"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
Well it was official. Our dear Maus was now a certified member of the Valley. Topsail, the minx who could be considered her doppelgänger, had stolen her curiosity with her unique abilities. Telepathy wasn't something the mouse grey femme was used to coming across. Back where she came from special talents and abilities were, well, nonexistent. Thinking back to her previous homeland causes Maus to stop suddenly in her tracks. Maybe all the horses they labeled as crazy weren't actually crazy. Perhaps they were like the horses here in Beqanna and really did have special abilities, but only they could see it? Maybe something about Beqanna let the powers within certain horses come out? Maybe this place strengthened their talents so they could be used? The thought causes a weird look to cloud the mares face. Did she have an ability? Something previously laid dormant until she stepped foot over Beqanna's border? A shiver races through the mares body, but quickly leaves as the mouse colored mare continues forward. "Impossible." she thinks "I would have felt it by now." I mean, that's how it worked, right?
After parting ways with Topsail and Lexa, Maus decided exploration of this new land was in order. She wanted to get a feel for this place, and mostly, she wanted to find out if Topsail was unique in her talents. Did other horses here have telepathy? Were there other abilities? All her life, Maus was the poster child for the phrase curiosity killed the cat. There was a monster inside her that hungered for knowledge; for an explanation for things unknown. This sometimes lead the mousey minx into hairy situations. Come to think of it, it's actually god damn miracle Maus had mad it to see her seventh birthday!
It's at this point that Maus realizes the terrain has gonna from the wide rolling hills of the field to a slightly claustrophobic feeling forest. The tree trunks grew close together and the dense canopy of leaves kept out most of the afternoon sun. Even with Autumn wrapping up the land in a crisp, chilled blanket, the falling leaves had yet to thin out the foliage enough for sunlight to break through. It's here that Maus allows her black pointed legs to come to halt, her deep amber eyes washing over the forest that jutted up before her.
OOC: Do you want to either PM me or post his stats so I can get them up before breeding season ends?
His history with the Valley is long, complex, and eroded by time. It started when he was only a year old (when his skinny legs waltzed in and demanded a royal presence) and continued on from there (through lonesome nights and battle cries and pleasing his pink queen and murdering innocents and demanding to become something more). He can’t remember his age, or how many years exactly he served the dark kingdom, but that hardly matters in the grand scheme of things. Time is both faux and powerful (it is needed to observe the hours, yet it can be toyed with if only one has the proper tools).
The trickster was once transported through a period of weeks in mere seconds. The trickster was once caught in a bubble where time was nonexistent and those around him ceased moving and breathing and thinking. The trickster was once (most recently, in fact) slumbering beneath decaying leaves for nearly a decade. The trickster was once transporting a pink queen to faux places in the timespan of minutes.
Time is something he knows is fickle and funny, so he rarely considers it in the pathway of his life.
He finds his skinny hide seeking shelter in the Forest. The sight of dark thunderclouds was beginning to gather in the distance and he could smell the sharp tang of rain with each inhale. Although autumn rarely brought water and wind in these parts, there could be on occasional brief storm to dampen the falling leaves and help shake the trees of their weight. The trickster slides his sharp body (skinny joints, bowlegged forelegs, angular facial structure, scarred torso, silver bay with lightning strike white markings, blue and white left eye, blue and black right eye) under the protection of the trees.
The scent of a mare greets his nostrils (and it is a delicious smell, especially after being asleep for nine years) among decaying foliage and sleepy woodland creatures. The trickster moves alongside the Forest’s perimeter, his good eye keeping a watchful lookout for the source of that beautiful smell. Then, he spots her (her with her wide eyes and mousey coloring, her with her deliciously alluring scent, her with her womanly curves and curious eyes) and a chill runs down his spine. It had been too long since he had last played with the youthful mind of a curious innocent.
His tricky fingers sneak out of their box (creeping into the folds of her mind and casually poking at the softness). She is easy, she is pliable, she is unknown. So his tricks work their way into her eyesight (moving gently against the backs of her lids, forcing their way into the nerves that communicate to their brain, adding a few tweaks here and there to the machinery of her body) and he prods at her vision.
The Forest will suddenly melt away like syrup (colors bleeding into one another, shapes eroding and falling into themselves, scents and sounds blending into each other until she smells and hears nothing) and there will be an intense moment of agonizing nothing. There will be darkness (a deep, unending sea of it; like the nighttime sky with no stars) and it almost feels like death. First there is everything, and suddenly there is nothing.
Riding on the exhale of her next breath, the world swirls back into motion. Colors and shapes and sounds and sights form in the blink of an eye. The Forest lies before her again, as if nothing happened (and truly, nothing did happen; he simply prodded at her senses with his metaphorical trick fingers).
Only this time, there is someone beside her. And there is a charming yet deceiving voice to accompany it.
