"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
He exhales and a plume of black smoke billows from his nostrils.
His eyes slowly blink, his slit pupils nearly seeing the heartbeats of those scattered just outside the treeline. Hunger doesn’t drive him forward; he fed enough while he was gone, grew even, and so his appetite is sated for now.
In the shadows, Castile mulls over his next decision. Truly, he shouldn’t be here. He has an innate ability to vanish, disappearing in a flurry of smoke and debris to leave behind confusion and chaos. Are the hearts he had stolen still broken? Did they mend as they rightfully should, or have they waited for his return? Did they have sleepless nights wondering where the father of their children has fled to?
The children are his main reason to be here again, pressed against an oak tree contemplating whether to step into the autumn sunlight or to remain masked by the darkness. If there was one thing in life he didn’t want to fail, it was fatherhood. He wanted to always be present, to guide his children and love them.
But he wasn’t there.
The heart that steadily drums in his chest cracks under his self-inflicted pressure and regret. It trembles under the weight of his failure and shortcomings. ”I’m sorry,” he whispers under his breath to no one as his mismatched eyes cast down to the bed of leaves at his feet. His remorse is the reason he doesn’t visit Hyaline or Loess or even Nerine. It’s why he finds himself here, at the edge of the forest looking across the open meadow. It won’t be long, he resolves, until he is found and shamed.
With a final exhalation of black smoke, Castile lets himself be blanketed by sunlight and exposed to the consequences of his past actions.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
The white and sunlight-covered mare could never hide, but, there is few she would need forgiveness for. Only once did she lash out, but today she is herself again, and simply watchful for recruits or those that simply need some kind of aid, something Hyaline is always willing to give, or, in this case: one who looks like he needs some stranger to talk to.
He is hesitant, stepping out of the shadows and into the light as if he’s here to confess he killed the fairies. Surely he has not, and surely he can be forgiven. It’s only those without remorse who can’t be helped and, he shows a lot of just that.
The woman is everything that he is not; bright and pretty cheerful, although she would not dare to be overly outgoing; she’s not like that. She probably smells of the mountains, but most of all of fresh air and clouds from her flight earlier, not too much of a dead-giveaway of where she lives. Or maybe she’s just used to the smell.
She falls into step next to the large winged male, and addresses him calmly. ”I’d say good day, but it seems your thoughts are ruining it for you.” Concerned, she looks at him. ”Might there be something I could help you with?” she offers, genuinely as she feels his mind weighs more heavily on him than it should. Surely there must be something she can say. To anyone else, or, to himself?
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile] figured he’d feel safer with someone he never met ^.^
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
08-21-2018, 03:06 PM (This post was last modified: 08-21-2018, 03:06 PM by Castile.)
Is he that obvious? Yes, he supposes. It isn’t as though he is masking his solemnity, or boasting with his chest puffed to look greater than how he feels.
With an accepting shrug, Castile turns to look at her, a woman with a honeyed voice sprinkled with lighthearted humor. ”Good guess,” he replies flatly, but not without a feeble, lopsided grin. He hadn’t expected a stranger, but he doesn’t turn her away. Perhaps he should, he considers upon drawing in the familiar scent of Hyaline. There is Solace. There are memories, both wonderful and awful. Amet. Ciri. He could go on, but decides against it as he blinks and regards the porcelain girl with increasing interest. ”Distract me,” his voice is gravelly but with an underlying, distant kindness.
Castile has never been intentionally cruel, not really. Dangerous more or less, but he has been adapting and learning himself. He has been refining his jagged edges and unpredictability. It’s for them, he muses, for Solace and Sabra and their children. The likelihood of them taking him back, however, is slim to none even with his personal modifications.
”I’m Castile,” he finally offers, his tension ebbing knowing that he isn’t faced with his past, yet. It’s looming like a dark cloud, but he’s still trying to determine whether he is excited or afraid to see them again. With his mind and heart heavy, Castile tries to find light in the situation by tracing the softened edges of the girl’s face before meeting her amber eyes. ”Have you any regrets or awful mistakes?” Most do, but many won’t admit it to a stranger. How can he expect her to open up to him so much, so quickly? An idle shift of his body weight breaks the statue-like stillness of his body. The brisk autumn breeze tousles the feathers of his wings and his unkempt locks. Heavy on the wind, unable to pass notice, is the hint of breeding season. It doesn’t thrill him, only creates a larger brick in his stomach – a reminder of when he first began to fail his family.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
The white winged mare complies - waits for his answer, a flat-toned one, but it is accompanied by a wry look. It’s not about her, she knows. She’s not even sure if it could be about anyone else but himself. She smiles lightly at his almost-a-command, distract me. And she will, at least, she hopes.
