01-09-2019, 12:50 AM
All parties, big or small, rowdy or sedate, have one thing in common. No matter the party, there will always be that one corner the introverts gravitate toward. A collection of faces that stand on the outside, looking in at those who find socializing easy, making conversation a second nature. I had been one of them, once. I could talk to anyone, be whatever they wanted in the moment. Things were different now.
I found myself standing on the fringes, wanting to participate but not sure why. What did these gathered creatures have to offer me, outside of a temporary distraction from the darkness that clouded my mind most days. It was all very well that the place sparked like a glitter dipped soap bubble, and ironic that it felt the closest I'd come to blending in with a landscape in a long while. Curse the gods who'd found it funny to paint me such an absurd array of colors. What had once been a gift now dogged me like a technicolor nightmare, drawing attention where it wasn't wanted.
Besides. The pretty paintwork had long since been scratched and worn. Looking around at all the surrounding loveliness, it was hard to not feel run down, to be keenly aware of each and every scar crisscrossing my face and body. Out of no where, the urge to rip the skin from the muscles underneath filters into my brain. To start over fresh, and be anyone but myself. It's a frightening, exhilarating image and I shake myself from it with a pounding heart.
This won't do. It won't do at all. I can feel the anxiety clawing at my chest like a many toothed predator, eating me alive. Not an exaggeration, I know exactly what that feels like. Glancing frantically about, I look for something, anything, to distract me. It's then that I notice another mare break into the quiet place, filling herself with cool air and looking nervous in an angry kind of way. I can relate. Jaw set defiantly I step closer, wearing what was probably not the ideal expression for making friends.
"Hello. My name is Sabra, what's yours?" Simple, concise, no bullshit. Her perfume wends it's way to me, at once feminine and predatorily musky. Dark and sleek, with an eye catching splash of color on her face and a livid scar I spare a glance for. She's beautiful, in a dangerous way, and I feel something like excitement vying for dominance with my anxiety. Speaking to anyone new felt like a dare anymore, and I never was one to turn down a dare. I have ice and fire embedded in my very soul, it's about time I could feel something that wouldn't attempt to destroy me.
@[Sochi]
I found myself standing on the fringes, wanting to participate but not sure why. What did these gathered creatures have to offer me, outside of a temporary distraction from the darkness that clouded my mind most days. It was all very well that the place sparked like a glitter dipped soap bubble, and ironic that it felt the closest I'd come to blending in with a landscape in a long while. Curse the gods who'd found it funny to paint me such an absurd array of colors. What had once been a gift now dogged me like a technicolor nightmare, drawing attention where it wasn't wanted.
Besides. The pretty paintwork had long since been scratched and worn. Looking around at all the surrounding loveliness, it was hard to not feel run down, to be keenly aware of each and every scar crisscrossing my face and body. Out of no where, the urge to rip the skin from the muscles underneath filters into my brain. To start over fresh, and be anyone but myself. It's a frightening, exhilarating image and I shake myself from it with a pounding heart.
This won't do. It won't do at all. I can feel the anxiety clawing at my chest like a many toothed predator, eating me alive. Not an exaggeration, I know exactly what that feels like. Glancing frantically about, I look for something, anything, to distract me. It's then that I notice another mare break into the quiet place, filling herself with cool air and looking nervous in an angry kind of way. I can relate. Jaw set defiantly I step closer, wearing what was probably not the ideal expression for making friends.
"Hello. My name is Sabra, what's yours?" Simple, concise, no bullshit. Her perfume wends it's way to me, at once feminine and predatorily musky. Dark and sleek, with an eye catching splash of color on her face and a livid scar I spare a glance for. She's beautiful, in a dangerous way, and I feel something like excitement vying for dominance with my anxiety. Speaking to anyone new felt like a dare anymore, and I never was one to turn down a dare. I have ice and fire embedded in my very soul, it's about time I could feel something that wouldn't attempt to destroy me.
@[Sochi]