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    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


    burning like a fire gone wild on saturday; Brunhilde
    #1

    for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
    in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

    A long section of Hyaline’s border is shared with Loess, some places are impassable, mountains and sheer rock walls. Others are just places where one land fades into the other and you could easily just cross on through for a friendly hello--if friendly is what Loess and the East were. She patrols here entire border carefully, but takes a little extra time for the portion shared with Loess. It could seem that this is out of caution--and perhaps it is--but there are two men on the other side of that border that she does and does not wish to see (does and does not for the both of them)...and she has begun to suspect that a certain wild little girl has begun sneaking across the border and she’d like to catch her in the act, even if she doesn’t know what she’ll say when she does.

    Another Mother might be upset that child as young as Brunhilde seems to venture out of Hyaline so frequently and recklessly but while Kensa worries she is not as restrictives as some dam’s might be. 

    The sabino picks her way carefully along the tree-lined portion of the border, she thinks her youngest daughter uses the cover of these maples to slip back and forth into Loess. It at least smells like she has spent some time here before. Kensa is quiet, though she doesn’t lurk. She and Brunhilde will have a discussion about this whether she catches her flame-child or not.

    kensa
    for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.

    @[brunhilde] sorry, starter trash
    #2

    i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
    hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly

    Oh, how she is like her mother: beautiful, beguiling, curious. Kensa’s wild wanderings and consistent outings have taught Brunhilde a thing or two. Unfortunately for her mother (and Hildy’s naive self), she has turned those lessons into actions a little more sinister. She does wonder if she leaves the sabino woman dizzy, though most of the time she seriously doubts it.

    Brunhilde does have a conscience even if she wants most to think she does not - worry for her mother she has spent so much time away from wells in the back of her throat.

    Of course she knows of the reunion between her parents, but that gut instinct she so values knows that their mountain is yet to be fully surpassed. Today she is as somber as that thought, taking comfort in her crowd of butterflies instead of singing them to complete ash. For a moment, she is able to distract herself with the soft light she emanates upon the grass of Loess - the beauty is just not enough, though.

    Cacti and the bright green of tropical ferns begin to ebb away, losing their growth to the strength of Hyalinian trees. The graceful flame frowns. Her trek from between the lands is much shorter than she imagined, and the scent of her mother is far too strong on the border. Songbirds call and hard dust beneath her hooves scuffs when she comes to a pause, chewing on the inside of her mouth. Once again she is the little child she was when she was firstborn: reckless and ignorant of it all.

    “Mom?” she calls, lyrical voice somehow more alluring in its hesitation. The innocence in her eyes is almost heartbreaking. She has no idea where this pain in her chest is coming from, and she thinks she might need a hug.

    Gold gleams amongst the shadows of the trees: Kensa is tucked away along the border. Hildy’s brow furrows and her mouth turns down in a similar frown. Slowly, she steps with her signature dancer’s approach, hurt with just a sprinkle of anger.

    “Are you spying on me?”

    and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
    it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough

    Brunhilde


    @[Kensa] i sped up the timeline to after her moving to loess/after kenslie reunion :3
    #3

    for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
    in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

    She has looked for her many times. Her firstborn, a butterfly burning fallen angel who told Kensa more about herself and Litotes than any other thing in their lives. They are both beautiful and fierce and in their daughter all of who they are within shows up in brilliant color.
    And still she is so uniquely herself, so unexpected, right down to the butterfly torching.

    Kensa is gazing steadily toward Loess, lost in thoughts about her daughter, her son, their father. Valek is nearly a yearling and a terror of his own kind. Litotes is lord and master in Pangea. Brunhilde draws into her field of view and Kensa watches, wait to see if the girl will continue on into Hyaline and trying to remember the last time that she had. She is so tall now, and her father’s blood gives her an exotic sleekness that makes her look closer to womanhood than she truly is.

    The Primarch’s attention is turned inward as she absently watches the flame girl draw over the border but when the sweet vulnerable voice rises up over the birdsong and leaf-whisper sound of Hyaline Kensa snaps to attention. It is protectiveness and love that sharpens her features and she shifts to move out of the tree cover to greet Brunhilde, to soothe what she can...but the flame girl spots her before she can move more than a twitch.

    Are you spying on me?
    Now the tone is unhappy, accusatory and Kensa moves forward to meet her, white limbs carrying her out of the heavy cover where she’d settled. “Hildy. No, I’m not spying on you. I was looking out for you. Hoping to see you.” Kensa doesn’t let any kind of placating strain come into her own voice, but stops before the fiery child, honest and open as ever. “I miss you, Brunhilde. I am proud of you for making your own way in Loess and I don’t want to crowd you, but I miss you.” The sabino has never tried to retrieve the youth, she’s learned, maybe the hard way, that none of them are static, that everyone she loves will change and leave and the only way to hold on is to keep on loving them anyway.

    kensa
    for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.

    @[brunhilde] clunky Sad
    #4

    i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
    hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly

    Perhaps if she had a quieter childhood, Brunhilde would have tamed the wildfires that burn in her chest. Sometimes she wonders what she would have been like if her family had not been torn apart, like a kinder version of her lives chained to a dungeon in her head. She wonders if maybe - just maybe - she would feel a shred of happiness. Instead, she wears a mask of confidence that screams for attention; instead, she takes pleasure in destruction just as she self-destructs. Yes, the little flame possesses depths of both cruelty and kindness, and an intelligence clouded by youth.

    She is equal parts her mother and father, with a little heat mixed in.

    When Kensa steps from her cover, Brunhilde chokes on a swallow. She remembers the gentle way her mother held her at night, even when she wandered into Loess without permission. She remembers the love, the open arms, that same endearing look she is wearing now. Anger rises in the back of her throat. A tiny part of herself cries to not ruin one of the only loves she has in this life, but the lava is hot and unforgiving in her mouth - she wants to set anything she cannot control aflame.

    But she will not. At least for the next few minutes.

    “I miss you, too, Mom,” when she speaks a trail of smoke really does leave her mouth, perhaps a hint at the vitriol she desires to spit. On her next breath, she sighs instead of speaking, just for a millisecond allowing herself to feel how much she really does miss her mother’s guidance. Their chests collide in a sudden, jaunty embrace - a touch the girl finds foreign after so much time away; still, she leans into it and closes her eyes, pressing her cheek into Kensa’s firm shoulder. Butterflies rise and fall around them, landing on Kensa and Brun alike.

    “It’s so lonely in Loess.”

    It is lonely. It is lonely because she cannot bring herself to say I am lonely.

    and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
    it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough

    Brunhilde

    @[Kensa]
    #5

    for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
    in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

    The Primarch does not expect her daughter to fly into her embrace but she is somehow ready for it, just as she was ready for the girl to pour all of her anger and hurt out. Kensa wraps her neck over Brunhilde, draws her familiar scent from the tangle of her mane and the rise of her withers. Remembering the first time she’d touched her, breathed her in, tucked her into her side to nurse. Brunhilde doesn’t want to hear any of that, Kensa knows, she’d been a girl once too.

    For Kensa childhood had been simple, in retrospect.  With four mothers to smother and discipline her. Two fathers to indulge her and look on her with that confused, loving sorrow of men with beautiful, precocious, reckless daughters. Kensa alone could bestow all the love of six parents on each of her children and still have a cup overflowing but she had still failed Brunhilde. Not intentionally, not in a way she would ever fail any of her other young (though she would certainly fail each of them somehow), but she had not been the mother that this girl needed. In Brunhilde’s youth she had been weak and foolish, grieving the loss of the girls father and the loss of her own illusions...all while simmering with rage and wearing a smile.

    Elation is quickly absorbed by a sad ache as Brunhilde admits she misses Kensa in turn and then says in a soft small way (how can this child break her heart so effortlessly?) that Loess is lonely. Butterflies settle, their delicate wings hypnotic, but Kensa cannot close her eyes on them as the foolish things, drawn by some magic in her daughter, wait to follow her. To dance or burn. Carefully Kensa says, “Hyaline is lonely sometimes too.” She rearranges a few tendrils of the girls mane, a mothers absent loving gesture. “Pangea as well, I’m sure.”
    We are all lonely darling, but we are here.


    kensa
    for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.

    @[brunhilde]




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