[open] I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Live (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=17) +--- Forum: Pangea (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=89) +--- Thread: [open] I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; (/showthread.php?tid=25312) |
I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - greta - 10-23-2019 GRETA I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; shook it like a dog with a bone until it knew the fear of good love. " Do you remember? " She was born here - burst forth from the cosmos and magic; a slick and tiny thing ripe for the picking. Unknowing and unwanting, a reckless mistake (one her father is wont to do). It is so easy to create and not follow through - why are there so many unwanted things in this world? Abandoned; thrown to the dogs; discarded in the throes of of self-service. This is what it is to be a child of the magician, a child of the cosmos, of the vast indifference of Beqanna. You thrive alone (or you are lost to the darkness). There is something heavy in the way her heart thrums, a dull ache that she cannot recall ever being there before. Here - a place so insurmountable, a beckoning that sways through her blood (though she cannot tell why). There is a beacon on the horizon, a hazy and purple light that sways to her. A siren call, a heavy thread. It saws neatly through her skin and draws her in, reeling inch by inch, her footsteps not hers alone. There is something to be said about having to venture into the vast unknown by your lonesome. There is no direction - no hand pointing which way to go. No surety in your actions or decisiveness. She is reckless, wavering in the vast ocean of choice. Choice, decision, direction; is this what she is driven by? Is this hers alone? She does not know Pangea - she is not familiar with the rickety confines of its history and geography. She does not choose her landing place on experience alone (because she knows, nothing). Go. He commands, throaty and demanding. Come. It croons, sickly sweet and deadly. The canyons carve around her small skin, looming and ominous like that lurking thing inside her blood (come closer) they soothe (further, just a bit further) they sing. Her body rippled by the shadows those hungry caverns throw across her. That aching river rushing a whisper of hurry hurry, this way. That steady ache in her heart, though she does not quite know why. Go He commanded. Come It crooned. And so she does. So she must. RE: I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - ghaul - 10-23-2019 do you think God stays in his heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he has created?
ghaul @[greta] he views her as a teddy bear right now but i'm sure soon he'll see her as an actual person. maybe. probably. RE: I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - greta - 10-24-2019 GRETA I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; shook it like a dog with a bone until it knew the fear of good love. " Do you remember? " There is an innate desire to be touched - each living thing has this drive, this need for connection - verbally, physically, emotionally. It is a lust for words in their ears, skin to skin contact (a gentle brush, an enveloped embrace, a pain splintering punch to the eye), the reaching out of a heart to their own. Strange, how it is such a primal desire, but you cannot always place a name to it. Loneliness; a hollow but solid thing - unnamable if you do not quite know what it means, but it resonates through your bones and seeps out past your skin. It cannot be unrecognized, only felt. There is a song that carries on the wind; low and sweet and beautiful (a melody that doesn’t quite seem to belong here in this place, but here it is twining through the canyons). It is marked with chirps, little beacons of hope that have sprouted from the sad song. It is unusual - a sound that Greta had never heard (for who would sing to her?), and it is calling. Come, it calls - and so she must, for what else was she to do? She approaches, her body swathed in the dark - everything so dark, dark, dark. How foolish of her to follow the call in her mind at midnight. How silly of her to be lured like a siren towards an unknown melody. But it called, and so she came. Timid steps, her head quirked slightly, the moonlight her path, the churrups her target. And oh - oh! A creature! A thing! A puzzle of pieces and stars and scales and talons; a tail curved like a bow. This was nothing Greta had seen (perhaps, maybe, in nightmares?). He is skittish like falling snow in the wind - this way and that, at every curve of your face and angle of your body. He is everywhere. His body is swirling around her, ragged claws tearing at the dirt (better than flesh, really). And his eyes - he has none! What she mistook for adorning horns (strange, so strange), where his eyes should (would?) be. She should be disgusted (she thinks?) - but he is a patchwork of her mother, her father. A galaxy ridden thing with wings and horns - a concoction of where she had came from (and still so unsure where to go). She is timid in the face of his recklessness - has he seen so much more of this world than she? He is bold in his words, where she has never spoken a thing. He is unflagging in his surety that this is where he belongs (and where does she go?). Ghaul. A heavy name for someone so young. You are who?; who was she? She did not know. Her breath was taken in the moment, a cacophony of something so new. It was not a command, but a request - a question, a query. Who was she? “I-I’m.. Her name, something so simple and sweet - plain, bitten through with hardness. Her father, for what knows why, had chosen it, that much she knew. She knew her mother, she knew her father, she knew they were both gone now, she knew she had no home - no claim - no family - no friend or foe. But she did not know who she was. “Greta?” A question, almost. An upward inflect - was this all she really was? A series of hard syllables and vowels, a name. “I am here now.” She side stepped as his body made another sharp turn around her, wary of his flagging tail. Her head turns as he circles again, following his movements to better find his attention before she asks - “Where.. Where is here?” @[Ghaul] eeeee this feels SO GOOOD <3 RE: I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - ghaul - 10-24-2019 do you think God stays in his heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he has created?
