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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


    [private]  sweetest thing; Brinly
    #1

    Part of Isilya knew that if she wanted to make a life in this new version of Beqanna, she was going to have to let go of the old one that haunted her memories. She wondered if it would be easier to move on if her family was around, if her only connection to them wasn’t in the memories of lands long since swallowed up and shuffled around.

    But, though she was magical, there was only so many things she could do – her powers had limits, after all. She couldn’t wish her family or her past into existence around her and, she knew, she shouldn’t try.

    She needed to immerse herself in this world, in the possibility of new friends and finding a new family that way. She already had the beginnings of one, already found friends who the mere thought of sent warmth and happiness through her that was unlike anything she had experienced in in the last few dozen years living on her own.

    Isilya’s magic found its strength in plant life, but her heart found it in the lives of others, in conversations and smiles.

    Which was why she had found herself back here, in the Meadow. She loved the Forest too, of course, but the Meadow was so delightfully open! She could see everyone here, or she liked to think that she could, and on a good day there are so many possibilities for new friends and conversations.

    Today, of course, as she arrives she can’t find a single soul. It’s early in the morning still, the word a hazy blue-purple as the sun just begins to crest over the horizon. Her golden points are dull in this half-light, their shimmer waiting for the sun to touch them before it goes on display. The woody vines that she sports in place of a mane and that trail down her back twist and coil, sprouting leaves and drooping pink flowers.

    In the absence of anyone to approach to say hello, Isilya absently plays with her magic. There’s plenty of grass and young spring flowers around her and she weaves together strands until they form small birds that swoop and dance in the air around her while she watches the sun rise. Surely all she needs to do is just wait a little while longer before a friend arrives!



    isilya
    image from flickr


    @[Brinly]
    Reply
    #2

    Brinly

    The meadow was not her usual choice, but it was where she had ended up.

    She was usually more cautious in her travels, choosing more secluded paths even if it meant lengthening her journey. Anything, if it meant she wouldn’t run into anyone.

    There had been a fleeting moment when she had thought maybe it could work; maybe she could be around them, maybe they could just learn to not touch her and she would be okay with it. But the more she put herself out there, the more apparent it became that she was just different. It didn’t matter if they were never burnt by her skin, because it was her tongue that she couldn’t control. It didn’t matter if they could touch her or not, she was still so subconsciously determined to drive a wedge and build a wall between herself and everyone else that the heat of her skin was just a small part of the equation.

    Lost in her self-deprecating thoughts, she had followed the winding river north, towards the mountains.  She did not notice that the sun was rising. She did not notice that the stars were fading, and that the hills ahead of her were glowing at the edges with the promise of the sunrise. She only feels that aching pulse of her heart, that stupid foolish heart that keeps beating and longing for something she isn’t even sure exists. Not for her, at least.

    She had been purposely avoiding making eye contact with anyone in her peripheral, hoping that by doing so, they would ignore her too. This early in the morning she had not come across many, and because of this, her eyes flicker towards the swooping movements before she can help herself. Her attention is first drawn to the birds woven of grass and flowers, and for a moment, the hardness of her eyes softens with a glow of curiosity. But then, her gaze is drawn to the pale mare that appeared to be in control of them, and she can instinctively feel herself beginning to withdraw. Her eyes quickly divert, and her muscles twitch in a way that suggests she is going to continue on her way.

    The war that rages inside of her heart and mind is indescribable.

    There had been a time when she was just a sweet and curious young girl, who would have been delighted and fascinated by this display of magic. She would have approached the mare without hesitation, would have asked to see more, and even from here she can see a kindness in the other mare’s eyes that makes her think they could have been friends. But that girl from her past was buried away so deep that Brinly isn’t sure if she even exists anymore. She is so certain the fire in her veins must have swallowed her whole, must have burnt so thoroughly that not even ashes remained.

    There was just this, just this charred and broken and angry thing, that was better off alone than trying to make any sort of connections.