”My name’s Ilma.” she tells him - nothing more, for his name rings a bell. He has children in Hyaline; and yes, he might have gotten that bronze on him in the Games she also partook in, although with her lack of speed she did not win anything to show for it. She knows who he is and, unfortunately, she knows that is not the kind of distraction he could have hoped for. So her homeland, children and love, are all things she can’t start a proper conversation on.
But he finds a question, a general one but not without it’s own heaviness. She can do nothing but answer truthfully. ”Twice over. It’s not something to deal with lightly, I know.” she tells him; it seems he has been carrying his regrets with him and let them grow over time. While usually talking things out and asking forgiveness was easy in itself, they all tend to carry their weights with them - often unnecessarily.
Something occurs to her though.
”Have you tried forgiving yourself first?” she wonders aloud.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
There is a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a gleam of certainty, which provokes Castile to haphazardly look away. The brisk autumn breeze fingers through his unruly forelock and messily twists it down along his face. He acts as though it passed notice; had he blinked, he would have been oblivious. Ilma, she announces, doesn’t admit to her realization. Instead, she steadies on his broad question and takes into consideration his request. Distract me, he had simply requested. At least, it seemed simple enough when the words slipped past his lips. Now, however, Castile realizes how difficult of a task it actually is.
How can she distract him when his every thought is saturated by both Solace and Sabra? Their scents, their faces, their voices – it all comes racing back to him as he continues to watch the horizon. Silhouettes dot the meadow, their identities masked by the sunlight behind them. Like ants, Castile thinks. Even they, the mystery figures, don’t hold his attention for very long. Ilma, he repeats quietly to himself, is much more entrancing with her lithe figure and bright wings.
Yet he doesn’t look at her again just yet as her sing-song voice admits a painful truth. Blinking slowly, Castile tries to imagine her face creased into a frown and furrowed under the weight of her poor actions. Is it possible? An image cannot be created. Her face is far too sweet to handle the fine lines of life’s burdens. With a heavy sigh, he looks at her and memorizes her delicate features. ”I don’t think I can,” he finally admits with a leaden voice. It never crossed his mind to forgive himself; he was too consumed by the idea of groveling for their forgiveness. That’s all he wanted.
But Ilma doesn’t yet know the details or the prerogative of his questions. Would it be too much for her? Not interesting enough? Everything coils into a ball and nearly tumbles out of his mouth unrestrained, unfiltered, but somehow he catches himself. The distraction of a falling leaf saves him from humiliation. So, instead he condenses everything into one short statement that burns with emotion, scalding his thoughts. ”I fucked up again.” And again, and again, he doesn’t add. She doesn’t need to know the extent of his failures just yet.
I wasn’t a prince.
I wasn’t a king.
I wasn’t a father.
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
The Andalusian mare is not easily fooled; sure, he doesn't show his face for some time after mentioning his name, but she does not need to see his eyes to know that the abrupt way he altered his stance was a way to prevent her from looking directly into is soul.
Because, for over a year, she'd done just the same. Avoidance, that was the thing she recognized. And sure, perhaps in her case it had been something that overcame her, although she understands that she should maybe not have sought the man out that had planted Llowell in her womb, at least not during the season. But then how could she know? Well, for starters - she could have been a little less naive.
He might not be able to imagine her frowning; yet she did. Especially when he answers; he doesn't think he can. She mesmerizes, looking him over. He's handsome enough, and she can understand how he came to be a father. But Solace had already accepted that he was a wanderer; just like she had accepted that Svedka would sometimes be around, and sometimes would not be. "Try anyway. You'll not feel forgiven by anyone else, as long as you cannot accept who you are."
He might need an example. She smiles wryly. "I've made a wrong choice; several in one actually. I was naive, and way too trusting of a man who'd shown feigned interest but nothing more, until breeding season came around. Should've been a warning, right?" She shakes her head. "But the point is that I learned. And so will you. Our past shapes us, and our future depends on our willingness to change and grow from our experiences."
He seems to want to say something, but all he outs in the end is that he fucked up again. Well. She shrugs. "If that means you tried to be better in between, you're a better man than most." she tells him directly.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile] Wow, peptalk, I did not think I had this in me xD
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Ilma, how do you make it sound so easy? Forgive yourself, she says into the air between them. Castile regards her then with a tilt of his head, weighing her words. How can he forgive himself for so many things? He has hurt them – physically and emotionally – and he has been absent and unreliable. They deserve something so much greater, but instead, they find him each and every time he returns. They are moths to a flame – a destructive and dangerous flame.
