the Rift


The Heart of This [Phaedra]

Birch Posts: 37
Windtossed Foothills Warrior
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 84 Months
Adoptable
#1



The wind grows colder in every corner of the land but this central home, the heart. The massive Arborun stands gratefully at its edge, drinking greedily of the fire's heat and letting it soak through his thin, perpetual summer coat. He has felt so tired lately, but at the same time bizarrely alive. He does not want to die, he notes with curiosity and a tilted head as embers from the flame below jump up to feed greedily upon his flesh. He balks and shuffles backwards, but the promise of heat keeps him close.

It becomes harder and harder to spend nights at home in the Foothills. There the shadows stretch endlessly and the water freezes to the touch. Though the winds may be cold even here, the fires of the land are a kindness that the foreign beast is afforded nowhere else. He watches the fire now, letting the lights catch in his eyes and put a false fire in his soul. He looks so alive; he looks almost happy, but looks are rarely what they seem.

Birch hasn't been happy for years.

He turns away and huffs quietly, looking out instead to the dark and cold expanses of night. It is strange what his life here has become; he is unsure as to how he became a member of the grey, of anything at all. Never a leader, never a follower, but always alone- he finds himself now in a position to abandon what little he knows for that which he still must learn. And sharp as he is, he learns slowly. He fails time after time, only to bring himself further into misery. His pride hurt by Archibald's force, his freedom given to Ophelia and Osiris, his name tarnished by his performance in the invasion, his patience marred by Addison's uncontrollable attitude- Helovia has been unkind to him.

He wonders why he stays. He wonders if it is those rare sets of moments that brought him pleasure here. The gift of his magic from a god and the cold winter spent seeking it, or meeting that mare here, by the heart- are those things enough? He remembers now the figures of the two Avikun, as he has taken to calling her kind, falling down to meet him by the heart. The encounter had been brief but memorable. He still wonders about her, some days- the one that he calls the Owless. The darker mare had seemed uninteresting and boorish, but the Owless had intrigued him. He had not stood for her flirtation then, but has thought upon what it may have meant in the seasons since. Not so much what it means for him, but what it really says about her.

But he shakes the thought away. She may be a member of the Grey as well, but until he musters up the courage to face a social situation as daunting as a herd meeting from anywhere but afar, he will likely never get he chance to see her and finish what they started in the heart. A member of the Grey he may be, but a socialite he is not.

He realizes with a sudden sinking feeling that it is very easy to be alone when surrounded by others.



[[ PC: 1/X || WC: 543 || MU: 0/2 || AS: No attacks made || R: Judged IC Teaching spar/rp. No magic or companion restrictions, and please no two week default. Post count undetermined, as the two will stop to interact normally throughout the fight. Takes place in the Helovia's Heart in the clear and starlit evening, with a strong cold wind blowing a ways off from the edge. || N: Thanks for doing this for me, Aud <3]]

birch</style>
& his misery</style>


Phaedra the Opulent Posts: 343
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.3 :: 6 Buff: NOVICE
Stella :: Secretary Bird :: None Aud
#2
[Image: 50bfc82451215]

PHAEDRA



Let me explain something to you first - perhaps it will make what happens next a little more clear. Whence first Phae came to Helovia, her timidity was obvious. She was young, and she was frightened - her only trait that was more apparent than her fear, was her vanity. The stallions of her previous herd wasted little time in recognizing her natural beauty; her subtle but alluringly sooty coat and the odd pattern of spots which haphazardly freckled her shoulders and the corners of her eyes. Her sparkle was in her simplicity, for unlike many Helovian's, Phaedra had no mystical markings or unusual colours. She looked like a gypsy - beautiful and untamed, and therein was the crux of her power over men. She allowed them to believe they had tamed her. She used them, in much the same way they used her. In the beginning, it was for protection: she would use her natural charms and abilities to her advantage, and allow powerful stallions to covet her like some shiny bauble - hidden away and for their eyes only. Occasionally, it wasn't just their eyes that took her in, but that was fine - she told herself it was she who was dominating them, just as much as they were dominating her.

