• Logout
  • 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


    we're all living in a devil town -- ᴀɴʏ
    #1
    Of course he would slink back into the lotusland of Beqanna during the onset of a plague. What luck! What timing! What a wonderful coincidence to be welcomed home to! (A ‘welcome’, yeah, like that would be anywhere near close to what Eight will receive). Quite fitting, I’d say; a physical sickness sweeping the havens cat-calls Eight home. With all the rot and disease festering the land and her inhabitants- what’s one more magician-affliction reaching his tendrils across Beqanna?
    He is no stranger to these lands, nor to the blight that occasionally sweeps through it. It seems every time he shakes off the rust and returns back home, there is some tumult and ruction rolling through. Why could he never come back to her when there is calm? Why must it always be when life is careening through the abyss, hellbent on destruction? (Perhaps this is a sign- perhaps he only feels her magnetic pull when it is time to stride in and stir the pot?)
    Last time (eons ago, it feels like - though perhaps it’s just been years? Time is a fluid thing for a magician), the devastation was the breaking and converging of land, the Mountain rumbling through the core of the Earth, the Faeries fury and wrath, the stripping and regaining of power once more. Again, there is chaos; a sickness rapidly oozing over the land, an unknown monster slowly stealing the lives and strength of her lands. Oh, I’m sure there are safe havens - but we all know nothing is ever truly safe here. How quickly will this mull over? Or will it fester until Beqanna and her citizens drown in the pus and rot and blood?
    Eight decides he will stay for a while. He will see for himself what this plague roils into, what tides of death and stink will wash over Beqanna. So he waits in the river-land, waiting for the current fail to fight off the freeze of winter, like Beqanna will fail in fighting the plague.
    Reply
    #2
    lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me, do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?

    She knows nothing of the Beqanna of the past. Has never heard of the kingdoms that her parents and grandparents would have made their own, has hardly even heard their own names, for that matter (the magic stallion could hardly be considered an actual father – she’s never even heard her mother utter his name – and her mother had spent more time avoiding her daughter than taking care of her). She only knows this version, and hardly does she even know of a life without the plague. She carries it inside of her, it courses in her veins and radiates from her pores, but she doesn’t feel it. If she had known, she would have kept away from Ophanim; she wouldn’t risk knowingly harming the only thing she cared about.

    She is young – incredibly so, just nearing two years old. But she had outgrown the awkward stage long ago, and she steps easily along the riverside with slender legs, the cold winter light washing across her star-studded body. She was not good at keeping company, no matter how pleasant they were. Ophanim was burrowing himself too far inside, and she kept him at arm's length because of it. Vadar was sweet, but she didn't do well with nice things. She had to find something else to abate her odd desires. With a single sweep of her surroundings, her cobalt-colored eyes settle on a dark stallion. She stands, an inquisitive tilt of her delicate head, and she simply watches him for a moment. Debating.

    Finally, she moves forward, audacious and without hesitation, coming to rest alongside of him. ”Hi,” A single syllable, rolling like a saccharine purr, before following with, ”Mind if I join you?”




    Here, enjoy my trash.

    @[Eight]
    Reply
    #3

    no matter what they say, I am still the king


    The past is a ridiculed thing. Too often, people settle inside it, burrow up like a hibernating creature. They opt not to surface from their hole, like the birthing of an abomination, to face the present. The past is a deadly thing, best not to dwell on it, little thing. Your father, your mother; they are buried in the musty dirt. Let them lie, let their bodies be covered with the body of Beqanna, be here (be now, be exactly. Right. Now.)
    Your voice cracks the silent morning - a simple greeting, a query for company. It would be a welcome change if He hadn’t known you were coming. He had seen you, crawling through the growth of the river land. A galaxy crossing the wooded land, traveling distance and space towards a black hole you did not see coming. Too young to realize the depth of your decisions - too soft minded to know the vortex you are choosing to go to. You know nothing of Beqanna’s past, and so you know nothing of the mistake you are making.
    “You may.” He says quietly, watching your curiosity pique like a growing star. There is no fear in the delicate steps you are taking; your lack of age is showing in the lackadaisical movements you are making. Tread lightly, little galaxy, this black hole is not the best of company either.
    “All of Beqanna is quite unusual now, hm?” He is referring to the vomit of colors and traits and deluded appearances; the free flowing waves of mimicry and mutations and anything but the mundane. You were no different, He knows - not simply in the way your body wore the sky, but he felt that prod and pull at the edge of his mind, he knew that there was little to limit what your mind could hold onto. That is, of course, save for magic.
    “And what do you do, little nebulous thing?”




    and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

    Reply
    #4
    lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me, do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?

    She has always been a whirlwind of chaos and secrets, hiding every part of herself from the outside, and spurring forth pandemonium when things were too quiet, or when she needed to deflect attention from herself. But she was still too young, too reckless, to actually be any good at any of it. Thus far she has only tampered with simple games; using her gift to pick out their weaknesses, or to push them to the brink of madness. It was amusing when they snapped at her. She wanted something bigger though, something to drag out a little longer. The universe had played right into her wanting hands, gifting her the confused Vulgaris. It had been easy enough, to start first with someone that had no memories; the snake-king was strong, but he was broken on the inside, and he ate up the lies that she fed him. She wasn’t trying to hurt him, per say. She just wanted to use him a little.

    She hadn’t considered what would happen if he ever recovered his memories.

    It didn’t take much prying into this one’s mind, though, to immediately see that she was outmatched. He hummed with an electricity that she has never encountered before, his thoughts almost seeming to be able to push her out. It was mildly irritating, but Starsin, while young, was not completely foolish. She would tread carefully, for now.

    ”Has Beqanna not always been unusual?” There is the question at the end, but the way it leaves her tongue is more of a statement. She hasn’t put much thought into what this place may have been like before she was born; two hundred years of history, as they rode the highs and lows of the waves of magic. She has been born during the highest of highs, and this is all she knows. He asks her what she does, and there is a short laugh – a sharp exhale of breath, though it is not mocking; it is still trill and silvery, her cobalt blue eyes flickering across his face. ”I do anything that keeps me entertained for any length of time.” She takes a step closer to him, her lips still tilted upwards in a smile that is too coquettish for one so young. ”My name is Starsin, by the way.”


    Reply
    #5

    no matter what they say, I am still the king



    That is how is starts - a simple drop in the complexity of life. A small tick in the mind; create some chaos. How fortunate that you should be able to participate - to be able to tamper and toil with others’ lives and minds. Is it fun, little one? Causing their minds to stretch and meld to your wont? . You can see their dreams, desires, the darkest dark of their minds, the heaviest and most uncertain parts. It must be terrifying, having no control over what picks apart the things inside you. You, little star-side girl, can trail your fingertips across anyone’s thoughts and have access to it all. What do they want- What sears their souls with utter panic- What do they ache to accomplish, to do, to see, to be.
    You can manipulate anyone with a little elbow grease. Is that what you did with your ‘Vulgaris’? Did you crawl inside his head and turn him exactly into what you want? Or did you want for nothing - did you simply want to see a bit of chaos in his life. Sometimes it is just nice to watch the world spin off its axis.
    Is that what you wanted this time? You saw Him, a solid and secure thing in the rifts of the meadow, and you wanted to see just how much he could crumble. It’s a shame, when you are wrong, isn’t it? You push and pull, a soft tapping on the edge of his conscience; but nothing comes- He is impenetrable (and yet there you go, relying on patience). He remains quiet, while your constellation of fingers etch across his skull for a way in. You are brazen in your statements, for someone so young and naive. “You say that as if you have seen her before.” Have you really seen her? Perhaps through the mind of others, if you had been lucky enough to stumble across someone so old as to be from ‘before’. Or perhaps you were assuming that she had always been like this - rife with traits and magic, these strange lands having always been home (no Chamber, no Valley, no Dale) - He lets those thoughts lay. Best not to stir them up from the depths now.
    You come closer, moving with confidence unexpected for your age. His eyes flash briefly with amusement; akin to that malicious eyebrow raise. “And crawling into the minds of others entertains you, hm?” There was no doubt you knew there was no way in - you had felt the push back of his magic just as much as he had felt the pull of your trying. “Eight.” He offers no niceties - simple and straight. He looks at you, your forward and blunt behavior so reminiscent of a long ago friend (‘friend’, a euphemism, perhaps). But he does not pry, does not fill you with flowing magic to see your past and your present. He is content to banter. “And so, Starsin, you romp about looking for entertainment. What has piqued you most recently? What are you looking for now?” And what, per say, could she do for him.

    and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

    Reply
    #6
    lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me, do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?

    She cannot get so easily inside of him, and he is the first. She is at once both frustrated and fascinated. Being so young, she has not yet come across anyone with what they call magic — real, all encompassing magic. Everyone that she has encountered has been weak, never even knowing as she deftly combs through their minds, picking and choosing what she pleases. It was a habit, now, to look inside everyone she met. She was a little vain, and she always liked that the first thing many noticed were the glowing constellations arranged so perfectly on her sides.

    But when she moved to look at his mind, it was as though a door was immediately slammed in her face. The look that flashes in her dark blue eyes is almost accusatory, her lips tightening as her eyes narrow. There is an artful tilt of her head, his words, in conjunction with being shut out, causing her blood to momentarily flush hot. ”You could call it a favorite pastime, I suppose,” and though the words are softly spoken there is an edge hiding in the lilt of them, but her smile never falters.

    She is watching him, now, with an entirely new curiosity. He seems only mildly interested in her, but that does not deter her. He wouldn’t be the first. She was often far more entertained than whoever she was speaking with, although in this case, the tables have been turned on her. His question rearranges her focus, but she realizes that Loess and Vulgaris are far from her mind now. ”I have a side project I’ve been working on,” she says a little hastily, and quickly she returns the topic back to what is truly pressing for her. ”I’m more curious about you, however.” And she steps towards him again, her cobalt-blue eyes alight and nearly smoldering with their intense interest. ”How did you do that? You pushed me out.” She offers him no explanation, knowing that he wouldn’t need it.


    Reply
    #7

    no matter what they say, I am still the king


    Innocence is endearing, a gently rocking undertone of not-quite-knowing. Innocent – or unknowing? Oh you, little galaxy girl, are certainly none too innocent. He can taste it in the air that drifts off your body, He can feel it in the crackling of your mind (an electric and evasive thing) – no, you are not innocent, you are simply hungry to learn.
    You are tact in your words, a coy snake wrapping around them (teasing? Testing?). You have played this game before (although perhaps not with someone of quite this caliber). You are no stranger to the deft maneuver of words – though it may come far easier when you can slip in the back door to pluck thoughts as you please. You move through the chambers of the mind (and voice) with ease; but what happens when you do not have the key? When your secret security is locked tight – when you cannot traverse the mind and know exactly what they think (or what to say)?
    He considers for a moment relinquishing the lock, cracking the door so that your crystalline eyes can peer in (that oh so familiar feeling for you). But we all must work for something – nothing comes so easily, and so you will have to put yourself to use, you will have to seethe away until your ferocious gaze singes the hinges. The ever-shifting game of warden and captive, a curiosity that piques to destruction. Would you even want to see what growls in the depths of His mind? What little remains of that innocence would soon be cinders and ash. “A potentially dangerous pastime, my galaxy.” How dangerous it could be, perhaps you do not know yet. (But oh, you would).
    You are generous with your responses – and why shouldn’t you be, He would find them anyway – they are forged in confidence and interest, an ease of consciousness that you know exactly what you are doing. “A side project, hm?” Your breathy rush of a response, flicking over it as if it’s a careless last resort (there are better things to play with now, it seems).
    Closer and closer you come, a white-bright star pulled ever closer to a black hole; the thrum of impending destruction and danger an unheeded warning in your eyes. “ I suppose it is a pastime of my own.” His eyes meet yours, a slight tilt of His head, a proverbially raised brow. “I can just as easily let you back in.” (Again, that idea, that taste just out of reach of your lips – reach for it, little galaxy girl, and see how far you can come.)



    (now, the storm is coming in)




    @[StArShIN]
    @[Starsin]
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)