At the idea of forgiving and accepting himself, Castile flinches. Muscles in his neck and shoulders quiver. What happens next is likely unexpected. Amid the remorse and self-hate, Castile laughs. A gravelly chuckle tumbles from his lips, his head slowly shaking from left to right twice before he is still again, a statue. ”Can anyone forgive a monster?” That’s what he was – is – but seemingly few know that. But somehow, Ilma is sinking her claws into Castile and he is entranced by her, considering what she says with far more depth than he originally intended. Both Solace and Sabra accept him for what he is, and yet he struggles to accept it himself. This is what he is, what he will always be. Why be ashamed of it? Why hate himself for the strength and power he was borne into?
His shoulders roll thoughtfully and his eyes sweep across her face.
The scent of Hyaline – of Solace – cling desperately to her skin, still fresh and vibrant. It draws him closer, the grass sighing underneath his weight. ”Did you see her scars?” He assumes she will know, that she will connect the dots – Ilma is smart. ”I did that to her,” an eerie stoicism coats his voice as though suddenly distant while the memory consumes him. ”That was only the beginning.” The iron tang of her blood is on his tongue again, reminding him of the day he fled from her. Solace saw what he was in that moment and understood why he constantly reiterated the precariousness of their relationship. How could he protect her when he couldn’t protect himself? ”How can I forgive myself for hurting them and leaving?” I wouldn’t even know where to begin, he doesn’t add. In front of her eyes, Castile is breaking. The stony exterior is crumbling as the shadows of his past crawl across him and rip him open.
But he focuses on her then and he listens to her tragic tale of lust and heartache and abandonment. It, admittedly, wrenches his heart. Ilma was a victim. He was the predator. Is how she felt also how Sabra and Solace felt? Castile shared passionate evenings with them, reveled in each other’s company, spoke of what could be, but then he left. Did they think he only wanted that? Were they as broken as Ilma once was? Questions batter against the walls of his mind, breaking him down and leaving him wondering. The muscles of his jaw tighten. ”You learned,” he whispered, repeating after her with an odd sense of concern and apology, like he was the one to have hurt her as well.
Their eyes meet and their gazes hold.
”The victim grows stronger in the story, but what happens to the monster?”
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
The stallion before her, bronze-tipped for his earnings but lacking the self-esteem to boast, this man - he laughs. But it's not the good kind; a bitter undertone, and a cynical question. Can anyone forgive a monster?
She stops her walk at the thought, then nods briskly. Yes. "I did, once." she admits, then continues to keep up with him. It was only recently that she had decided to forgive him - not that she will ever like what he did, the fact that he could not contain himself at all; but is she hadn't, it was her who would be walking around forever with the consequences.
But he's not done chastising himself. He asks her if he's seen the scars; that it was only the beginning, he says, he says he hurt -them- and left. Ilma shakes her head. Solace had a few scars, yes but, she never had trouble walking. Never had trouble sleeping with her wife, or caring for her children. There were no other outside scars, though he might mean the ones that were left inside, but - "She's healed." She can't help but spill that, this tiny reassurance. The rest is for Solace to tell, if at all; it's not Ilma they're talking about here. "Did you leave for their protection?" she counters. That's one answer - there's a reason behind everything, and if the reason is good and true, then forgiveness may one day be found.
Her own story is one from the other side, but not wholly. "I did not tell you about the second thing I did wrong. The things I called him, the loss of self-sense, and that in front of a possible new recruit." She shook her head - not something she liked to talk about.
He stares her down, one question still burning.
But she has an answer. "He changes." she offers him, blinking once but keeping his gaze. She's sure they're not talking about her monster now, but about him, but the truth of it is - all this chastising himself, all this lack of forgiveness of himself, it all comes down to the fact that he is not the same person he was when he made those mistakes.
That he's changed.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Castile hardly pauses. When Ilma abruptly stops to consider him, he simply glances back over his shoulder at her, his cascading mane rippling in the sunlight. I did once, she replies. The heaviness in her voice paves his assumption as to how cruel her monster was. Worse than me, he desperately tells himself, but even then, he isn’t sure he can believe himself. Yet despite what crime had been dealt, Ilma found it within herself to forgive, but never forget. Her confession alone guides Castile to the realization of how large her heart is, how compassionate. It takes a great deal of strength to forgive anyone. Would Solace and Sabra find it in themselves to do the same? Could they follow in Ilma’s footsteps? He can’t expect it from them, but finds himself hopeful at the prospect.
