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  • Beqanna

    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


    maybe you were the ocean, and i was just a stone; any
    #1
    wane

    Mint green sea-foam licks at his heels and sticks to them.

    He doesn’t know that once, years before, it had stuck to Lanai, too, when she threw herself into the sea to say goodbye. That was the day that it happened, that they threw everything that was to be(Wax and Wane and their entire existence), out into the cosmos; built them into reality out of fleeting moments with raw intentions. 

    Maybe something similar would happen to him.

    The roar of the sea is deafening, but he’s always preferred it. The wax and wane of the tide (the very ones he is named for) brought forward something primal and raw in him, sent something ancient rooting through his veins. He stands before it now, and that feeling (that heavy, sinking feeling), it drags down his spine hitting every vertebrae on its way, leaves them tingling, reeling from the impact.

    It feels like home.

    And he’s missed home.

    He would never say it aloud. He’s too much like his father in that regard - all stone walls and sharp edges. But the casual lines of his body (one heel cocked, and a flippant shrug to his shoulders as he wades in the tide) betray him, and when he turns his face against the ocean wind he tastes the salt on his tongue as he does so.

    It isn’t exactly home, but it would do.

    #2






    Agnieszka



    They were on the cusp of summer, the days grew warmer and longer. The grass above the beach was long and already fronded. Children used their teeth to strip the early seed pods.

    Today the beach was only lightly occupied, and it was easier for the dappled tobiano mare to descend among her fellow Nerinians. She wound her way down from her little hiding place above the rocky shore and then trotted down to the water’s edge. Wherever she’d come from before, these shores were now home. The wet sand and seaspray never grew stale.

    High rambunctious waves threatened her, called her. Her scars were no longer so stiff and pink. Was it the warm sun on her strong back? The thrilling crash of waves? Agnieszka remembered she was strong and fast, maybe not as beautiful as she might be unscarred and whole but that suddenly didn’t matter. Her limbs were full of the need to move, and the hard wet sand needed the pounding of hooves over it’s dark bubbling shine.

    Agnieszka leaped along the shore, racing along the slithering edge of the foaming seawater. Tail tossed high, neck extended, locomotive. Each snorting breath keeping time with the thud of her dark hooves. She hadn’t raced this way since her half-remembered flight, bloodied and almost destroyed. She reclaimed her right to run simply for the pleasure of it...it was a healing thing, even if she was unaware of it.

    She slowed and splashed through the water, letting the waves chase her back up the beach when they came in, not interested in letting them take her. It is while she is doing this that she draws near enough to the stallion that it would be rude not to say hello, though now that she has run does not have the usual desire to keep out of company. ”Hi. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.” She says by way of a breathless greeting, staying where she is, so that the waves roll over her hooves and gently bury them in sand, only to pull it away again as they withdraw. ”I’m Agnieszka. Eszka.” Tacking on the shortened version, just to make remembering her slightly less of a bother.

    an unequaled gift for disaster




    @[Wane]
    #3
    wane

    He had seen her first when he had turned his against the wind and tasted salt; in the beginning nothing but a mark of black against the sand and sea, steadily growing larger and louder with every breath that he drew. As she draws closer he notices that the white dapples on her skin make it look almost as if the tide is reaching up and pulling her into it, instead of just rolling in to bite at her ankles as she races in and out with the waves.

    If he were more intelligent and less obtuse he might make himself smaller, he might make himself look as though he is at least a sliver apologetic - he had, after all, come upon the region in search of the sea without even the hint of invitation, verbal or otherwise. He doesn’t though, only watches with vague interest until she is nearly upon him. Wane, every bit his father’s son, was not the type to stop and wonder about borders or cordiality. He went where he wanted, when he wanted. He is more likely to follow a whim than he ever is to follow a leader.

    “Hi. I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” she says when she draws near, and he wonders when he notes the rattle to her breath and the faint glimmer of sweat on her skin, if they reveal her fervor for the ocean or running itself. When she introduces herself he’s grateful for the shortened version - had tasted the longer one silently on his tongue as she drew out the syllables. He knew he’d make a mess of it aloud.

    “Hey,” he says, still casual despite the bluntness of his trespassing.
    “Wane. Which is already short enough, I guess.” He offers his nose in greeting, because he’s not entirely a wild animal.

    “Where am I?”

    He asks her then, the lines of his body still flippant. This world was not the one that Texas and Lanai had left when they’d gone, hand-in-metaphorical-hand, off into the sunset and beyond the horizon. He doesn’t know exactly what had happened to the Falls (his father’s only other true obsession beyond the curve of women’s hips), only that they’re gone; permanently, and irreparably, gone.

    Maybe she would know.



    @Agnieszka
    #4






    Agnieszka



    Trying to smother down the rapid cadence of her breath she extends her muzzle to his own, sampling his scent and finding that he doesn’t quite smell of Nerine. She hasn’t been here long enough to know everyone by sight and so had assumed both by his manner and her ignorance that the stallion was not out of place. He looked like he belonged here, on the shore. Smiling she takes his nam and stores it away, it was good to have new things to remember.

    ”Yes, I suppose it is. Happy to meet you, Wane.”

    She turns her scarred face to look over their surroundings, amethyst eyes roving over the long line of the cliffs. ”You’re in Nerine.” She says simply, though it’s really all she has to offer him. She doesn’t know much of Beqanna beyond the meadow and these grey shores. ”I’ve only just come here myself at the end of winter. Were you looking for someone?”Eszka couldn’t help much with that either, unless he was looking for Breckin or Djinni, still she was interested in the stranger who she now recognized to be defiant of his belonging here or not. She was a law abiding thing so far, but something about the loose strength and confidence of his just standing here on a sovereign shore without invitation or a welcome appealed to her. She remembered her scars, she did not expect to be noticed, she only wanted to know what kind of man this was and where he came from.

    an unequaled gift for disaster




    @[Wane]
    #5
    wane

    Nerine means nothing to him.

    Even just the sound of it, all of its letters and all of its syllables, they barrel down one ear just to creep out the other; he’s forgotten as soon as she’s spoken it. Had he known, however, that it was foreign tongue for ‘newly reformed amazons’ he might have paid more attention - he might have even laughed out loud at the irony of finding himself here, of all places, stomping boundaries where he is most certain to be noticed.

    “Were you looking for someone?”

    He knows the reason that she asks him this, that she’s found him out and, ever so politely, is pointing out his misplacement. For a moment, Wane drops his casual shrug and meets her gaze squarely, noticing for the first time the scar running smoothly down one cheek (a shame, he thinks), then looks back out into the ocean. He did belong on shores; just, perhaps, not these ones.

    A pregnant pause fills the space between them. Wane is still looking out across the ocean as though he’ll find the answer to Eszka’s question out there on the horizon, tangled in between  the sea water reflections and where the mountains meet; his brows furrow, and the lines of his face pull taut because he realizes he won’t. He could tell her what he is really here for, but the story is more complex than he is willing to vocalize, and regardless, it wouldn’t have mattered to her.

    “You, maybe,” he answers playfully instead, with one brow quirked and an impish smile on his lips. He likes beautiful things, certainly, but in the middle of winter when the fruit is scarce you eat what you can find, don’t you? He doesn’t realize what Nerine’s true claim is - if he did, he might have a second laugh at the irony in this moment.

    “And the ocean. I’ve missed it.”
    This part is true; the sea was as much a part of him as flesh or bone or marrow.

    The water is still licking at his ankles when the waves roll in and out, but suddenly it isn’t enough. He charges forwards, until his knees, then thighs, then shoulders are wet, too. The cold cuts like a knife, but there’s something more exhilarating about plunging in because of it.

    “Care to join me?”