In the beginning, it was merely for protection...but then something else began to blossom. Quickly, the timid self conscious mare began to enjoy the attention, and to feel validated by it. Why, she wasn't shallow and vain...no! she was beautiful and desired! And so, her hatred of females too blossomed, as the attention from the males around her began to swell. And so you see, Phaedra never really grew out of her fear, she only learned how to mask it, by finding self validation in the wandering eyes and lusty calls of men. But look at her now - she is not the shy girl who first came here; nay, nay! She is Phaedra of the Grey. Phaedra the spy, who needs no protection and yet....yet still she seeks the company of men. Still she tries to allure them - she even risked her pregnancy under the curse of the moon-bitch for powerful siren magic. She has a home, and a family, and yet she is not fulfilled. Only the thrill of her seductive games temporarily leave her feeling satisfied.

And so you see, she has learned how to be beautiful, but she has not learned that it doesn't matter.



The last time Phaedra had ventured to the Heart, she had encountered a rather odd sort of unicorn, who had been the first victim of her magic. Victim? She thought with a small snort, rolling her eyes. Victim? Hardly. Her magic enraptured those it touched, transforming and enhancing their surroundings and distorting their reality until the golden-girl utterly consumed their focus - doesn't that sound delightful?! High above, a wave of telepathic energy hit Phae's mind, knocking the thoughts of Sin clearly out of her mind. Stella, who was high above, coasting on thermals, was suddenly projecting multiple images of what appeared to be a lumbering...tree?

"Willow?" She murmured under her breath, as her svelte body began to move at a faster pace, towards the supposed-Lignea that Stella had identified. As the creature of Stella's insistent mental-barrage comes into view, Phaedra finds herself instantly intrigued. You! She thinks, identifying not Willow, but one similar. Does she know his name? She can't remember - and of course, it wouldn't do to ask. Hesitation does not give her pause, even as her pace slows. She tosses her head; simultaneously causing her forelock to falling in a cascade of ripples down her slender pink muzzle, but also to give the impression that she had only just noticed him. "You!" She called, aloud this time, her voice wonderfully practiced to sound both flirtatious and coy at the same time.

Flashes of their meeting prior flooded her mind - her instant attraction to his...his bulk; his foreignness. He was natural like her, yet...yet so different. The first time, she had found him alluring and yet even now, she couldn't quite remember why...But as we all know, feelings need no memory, or rational discourse to carry on, and incite a certain spreading warmth. Striding forward lightly, Phaedra spread her wings slightly, allowing the carpal joints to rise above her shoulders, and extending her primary feathers forward, as if trying to capture the heat. She paid little attention as she moved to be even with his shoulder, an intimate 3 feet away, focused solely on the fire, as if that was her real reason for coming here in the first place.

Slowly, so as not to attract too much attention to what she was doing. Phae arched her neck ever so slightly - making it look as though the movement was merely to pull her nose away from the heat of the Heart. In all actuality of course, it was to accentuate her fine Arabian curves. With the same feigned motives, her hooves distanced themselves from another other, as she continued to make subtle arrangements to emphasize her lean and attractive confirmation.

As she is making these adjustments, she is constantly wondering what he is thinking; but more specifically, what he is wanting. In her tenure as a seductress, she has learned the types that many stallions prefer, and has become adept at picking up their signals and subtle indications but....but with you, she thought, casting a cursory glance his way, and allowing for a brief moment, her hungry eyes to fall upon his bark as it gently melded into flesh. You, are a goddamn tree, sugar.


Join the waves in the ocean?
Or let my soul fade away, in the dark?
Cause I've gone astray,
& all my flowers turned to dandelions.

 HP: 45.5

Birch Posts: 37
Windtossed Foothills Warrior
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 84 Months
Adoptable
#3



He hates himself for relying so heavily upon the heat. He, who had survived a winter almost entirely alone in the Frostbreath steppe, huddled now for warmth in the high season of Orangemoon. What has he lost along with his confidence, he wonders? He curses himself each day for letting himself fall in the invasion, but is this pitiful existence, spent drinking the warmth of that which he despises the most, one of further shame? With an angry snort he lets his thick tail lash angrily against his hocks, and begins slowly to turn away from the heart. He stops himself from instinctively summoning a storm with the faint, musical purr that allows him to focus, remembering at the last second how his faulty magic's ash had burned him at the threshold. Still, Addison's words had held more bite than the fiery flecks. He feels foolish for letting her affect him so.

