a walk." “Oh yay!” She beamed, dancing briskly ahead of him in the direction of his preferred shelter, and calling over her shoulder cheerfully through the grim rain, “so what’s your name?”
Although he was a little unorthodox in his sinister, unsociable way, Africa quite like his uniqueness- it was interesting, and her fascination was rather like that of a intrigued little girl, following the shady stranger down the road.
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Art by Nevada
Table by Neo!
Feeling the touch of another seemed such a different feeling to him, as nothing ever cared to attempt to touch the stallion. No one had yet to gain the nerves yet, and as he felt her touch his shoulder, it halted him. It was the fact that she had touched him openly that startled him, there wasn't much to touch with him. His green eyes turned to look at the mare, seeing her so close to him. "Don't touch. The feeling is unwelcome here." The manner of his words were cruel and heartless, and as the white figure came to stand beside him, he could see laughter in it's shape. He snorted, shook his head, and walked towards the tree. It wouldn't take long to get there, maybe about five minutes if the weather had yet to turn the entire ground to mud. Chances were higher that it had, and the thought of moving through mud seemed easier than moving through the water.
Hearing her yell in happiness -is that what you call it?-, he chuckles. She can be cute sometimes, he'll let the idea of her innocence being somewhat welcome slowly knock through his brick wall of disease. A question for his name is presented to him, and he reminds himself just to tell her it simply so that he won't have to explain much more here. "Shajake." His name is fairly simple enough as she might remember it easier than you could others. And as if to ask for her own name, he turns his head to look at her and gives a questioning look to her to see if she would present her own. He lacks the patience to sit back and chatter, and takes a stride towards the tree. The first step is welcomed by mud and wet grass that scatchs at his black stocked legs. He ignores, and only listens for more words and the sound of the winged mare's hoofbeats behind him. Hopefully she'd catch up with him.
The disease seems annoyied enough with the fact that he is making friends with this little thing, and as he takes his time to move towards shelter, the white one appears next to him. 'Oh, so you think she is something worth time? There is nothing more to her than just a pair of wings, an happy personality, and something there isn't to define.' He ignores as the black figure screams ever more at him, complaining of him smelling the roses non-stop and that there is better things to do ahead. Each voice is given different reactions throughout his head. Silently, he wished the little mare knew that he wasn't like the others, and that simply at any given moment he could around to attack her. It wouldn't bother him much, nah, she isn't that important. Would her herd even notice her absence if something was to happen to her? A doubt ran through his head at the idea. No one ever truly cares for each other unless you have a motive.
With this one here, he lacks a motive to keep her around. Unless he wished to kill her like the disease pleaded with him to do. It questions him, asking why he listened to a mare he barely knew and not something he was stuck with for the rest of his life. It reminds him of how it came across him as a colt, back then being only a handsome black colt with a strange blaze that tore black off his face to be replaced with white and slipped down and around his right nostril. And yet then he seemed more favourable because he would laugh with normality and speak without a voice that seemed ripped straight from some demon he must of found lying about. He turns his sight towards her and wonders if she is still there, and how she puts up with the strangeness of him. Yet, he is to forget the world works it's puppets in a strange way here, and somehow the main goal is to make the puppets seem more life-like than they truly are.
"talk talk talk"
“BUT THE TRUTH IS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD; ITS A DANGEROUS THING." - MICHAEL SCOTT .
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Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
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Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
Africa
Africa was an expressive, emotional soul, and touch and intimacy were two powerful characteristics which flowed true through her gentle nature. To her, it was a means to communicate, a way to tell someone how she felt about them or about her environment. When the stallion startled at her kind touch, she was caught off guard too, and more still when his cutting, merciless drone pushed her compassionate advance away. "Don't touch. The feeling is unwelcome here." Young and sensitive, she was a little hurt, though boldly she masked her disappointment and continued as normal allowing a polite arms length between them as he (inadvertently or not) requested, dropping behind to trail his set path.
Trying to extract any sort of emotion or sentiment from him was difficult, and though she was enduring and exceedingly persistent in all respects, melancholy was stirring in the pits of her effervescent soul. He finally offered his name to her, "Shajake," and the lively swing of her long legs staggered for a brief moment. The name was familiar, and as she traced back to the initiation of their accidental meeting, she remembered that he had stuttered something rather along those lines before insisting that he was no villain. Unfazed, Africa smiled and stepped forward through the sodden turf and churned mud again, careful to stay well clear of his swishing tail and burly rocking hindquarters.
