COTY
Assailant -- Year 226
QOTY
"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
[open] when I was a bird I could see
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when I was a bird I could see where the moon had turned the sky was alive and this wire of mine burned A pale child hooks the waxing moon and draws her nearer while Chem was listlessly grazing about after some idle conversation with a passing acquaintance. He loves to wander at night and often finds the same faces wandering around when he does. This little face is not familiar. It is always special to find someone nocturnal like himself, someone who basks in moonlight. He’s always had a fondness for the chrome warmth the moon casts so generously. And tonight it’s so near he can feel it mixing with the light of his thick smoke, which spreads slowly from where he stands in the tall grass. It mimics the silver of the moon’s glow, pulsing like a heartbeat. Such power in such a young one, which makes him think of his daughter, and then his many children – he hopes they move about with the confident euphoria this little filly seems to have. He thinks of what he might do – usually, greedily, he only gives his time for things that may gain him something. A resident for his home, an alliance, anything useful, but in the moments now, as he looks at the girl who plays with the moon, he is inclined to say hello. And so, he does, from afar but close enough to be heard. The meadow is lit well, so there’s no hiding his hulking size, his bone white face or chest, so he hopes his approach doesn’t seem predatory. “Hello there,” his voice is soft and smooth, no growl to it, hardly any boom. He lowers his head, less big maybe equals less scary. “It is like day,” he exclaims with a childish awe in his eyes as he looks around him and then back to her, “did you do this?” His smile is genuine, as any decent adult may smile at a child. One ear propped to her and the other spinning like a satellite, listening carefully for what might be an angry parent mistaking him for some creep. (Well, he is a creep, but not that sort of creep.) CHEMDOG
to the window, to the wall i have no clue why he feels inclined to say hello but i love her shes so cute and i hope this is otay @[cressida] ♥
05-24-2021, 10:54 PM
when I was a bird I could see where the moon had turned the sky was alive and this wire of mine burned @[Chemdog] - I'm so glad you did! His heart leaps in his chest when he sees her startle, the very feel of it on the air makes him have to fight the urge to be flighty, or even timid that he’s made the little thing fearful. But the atmosphere softens, her pale golden eyes looking him over, her wings settling back to her sides. He snorts gently in relief, she recognizes that he is no danger, and not closing in. Any others within sight, within the silver illumination she’s drawn so vibrantly nearer to the swaying grass tips, watches them. Some are curious, some don’t seem to care at all. It isn’t such a spectacle in this world, to have the moonlight touch your skin because it’s being lassoed down by a child standing alone in the Meadow. When the breeze breathes, washing over them, and the tide of moonlight wrapping them as she closes her eyes. He closes his too, holding his own milky white face to the chrome glow. It isn’t warm like sunlight, but almost minty, tingly as it spills over him. His skin prickles with the chills moving down his spine. He opens his eyes to smile at the now silent child, hearing her remark from before repeat within his mind. “Not poor.” he whispers low, blinking slow, basking still. Fireflies move in, they seem to have come from nowhere, dancing in the extra light. “We wouldn’t want night to be day, anyway, so it is a perfect representation of the gealach’s beauty; to bring her light so close.” The special word is drawn out with an accent foreign to Beqanna, one his grandfather spoke with. That is what he always lovingly called the moon and Chem never forgot it. He has no urge to ask her anything, like her name or why she is here. It didn’t seem necessary. So while she observes, so does he, and slowly Irisaen slithers out of his mane to curl around his ear. The wash of light making the blues and greens of her iridescent scales flash brightly against Chem’s onyx hair. CHEMDOG
to the window, to the wall his little companion snake is still a baby so it can curl around his ear still lol AND IM SO GLAD I DID TOO she is frickin precious @[cressida] ♥ She’s got a whole universe in her eyes, or even at her mental fingertips; it doesn’t end with the moonlight, a voice tells him. He smiles when she smiles, and the wash of moonlight plays along his chin, under him and along his body. He takes in a deep breath, closing those big bright eyes, his smile deepening. “Cressida.” he repeats softly, opening his eyes and lifting his head a bit, still bending to meet her height at least halfway. “I’m Chemdog, I live over in Silver Cove; gealach’s light gives my home life every night except when in her dark phase [new moon].” He blows a clearing breath through his nostrils. “And what about you, Cressida?” he finds her eyes again after he briefly glanced for a parent coming for her. “Where are you from, if I may ask?” He wasn’t sure if it’s polite to ask or not, as he’s not usually concerned with manners – but oddly he finds himself a little concerned with being delicate now. It’s a courtesy not many get from him, perhaps even limited to his own children, and now, this one. i'm so sorry this is blaH! she deserves better, things have been nuts - sorry for the wait too YIKE ♥♥♥ @[cressida] |
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