ghaul @[greta] theyre officially friends now. RE: I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - greta - 10-24-2019 GRETA I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; shook it like a dog with a bone until it knew the fear of good love. " Do you remember? " He is constant - a movement that does not settle, a rapid maneuver of scales and teeth and sound and thought. She is unused to this. She has only ever known the silent cage that she was placed in. Here you will stay”, he had said. “Here, you are safe”, he assured. And safe she was - a world built just for her, a safe haven, a snow globe, a map that reached to her every desire. It was silent, and solitude. Her father placed her there and fled (to where, who would ever know). Her mother had released her and then returned to her galaxies - whichever they may be. All she had known was herself - her stillness and her silence and her unknown. And now here he was - a constant motion or memory or noise. His clicking and warbling an undertone in her ears since the moment she stepped foot into - here. Here. And he answers - Pangea. The world tilts her insides, spreads them thin like a liquid. Pangea. It is like a memory you have lived, but cannot remember. A word that is on the tip of your tongue, but you cannot spit out. Pangea; the beginning. She shakes her head slightly, a miniscule movement of frustration. Pangea - this is where she was beckoned to - but why? He seems so confident in the word - he knows why he is here. But why is she? His face alights with what looks like a promise - but he carries a crocodile grin. His teeth careen and cater to one another, sharp and clacking. Somehow, she finds that they bare no ill will, despite the look they tell. She is unsure (as she knows nothing) - how to read a letter like him that falls into her lap. He seems like a demon sent to shred her (father? Is this your work in kind?), but his body flurries towards her like a moth to flame - not to maim, but to mirror (side by side). Suddenly, he is beside her - settled for a moment (how still, she thinks, how unusual for this moment). His wing alights over her body and she flinches as the moon is shadowed by his mass. She starts, a tenseness stringing through her body like a wire. Too close, too close. All she has ever known is that lengthy stretch of solitude. But he is so at ease - it is as if it were a yawn, or a smile, or a peel of laughter - his wing stretched out across her. And as the moon ebbs away under the thick scale of his skin, she finds herself fading into comfort (or whatever that may be). Fire, he speaks of. Something all consuming and cleansing. Her eyes jolt wide at this; an unsettling comment. “Fire?” She finally speaks, filling the brief silence she has given them. She is not sure she likes this, it feels like a rough and unsteady word in her mouth (though she has never come into contact with such a feral flame before). Her body, though tense, leans into the heat of his own. As if he could protect her, as if anything could keep her safe in this world. The silence ebbs, and he is quiet (as is she); no throaty clicks, no sad crooning tune - simply the silence of the night. “Ghaul?” She questions after some time. It is that question you ask when you are fearful of being the only one awake, that your lover has drifted asleep and left you alone to the wolves and the night. It is the timid query that has been rolling in your head as you lay there awake, daring yourself to close your eyes. “Ghaul? I think I have been here before.” @[ghaul] ... until he eats her - ha ha! RE: I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - ghaul - 10-24-2019 do you think God stays in his heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he has created?