    “How do you do that?” She is surprised to hear herself ask, even though she has not made a motion to move closer. The words are mostly hollow, and even though the nature of them suggests she is curious, she had been careful to keep such emotion hidden away. The bay mare just watches her, unflinching and stoic, completely betraying the erratic way her pulse is jumping underneath her skin.

    — burn until our lives become the embers —



    @[Isilya]
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    #3

    Although Isilya hears that there’s someone else nearby, that someone doesn’t immediately speak so the porcelain-white mare doesn’t immediately turn to look at them. She’s focusing on the birds of flower and grass instead, putting a little more swirl and dance into their movements now that she knows she has an audience.

    Though, she will admit, she does become so entranced by this game that when the voice finally does come, it gives her the tiniest of spooks.

    But she’s excited to no longer have to pretend that she’s not dying to speak to the mare who has approached!

    Her voice is kind and sweet when she speaks, though it is rarely anything else. “I ask very nicely.” She watches a few more of the birds fly around before turning back to her new companion, gold-and-green eyes alight with joy. With a gentle thought she sends a couple of them to spiral and dance around the bay mare. Her body soon follows, taking a few strides to bring herself over to where the mare stands. Her long white trails around her and the vines and wisteria flowers that serve as her mane shift slightly with her movements.

    “And a spark of magic helps too.” It’s a joke, of course, but there’s no sarcasm or even so much as a hint of any malicious intent – her voice is sweet and bright. She’s quite proud of herself for that ‘I ask very nicely’ line, to tell the truth, and there’s a part of her laughter that’s at her own joke.

    But, now that someone else is here, Isilya’s attention is drifting from the birds. They begin to settle back into the grass – still bird-shaped, but nesting and resting. Well, she can’t very well say goodbye to them now that she’s seen them dance, can she?

    “Do you like them?” There's a little hopeful lilt to her voice - though she tries not to be so obvious that a negative answer would be absolutely devastating.

    isilya
    image from flickr


    @[Brinly]
    Reply
    #4

    Brinly

    She can’t remember the last time anyone was kind to her. If she stopped to think, and if she tried to look past the veil she had created where she has convinced herself she is rightfully the victim, she would maybe realize she does not receive kindness because she does not give it out. She is always edged and ready to combust, with nerves so frayed that the slightest look of disapproval was enough to ignite her. She doesn’t give anyone else the chance to think that she could be worth it; she doesn’t give that kind of hope a chance to breathe, afraid that it might find life and she would be forced to recognize what she wants.

    She can’t imagine the spiral that would follow if she let herself believe she was ever worth anything, only to find that she wasn’t.

    But something about the stranger, with her woven birds that swoop and twirl, it almost makes her forget to be afraid. Her guard is not lowered – not by a longshot, with her dark eyes that remain shadowed behind her forelock, and the harsh lines of her face – but she allows herself to be curious, at least. She tries to smile at her humor, but it is a faint, fleeting twitch of her lips. She is so focused on not appearing angry she is hardly listening, watching the makeshift birds in hopes that the stranger won’t see her eyes and won’t see her for what she really is.

    There is a brief stretch of silence, and she feels the weight that settles into it. This makes her look up, and she realizes that she had asked her a question. “Oh,” she says softly, trying to remember the last thing she had heard her say. “I do like them, yes.” She means it, and she can only hope her face portrays it. She was bad at this, but for once, she was trying. “My name is Brinly, by the way.”

    — burn until our lives become the embers —



    @[Isilya]
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    #5

    Patience is something Isilya has bounds of – she did live as a tree, after all – so she doesn’t focus on the slightly-long length of time it takes for the bay mare to answer her question. Instead she shifts her eyes away, giving the stranger time to sort through whatever thoughts were going on in her head.

    The fact that the bay mare was still standing here gave her reason enough to hope that eventually the question would be answered – and Isilya was in no hurry! It was a beautiful day, and she had beautiful company. One of the plant-birds fluttered a little where it was on the ground.