“Take it easy, babe. You look like you might have just passed out.”
Standing there in the dense forest was calming for Maus. An autumn breeze, tinged with cold from the winter that was to come caused the dying canopy to rustle and whisper softly. Soon the trees would be bare and simple skeletons of their previous selves would remain. Fall was the mousey mares favorite season. It was the way the leaves changed colors from green to deep shades of orange, red and yellow. Autumn set fire to the forests in a brilliant display of just how powerful mother nature truly is. Thinking of this, Maus takes a moment to appreciate the invisible goddess. Her eyelids slowly slip down over her deep amber orbs, blocking out the visible world while her ears prick forward. Keenly she listens to the forest that surrounds. Leaves crunch loudly off to her left and while her nearest ear flips towards its origin, the rest of Maus body stays still. She listens to the noise as it scatters along the leaf-littered floor and without opening her eyes, the grulla minx knows it's caused by a squirrel eagerly searching for food to stash away as it prepares for winter. Along with the scurrying sounds from the tree rat, birds who had yet to fly south chirp and squabble in the branches above her. For a moment, Maus just stands there listening, but as her eyes slowly slide back open, a soft sigh escapes her lips. The earth has music for those who know how to listen.
It's here that the mouse grey minx realizes something is amiss. Have you ever felt like you were being watched? Well Maus has and its at this very moment. An invisible chill runs down her back as she turns her head first to the left and then to the right, scoping out the area around her. She sees nothing, but seconds later she feels everything. Like thousands of legs from tiny bugs, her mind itched. The mare tries to shake her head, hoping to dislodge the feeling, but something is wrong. It's like moving in slow motion and before her amber eyes, the forest begins to melt away. The sounds she had previously been listening to mutate into something dark. Something happened to Maus that does not happen very often. She felt fear squeeze the breath from her lungs.
Instinctually she wants to run, but it's like her legs are stuck in quicksand. The trees around her continue to bleed away, everything she sees blending into one another like paint swirled together on a pallet. Sounds and smells are a muddled mess, one that terrifies Maus. What the hell is happening! she thinks desperately to herself, but even her minds voice sounds disrupted an unknown. Then, like a blanket being draped over her, everything is gone. Nothing but Nothingness surrounds her. Maus was not afraid the darkness, what she feared the most was the ear-shattering silence that came with it. She felt herself beginning to panic, it rose from her belly, clawing at her chest as she desperately looked for something anything to help ground her and take her back to the world she had been ripped from, and just like that she was.
As a panicked exhale escapes her, the dense forest explodes back into sight. What she once thought of as a calm, dimly lit forest was now a bright, deafening madhouse that crowded her previously deprived senses, all of which fought for her attention first. Quickly, though, sound won over and her ears, which had slammed down against her poll, shot upwards as a voice breaks through the chaos. Quickly she looks beside her to find a silvery bay stallion who stood roughly the same height as her. He had a gawky appearance, but at first she noticed very little about him. "What the hell just happened to me!" She demands in a thick russian accent, her ears returning to her poll as she pins them deep within a sea of messy black dreads.
The trickster can’t say what his favorite season is. There are qualities about each of them he admires (although he could certainly say he admires spring significantly less than the others) and also qualities about each of them he dislikes. He enjoys autumn (when the sky stains itself that erotic shade of blood-red) and he dislikes autumn (when the cold nips at his lungs in the early morning). He enjoys winter (when the snow covers the ground like the dirt over a grave) and he dislikes winter (when the constant dull ache in his knees keeps him still). He enjoys spring (when the rain cleanses the icy cobwebs) and he dislikes spring (when the whores he lays with bring the product to him). He enjoys summer (when the heat spreads across his body like a cloak) and he dislikes summer (when he sweats his balls off simply by sitting around).
But whatever season it might be, as long as he can cause trouble, the jokester is content.
He nearly laughs at the response she gives to the world melting in front of her. He can feel her panic in the air (it hangs there like the heaviness before a thunderstorm, it coats the breaths he takes in, it is plausible and real and immediate) and it spikes his amusement even further. She is panicked and skittish and scared and he revels in it. She shouts a rapid accusation as soon as she sees him, ears pinning and eyes blazing. The trickster doesn’t fault her (he’d be pissed if someone messed with his head, not that anyone did nowadays).
Keeping an even face (although there is the faintest hint of mischief dancing behind his bruised eyes), the trickster speaks in that charming voice. “Oh, babe, I didn’t do anything! I saw you almost falling on your pretty ass and ran over to help.” He allows a concerned expression to cross his face. “Are you alright, babe? You look a little woozy.” He glances around, feigning he doesn’t know the surroundings as well as he truly does. “Maybe we should get you to some water.”
LOKII
I'm not sure what kind of sex you're looking for xD Whether you want it consensual or non-consensual. Let me know! (:
