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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


    [Jude] Lover forgive me my guilt is my only crime
    #1

    she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees
    try her boy but she'll still do what she please

    The sun sinks slowly beneath the horizon, the stars blossoming and moon rising in all its pale and silver glory: the dull clouds drifting in the dark sky. Tephra is a place that smells of dew and sand, of warmth and the slightest touch of volcanic and sulfurous rock. A paradise of tall grass and fern, of palm trees and vines: shadows that dance through the slivers of the moon. Red and rosy the bubbling magma in the fissures seems to crackle and snap, a melody to chorus of grasshoppers and nightbirds. 

    Through the canopy the light illuminates dewy leaves and flowers, and Aysel can see the suggestion of movement from small lizards, frogs, and all sorts of creatures.

    Her head hangs and the reddish blonde mane drips along her spattered neck: long and wavy, slightly silvering from the evident varnish coloration. Elegant in her own way she is thicker in build with a sort of warmblood appearance with a gait that moves quickly and smoothly, enough to make her a sort of ghost among the trees and throughout the land. Her dark blue eyes rove the shadows and silver flecks gleam and glisten, and for half a second she thinks she hears the sound of breathing and a heartbeat: the pulse of something familiar.

    Silver light and stars catch her in the eye and she sees a shadow, the movement of another- and her heart stops so suddenly: a knot in her belly and a lump in her throat as she sees the dark haired and graying figure of someone from before. Like a ghost is passes through her and Aysel’s eyes widen as she chokes back a name, as her whole body is left to turn as it moves through her and vanishes: the reflection and memory of her shattered heart manifest. 

    ‘No, please…’ she whispers so inaudibly it cannot be heard but her voice is on the edge of a sob and her chest seizes as she opens her mouth and winces: wrinkling in misery and contorted with rue.

    She steps through the cold and dark: walks into where the imagine was and there is only the smell of Tephra and the feeling of vines wrapping around her. The familiar feeling of their strength as she tears them, ignores the way they drop to the ground, and pushes onward in the path of moonlight: chasing after a ghost.

    At full speed she’s long and lean, her body so graceful she may as well be a leopard or jaguar rather than a horse: trees dodges and roots jumped as she clings to the hope: to the hunger, and to the memory. With a shove her weight is lifted into the air and she lunges over a small crevice: thudding on the ground and digging her hooves in as she breaks the treeline and the jungle: as she rushes into the wide field and the swaying green-grass sea. 

    Gone, the shadow is gone.

    Every bit of her aches, the tender muscle and weary flesh: the bitter heart still beating in her chest. Aysel feels heat in her eyes, the salty tang and sting of tears and she suppresses it with a long exhale. Though she has to compose herself, in the corner of her eye she can see the parting grasses and vibrant color: the wings stretching out and all the soft curves of another. Younger and less tired, she seems to be and Aysel recalls her name only from brief meeting not proper introduction. The aged jaguar yawns, stretches and turns: her shoulders rolling back as she stalks forward and approaches the other mare.

    “Pardon, we’re not formally introduced I believe.” she speaks up, the slow roll and purr in her voice affect by lilt and verve: a smoky Parisian accent that lingers in every syllable. “I am Aysel, and I formerly lived among the Amazons in the Jungle.” poignant but not harsh, she’s a formal creature, her dark eyes blue eyes watching and studying: a sort of regal posture maintained.

    Aysel


    @[peregrine jude]
    #2
    peregrine jude
    i glow pink in the night in my room

    Tephra is home to Jude: untamed and wild, beautiful and dangerous (so like her, befitting). She spends most of her days within its borders, lazily watching Myrkari and Cosmos as they explore in their bizarre and individual ways. Her children are strange, though she could she really expect anything else? Jude has no idea how to mother, to protect, or to teach. The two babes may have been given a little too much room to develop on their own. She thinks she quite likes their oddities, though - no matter that their freedom may one day be detrimental.

    The sun falls languidly in endless hues of pink and orange and red. Luscious green plants and blue flowers melt into purple twilight as the pegasus passes, large leaves parting to allow her coat to blend into the skyline. Her comfort here does not go unnoticed: creatures do not seem to mind her careful steps and upon first glance she looks like yet another bush of exotic flowers. If Tephra could change one’s DNA, it certainly has changed Jude’s.

    It is complacency that Jude feels, though. As captivating as a Tephra sunset may be, it is one that she watches night after night, wondering what it may be like to study each land’s sunset. Complacency that turns to guilt: that is what the pegasus chews on, the two feelings mushing and souring and eventually poisoning the pit of her stomach. She cannot enjoy the sun as it falls, cannot enjoy the way she fades into the light, cannot enjoy the sweet breeze as it attempts to cool her stress.

    Oh, how bored she is - even more bored than before she moved to Tephra.

    That is why when Aysel slinks forward, silken and mysterious, Jude buzzes with delight. The Amazon is not a stranger, but she is certainly not terribly familiar, and the air around her hangs heavily with secrets Jude is dying to know. The jaguar speaks, supple voice breaking the dense captivation the pegasus feels. She blinks, slowly, turning her head ever-so-slightly to the right and allowing a shark’s smile to raise her lips. An Amazon, she thinks, how fitting. The smile disappears as if it was never there, replaced by a soft line and sparkling eyes.

    “Aysel . . . suits you,” she begins, side-stepping closer. “My name is Peregrine Jude - Jude for short.”

    There is no formality in the way the pale pink woman moves or speaks: she continues to inch closer, stretching her nape upward to brush her dainty nose against Aysel’s regal one, wry smile twisting shyly across her mouth. She does feel a bit timid, though one would only be able to tell if they note the quick way she draws away and averts her eyes. Jude drags her eyes back up and -

    “Magnus has spoken of your Amazons in passing - a time I wish I knew,” her accent drawls low, rising delicately on her vowels, just a touch forlorn in their intent. “Do you miss your Jungle?” a murmur, nearly lost on the summer chirping of insects, prodding delicately at the shadows that surround Aysel.

    i've been blossoming alone over you


    @[Aysel]
    #3

    she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees
    try her boy but she'll still do what she please

    Jude does not have the air around her that Magnus has, the vines and shadows: the creeping sensation of moss and of feline eyes watching from the darkness. She lacks the ferocity of it; but deep down Aysel can feel something- perhaps it’s the slow lull and roll of the accent- the drawl. She can hear the purr and all the cruelties of claws that she knew from her own home; but it isn’t a jungle cat’s grasp that Jude has… oh no, it’s something different.

    She swallows and there is a lump in her throat when she hears the pale pink mare talking, when she hears the words and all the saccharine sweetness of her voice. Aysel is tempted by it, perplexed and curious: inspired to lift her dark blue eyes and to watch the rustling  and ruffling of the wings; but more so she’s curious about each movement and every step.

    Jude reminds her so much of the silver ghost.

    In a schism of vision she can see that when Jude turns in a echo-like image there is a shadow of gray and she catches Prague’s dark eyes and all the bitterness and rage that twisted her face; but when Jude is there… she cannot see it any longer: like the two visions are merging.

    Her heart is starved, hungry, and bitter: burned and wrapped in hundreds of years of vines.

    The Warbringer, the Jaguar… the Amazon- titles and identities time has forgotten, whoever she is now? Aysel pauses before speaking.

    “Jude, aptly named- you’ve wings to match.” and she seals her fate in a way, with the way the name leaves her lips and how she tastes the honey and venom of it: the natural duality.

    She doesn’t pull away nor resist a greeting, she brushes her nose all the same and feels the warmth and velveteen softness. Magnus speaks often of the Amazons, she knows, and Aysel would chuckle if not for the nostalgic pangs that make her heart all the more weary. Jude asks a question and she feels herself burning with an answer.

    Poignant but lacking cruelty or malice, she allows all formality to fade slowly: to speaks with ease rather than business. “It was an older time, for certain. I don’t expect many to remember when they burned or fell into the sea… Beqanna was turbulent then.” she shrugs her shoulders, a burden that- like Atlas, she must bear.

    “Tephra is not my jungle, but, she is all the same the child of it: and so while I miss my home… I do my best to make sure her child survives.” stalwart and loyal, a protector even with Segolene absent- Aysel turns her head and looks aside at all the world around them before focusing on Jude.

    Prague’s shadow is gone.

    There is a sorrow so deep in her, that Aysel feels herself shatter; but, no pieces fall: instead she just bottles it in. “I recall that, you, like myself came at the behest of Magnus. I am glad to see you are flourishing and thriving here. I know that in this current time it could be hard to imagine such a thing as, comfort; but at least we have pieces for now.”

    Jude has beautiful eyes, deep and dark: starry all the same.

    Aysel


    @[peregrine jude]
    #4
    peregrine jude
    i glow pink in the night in my room

    The shadows deepen as Aysel and Jude stand in stoic balance: each drawn to the other in their own irreversible ways. The paradise of Tephra holds their warm hearts in its Amazonian hands, nurturing their attraction just as it nurtures all its wild things. Magnus, Aysel, Jude . . . all running parallel with their volcanic kingdom beneath, their paths crossing here and there as pages of their lives turn: the two fierce women finally intertwining, just as Tephra seemed to predict - Jude like the ivy and Aysel like the tree she climbs.

    There is a melancholy that the pegasus senses, though she is not sure if it is Aysel or the universe mourning their time wasted apart. Jude cocks her head, coy yet intuitive, ears swiveling back and forth as she processes the environment that washes over her. She is the same as she always has been: sly, serpentine - her soft underbelly exposed to those that need it (or deserve it) - her duality (beautiful, detrimental, intoxicating). The tickling of the tall grass relaxes her; the chirping of the insects delights her; the company of Aysel dulls her sharp edges, turning her from sword to shield.

    Jude glows beneath the Warbringer’s words, a pleased flush lost on her color warming her ballerina features. There is an uncontrollable flutter of her wings in response, the feathers soft as they whisper against each other. Jude tucks them tight against her sides, tense in the anxious silence before the Amazon’s next words.

    The Jaguar’s response is eloquent and somber, seemingly a crumbling dam to a flooding body of water. Aysel looks away, studying everything around them, and Jude thinks: Is she looking for something? Though her curiosity is once again piqued, she remains quiet and fidgety to allow her companion to continue speaking. When she is done a bitter smile curls the pegasus’ mouth upward, contorting her face in rue - the sharp lines and angles of her lineage making her mood appear harsher than it is. “Flourishing” is not the word she would use; the unpleasant flavor of motherhood floods her mouth. Most days her love for her children is greater than the sourness of unwanted responsibility; but now, looking upon the strength and wisdom of Aysel, Jude is reminded of the life she put on hold (how terribly unaware she is of the power motherhood will bring her). Still, the draw of the Amazon is stronger than her own selfish restraints, and the pink woman is once again enraptured by her counterpart’s solemn air.

    Jude has always been organic in her own way, unable to resist her desires. She is struck with the need to press close to the Jaguar, allowing it to flood her senses in its entirety. Aysel speaks of comfort but the pegasus has not truly felt peace since the plague and the responsibility of her children: there may be comfort in soothing the sorrow that creeps amongst them. Its source is a mystery but she still needs to be rid of it.

    “I’m not suited to motherhood - at least not in the sense Magnus and I have - so I would not call this thriving, but,” here she pauses, looking up at Aysel through thick and fluttering lashes, “Tephra seems to keep offering me surprises.” Jude does not smirk but her eyes gleam dangerously as they slowly trace each of the Amazon’s impressive muscles - perhaps suggestive, but mostly hungry; she is hungry to swallow the sorrow in whatever way possible.

    “Here . . .” she whispers, turning her body so that she stands parallel to the other, not hesitant but slow enough for Aysel to resist if she wishes. Jude presses her side into the roan’s sturdy frame; first her stomach, then her nose, nuzzling the sensitive skin of her neck - if she would allow it.

    “Tephra is solemn tonight,” she murmurs, forgetting Aysel’s kind words - not caring that her actions (her spoiled desires) are uncouth.

    i've been blossoming alone over you


    @[Aysel]




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