    Finally, though, she gets an answer and it sends a sunshine-bright smile through Isilya’s entire body, her expression lighting up so much it practically glowed. She forgets her manners and doesn't say thank you because a second later this new friend is introducing herself and the flower-mare is gifted another name and face to treasure.

    “I’m Isilya! It’s wonderful to meet you, Brinly.” So wonderful, in fact, that Isilya moves to close the gap between them – to bump her muzzle against the bay mare’s own. She would have gone even further, to wrap up this mare in a hug, but the movement was just a little too awkward for how they are standing so she’ll settle for a gentle bump for now.
    isilya
    image from flickr


    @[Brinly]
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    #6

    Brinly

    She isn’t sure if she has ever met anyone as exuberantly happy as Isilya, and at first, it’s almost overwhelming. She tries to ignore the way her heart constricts with anxiety because she knows she will not be able to match her enthusiasm. There were some that were simply meant to be a shining beacon of light, but, Brinly was not one of them. She feels like she must be a shadow, a toxic darkness that swallows things that are bright and beautiful. She wonders how long it will take for Isilya to realize this, before she decides that nothing about her is worth her time.

    But she lets herself be distracted by her brilliant smile, and the way her name nearly sings from her tongue. “Isilya,” she repeats her name, but it doesn’t sound nearly as lilting coming from her own mouth. She had a way of making everything sound harsher than it needed to be, even if she didn’t mean to. Even when her tongue wasn’t sharp, everything seemed rough – unpolished.

    She is distracted enough that she stupidly has let her guard down, and she does not notice that the other mare is reaching for her until it is nearly too late.

    A gasp tears from her throat as she reels herself backwards, abruptly yanking her nose away as she snaps sharply, “Don’t do that.” Her eyes flash involuntarily with a threatening spark, as she tucks her muzzle tightly to her chest while withdrawing several more steps. She is sure she must have felt the intense heat that had radiated from her skin when she had been so close, and she wasn’t sure how to explain it. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” she fumbles for an apology, and though her dark brown eyes still smolder there is something else there – a bright and burning pain, and a nearly palpable regret. “I didn’t want to burn you.”

    — burn until our lives become the embers —

    Reply
    #7

    Isilya’s smile brightens, if it’s even possible, when Brinly repeats her name. She doesn’t think that her name sounds rough or harsh on the tongue of the other mare, if anything it sounds a little more exciting. This shimmering girl wishes she had known how wonderful it felt to hear someone else speak her name, the soft thrill and delight of being known by someone. She might not have spent so much time losing herself to trees and flowers.

    What comes next, the gasp that tears out of Brinly, is so sharply in contrast with the wonderful little moment Isilya thought that they were having – it feels as though someone has kicked her in the chest. Her gold-and-green eyes widen in concern and fear – not for herself, of course. Though there’s a brief flash of heartbreak that cracks like lightning through Isilya when the Brinly scrambles away from her – fearful that she had somehow caused offense or pain. Never before had someone scrambled away from Isilya’s touch with quite so much ferocity and it is not a feeling she enjoys.

    But all thoughts of her own minor hurt are whisked away in an instant when Brinly apologizes even as her eyes are burning.

    Confusion clouds the flower-adorned mare for a moment but she thinks she understands and her expression softens. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have tried to…” Her apologies fumble out of her awkwardly so she takes a deep breath and smiles encouragingly instead. “You can’t burn me, Brinly.”

    Is it truly possible that someone could cause burns just by a touch? Isilya’s only been back in the world for a few years but hugs are common for her already and she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to fear someone touching you, to fear what you would do to them.

    She stays where she is, not wanting to cause further upset, and instead lets her calm voice cross the gap between them. All she wants to do is wrap her neck around that of this beautiful, burning mare and give her the mother of all hugs. She thinks, however, that just chasing Brinly around and attempting to hug her might not be the best way to make a friend here.