Is he not stronger than this? How is it that he has been reduced to self-pity, to garnering for false friends and wallowing in his own emotional upset? He remembers now how he had lashed out at his herdmate in Tallsun. He knows now that she had likely not deserved it, that his response had been one borne out of insult and shame. Still, it had happened; still, he dwells on it.

His body at last completes its rotation, and he is shocked to see the very Owless who had only moments prior occupied his mind. Her greeting is blunt, his is silent. His lips slightly parted by surprise, he lets words for her slip softly from between them in a whisper: "Well if it isn't the Owless herself." He does not think to note whether or not it might be heard; he very infrequently thinks before he speaks.

His eyes rove unabashedly across the picture of the Avikun before him, and he pulls his neck back, lifting himself so that he might puff out his chest and assert his powerful build. She too, he notes, seems to be preening. He wonders what she is thinking; why she spreads her wings so, why she parts her legs and tucked her delicate nose to her chest. Is she hoping to show him her impressively unique features, is she trying to catch his eye?

No, he thinks. Surely she is just angling away from the heat of the heart that strikes his back so relentlessly. It is all of his own accord that he notes her appearance now, all of his own understanding that she might be, somehow, beckoning him closer.

Still, like a snake entranced, he slides forward. The distance between them grows shorter each moment, until he stands directly before her, looking down at her slender, petite figure from his high, muscled throne. His own features, softened slightly by his mother's blood and breeding, are marked by intrigue and fascination. Once more, she has piqued his curiosity. "You," he echoes, his low tone complementing her sultry ones. His ever uncharacteristic breath, smelling of honey and a winter meadow, spreads towards her as he exhales deeply. He seems almost breathless; perhaps that is the true magic of the Avikun kind, then. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you came here looking for trouble," he comments with a slanted smirk and a haughty snort.

He has spoken without thinking once more; he curses himself silently. "Looking for trouble?" What the hell does that mean? Is he the trouble? Maybe, he knows he has never been a good influence on anyone throughout his life. Perhaps the comment had been one born of conceit. Had he not been thinking of her, in some strange way missing her, only moments before? Does he not think, now, that this chance encounter in some way echoes their first meeting?

He does not believe in coincidences, he never has. It would be foolish to think that mere chance brought them together this evening, in the same place where they had first met. Fate is fate, controlled by forces beyond his control. Just as death's cards are spread by fate's hand, perhaps, too, is this meeting. He thinks back to what he has so foolishly said, and wonders why he has said it.

Is it meant to betray that which he desires? He does not know better, it seems strange that he would question any choice of hers given how little he knows. Besides, she seems exactly the sort to seek out trouble. Perhaps it is a questioning of himself, then. A questioning of what he truly knows or wants.



[[ PC: 2/X || WC: 764 || MU: 0/2 || AS: No attacks made || N: Sorry about the wait. ]]

birch</style>
& his misery</style>


Phaedra the Opulent Posts: 343
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.3 :: 6 Buff: NOVICE
Stella :: Secretary Bird :: None Aud
#4
[Image: 50bfc82451215]

PHAEDRA



She can feel his gaze upon her, as she pretends that her focus is upon the Heart. It is like a weight - his gaze - that softly touches her skin, caressing her sooty hide. A pleasurable shiver runs down her spine at this imaginary touch - or is it her want of his touch which is stimulating her so? Her mind wanders, wondering if his touch would be rough like the bark protruding from his wither, and finds herself hoping that it would be. Tolio and Apollo had both been so gentle in their encounters with her...Tolio possibly more insistent during the conception of their daughters, but even so, her cinnamon stallion's slender frame couldn't compare to the enormity and scalable appeal of the steely lignea. Don't let it surprise you, that her mind is already wandering into the deep end; for don't forget the golden-spy had to endure a curse at the hands of the moon-bitch. She is eager to pick up where they had left off.