    @Agnieszka
    #6






    Agnieszka



    They did seem to find her didn’t they? These men with stories brewing under their skin. She is clueless now, these are her early days and she’s adding names to her dance card like a debutante without knowing or caring that she’s half a joke to them, a trifle that that they don’t want to take the time to really see. The monster that lives locked away in her head bangs against it’s walls sometimes but she doesn’t hear. Today the black thing doesn’t bother, this one doesn’t seem as dangerous at the other man who comes under cover of dark. Let the girl play.

    You maybe. He says and she smiles at the lie, taking it for the sugary treat it is. She isn’t so foolish to see anything more in the words. They make her feel good, and she thinks that maybe she can flirt with this stranger and come out unscathed, and say goodbye to him later without him seeing her broken parts. Just the scars, and those were mattering less to her every day.

    ”It does call.” She says, speaking in her turn about the ocean, and then watching him delve in, a smile creeping across her lips. Eszka doesn’t balk at the invitation to join him,  but she does linger on the shore, watching the waves break against his body. The water foaming around his bulk. ”Very well.” She says, as if entertaining a boy and not yielding to the whims of a man. Trotting out into the surf turns her dapples dark, nearly black again. She draws out to the depth Wane has chosen, letting him break the waves for her as she settles near him, not too close, but close enough that the water between them quiets in their shelter. Neck arched she peers down through this quiet water to watch the sand at the bottom ripple and twist through the distortion of the surface. Reflected light shimmers over her bicolor features.


    an unequaled gift for disaster




    @[Wane]
    #7

    maybe you were the ocean


    Is he some dark and mysterious stranger?

    Likely not. The truth is simply that everyone had a story if you peeled back the flesh far enough, or searched beneath the muscle and sinew carefully enough. Wane’s story is not dark, or twisted, or even that wholly original. Nothing wicked rattles at the bars of his xylophone ribs waiting to be freed. In fact, it is entirely possible that the darkest secret he holds close to his heart is that his entire family is immortal, save for him, and while at first is had been a hard pill to swallow he’d made his peace with it.

    It meant he didn’t have time to waste.
    It meant that he chose to live the way he wanted to without guilt or repercussion.

    Which brings him here - to the sand and surf, to wading shoulder-deep with a stranger who has in all likelihood, and unbeknownst to him, sworn an oath to a life without he, or any male counterparts, in it. She rests a short space away, quieting the water between their bodies. He isn’t surprised that she’s come to join him, because in reality most interactions with the opposite sex were generally easy for Wane. Lanky and angular like his father - he is handsome in the ways that aren’t typical, or necessarily beautiful, but definable. He isn’t elegant, but there is something about the way he holds himself that always brings them in his direction.

    Of course she came; they always did.

    “You said you’ve only been here since the end of winter,” he says, serious again for a moment while he circles the water.

    “Where were you before?”

    He finds himself liking the way her mane sticks close to the skin of her neck when it’s wet. “I’m sorry,” he says then, before she can answer. “What did you say your name was again? Esss something?” Eszka. He remembers perfectly well, but has chosen instead to make her think he has forgotten. Often it made them want to be remembered, which in turn, generally worked out in his favour.

    No, there’s nothing wicked in him - but there’s not a lot that’s moral, either.

    Wane
    and i was just a stone



    @[Agnieszka]
    #8






    Agnieszka



    She was so ignorant of the politics and histories of this world. Amazons or otherwise, she had little idea herself and perhaps would not have chosen such a home in another life. Now that she was growing more comfortable with venturing down to the beach and among her peers she would likely soon understand the kind of kingdom in which she dwelt.

    Maybe she would feel it didn’t suit her? No, most likely not. She had her clifftop hiding place, and so much water all around. Nerine sang peace into her head and heart.

