09-28-2018, 04:53 PM
<center><div style="width: 550px; text-align: justify;"> “Double, double toil and trouble!”
Slowly her head rises, ears swirling around as a pair of dark eyes roam the field around her. The words had been a faint echo, but loud enough to be heard. It sends a shiver down her spine, even flicking her ears back for a moment. Around her, a layer of thick fog rises, reaching as high as her knees. Faolin is not given the chance ponder over it any longer, as the creepy voice sounds again. It would be a lie to say she is not curious, spooked, but curious.
The crinkling sound is even fainter than the echo of his voice, but a thousand time more creepier. Her ears twist, and orbs are still trying to locate him. She sees nothing. Nothing but the gentle glow of the land covered by a thick layer of mist, as dusk sets in. Oh, of course she does not see him. What would be the fun in that?
But a disguise… With a frown the bay mare scans her surroundings, in a different way then she had done when she had been looking for the source of the voice. Now she looks for the details. Branches, leaves, perhaps even flowers or bushes or trees. But the meadow does not offer her anything special. The forest might prove to be a better place to search for a fancy get up.
It is hard to say if it is the spookiness of the meadow, or her enthusiasm to compete, that drives her trot. Faolin reaches the forest in no time, but the sun has already set. It’s last rays coloring the sky in pretty orangey, pink, and yellow shades. But is not enough to lighten the forest. The tall trees are looming silhouettes, and the further she goes, the darker and more eerie it becomes. Faolin’s pace has slowed down, now placing one tentative hoof in front of the other. The forest has been her home for a long while now, but the mysterious fog surely changes the whole feel. Plus, it takes her a little longer to recognize where she exactly is.
Once she reaches the little clearing to which she refers as her ‘front yard’, she stops. Her elegant head rises, dark eyes glancing around – because she swears someone is looking at her from the shadows – before she turns to the left. Just past the shallow stream is the entrance to her home, strategically hidden by some bushes. Within the safe walls of her home, the bounce finds its way back into Faolin’s step. Both her ears are now pinned forward, and she is eager to reach her closet. “What to wear.. what to wear..” she mumbles to herself, eyes roaming whatever outfit she has gathered over the years.
Should she go as a zombie? Torn clothes, make up that makes her face look like it’s decaying, and all she had to do was walk like a drunk and clumsy mindless beast. But “no,” she tells herself. “I need something more creative..” But what? A party bunny? Or a pirate perhaps? The killer clown is always an option too, but none call to Faolin. It is not like she wants to look better, or more special, or more unique than everybody else, but she does want to pick something that shows her effort, all without being a show of. But in all reality, who cares? “It is not as if any of them know me.”
And thus her decision lands on an over the top and probably quite obvious choice: an Día de Muertos inspired costume. “Make-up first,” she decides, knowing damn well that moving around while wearing a corset is close to impossible. Her dark face is soon covered in a layer of black paint, then the center is painted over with a pale ivory blue. Her eyes are covered with black circles, which are surrounded by smaller circles to create some kind of flower pattern. Between her nostrils there is another black figure, an upside down heart. Lips are all white, except for the black lines that come from the corners and reach till her cheek. Small horizontal stripes crosses the line of her lips, in a way to represent her teeth. After all she is supposed to look dead.
But, not only like the death, she makes sure she still looks quite feminine too. Circles and flowers finish her paint job, just as the bright orange and yellow flower that is tucked right behind her ear in an elaborate braid.
“This will do” she murmurs approving, nodding to herself before turning to her closet. Het costume exists of lace mostly. The dark type. Like a veil it is pinned on the back of her head, just behind her ears into the braid along her crest. It covers both sides of her neck, and covers her crest all the way to her withers. Her costume ends not there. More fine black lace covers her bay body. It’s draped along her back, across he flanks and flows freely over her hindquarters, swaying gently with each and every of her steps. One glance in the mirror is enough to tell Faolin how it shows off her curves.
Inspired by death, but still elegant and beautiful without the gore.
With a flick of her tail she leaves the little cave that has become her home. Faolin does not bother to bring a treat, or think of a trick. Isn’t she herself the most tasty treat around? That, at least, she tells herself. Though she walks with confidence, setting for the looming pinewood forest, she secretly is everything but.
Soon the forest thins, and Faolin can hear the river that separates the forest from Taiga rush. By now the sky has turned completely dark, and it is no longer one pair of eyes that spy upon her, but multiple. She tries best she can to ignore them, and simply refuses to let her pace falter. No hesitation. Let them believe she does not fear them, she does. Or perhaps she can let it show through after all, play the damsel in distress.
Cold air nips at her heels as she leaves the river behind her. Some parts of her skirt are soaked too, but the bay woman ignores the feeling. A charming smile lies on her lips as she makes her way into the Taigan forest. The trees are taller and their trunks even bigger. They’ve always made her feel very small. A quick glance across her shoulder, then a smile tugs at the corners of her painted lips. “Jack, oh Jack, come out, come out, wherever you are~” she calls out, chanting softly and repeating the sentence quite a few times. “You’ve invited me to play, but doesn’t it take two? Come out, and play with me.”
Why would she need tricks, or treats, to lure the Jack O’Lantern out? She could play his game just fine too.