“I am Africa.” She responded quickly and easily, the lightness of her feminine voice never once betraying the upset in her young, impressionable heart. Then she added out of habit- “From Dragon’s Throat.” A storm of curious questions surged through her mind, yet as she absentmindedly watched the point of his hock flex beneath his transferring weight, a hefty silence formed between them- it lingered for a good part of their journey to Shajake’s tree; an old twisted oak with no leaves, only thick branches to offer them respite from the rain.
“Have you got a home?” Africa asked finally once they had gathered themselves in relative comfort upon reaching their final destination. It was a well rehearsed question, one that she used often when drifting between weary wanderers in the Threshold. But on this occasion she wasn’t exactly extending the invitation. She had not yet come across one who had not ventured out from the thick of herd-life; everyone seemed to belong to somewhere. She knew that there were some who preferred to live a solitary life in ‘the wilds’, not that such appealed to her in the slightest, and wondered often during her play when she would happen upon one of them. Quite honestly, she thought Shajake fitted the mold of an outcast perfectly- quite without judgement of course. He just seemed... different.
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Art by Nevada
Table by Neo!
'Shajake.' Hmm???? 'Stop.' Why is that? 'Take a look.' He stops like the white figure's voice within his head has asking. Gaze turns to the little mare, and he can detect the hurt he has inflicted upon her. Are mares always this fragile? 'I believe they are. Esfaere wasn't like this, was she?' Well, that's something I don't remember too well. "Don't mean to offend. The last to touch this body was someone who brought hurtful memories. It was not to offend you." Why is he so suddenly polite to this little thing when only minutes ago he was hunting and plotting out ideas to kill her. He brushes it away with the idea that maybe it is the fact that he has lacked company so long that her naive ways seem comfortable to him. Sighing, the idea brushes away before he remembers something. In their rush to get out of the rain, she had left her prisoner, and in some awkward way it seemed that it might as well bring it back. She was so intent on taking it home......
His change of direction is fast enough to make him slip and fall in the mud and splatter the winged mare in mud, but as he slides about in the mud and freezing rain, he returns to the stream, and spots the flower relatively quickly. It is still being held prisoner by the rock, being crushed down by the weight of it. With a motion of his nose, brought down closer to the ground, he moves the rock off of the flower, and picks it up in his teeth. The thought of him looking like an idiot came across his mind anyone who knew him came across him. Yet who was to know him? He mainly kept to himself, and this much social interaction seemed alien to him. Though he held the flower in his teeth, rain pelting down upon him in endless waves, he can only return to the winged mare with it in his mouth.
Returning to her side, he carries it still within his mouth as she speaks of her name. 'Africa? Is that her name? You would of thought of something more unique.....' Shut up. 'Whatever.' He can catch the snippets of her hurt within her voice, and as if to break his own laugh, goes to bump her on the winged shoulder with his head to attempt to cheer her up. He said he was sorry, didn't he? Wasn't that enough, or were mares always this way?
As silence falls between them like a thick veil, he quickens his pace towards the dead Oak tree ahead. The destination grows nearer and nearer with each step, he catches her steady voice ask if he has a home. He lacks a home - herd life is not something he ever thought of himself to be involved in, and intents to stay away from the interference of the herds. Their fueds are pointless to him - yet though he is asked now, he reminds himself he tends to reside within the Deep Forest where there is less company there. Best to give her some type of answer.
"Well.... if you think of the Deep Forest as a home, you could say that. I tend to reside there." His voice is still residing there. It's dark and demonic tone will never break free from him, and he will never be granted a normal voice like the others. But how is it to bother him? Again, this much conversation is rare and uncalled for with him.
Stepping under the branches of the tree's, the rain almost aburptly stopped except for the occasional drops that leaked in through the entanglement of branches above. Orangemoon's stroke of death left no place untouched, and this tree would make no exceptions. Come along in Birdsong and it would be filling with life. Why they didn't die off with the seasons and then revive he could never understand. Coming towards the thicker center of the tree, the trunk of the proud tree at least three feet in diameter, he let the prisoner he'd carried within his teeth down before finding another rock -this time smaller and light, so not to crush it- to jail it with. His attention went to Africa only for a slight second before a sigh parted his lips and he felt himself wishing to lie down. The weather was actually taking it's toll upon him, and as he could feel his mind slip, a bombshell went off within his brain that made him jump. He was being yelled at for not following orders that the disease had wanted to him to follow. Yet if he was not to rebel, what more was he facing. The white figure held no meaning except for annoying conversations within his head sometimes, and if he found a way to ignore it, might he have some shred of normality? Normal is not normal, and he wasn't the right puzzle piece to fight the hole to make things normal. He happened to exist at the one piece in the puzzle box that didn't belong anywhere even when the puzzle is finished. He simply existed in that opposite world.
