"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
She seeks out the electric ambassador quietly. The worn paths of the Amazon welcome her bladed hooves, the rich soil splitting as though to embrace the fire-woman entirely. On most days, when the sun lays low overhead and the night creatures begin shifting, and when she is to be nowhere but where she says, Scorch sleeps or eats. The times of such things have slimed since she became Khaleesi, though she needn’t complain. Scorch is robust and strong, immortal if you will, and shall not fade away to nothing simply because of lost sleep.
Snatching a mouthful of tall grass, Scorch chews quickly, her bladed teeth clicking together loudly. Her neck stretches out to grab another bunch of grass, but it snaps back up when a familiar sound reaches her ears. Trotting towards who she knows to be her golden Avthillar, Scorch nickers throatily, a sound which highly resembles a growl.
”Rhy,” Scorch says in greeting, be it to a horse or a lion, though if it is the latter, Scorch hesitates slightly before grinning and continuing her speech. ”If you’d like to talk, I have a moment.” She’s referencing what she mentioned in the Deserts, of course. Referencing her past, one which is highly misjudged by everyone save Malka. Everyone is simply too young now, you see. Everyone save her Erinak does not know one pinch about her past, about her upbringing, about Echion. It’s almost painful to bring all the memories back up now, but there is a reason why she is. ”You remind me a hell lot of Kagerou still. I suppose that’s why I’m willing to share this with you, if you’ll have it.”
04-18-2015, 06:14 PM (This post was last modified: 04-18-2015, 06:15 PM by Rhy.)
and when I breathed, my breath was lightning
She is all horse at this point. Not that she doesn’t enjoy her lioness form – she does – but after meeting with Kratos it always feels safer to be a horse. Because he brings out the part of her that her parents taught her to tamp down, the part of her that is dangerous deadly and enjoys it. Rhy is still her father’s daughter, and she will always choose peace over war, talking over fighting. It’s who she was raised to be, and she still believes that her parents (though she never expects to see them again) would be disappointed if she became something else.
But still, there’s a part of her that is thrilled at the reminder of what she could be, of what she is capable of doing. Destruction would come easily for her. She could tear apart kingdoms and rip away lives without lifting a finger. And with Kratos. Hell, they could tear apart Beqanna, if they wanted.
She can’t imagine becoming this version of herself, not really. But she finds it fun to dream of it, sometimes, to imagine a different life entirely. Though don’t get her wrong, she loves this life. But everyone is allowed to dream, right?
But today, her thoughts are interrupted (perhaps thankfully) by Scorch. Rhy smiles at her Khalessi, who speaks somewhat cryptically. But it hasn’t been that long since their trip to the Deserts, so it’s not that hard for her to figure out what she’s talking about. Easier still when she mentions Kagerou, and Rhy can’t help but want to know more. She had some stories from Rayelle when she was little, but that had been so many years ago, and she had been so little. There’s so much she doesn’t know, and probably won’t ever know. Except through Scorch. “I would really like that.”
Rhy gives her the go ahead seamlessly, her light tones playing tricks in Scorch’s ears. The fire-sister is unsure of whether her Avthillar is eager to hear about her heritage or continuously displeased with the work Scorch has done. Either way, she does not hesitate. Permission is permission, regardless of the emotions beneath.
”I know you’re wanting more stories about Kagerou, but those will come. For today, I’m just going to take time and indulge in my past, so please, take a seat if you grow weary from my ramblings.” A sharp chuckle accompanies the opening quip, one which dares her to do anything of the sort. In a good natured buddy-buddy way, of course.
”Only my Erinak knows about my childhood, but that doesn’t matter now. When I was born, it was on the borders of the Jungle, to the current Desert Queen, Katriel.” A pause here would be dramatic, but she rams through the story in one whole piece as she is prone to doing. ”I was born with two others, I might mention. While Katriel rested after such a long labour, Echion came and switched her own newly born twins with two of Katriel’s triplets. Myself and my brother Crito, who lives his little hermit life in the Tundra.”