Click for make up. </div></center>
Slowly her head rises, ears swirling around as a pair of dark eyes roam the field around her. The words had been a faint echo, but loud enough to be heard. It sends a shiver down her spine, even flicking her ears back for a moment. Around her, a layer of thick fog rises, reaching as high as her knees. Faolin is not given the chance ponder over it any longer, as the creepy voice sounds again. It would be a lie to say she is not curious, spooked, but curious.
The crinkling sound is even fainter than the echo of his voice, but a thousand time more creepier. Her ears twist, and orbs are still trying to locate him. She sees nothing. Nothing but the gentle glow of the land covered by a thick layer of mist, as dusk sets in. Oh, of course she does not see him. What would be the fun in that?
But a disguise… With a frown the bay mare scans her surroundings, in a different way then she had done when she had been looking for the source of the voice. Now she looks for the details. Branches, leaves, perhaps even flowers or bushes or trees. But the meadow does not offer her anything special. The forest might prove to be a better place to search for a fancy get up.
It is hard to say if it is the spookiness of the meadow, or her enthusiasm to compete, that drives her trot. Faolin reaches the forest in no time, but the sun has already set. It’s last rays coloring the sky in pretty orangey, pink, and yellow shades. But is not enough to lighten the forest. The tall trees are looming silhouettes, and the further she goes, the darker and more eerie it becomes. Faolin’s pace has slowed down, now placing one tentative hoof in front of the other. The forest has been her home for a long while now, but the mysterious fog surely changes the whole feel. Plus, it takes her a little longer to recognize where she exactly is.
Once she reaches the little clearing to which she refers as her ‘front yard’, she stops. Her elegant head rises, dark eyes glancing around – because she swears someone is looking at her from the shadows – before she turns to the left. Just past the shallow stream is the entrance to her home, strategically hidden by some bushes. Within the safe walls of her home, the bounce finds its way back into Faolin’s step. Both her ears are now pinned forward, and she is eager to reach her closet. “What to wear.. what to wear..” she mumbles to herself, eyes roaming whatever outfit she has gathered over the years.
Should she go as a zombie? Torn clothes, make up that makes her face look like it’s decaying, and all she had to do was walk like a drunk and clumsy mindless beast. But “no,” she tells herself. “I need something more creative..” But what? A party bunny? Or a pirate perhaps? The killer clown is always an option too, but none call to Faolin. It is not like she wants to look better, or more special, or more unique than everybody else, but she does want to pick something that shows her effort, all without being a show of. But in all reality, who cares? “It is not as if any of them know me.”
And thus her decision lands on an over the top and probably quite obvious choice: an Día de Muertos inspired costume. “Make-up first,” she decides, knowing damn well that moving around while wearing a corset is close to impossible. Her dark face is soon covered in a layer of black paint, then the center is painted over with a pale ivory blue. Her eyes are covered with black circles, which are surrounded by smaller circles to create some kind of flower pattern. Between her nostrils there is another black figure, an upside down heart. Lips are all white, except for the black lines that come from the corners and reach till her cheek. Small horizontal stripes crosses the line of her lips, in a way to represent her teeth. After all she is supposed to look dead.
But, not only like the death, she makes sure she still looks quite feminine too. Circles and flowers finish her paint job, just as the bright orange and yellow flower that is tucked right behind her ear in an elaborate braid.
“This will do” she murmurs approving, nodding to herself before turning to her closet. Het costume exists of lace mostly. The dark type. Like a veil it is pinned on the back of her head, just behind her ears into the braid along her crest. It covers both sides of her neck, and covers her crest all the way to her withers. Her costume ends not there. More fine black lace covers her bay body. It’s draped along her back, across he flanks and flows freely over her hindquarters, swaying gently with each and every of her steps. One glance in the mirror is enough to tell Faolin how it shows off her curves.
Inspired by death, but still elegant and beautiful without the gore.
With a flick of her tail she leaves the little cave that has become her home. Faolin does not bother to bring a treat, or think of a trick. Isn’t she herself the most tasty treat around? That, at least, she tells herself. Though she walks with confidence, setting for the looming pinewood forest, she secretly is everything but.
Soon the forest thins, and Faolin can hear the river that separates the forest from Taiga rush. By now the sky has turned completely dark, and it is no longer one pair of eyes that spy upon her, but multiple. She tries best she can to ignore them, and simply refuses to let her pace falter. No hesitation. Let them believe she does not fear them, she does. Or perhaps she can let it show through after all, play the damsel in distress.
Cold air nips at her heels as she leaves the river behind her. Some parts of her skirt are soaked too, but the bay woman ignores the feeling. A charming smile lies on her lips as she makes her way into the Taigan forest. The trees are taller and their trunks even bigger. They’ve always made her feel very small. A quick glance across her shoulder, then a smile tugs at the corners of her painted lips. “Jack, oh Jack, come out, come out, wherever you are~” she calls out, chanting softly and repeating the sentence quite a few times. “You’ve invited me to play, but doesn’t it take two? Come out, and play with me.”
Why would she need tricks, or treats, to lure the Jack O’Lantern out? She could play his game just fine too.
Click for make up. </div></center>