    “Well, not now that I know you could have. Remember that spark of magic I mentioned? It’s good for more than just making pretty birds out of flowers.” Isilya watches for understanding, wondering how she could explain the near limitless possibilities of the magic that is hosted inside of this ivory and gold package. So, although she doesn’t actually need the external show of it she thinks it might help and with a wink, a wave of shimmering, iridescent ivory scales covers her entire body.

    Isilya takes a single, small step forward. Her gentle gaze doesn’t shift from Brinly and she does her best to make the other mare understand the truth between the four words that she speaks next: “You can’t hurt me.”

    Followed by a softer, “I promise.”


    isilya
    image from flickr


    @[Brinly]
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    #8

    Brinly

    She has never seen magic, or at least, not the kind that can do good. The only magic she was familiar with was the kind that was a curse. The kind that had taken her in its grasp and decided that the plain, and relatively kind girl needed to be punished for some imaginary crime. Magic had taken her blood and brought it to a boil, magic had harnessed a fire beneath her skin and turned her into a burning weapon that she had no control over. Her experience leaves her feeling skeptical of Isilya, even if her intentions were entirely good.

    It is obvious that her abrupt reaction had hurt the other girl, and she can feel the guilt tightening like a noose around her throat. It was never her intention to upset anyone, but she seems to always manage it. Her reaction was never right, and she had an uncanny ability to turn any situation into either a fight, or in this case just making someone else feel like they had made a mistake. It wasn’t often that Brinly felt bad for snapping at someone, but Isilya seemed to be the exception, because the guilt was still sitting like a stone in her stomach.

    Her eyes lift again to her face, and there is a flicker of confusion at her words. She doesn’t have the chance to ask any questions before the pale mare is soon adorned in glittering scales, and Brinly is again captivated by a display of something so lovely and simple. She is not used to seeing pretty things; things that were meant to be soft, things that weren’t meant to cause pain.

    Hesitantly, she takes a step forward, letting the space between the two of them slowly disappear. With an unrivaled caution she reaches forward, letting the satin-smooth of her muzzle just hardly skim across the surface of the mare’s scales on her shoulder. She retracts, half-way expecting a reaction, but it never comes. Emboldened, she reaches for her again, pressing a little more firmly before saying in almost disbelief, “I can’t burn scales,” she withdraws her touch, her eyes flitting to the pale mare’s and adding quietly, “I never knew that.”

    — burn until our lives become the embers —



    @[Isilya]
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    #9

    There’s no sense of fear in her, no concern that she might be burned at all. It’s a little bit naivety, of course - Isilya never expects to be hurt - but she also has complete and utter faith in her magic. It has never failed her before, and she does not ever assume that is going to. Plus, she trusts Brinly too! It does not matter that they just met. She likes the bay mare!

    She is only on alert in case she needs to just pour some more encouragement over her new friend. But aside from a small retraction, during which Isilya holds her breath out of fear of scaring Brinly away with a small twitch, everything seems to be fine. There’s not even a little bit of heat, aside from the usual body heat, and she has a warm, sunny smile to give as the distance between them grows again.

    “Scaled creatures are tough things. Not unlike you, I think.” Isilya comments, her green-and-gold eyes shining bright as they look at Brinly. Is it too early to be making statements like that? Probably. But since when does that hold Isilya back? She believes it is true, which is why she says it.

    Although she wants to just wrap Brinly up in a hug… but since they had only just gotten to the point of a simple touch - Isilya holds herself back. For now.

    “With or without scales, though, you cannot hurt me. And I suspect it will be true for anyone else with scales that you come across – though you are going to have to forgive me if that proves untrue.” She lapses into troubled thought for a second at that before brightening again not even a second later. “But! I can probably enchant anyone so that they’re safe!”


    isilya
    image from flickr


    @[Brinly] tagging you as I sit beside you
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