    Of course he asks questions. They do always seem to. Asking things that she cannot answer without revealing that she has misplaced herself. She’s disappointed, but conceals this. Instead she simpers a bit as he requests her name once more, taking the bait. ”That’s alright. Its Eszka.”  She wants to remember and be remembered, the stallion could not know how desperately so there could be no malice in the “forgetting”. As for his first question… She could lie to Wane, but she possesses so little in the way of identity and would really prefer that most of the tale she spun around herself were true. ”I don’t actually know.” She replies, drawing away and circling back, a wave breaking against her side. ”Unfortunately I don’t remember.” She didn’t really believe it so unfortunate anymore, what she had lost scared her a bit more than she would want to admit. Hoping to leave it at that she directs the question back to Wane. ”What is your home called?”

    an unequaled gift for disaster




    @[Wane]
    #9

    maybe you were the ocean

    Wane hides it well, but is rather pleased with himself when Eszka simpers in his lie. His delight, however, he only lingers on a moment. When she repeats her name, Wane (ever the actor) mimics the movement of the sound with his mouth as though he is, in fact, listening when he isn’t. Now he’s thinking about the ocean instead, how he’s felt empty for weeks until now, here, with the sea-foam lapping at his skin and the taste of salt water on his tongue. The ocean stirs something in him.

    Memories, perhaps; feelings beyond himself. It distracts him from what might otherwise be an obnoxiously flirtatious encounter.

    His wild eyes find hers again only as she answers his question, but he is still thinking about the waves.
    “Sometimes not knowing is easier,” he offers, without really holding any tangible evidence to say why, and when she asks him then where home is for him he recognizes the ploy to deviate from talking further about herself, but obliges it readily. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it?

    He swings his great head to look out across his shoulders at the ocean horizon beyond them. Wax, Lanai, Texas - they were home; faces rather than places. He misses Wax the most. She had been his comrade; his other half. She had eyes like wildfires, and her legs could move her like a hurricane through the waves, spraying wind, and sea-foam, and ocean mist alike. He had learned to love her shadows, because she cast them far and wide. She was wild when he knew her, and as he smiles softly to himself he wonders if she is wild still. 

    But he doesn’t tell Eszka that.

    Instead, he moves closer to her because the roar of the ocean is deafening as the waves break across his back, again and again. “Here and there,” he says instead, grinning close to her ears. “The ocean, I guess. It was the only place we really spent a lot of time.” He drops the ‘we’ without meaning to while conjuring their faces in the back of his mind, straining to remember every detail.

    Because today, in the ocean, his heart’s moved for the first time in weeks.

    Wane
    and i was just a stone



    @[Agnieszka]
    #10






    Agnieszka



    Eszka watches Wane and he watches the sea and the dappled woman is not foolish enough to think that she has even a fraction of his attention or admiration even. This Eszka, stripped down and plain is perhaps too vanilla.  She’s trying to conceal what makes her flawed and thereby conceals whatever makes her remarkable. She may realize this later but for now she wants to try to be as normal as she can manage. To try on the skin of someone who doesn’t wake to the sound of her own screams whenever she tries to sleep in the caves that nearly everyone else here lives in. To walk out into the water and not wonder why it bothers her that it only feels like water.

    She knows wistfulness, feels that ebbing off of Wane even if he doesn’t mean for it to. She’s still watching him with her violet eyes when he turns back and draws close. He drops words in her ears like wishes into a well and his look is still far away even if he’s come close. So close in fact that she tips her face toward his neck and tugs lightly at the gathered ends of his half-soaked mane. “We…?” she asks absently, coaxing more but not insisting, not expecting more from him than she herself is willing to give.  

    She tries not to ask more, but that ‘we’ is full of so much for her. She had more than just herself once too. Not knowing who they were does not mean she just assumes she’s an island. There had been others in her life and she cannot remember them. Is the forgetting harder, or the loss? Would remembering what she’d had break her further? There is no way to know. A little part of Agnieszka would like to hear what it’s like to be without someone and ache for them, how that kind of heartache sits. It’s morbid to long for sorrow, she knows. It’s not so wrong to wish she could pine for people who mean something to her.


    an unequaled gift for disaster




    @[Wane]




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