Her breath draws into her chest as he moves to stand before her, and yet her sultry gaze reveals little of the quiver which is suddenly alight in her breast. Raising her slender muzzle up slightly, she stands undaunted before his impressive bulk. A smile spreads across her lips as he addresses her as, you; missing his earlier remark, calling her the Owless. Pity he spoke so softly - she would have enjoyed that nickname. "Of course it's me, sugar. Who else?" She replied, her voice confident and flirtatious. As she draws his scent in, she is mildly surprised at how pleasant it is. For some reason, she thought he would smell like the Woods - rustic and dusty. Instead, she finds herself inhaling a scent mildly reminiscent of her childhood.

Drawing her wings up from the ground, and spreading them to their full height and weight, Phae tossed her head back, causing a cascade of creamy curls to fall down around her shoulders, exposing her slender and lean chest. Her gaze sparkled with a dangerous allure as he spoke; sneering and taunting her as he towered above her. "Oh?" She quipped, looking bemusedly curious. "Trouble? Is that what you are?" She purred, playfully instigating. As he had already bridged the gap between them, Phae took the opportunity to close it. Slinking to his right side, she extended a wing-tip, meaning to trace it along his right shoulder - her eyes greedily following the lines of his muscle, up to his wither where flesh began to mold into bark. A soft sigh escaped her lips, as her feathers fluttered gently due to the warmth of the thermals pressing up against them. Nearly shoulder to shoulder, although Phae stood much smaller, she curved her svelte neck around so that her gaze could once again meet his. Shrugging, she turned away with an unimpressed hmmph sound, her hips swaying as she oh-so casually and strategically placed hear golden-rear in his line of sight, as she moved a few paces away.

"Sugar, you wouldn't even be able to catch me." She quipped, suddenly leaning back onto her hindend, and launching herself into the air. It was only due to her lean figure that she was able to achieve lift without any momentum, and even so it took her a few wing beats to fully pull up into the air. Circling higher, a beautiful silvery laugh escaped her lips, falling down to the heart like rain. Once she had completed a full loop, she dove back down towards Birch, her oddly-patterned wings hugging her sooty sides tightly to increase her speed. Just as momentum was about to carry her straight into the ground, her wings opened forcefully, reducing her speed and incline, and allowing her to lightly land at his side. Her cheeks were coloured a pretty dusty-rose from the adrenaline and sudden surge of oxygen, and yet behind that tantalizing smile, was an edginess; a wanting. "And then there's the question.." She began, her melodic voice still rather breathless from her flight. Moving closer, now pressing her left shoulder against his right as she leaned up as high as she could, to where his ear would be - "..Of just what you would do if you did manage to catch me?" With another silvery laugh, she lowered her muzzle only slightly - for he was quite tall - and tried to nip at his muscular chest. With an instigating chuckle, she danced away, dropping her right shoulder and pivoting in a right circle. Her steps were light and airy, partially due to the fact that her wings were still outspread, and aided in the weightless way in which she moved away from him; daring him to follow.

[WC: 796
Attack: 1/?
MC: 0/2]

Join the waves in the ocean?
Or let my soul fade away, in the dark?
Cause I've gone astray,
& all my flowers turned to dandelions.

 HP: 45.5

Birch Posts: 37
Windtossed Foothills Warrior
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 84 Months
Adoptable
#5



The Arborun watches almost helpless as she bends and twists about him. She is a dancer, he the foolish pawn following blindly in her shadow. But he does not wish to show the weakness—does not wish to show the aching desire at the sway of her hips and the tilt of her wings. He assures himself he will be strong and confident, assures himself that he will stay standing tall. He tries to stop the heavy pounding of his heart as she tosses away her mane to expose a slender, delicate neck. How he burns to leave nothing but the heat of her body and his passion between them; to touch his chest to hers and to trace the graceful line of her avian, feminine features with his own rough lips. She speaks of herself with a confidence that he cannot even fool himself into thinking he has to match. Still, he will try to fool her.

The touch of her wing to his shoulder sends a shiver across the surface of his rough, thin coat. The white hairs along his side quiver with the sensation of her delicate touch, but warm as the thermals that stir her feathers wash against his bulk. So she thinks he is trouble, then. Maybe he is.