Now Scorch pauses, unsure of whether to grin or show her weakness and shudder. In the end, she does both, shaking out her mane roughly and with something akin to a grimace. ”That’s why I said what I did in the Deserts. I should have rightly grown up there…” Her dragon eyes search Rhy’s for a moment before dropping to her chest, to the ferocious red flower surrounded by living flame. ”…But I’m glad I didn’t. However badly Echion managed to treat me because she resented me for not being her own blood, I’m glad I landed up here. This is where I’m meant to be.”
And rightly so, Scorch my dear. You’ve become something of a legend, creating legacies for your vast progeny to uphold. A Queen born of two Queens and a King, a continuation of the past which others are loath to forget with her on the throne. She is magnificent, but sometimes, she questions that. As she meets Rhy’s gaze once more, it’s evident in the shaky blue colour of her eyes. She questions everything she’s become, and who is to blame her? Her first ten years of life were based on lies and treachery, and death, too. She never managed to properly meet Katriel as her own mother, and by the time she knew, Echion was dead, too. No matter how foolhardy or batshit crazy everyone seems to think that she is, Scorch is mostly just a fat ball of anxiety and rage. The two together are incredibly unhealthy – but putting them to a purpose has helped. She’s lent her emotions to the Jungle completely, she’s sacrificed a life she knows she could have had to be here, now. And yet, now that she’s reached her goal, she knows that eventually, she’ll leave it behind. The crown will come off of her head, and the pride she knows she’s given all three of her parents will seem unimportant. She’s done all of this for Echion, truly, but when the time comes for her to be ousted or murdered or simply to step down, what all will it matter? She doesn’t know. And that frightens her.
”It’s a miracle that Arcteryx was my father regardless of who my mother happened to be. Any more confusion and I might’ve died.” The quip is weak, though it does not sound so in the husky armour of her voice. She rouses herself slightly, straightening her shoulders with the next phrase. ”But enough about me. Is there anything in specific you’re curious about? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an open book.”
The truth is, Rhy still doesn’t know what she thinks of Scorch’s work. There’s some level of brilliant to the whole plan that Scorch came up with, certainly. Rhy doesn’t deny it. She’s just not sure it was handled well. At least not in a way that helped to unite the sisters. They still felt divided, though thankfully perhaps less so now than they had not all that long ago. But still, she has only ever heard of stories of how united the Amazons are, how very much a family they are. Maybe Rhy simply knows nothing. Maybe the stories were wrong. Maybe all families simply fought – hers did.
Perhaps, in truth, she’ll never entirely have what she wants. Maybe what she wants is just some sort of a dream. She wants her sister back. She wants a family that doesn’t feel like it’s always just one more hit away from breaking. Not that the sisterhood would necessarily break, but then again, it still felt slightly fractured.
But whatever she feels about Scorch the Khalessi does not change how she feels about Scorch as her friend. Perhaps they weren’t the best of friends, but Rhy did think they were friends. She did respect Scorch. She didn’t begrudge the mare anything, and she didn’t necessarily blame Scorch for making the decisions that she did. Rhy can see where Scorch is coming from. The problem is, Rhy is also very good at seeing every other side. It makes her good at being Avthillar, but it means she rarely has just one side, or just one opinion.
Perhaps Rhy will always be a little bit torn. But still, her words and face are friendly, because she has no qualms with Scorch. Not right now. Not in this moment. Any waver is from the flashes of Kratos that seem to crash around her brain. It’s strange how she cannot get him out of her mind. Like a drug. Because in some ways, he is her drug. Electric and power and deadly. He is exactly what she could be. He is the part of her that she keeps trapped. But he always awakens the beast.
She grins at Scorch’s quip, and plops down into an awkward sitting position at the invitation with a cheeky little grin. She can’t help it. They’ve always done well together with their little quips, and Rhy does appreciate that ease. There are few she has it with. But then Scorch launches into her story, and Rhy finds herself on her feet again, because it is a not a boring story. Truthfully, it makes Rhy’s own childhood seem like a fairy tale in comparison. Yet it also the story that makes Scorch who she is, and Rhy can’t really imagine her any other way.
