Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Meadow (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=3) +---- Thread: Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || (/showthread.php?tid=25923) |
Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || - Wolfbane - 01-06-2020 Winter again. Snow and icy winds curling around shivering horses, confining them to their homes until another bitter season passes. Wolfbane (who no longer goes by such a name - too many equines know it, too many suspect him as an outcast or outlaw) has left Taiga in search of temperate climates that suit him better, though he no longer assumes any one gender or the other. His safety and anonymity lies in his ability to be fluid and ever-changing. Since he’d ravaged the northern woods and made himself known for trouble, the shape-shifter had come close to enacting a sort-of revenge on the inhabitants of the northern section of territory. Izora Lethia… Aten’s “mate”. She’d come as close as any horse to feeling his untapped power. But he hadn’t hurt her, though he wanted to. Honestly he’d really wanted to. Blood or gore, her suffering sprinkled with some anguish along with the knowledge that Aten couldn’t be there to save her; all of the above would’ve been pleasing to him in that moment but instead Bane had just sneered and left. He was good at that, good at leaving behind things that mattered or made sense. Blame it on the inward rebel, blame it on anything you want, in the end his target wasn’t large enough to satiate his desire for mayhem. That final meeting could’ve gone horribly but it didn’t without an explanation why. No one aside from himself could make sense of it and he wasn’t the kind to explain. Childishly he’d longed to understand what Longclaw, his sire, had gone through during those last phases of insanity. Now he knew and it was more convoluted than anything conceivable. Or maybe it was so simple that the answer evaded him. Either way he knew what it was like, now. He knew the sensation of being overwhelmed and taken over. He knew what it was like to lose himself and not regret the loss. Lepis, Lilliana, Noah, Heartfire … an ensemble of complicated relationships torn asunder then tossed away. The past merging with the present, always. Was he young or was he old? Who was he? In the present, it slumbered and awoke. Blinked into the light of a grey dawn and shivered as it rose from the refuse of the dying Meadow grasses. It was recognizable: yellow slashed through with blue stripes. That infamous mane bristling and tight as a sentry at the ready, standing tall and pale white in an unbroken row of hair that jutted out from between his quizzical brow to run the length of a strong, muscular neck before it ended at the withers. Wolfbane uncurled himself from the snow and shook his body, blinking bi-colored eyes at the figure quickly coming into focus as it neared him. @[Wishbone] here is a crappy, crappy starter for you RE: Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || - Wishbone - 01-09-2020 take my soul & make it undone be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow. As Wishbone breaks past the treeline, she thinks about how absolutely uninformed she is. The wall between Life and Death had not allowed her the advantage to watch from the stars as some might think (she did not know of the marriage or divorce of Wolfbane, the sickening lull of Nerine, the burning of Tephra, or any of the politics in between). The faces of Beqanna’s current politics are not the same as they were before, something she is aware of as she begins to mingle with the early-risers in the Meadow. She chuckles quietly to herself as the darkness of night slowly rises into winter dawn. Her own face is not the same as it was before. She is taller, longer, and leaner. Her strides eat at the ground in a way she is still growing used to; the trip from Nerine to the common-lands had taken a shorter amount of time, though the number of times she had tripped over her new legs is slightly embarrassing. Despite her new appearance the same amber eyes of her original body look out from her onyx-and-gold face, scanning the mostly-empty Meadow. Patches of snow remain from a warmer yesterday, though the majority of the field looks rather dead with stringy yellow grass. It is from one such bundle of grass that a familiar shape rises. Whether the same heart or a new one, Wishbone feels the familiar quickening in her chest at the sight of her old friend (boyfriend? lover? best friend?). She doesn’t wonder whether he will recognize her or not — an explanation and the fire of her personality would probably convince Wolfbane enough. Her lean figure draws close to the gold-and-blue stallion, a smile already working at the edges of her lips. “Bane,” she says, and her voice is exactly as it had once been — roughened by the smoke of Tephra, laced with the thickness of feminity. Wishbone pauses, oddly unsure of what to say next. There is time in between them, so much time that she can practically feel its thickness lying between them like a slumbering beast. His face looks both the same and different, the structure the same as their childhood but the edges crafted by maturity. A soft sigh leaves her dark nostrils just before Wishbone speaks again. “I don’t know what to say… It’s me, Wishbone.” @[Wolfbane] RE: Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || - Wolfbane - 01-09-2020 I believe I'd die if I only could I sure feel strange, but it sure feels good For this thread: Sex: M ◉ Appearance: Normal ◉ Mood: Indifferent RE: Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || - Wishbone - 01-10-2020 take my soul & make it undone be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow. It isn’t the unnaturally stiff way he holds himself before he moves closer that ends her smile. Nor is it the tone of his voice, as though he were a sickly-sweet parent receiving a long-lost child. The true reason that her smile drops off her face and a cold stone drops into her belly comes from the source of those not-Wolfbane behaviors… It’s the look he gives her before she speaks. It’s a look she’s seen before, in the eyes of Bane’s blue-toned father. Wishbone recognizes it immediately — the poison that brews in his irises, the vehement rage, the shark-eyed absence of anything good — and she has to take a deep breath to settle the cry from rising in her throat. It’s a look Wolfbane