He watches in silence as her body curves to complete the hollows in his own, bewildered by her skill. Yes, her seduction is an art. It occurs to him, faintly, that he is likely not the first to fall under this spell. It dawns upon him that this treatment is not special to her. She must get this often—she must understand the effect she has on others, and must use it to her advantage at term.

So he is being played, then. He understands that her interest in him could not be anything deeper, certainly not anything as common as love. He wonders for a moment if this is to bother him, or break his heart somewhere along the line. Eventually, Birch foolishly denies the possibility that it might. He's not a hopeless romantic or optimistic fool; he'll settle for temporary pleasures if they're all that he'll get.

She moves away, taunting him with the gentle curve of her golden back and the powerful angling of her wings to take flight. She has taken him by surprise, wrapping him into a false sense of comfort with the hue of her tones and the lust behind her words. She flies, taking away his breath, rendering him weak. The natural beauty of the avikun in flight is unparalleled; the birch-stud feels inadequately equipped to stand tall in her presence.

When she lands once more and closes the distance between them, he is stunned. His body barely tenses to prepare for her playful bite that catches him by surprise. Though he stiffens and pulls away instinctively, feeling suddenly unworthy of her touch, he still feels the scrape of her teeth harmlessly grazing his chest. He watches only for a moment as she parts and turns; he quickly pushes his shocked figure into a loping trot after her. He leans to the left, angling the powerful base of his tree to playfully knock her wing. He approaches her from the front and right, finding himself almost distracted by the glitter of her gaze as he hopes to catch it with his own, colder one. He does not stop at her side, does not aim to flaunt his body in the same manner as she. As he moves on, running past her and curling around to circle widely behind her, he understands the game that she has begun. So if it is her job to run, then is he the one to catch her?

But she is right. He knows, that if she wishes, she can always stay just out of his reach. He is powerful but slow; the thick blood of the percheron that runs through his veins and builds his muscle will never match her arabian speed or grace. He huffs with slight effort as the dry grasses crumble beneath the grind of his powerful hooves and as his metal boot traces spiked lines in the dry, ashen earth by the heart.

He slows to a halt, his thick tail whipping out to tap her right side as he approaches, and leans close to her as she had done to him. While she flaunts her beauty, he displays his strength. His own head leans closer, so that he might playfully nip her neck as she had tried to bite his chest, and his low voice lets out a reply. "I'd think that's better left to your imagination, Owless," he says aloud, letting his name for her slip without realizing. Birch will never remember to think before he speaks.

[[ PC: 3/X || WC: 798 || MU: 0/2 || AS: Phaedra's teeth graze his chest but do not catch the skin. He pivots to follow her and trots towards her right side from the front. He angles to his left, aiming to knock her wing with the rough base of his tree. Makes a wide circle behind her and ends up with his left shoulder directly beside her right. Leans his neck forward, hoping to nip her neck at the base of the skull. || N: <3 ]]

birch</style>
& his misery</style>


Phaedra the Opulent Posts: 343
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.3 :: 6 Buff: NOVICE
Stella :: Secretary Bird :: None Aud
#6
[Image: 50bfc82451215]

PHAEDRA


She can feel excitement catch in her throat, as if her emotions have suddenly become some tangible thing, come to strangle her for her foolishness. What was she thinking? She was a spy after all, not some warrior-princess! And he, was a goddamnedtree. Nevertheless, every fiber of her being yearned for him to give chase; to play rough. To catch her, and drag her down into the ash and grass and do what he would. Although her actions were not so different from before she had come to Helovia - for stallions with the strength and ability to protect her, such as Birch were precisely those she sought - the difference now, was that she no longer needed them. And in the space that the need for protection had left, a wanting bloomed.

And right now she wanted to be caught; but not that easily.

As she moved across the dry ground, she felt a peculiar sensation that reminded her of feeling trapped in the Woods, the first time she had met Ktulu and Eytan; that feeling was of a tree against her right wing. Panic started to rise up into her throat, before her mind was able to calm this immediate emotional response. Look where you are! She reminded herself. Gods, fighting a tree was weird. Instinctively her right wing pulled into her body. The thin flight bone which had been struck, almost felt as though it had been whipped with sandpaper, causing Phae to grate her teeth against the sensation.