Scorch finishes, asking if there’s anything else Rhy wants to know. Rhy’s glad for the question, because she doesn’t entirely know what to say to Scorch right now. There’s understanding in her eyes though, because on some level she gets it. Gets that maybe they are all just terrified and uncertain inside, because perhaps nothing will ever be right. It’s not the life she was taught to seek growing up, but perhaps that was what her parents needed from her. Perhaps that had been the only way to tame the electric then.
She’s no longer a child, but in the grand scheme, Rhy is still quite young. Still learning. Still only just beginning to understand what life really is. Who she really is. Perhaps she will always be still just beginning to understand it all.
Rhy’s not even sure what to ask though. She knows the stories of her grandmother. Strong and beautiful and magnificent. Rhy knows she will spend a lifetime trying to live up to her grandmother’s legacy, only to touch the surface of it. What she wants, of course, is to have met her grandmother. But all she has is one brief brush of a consciousness that was unfamiliar to her, one that she thinks was Kagerou looking for Rayelle. But Rayelle was gone. It had just been Rhy then. “How did you and my grandmother become friends?” She finally asks. Because she knows they both served the jungle, but she doesn’t know what bound them together so firmly. She doesn’t even know if she’s really asking the right questions, but it’s a start.
There is an air of contemplation about the electric Avthillar when she arrives. Scorch studies her for a moment, attempting to unravel the mystery beneath that golden skin - horse skin, I might add, for which Scorch is grateful. Her last encounter with a big-cat had not been one to smile one; Prague, however useful as a magician and Amazon, was rather quick to throw about accusations, even ones which were but half-formed. Alas, Scorch is no telepath, nor magician, and she cannot read Rhy's thoughts or memories. Perhaps just this once, Scorch will use her words.
A harsh laugh cuts through the beginning of her story when Rhy plops comically to the Jungle floor. Wisps of light manifest around her awkwardly placed limbs, toying with her. The magic moves through her without thought, flowing from her mind like thoughts; never ending. But when Rhy clambers back to four hooves, the wisps are pushed aside, which Scorch does nothing to stop. Her magic is unimportant in these moments, for the Avthillar appears to be incredibly tuned to her story, which is something that absolutely cannot be said for each of the sisters of the Jungle. They have always been this way though, easily conversing, trading stories for stories, understanding for understanding, respect for respect. Whatever their differences politically, Scorch counted the golden woman to be among her 'friends' without hesitation, if she could even call them that.
When the story comes to an end, Scorch waits patiently for a response, allowing shadows to play hide and seek amongst the foliage below them. It curls slowly around the leaves, more lackadaisical than their energetic light-beam counterparts. Raising her large-boned head suddenly from her impromptu session of shadows-and-smoke, the Khaleesi perks her ears at the questions, and flicks then back almost as quickly. The answer is a very secret one, you see.
Eyeing Rhy, Scorch remains silent for a moment before begrudgingly deciding that it has been far too long since she's told the tale, anyhow. The last time she had seen her Erinak, Malka, in fact; years, if we are to be realistic (which really, we aren't). So with a sigh, the story comes, however reluctantly. Or should I say, the title of the story is given.
"We had the same dream. All these years later, I'm convinced that it was a quest. We... found an egg and collected healing waters an fought a dragon. It's why I'm hairless, actually, and why your grandmother was gimped." The beginnings of a grin had been upon her anciently charred lips at the nostalgic memories, but she cringes nostalgically at the supposedly offensive adjective. "Sorry. We were always rather crass with each other. I was the hairless rat, and she the gimp. I - I can't remember exactly what happened..." It seems as though she is about to go on, but when she recognizes just what her words mean, a dark expression crosses her unbecoming face. She has begun forgetting. It brings anger to her stomach, anger which she has worked so hard to temper into something more of a bluntness. Diverting her eyes, Scorch glares at a nearby log, sending shadows to embrace it. Maybe if everything else lays in the darkness, I won't be so alone.
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