”Good,” he wanted Solace to heal, but how much did she? What life has she forged since his disappearance? Ilma knows a great deal more than him, but he doesn’t delve into it. The knowledge is a forbidden fruit while they wander the meadow together. While he wanted a distraction, he found himself incapable. Every thought, every worry, stemmed from Solace and Sabra and from the mistakes he made. If not a diversion, Ilma is at least a body and voice to comfort him as the days steadily cool down from autumn to winter. The warmth she radiates blankets across them as he picks his way across the open field, slipping around a hedge only to return to her side. His mind now weighs her following question. In his musing, Castile’s shoulder finds and brushes against Ilma’s. The contact is electrifying, but reassuring. ”No,” a staccato answer then, ”yes,” shaken, ”I don’t know…” What drove him into the sky is a mystery. It wasn’t Castile in front of her that made the decision. A conflicted shake of his head settles his mismatched eyes on the grass groaning underfoot. ”It’s complicated,” a resigning answer brimming with guilt. She notes this and whispers how the monster changed. Underlying that, however, Castile realizes that it’s advice directed to him.
He can change.
He will change.
He must change.
To fit into her tale, he must reform himself and be greater than he had once been. It’s his only hope.
”You didn’t have revenge on him though,” he says amid his barreling thoughts, ”Sure, you lost some composure, but you didn’t seek to physically harm him. For that, you are a higher person than most.” It’s now that Castile finally draws to a halt, his left shoulder brushing against hers until he pivots to look at her more directly. Everything she has said, everything she has done, is what he needed, and unknowingly wanted. The tenderness dances in rhythm with her firm advice. A smile, warmer than it has been this entire time, softens the sharp edges of his face. ”Ilma, you are a beautiful soul.” His muzzle leans forward to press against her forehead, but the contact of their skin is brief as he takes a step back. Her kindness led him to face his internal conflict head-on and to see what needs being done, but it also was his life vest when his thoughts were dragging him underneath the darkness of his mistakes.
Has he miraculously healed? No. Has he suddenly forgiven himself? Again, no.
But she moved his blindfold to the side and she chiseled away at the hard exterior that he was hiding behind. Although he has never been cruel, he has been confused and lost. The heaviness of his breath rattles him and the chains around his ankles will slowly lighten as he faces his past with her guiding words. Castile is settled enough to truly be distracted now. ”You live in Hyaline,” he admits his assumption after another inhale of her sweet scent. ”Tell me more about yourself.”
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
She gives him ample time to think - it seems that without guidance, he would never have dared to take this train of thoughts, and it is good then that she's here. No longer here as Hyaline's Ambassador (though she still is), she's taken on the role of a teacher, a mother, and it fits her like a glove.
But then again, it always had. So she smiles at his distant answers, knowing it will take some time for him to acknowledge to himself what reasons he had in the past for certain moves, and when he does, maybe when he understands why things happened the way they did, he can also find it in himself to forgive. Because it doesn't take a large heart to do so. Only a strong mind. But it will take some more time for him to see that. It will take time, because to learn this truth, he first needs to experience it himself.
And it is complicated. She smiles a little wryly. "It's life." But he seems to find some ease in her advising answer - to change. He still isn't convinced by the rest of her story though - remembering what she'd said, he calls her a higher person. She shrugs. "Maybe. To be honest with you, I needed to forgive so that I could keep my own sanity. And I was one hair away from physically hurting, too." Heck - had she been given the chance, had she been battle-trained, she might have castrated the man. She shivers at the thought now; silly woman, it would not have changed a thing.
Their shoulders brush, and she can't help but feel a friendship blooming, there is a connection, she's a salve to his open wounds, and if she looks closer, he is the same to her. The mirror - the prospect that a monster has changed, can change, and that he probably isn't the only one who can. Given time. Given forgiveness.
He nuzzles her head and she lets him, kindly reminded that the last time she'd felt such a touch was over a year ago, and making her wonder where the clouded palomino man was now. But it's Castile with his two-toned gaze who talks to her, and settles into a lighter conversation, at least, he hopes it to be.
She complies - nods to his words. "I do. I came to the field maybe... 3,5 years ago. I was immediately approached by Kagerus, then the Advisor to Solace, and offered a home where I felt I would belong. To be frank, I've never fit anywhere better. I'd always cared for my younger siblings..." she trails when her memories remind her of the family she will never see again, but shakes her head to clear it quickly. "Caring for those in need, especially children, seemed the only way to go. And it still is." She tells him. "I've a daughter, and a son now too. Not from a father I'd hoped they would have, but, with a surrogate family that loves them and shapes them into better beings than either me or their fathers." she smiles. That's the point, isn't it? What's best for the children. To make them grow and surpass their parents and teachers.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
@[Castile]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