The sooty spy's gate slowed to a prancy-trot, as Birch moves towards her. Suddenly the enormity of the situation, both metaphorical and literal, hits her. If he continues on, he could crush her easily. It is only now, as time slows and her sea-green gaze is able to fully take in his form, that she notices the silvery-white spiked shoe he brandishes with each step. Her mind reels, suddenly recanting every desire for him to be rough; that was too rough. Adrenaline surged through her, as her airy trot came to a halt, and her wings snapped up into the air against her sides, just in time for his bulk to pass by her. He is close enough - or perhaps it is simply that her body has a heightened sense of awareness now - that she can feel a noticeable withdrawal of heat as he passes. Her breath, which she hadn't realized she had been holding, is suddenly exhaled in a gasp, as she realizes that she hasn't been hurt, and that he is merely passing by.

A smile gradually spreads across her pink lips, as a relieved laugh echoes from her throat. Turning her head slightly to the right, just in time to see him circle around and halt on her right, she winks teasingly. Her sooty flank, dimmed to a deep sandy colour in the moonlight, twitches as his tail streaks out to slap against it. The feeling is more pleasurable than painful, and her gaze narrows with an aggressive passion as he leans closer. Although her body is still reasonably tense, given the reminder only moments ago of just what a threat he could pose, she remains aloof, with a look of is that all?

As his teeth graze her skin, exciting and igniting her senses as the small amount of pain ebbs away, his words once again recall a memory of her youth, as his breath and scent waft towards her. Owless, she thinks for a moment, closing her eyes and allowing herself to be lost in the closeness of their bodies and of the raw power that this odd creature holds, I like that.... Her eyes snap open, unwilling to afford him the luxury of thinking that he has earned the right to stay so near to her, on his own accord. Half rearing, she aims to press the right side of her body up and against him as she raises, once again trying to place her muzzle near his ear. "Oh sugar. You just said the magic words" Again, that beautiful laugh.

As her dainty hooves touch down upon the ground, she once again leaps forwards, almost underneath his chin, as she launches herself into the air. She has positioned herself thus, so that she might simultaneously attempt to snap her sandy tail across his nose in payback, but also to force her oh-so feminine scent, to waft directly towards him. She does not fly far, instead landing a few meters away, and turning to face him with a dangerously flirtatious light in her gaze. "You really think you're up for what I have in mind?" She called teasingly, flaring her wings out to her sides, daring him once again, to try and catch her.


[WC: 800.
Attack: 2/?
MC: 0/2]

Join the waves in the ocean?
Or let my soul fade away, in the dark?
Cause I've gone astray,
& all my flowers turned to dandelions.


Spar Commentary

Only really minor things, that's for sure. I love how detailed you are about how Birch is seeing and interpreting things, and how he has his own classification for 'pegasus'. No worries at all on flow, or emotion.

Only because I got dinged almost every spar, up until recently on PPing, did I catch this. He leans to the left, angling the powerful base of his tree to playfully knock her wing. I would definitely not call this full on PP, but it be construed as bordering the line. Adding "He leans to the left, angling the powerful base of his tree to try and playfully knock her wing" would eliminate any hazard. There are a few times that you do this: his thick tail whipping out to tap her right side - while this isn't an attack, it does force Phae to be in the position that you've put her in; and His own head leans closer, so that he might playfully nip her neck - this one again, doesn't read as assertively, but if Boom and Neo have taught me one thing, it's just to insert 'tries' or 'attempts to' before everything. xD
 HP: 45.5

Birch Posts: 37
Windtossed Foothills Warrior
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 84 Months
Adoptable
#7



The feeling of her flesh between his teeth is satisfyingly thrilling. A primal instinct kicks in as the familiar and fitting gesture falls seemingly willingly upon her form. It is strange, how little she seems to resist—how willing he is to suffer the nuisance of her blows in exchange for the silken sensation of her skin against his own.

The movement of her body rising to meet his own is one is one he sees coming. Ever-observant, the stallion has kept his eyes trained on every curve of the skin, and notices as she begins her rear. His body rises to meet hers in delicate balance—his thick knees, thinly covered by cracked skin and a fading summer coat, angle forward in an attempt to push her away from him by her chest. A left pastern curls tightly inwards, angling away from Phaedra's more delicate figure. Still, he feels her weight against her, pushing him downwards and away, even as he struggles to keep her at bay. It is not that he does not long for the closeness of her against his powerful breast and the caress of her wings, but that he wishes to play her game. If she is to run from him, then he will insist on fighting his desire and keeping away.

When he lands, he feels his emotion rise to combat the heaviness of the fall. Ash stirred from the heart flies up about his hooves as they leave their impression on the earth. Here, the permafrost does not set in; the ground is softer, somewhat more forgiving in the radius of the fire of the land. His eyes shut at the impact, and when they open it is in surprise. The heavy thwack of her tail against his nose catches him off guard; as she flies away, so close to him that he can feel the air leaving, he balks and snorts with residual shock. At this point he knows he would be a fool to deny her cleverness.

He hears that name again, falling from betwixt her enchantress' lips like rain from the edge of a leaf nestled in his bough: sugar. It seems natural to her, he thinks, as if it is something she is accustomed to using as an address. Once more the understanding of his unremarkable-ness strikes him; he would be a fool to think himself special to someone as unique and talented as she. His mind, however, wanders back to fate.

No, it cannot be a chance that they have met again, trapped under the moonlight by their raw lust and passing memories of each other. Birch is a skeptic in many regards, but this is not an instance he will allow himself to attribute to mere chance.

He listens attentively, letting the connotations of every sugar-soaked word sink in. He may be nothing special to her, but she is becoming such for him. Never before has any mare shown such a powerful interest, even if only in what he may have to offer her by the order of nature's tacit, anticipated decree. Her interest alone is enough to elicit an unwelcome, churning emotion. He finds that there may be more than lust hidden behind his speckled eyes.

"I assure you, whatever use you might find for me..." Birch begins with a lowly, beckningly, "...would be met with one I could find for you in turn." He knows that he's being used; as he walks slowly forward, his shoulders churning and his roots to follow his line of movement, he conveys his understanding of this with a clear, meaningful gaze that seeks out her own.

He trots to her without hesitation, trying to move close so that his breast might fill the arch of her neck and attempting to curve his own to cross over her left shoulder, directly before the crook of her wing. His honey-breath expels itself from within his chest, threatening to dance across her. "Goodness knows, an intelligent pair such as ourselves could find a very good use for each other's company on a night like this," he whispers, his echo of a voice sounding husky and slightly rasped. His words fade into fire-lit black, his teeth reach hungrily for her right ear- should he catch it within his grasp, the bite could sting. But then, Birch has always liked a bit of pain with his pleasure.

He moves from her, setting away at a brisk trot taken at a sharp right. He pauses as he leaves, bracing himself and then shifting his balance so that his back hooves kick up to hopefully ruffle the edge of her wings. The buck is low and short-lived no matter the outcome as the weight of his lifeplant forces him back into a more normal position.

[[ PC: 4/X || WC: 797 || MU: 0/2 || AS: Meets Phaedra's rear with a low one of his own, tucking in his left pastern so as not to damage with his boot. He aims to push her away by the chest with his knees. He is uninjured by her against him, but she weighs him down slightly and lessens the height of his own rear. Her tail slaps him on the nose. He moves to her, hoping to press his chest against her and wrap his neck over her right shoulder to bite her left ear. He moves away from her to his right pausing to make a low buck at the tips of her feathers. || N: Ah, thanks, I'll have to watch for that. :3 ]]

birch</style>
& his misery</style>


Phaedra the Opulent Posts: 343
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.3 :: 6 Buff: NOVICE
Stella :: Secretary Bird :: None Aud
#8
[Image: 50bfc82451215]

PHAEDRA


If it is a line that stands between love and hate, then surely Birch has just made that line a tight rope, and bade Phaedra to walk upon it. We'll suspend judgement at this time about whether he is doing so knowingly.

Silly tree-man; did you really think you could push the Avikun around so easily? Creatures with wings do not fall so quickly.



As Birch's bulk rises upwards to meet her own heightened form, a wave of frustration and annoyance ebbs just below her sooty surface. She had only meant to whisper in his gods damned ear, and here he was shoving at her, like some annoying younger sibling. The golden-spy only likes to play this love-game when her position is respected. He should savor every instance her body graces his with its touch - not push her away like a common brood mare in heat. This makes the gentle thwack of her tail in his face all the more pleasing, and his snort in response helps to bleed away her frustration.

As he speaks to her, a truly amused smile parts her pink lips; how she adores a man who can match her flirtation. Something tells her that this one would sooner knock her to the ground, than confess his undying love - and that, boys and girls, is precisely how she likes it. She draws a ragged breath into her lungs, as the gray stud begins to move towards her. She feels a quivering pulse of heat ignite in her breast, as his massive bulk easily diminishes the distance between them. She stands confident, exuding a sexual arrogance even as his much larger frame dwarfs hers. As their bodies finally touch, Phae fancies she can feel his heart beating through his chest and into hers. Mentally her mind begins to create a remark about where all that blood must be pumping, as trees do not require such, but his husky words catch her voice in her throat, before she can speak.

"I've always found intelligence takes the fun aw-OWWWW" Phae, who had thought that his closeness was leading in an entirely different direction, is ill-prepared to gracefully manage the pain, as his teeth clench around her fragile ear.

Fire-Fury-Passion-Pain.

Her lustful looks turn to fire as he begins to move away. No you don't, she mentally snarls; her lithe form elegantly pivoting to follow. But we must remember that Phaedra is a spy, and not a warrior. If she was, she might have noticed the subtle shift in his stance, indicating that he was not keeping all four hooves on the ground. A feeble buck, meant for her wing perhaps, was now taken directly into her curvacious chest, knocking the air entirely from her lungs. Although there was little force behind it, Birch's hooves - nearly the size of the muscles of her chest - combined with the force of her own movement - would surely cause bruising.

Blinded by the instantaneous rage that he had caused, Phae felt forced into retaliation. Just what was he thinking? She was a girl; he was supposed to let her win - at least, let her get in a few good knocks. The biting, she could possibly forgive - but kicking? A girl? A pretty girl? No. Never. He had unknowingly opened the Pandora's Box of Phae's jadedness towards men.

Throwing herself into the air with reckless abandon, her deflated lungs hadn't the air required to oxygenate her wing-muscles to lift her above his height. Instead, the golden spy hurtled herself forward, haphazardly aiming to crash right through the branches of his growth. An incomprehensible bellow of outrage escaped her lips, as she tried to snap and bite and tear at each limb and leaf on her way down. As her slender form lost altitude, she glided as best she could to the left, landing ungracefully on the ground. Feeling embarrassed and in pain, Phae tosses her head, causing her creamy forelock to partially obscured her sea-green gaze, which now wavers with tears of pain.

Still, she wants to be close to him - to feel his heartbeat and his ragged breath against her ear - but not until she has hurt him. Not until they are even. Leaping forward towards his left side, Phae extends her wings to lift her slightly off the ground - enough so that her hooves might strike higher on his flank. With a grunt, she tries to guide her front hooves into his left shoulder, leading with her right, so that her own shoulder might add to the assault. Even now, she notices the heat of his body, and the bulk of his chest, and tries to appear alluring, even as she attacks.


[WC: 799.
Attack: 3/?
MC: 0/2]

Join the waves in the ocean?
Or let my soul fade away, in the dark?
Cause I've gone astray,
& all my flowers turned to dandelions.


I really admire how you incorporate breed-differences and surroundings into your posts without sounding artificial. The subtleness of your posts I think is definitely your biggest strength. Sometimes, your descriptions of movement can come across a little vague - In the future, I would say this is the only real thing I would tell you to watch. Just remember that while flow and readability are things you are marked on, that clarity of attacks/movements are judged as well. You haven't done anything yet that made me go "Wut. Birch is where?"; but definitely there were some sections I had to re-read. Of course, that could say more about me, than you, but you want things to be easy for the judge, as well.

<3
 HP: 45.5

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#9
21 days have passed. Birch defaults to Phaedra.
Phaedra receives 1VP.


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