ghaul @[greta] as long as she plays the little spoon, she's safe for now. RE: I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - greta - 10-24-2019 GRETA I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; shook it like a dog with a bone until it knew the fear of good love. " Do you remember? "
There are rules, he said. (So silly, to list rules when he is what made her). Tell no one, show no hint, do not remind yourself. Of what? Of what? She had begged - tell her, you must! And he did not tell. But oh, did he show her the wickedness that his heart created; the curse she must wear like a heavy cloak, the secret that cannot be shrugged off. And yet; here is Ghaul, already reading the tiny cracks in her frame. Moments into meeting and he smells that scent on her - she will do anything. And neither knows the weakness - his glory is bright with the fact his mother laid still. Greta would not hold him back, for she is too frail, a tepid and milky little thing who he could thrust through with one breath. Ghaul would not know, but he could simply ask. Lay your throat to me, little one.; and so she would. His feast stands before him, and with barely a beckon (a command, really) and she would be ripe for the taking. How silly. He breathes and there is a fog in the air - an autumn morning that curls before them. A masterpiece of his own making (that is just as quickly fading away). Fire, an action to the word - something tangible and true, and she wants to peek out her tongue and almost taste it, taste him. The word sounds so steady behind his lips, while fluid and smooth a word, it sounds forceful and true spilling from the fog in his throat. He says nothing more - leaving it as this, a solitary word, a moment to split, a future to see - and so she must accept. The night stretches, and she calls out, and is almost startled to find him awake, answering - that soft humming voice that is stretched with slight sleep. She finds a nose to her cheek, and she is surprised how easily touch comes to her. How simple the night and a wavering moon and hot-bedded wing can make her feel so okay. The night can make you feel anything, really; a witch in disguise of stars. Night magic; she remembers, stars and streaks and the palatable taste of magic in the air (her father could make anything feel true). She takes a moment to think, and an almost uncognizant lean of her face towards his nose (how rapidly we fall into the touch). A kindred moment of confusion and bleary memories - who were they before they were here? This moment seems all there is to be; a meeting in the moonlight, the hot scathe of scale on her skin, fear and trepidation soothed by the desire and comfort of the embrace of another. “I don’t know.” There is a fringe of fury in her voice, did she ever have another life before her being tucked away in Eight’s little world?. It feels like another life - a decade ago, a yawning year of being locked away. Sacrifice - another jarring word that breaks her from her reverie. A slaughter, basking in blood, a willing act of giving. What does it mean to him? She turns her face to ask, but finds a face of frustration and fraught with thought in the face of her statement. Maybe, he too, has been here before - maybe there are things he too does not want to speak of. The thrush of heat on her cheek - and she wonders if it is the fog he can conjure from somewhere inside. “ I don’t know.” An admittance, this time, a defeat. And she is confused, and wrecked like a ship at sea in her thoughts - a furious aggravation of things that feel so long ago. “Can we just.. Can we see tomorrow?” It is a timid question, a doubt riddling every word - that they would see tomorrow, that he would stay wing draped over such a sad and sorry girl. And maybe the morning light will show her - maybe the land basked in a lighter glow will hinge on her memories. She was so tired, her legs so jaded from their journey from Eight’s forever bidden world, her mind so tangled with where she should be - was - is - here now. “Just.. be here tomorrow.” Her voice mumbled and soft in the peels of his scales, as she digs her nose into the crook of his neck. Strange - how easy it is to settle into something you have never known. @[ghaul] you can do the fastfowards to morning/pangea tour once you get whatever night talk you'd like out of the way! RE: I once held your soldier heart between my war teeth; - ghaul - 10-30-2019 do you think God stays in his heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he has created?
ghaul @[greta] i almost made him say "but i cant see?" |