spent his entire childhood running away from. It’s a look they both ran away from. In personally experiencing Longclaw’s deterioration, Wishbone can spot the symptoms etched on her once-best friend. The amber of her eyes fades from mingled hesitancy and delight into a blend of sorrow and determination. It’s an expression that might seem questionable on any other face (gloom and courage make a driving yet difficult force) but fits perfectly on Wishbone’s dark-and-gold one. They hadn’t found a cure for Longclaw, but they hadn’t known the nature of the sickness either… Not until it was too late, anyway. Even as Wolfbane moves closer to her in a way that is familiar, she decides that she will try to save him, if she can. She isn’t scared of him, despite what Longclaw’s story may tell. How many times had she seen the blue stallion lash out? How often had she felt herself flinch away from his hooves as she tried to rescue Bane from his abusive words? If Wolfbane is anything like Longclaw, she will have to tread carefully. Wishbone steadies herself in the moments between his comment and her expected response. When she replies, her voice is as steady as ever. “I wasn’t expecting to come back from the dead in a brand new body.” She steps closer to him in one smooth movement, allowing her familiar eyes to travel across his muscular frame. His face had often been on her mind in those days of Death and her gaze lands on his angular face when she finishes her inspection. “You seem… different from the last time we’ve seen each other.” @[Wolfbane] RE: Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || - Wolfbane - 01-13-2020 I believe I'd die if I only could I sure feel strange, but it sure feels good For this thread: Sex: M ◉ Appearance: Normal ◉ Mood: Indifferent RE: Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || - Wishbone - 01-16-2020 take my soul & make it undone be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow. There had been times when they had experienced Longclaw’s internal torture together. Her childhood memories are bursting at the seams with gutsy, definitely-not-Wound-approved missions to distract Wolfbane (and herself, if she’s being honest) from his father’s erratic, hurtful decline. While the adventures were also for the purpose of Wishbone’s own reckless pleasure, she can remember almost boiling herself in lava or jumping too high off a rock or swimming too far out just so the darkness clouding her friend’s olive eyes would hide for a few lifesaving moments. There were times when Longclaw’s effect would be too much to cover with dangerous antics… When the pair of them would curl close to each other beneath a low-hanging frond and feel the quickness of their fearful breaths and the pounding of their rapid heartbeats as Longclaw raged somewhere in the tropics. When a father would whisper loving advice to his son in one breath and then shout unforeseen criticism in the next. Longclaw hadn’t told them of the voices in his head, but Wishbone can remember seeing signs of something deeper and darker brimming behind his eyes. As Wolfbane’s gaze roams across her gold-painted face, she can imagine he is experiencing much of the same things. She wonders if there are seething voices whispering for him to hurt her or destroy that or say this. Most of all, she wonders if he recognizes the darkness in himself. She wonders if the true Wolfbane is still there; if his calls for help are muffled beneath the control of a predatory ancestral curse. Wishbone continues to move closer to him as he studies her new features. The wandering eyes of strangers linger on the pair, but she has learned to both feel and ignore the weight of outside curiosity. When he speaks again, they are close enough to touch. The obsidian can feel the warmth of his breath drive away the bitterness of winter, even as a breeze picks up to whisk strands of her dark mane against her cheeks. Wishbone produces a similar noise to the one he had made almost moments ago, low in the back of her throat. “Hmm.” She knows he is smart. He is smart, too. She might prod subtly at his striking differences since their last meeting, but the underlying message that she knows he will pick up is brutally obvious. Wishbone wants to tell him that she sees him, that she has caught him in the act of a game extending through generations of his bloodline. She wants to tell him that she will try her damn hardest to drag him away from that game, even if it means he comes away kicking and screaming. One of her dark eyebrows raises at his sweet-and-sour comment. If Wishbone hadn’t already experienced the effects of the familial curse, she might have been offended. She might’ve scoffed at him and come back with a verbal attack that could have smoldered against his confidence. For a sincere moment, grief and pity swell in union against the walls of her chest. She keeps the emotions hidden there, revealing none of the softness that might provide another target for his arrows. Yet Wishbone cannot deny this dangerous Wolfbane appeals to her reckless side. He taunts her with his harshness and the skin along her shoulders ripples with a sudden desire for dangerous abandonment of all things mannerly and domesticated. While she’s been able to harness self-control in specific diplomatic situations, Wishbone has always been a poor master of that skill. And so she steps even closer, even while she sees the familiar glint of his primal canines emerging. Her dark mouth slowly finds a spot on his jaw to touch, every second of her movement calculated and patient. Wishbone has just been released from the arms of Death and yet she cannot help but dance with It once again. “Quite the opposite,” she murmurs against his golden skin. Another small step brings her chest flush with his (and the rolling waves of her side and back lies spread out for him like an ocean beneath a cat-claw sliver of a moon) before Wishbone wraps her neck across his withers. They stand like yin and yang — gold and black. The way her body feels on fire, each muscle and nerve and blood vessel anticipating his next move, makes Wishbone feel more alive than she has since before the twins. “You know how I feel about you, Bane.” @[Wolfbane] RE: Something's got a hold on me || Wishbone || - Wolfbane - 01-20-2020 I believe I'd die if I only could I sure feel strange, but it sure feels good For this thread: Sex: M ◉ Appearance: Normal ◉ Mood: Excited |