10-15-2017, 03:04 PM
ADOPTION DEN, SUMMER OF YEAR 193, THE NIGHT BEFORE
“You need to be more careful—“
“Yes, yes, I know—“
“No, you don’t know! Your actions as of late speak volumes about your lack of understanding the danger you put everyone in—“
Sylvya prattled on, fluttering around him like an incessant Mother Hen; red-coated, with delicate pink wings and a bright red aura fanning out behind her, she lectured him until steam shot out of her ears and fire flickered around her edges. It was never easy being in charge of the little pyromaniacs that got dropped at their feet, but Thackary had made it his mission in life to make her job that much harder. His recent handiwork smoldered behind her.
It was an old redwood that she had helped plant and had been quite fond of; upset that another child had taken his sleeping space, Thackary had set fire to it and warned the other boy that he was next if he ‘didn’t get the fuck up and move, at once.’ She had been able to put the fire out before it spread, but the boy’s lack of concern for others did not sit well with her—
--
The black colt half-listened, his ears turning and twitching every now and again when she seemed particularly pissed. She hovered around him, a warm glowing red, and he thought about what might happen if he were to crush the tiny faerie beneath his hoof; he imagined her blood and guts were as warm, red and glittery as the glow that radiated from her very being—and she stared at him in horror, mouth agape. He had forgotten she could do that.
“Stay out of my fucking head,” he snorted, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils. “It’s not as if I’m actually going to—”
“Out.”
“What?” He blinked, dumbfounded.
“Out, out! GET OUT!” She screeched, her bottom-lip quivering and her crimson eyes filling with tears. “You are NOT welcome here, not welcome at all! It’s horses like you that give the others a bad name, horses like you that got the magic taken away, someone like you that KILLED MY FRIEND at the ball—“
“Sylvya, I—“
“OUT OF HERE, I SAID!”
And with that, he disappeared with a loud ‘pop!’
--
THE PLAYGROUND, SUMMER OF YEAR 193, THE NEXT DAY
Blackness, utter and total blackness—nothingness, there was nothing.
Thackary thought he was dead.
But the ground beneath him was soft, like pine needles—Death wasn’t so bad if he got a cozy bed of pine needles all to himself. He sighed, snuggling up against the rough wall and it was then that he realized Death did not have walls. Death did not have much of anything, much less pine needles. He touched his nose to the wall, it was made of bark and felt… flimsy.
Getting to his feet, he pressed his nose against the wall—harder this time, for science—and punched a hole right on through. Sniffing at first, then stepping back to let the light shine in second, Thackary squinted against the glare of the sun and tried to make out where he was. He could not. Wherever the faerie had sent him was somewhere he had never been before.
The black colt backed himself up until his haunches pressed against the wall, then bolted forwards; he half-reared, striking at the flimsy bark with his hooves before bursting through into the bright daylight and beyond. ‘A tree!’ He thought, spinning around to glare up at the mighty redwood—much like the one he had burned down the night before. ‘She locked me up inside a tree!’
Snorting, Thackary gave his tail a sharp flicking before turning on his heel and marching through the… whatever, this place was. There were an awful lot of horses his age, he noticed with growing suspicion. They played, they pranced, they hopped over logs and frolicked and he narrowed his dark red eyes with contempt.
Just where the fuck had she sent him?
“You need to be more careful—“
“Yes, yes, I know—“
“No, you don’t know! Your actions as of late speak volumes about your lack of understanding the danger you put everyone in—“
Sylvya prattled on, fluttering around him like an incessant Mother Hen; red-coated, with delicate pink wings and a bright red aura fanning out behind her, she lectured him until steam shot out of her ears and fire flickered around her edges. It was never easy being in charge of the little pyromaniacs that got dropped at their feet, but Thackary had made it his mission in life to make her job that much harder. His recent handiwork smoldered behind her.
It was an old redwood that she had helped plant and had been quite fond of; upset that another child had taken his sleeping space, Thackary had set fire to it and warned the other boy that he was next if he ‘didn’t get the fuck up and move, at once.’ She had been able to put the fire out before it spread, but the boy’s lack of concern for others did not sit well with her—
--
The black colt half-listened, his ears turning and twitching every now and again when she seemed particularly pissed. She hovered around him, a warm glowing red, and he thought about what might happen if he were to crush the tiny faerie beneath his hoof; he imagined her blood and guts were as warm, red and glittery as the glow that radiated from her very being—and she stared at him in horror, mouth agape. He had forgotten she could do that.
“Stay out of my fucking head,” he snorted, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils. “It’s not as if I’m actually going to—”
“Out.”
“What?” He blinked, dumbfounded.
“Out, out! GET OUT!” She screeched, her bottom-lip quivering and her crimson eyes filling with tears. “You are NOT welcome here, not welcome at all! It’s horses like you that give the others a bad name, horses like you that got the magic taken away, someone like you that KILLED MY FRIEND at the ball—“
“Sylvya, I—“
“OUT OF HERE, I SAID!”
And with that, he disappeared with a loud ‘pop!’
--
THE PLAYGROUND, SUMMER OF YEAR 193, THE NEXT DAY
Blackness, utter and total blackness—nothingness, there was nothing.
Thackary thought he was dead.
But the ground beneath him was soft, like pine needles—Death wasn’t so bad if he got a cozy bed of pine needles all to himself. He sighed, snuggling up against the rough wall and it was then that he realized Death did not have walls. Death did not have much of anything, much less pine needles. He touched his nose to the wall, it was made of bark and felt… flimsy.
Getting to his feet, he pressed his nose against the wall—harder this time, for science—and punched a hole right on through. Sniffing at first, then stepping back to let the light shine in second, Thackary squinted against the glare of the sun and tried to make out where he was. He could not. Wherever the faerie had sent him was somewhere he had never been before.
The black colt backed himself up until his haunches pressed against the wall, then bolted forwards; he half-reared, striking at the flimsy bark with his hooves before bursting through into the bright daylight and beyond. ‘A tree!’ He thought, spinning around to glare up at the mighty redwood—much like the one he had burned down the night before. ‘She locked me up inside a tree!’
Snorting, Thackary gave his tail a sharp flicking before turning on his heel and marching through the… whatever, this place was. There were an awful lot of horses his age, he noticed with growing suspicion. They played, they pranced, they hopped over logs and frolicked and he narrowed his dark red eyes with contempt.
Just where the fuck had she sent him?