"talk talk talk"
“BUT THE TRUTH IS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD; ITS A DANGEROUS THING." - MICHAEL SCOTT .
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Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
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Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
Africa
"Don't mean to offend. The last to touch this body was someone who brought hurtful memories. It was not to offend you." She did not react immediately when his manner which had been quite undeservedly cruel and unpleasant, softened unexpectedly. Her expression quickly revealed her surprise though, even while his profound voice did not dissipate quickly beneath the drumming rain. Africa had long been convinced that Shajake was socially inept, and perhaps incapable of chivalry and heart. Bewildered, her honey eyes watched as he swung away from her equally as suddenly, slipping awkwardly in the mud as he tried to manoeuvre himself to face the path they had already covered. Not because he had suddenly shown some new face of his soul, the young horse hesitated between reaching to check that he was alright and shrinking back in fear of what might come next. She was torn and quite confused.
He found his feet without her, and a meek sigh slipped through her nervously parting lips as he powered away from her through the slush. Left standing there alone and disjointed, Africa felt the cold creep in close around her and she shivered apprehensively. Her pale grey brow furrowed as her glazed stare followed his retreat, and narrowed with interest when he slid to a stop by the stream where they had been previously loitering. Oddly, he nosed around the ground briefly and turned hurriedly to return to her- amazingly with her prisoner locked carefully between his chastising jaws. She gasped with astonishment, and quickly remembered to smile graciously, staggered by his drastic change of heart. Africa was touched to say the least- it would certainly save an enormous amount of scouting later on. To her, he looked gallant; not for one second like an idiot.
Shajake turned and led them to the tree.
In turn the murky dappled stallion answered her probing about his home, "Well.... if you think of the Deep Forest as a home, you could say that. I tend to reside there." Africa giggled softly, she knew the forest well. In fact, on many occasions through the last week she had trekked well into its depth to dig for fern roots, and the mushrooms which thrived exclusively beneath the thick decaying carpet of leaf and forest litter there. She nodded briskly, not entirely sure of his emotional stability- it seemed queer to her that one could faze through such a variety of stark personas in barely an hour. Compassionately though, her eyes sought the aloof green shimmer of his, searching for reason; trying to understand. His voice was perhaps the only aspect of him which remained unchanged- whether that was by truth or fiction, she could not yet tell.
Sidling up to the old wood trunk, Shajake lowered his head to fiddle between the tall knots of exposed tree root. Africa watched curiously as he placed the flower- her captive, with remarkable tenderness and covered it with a small rock. She wanted to caress him, to indulge her gratitude upon him but did not. She respected his request for room, and fluttered her nostrils happily instead.
“Are you ok?” She asked quietly, preserving his personal space considerately, but not enough to avoid her noticing the heavy sigh wrack through his dark frame. Tentatively, she swayed across her long legs, trying to grasp any sense of illness or harm that might have slipped her notice before now.
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Art by Nevada
Table by Neo!
Pain swept out of him just as fast as it came. The headache lingered, believing it to be a side effect of some issue from foalhood coming about post-traumic stress disorder, or just the weather thrashing a sickness upon him. A voice came through his head and asked the simplest of questions, "Are you okay?" Though try as he could, he noticed the voice came from Africa and simply nodded. Speaking now seemed inrelevant. It took energy he didn't wish to waste at the moment. A sigh slips between his lips before looking down to the flower.
The sight of it reminds him that the mare's mental grasp seems to be a bit too far off for reality to touch it, or either she has an over-active imagination. Whoever lead the 'Dragon's Throat' she said she lived at might be caring enough not to laugh at her if she was to bring the flower back. Regret comes through him as he thinks it might of been better to have left it out in the rain. His sight goes to the world that isn't underneath the tree's dead branches. It is in constant assualt by rain drops that fall from the sky, and the air was harsh with a frozen bite to it. Under the Oak's umbrella, the ground was twisted up with dead leaves and roots that broke from the ground. Mud formed in some places where the rain was able to break through enough.
She stands alone, away from him, and he can feel thankfulness that she respected the fact he didn't want anyone in his 'bubble'.
Rogue thunder breaks through the sky and releases a loud boom as it finishes. His head is hung low, black mane and forelock heavy with water. Water drips out of it in slow, easy-going drops. 'Oh, I'm in no rush here. Just keep doing what you're doing.' It was seems to stay as it falls from him. Cold is not issue as the tree's shade can lock in some bits of heat. He lefts his attention drift to Africa, and again see's the reasons why he wished to kill her. She was innocent, didn't show much fear towards him yet if she knew what he was, she might, and didn't have a firm grip on all of reality. Exactly the type that never see's death coming towards them.
He smirks at the thought of it. Death of anything could bring warmth to him. Inside a voice seems to linger inbetween the gears and broken parts that attempt to move constantly. Few hold a clank here and there, other move effortless as if they have been oiled everyday. The rest are shrouded with cobwebs. The voice is quiet, lingers and moves like a phantom in the darkness before it can touch the brain of the dappled stallion and get a mental response from him. 'Ah, what makes her innocent? Exploit her weaknesses in every way you might find possible.
Again, all this can bring to his face is a smirk and chuckle that he keeps to himself. Looking over her over, he looks for anything might show a sign of her weakness. When he see's her wings, he can point out the fact that she is a missing a feather or two in places. Having only met two other pegasus (and never paying much attention loss might I add), he went with the idea that they all lost a feather or two here and there. Somehow he can feel her eyes upon him every now and then. He is fully aware she wouldn't be in the mind to examinate him like he was doing her. And did she care? Well, he could care less over that issue.
To keep her from wondering what he was doing, he looks her dead in the eyes and gives a look of silence through his green eyes. It is only there to keep her busy, and if he can pull her puppet strings enough now, there is a chance he can work things to his own favouring side.
"talk talk talk"
OOC: Its so cute how innocence she is like how she doesn't notice much that he is out for something.
Also, I took the feathers missing things from it saying on her profile she plucks a feather here and there when she gets stressed.
“BUT THE TRUTH IS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD; ITS A DANGEROUS THING." - MICHAEL SCOTT .
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Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
| Deceased |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE |
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Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc
Riven |
Africa
So, she thought silently as his dark, grave expression seemed to shift beyond his control between ravaging moods, who am I dealing with now? Africa cocked her head discretely, peering thoughtfully despite the lack of understanding which was blooming so innocently behind those pale, hazel eyes. Shajake nodded in soundless response, apparently and despite the sudden, short-lived manifestation of his throaty, unpractised voice. When he sighed, she wondered what manner of memories motivated such a wistful, reluctant motion. Without judgement, and tempted curiously to persist by the brief display of his evading emotion, the young Pegasus rocked back upon her haunches to wait for the fog in his mind to settle- patiently.
He looked to her at last when rumbling thunder dulled its grim chorus above their heads, and she smiled encouragingly, subconsciously trying the crack through that stubborn, menacing shell he concealed himself so snugly beneath. It was true that she held little concept for the wrath he could so easily instil upon her foolishly unrelenting existence. She was entirely oblivious as she perhaps obnoxiously disregarded all the tell tale signs of looming aggression, those which he offered generously- time and time again. Africa was keen to carve his shady being into the shape of a friend, and blindly she pursued him, poking at the coiling snake, antagonising him with her stupidity.
She was plainly aware by now of the teetering nature of his personality- she had seen three perhaps now (not that she was really counting), and though his strangeness did trouble her from a playful, childlike perspective, ignorantly the warning was ignored. She watched in humble silence as frequent smirks graced his lips, and she was disappointed when he did not share the object of his entertainment. Never the less, Africa let her own lips dance in accordance to his, enjoying what she imagined carelessly was some perverted form ordinary mirth.
Then, his uncomforting green eyes darted to lock with her blissfully uninformed gaze, and she grinned at length, shifting awkwardly on the spot because his sudden focus took her quite by surprise. “What is it?” She asked quietly, turning her face to watch with only one eye in case that might make him seem less intense.
Ooc: I would say he could rough her up, but it couldn’t be anything drastic to ruin her future (current now) captivity in the Basin. If you were so inclined, he is more than welcome to scare her or something hahaha. They can always meet again when she is freed, to continue their ... ‘bonding’ hahaha. Or I’m happy to stay in this thread with them, of course.
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Art by Nevada
Table by Neo!
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[O] It's Raining, It's Pouring [Shajake]
