"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 rolls in with the storm, expert flier, wheeling and diving on Spring's wild wind, her wide red-struck wings outstretched. Young lightning hums softly in the clouds, awakening from its winter slumber, it arcs at the tips of her feathers, it wreathes and writhes around her with a bright, sizzling sound. She is bird-shaped and enormous, too large for Taiga's close trees to make room, but the wide expanse of Nerine wears her shadow like a canvas wears paint, rippling over the grassy plains and the granite-sided cliffs, and over the pulsing sea, it comes to life.
She circles the Isle, but the icy slip of land holds little interest for her, snow and ice hiding the wreckage underneath, dead trees may do for the ice-king's throne, but not for her, and Popinjay turns abruptly, cutting low enough that the sweep of her wings makes furrows in the snow as she races the wind and cries out a wordless claim in her high, bright, voice. The angle of her wings shifts above the Nerinian Strait, enough that she arcs up and over the cliffs in dramatic fashion, looping high and tucking her wings tight to her body so that she slices back to earth like a bullet, impossibly fast, pulling up at the last moment with an unfurling of wings that bring a sickening halt to her breakneck dive. Her talons reach out for the rocky outcropping, digging into stone.
She cries again, a shrill keer that ricochets off the surrounding crags, and then the air shivers, and she is herself again, small and grinning, her hooves too busy, her forelock curling black as pine-smoke against the laughing-bright star across her brow. Waiting has never been her strong-suit, but she does not think it will be very long.
No, this isn't just a bad dream, it is happening. Unless somebody else thinks they can make a convincing enough argument to sway her to follow them instead. Good luck!
Crowns is quick to learn and he takes careful note of how Wayfair’s warm winds had made him fly much higher. Now he commands the winds on his own, blowing them beneath his dripping wings as he explores Beqanna from a much greater altitude than he’s ever known. He enjoys seeing the sharp lines where the regions change - Sylva giving way to Loess, which in turn borders Tephra. The colors of their homes all clash and complement each other at once. But he sees a storm brewing in the north and he wonders what lies just ahead.
Chaos calls him much in the same way that blood or thrashing in the waters calls the shark. So, being the reckless thing he is, he plunges forward into the storm. Crowns is careful to dodge the lightning but the fat droplets of rain sting his skin from the speed at which he flies. A frown eases across his face before he tilts his wings downward, beginning his gentle descent after the strange bird nearby.
Except when she lands, she is not a bird at all. She is a girl, older than him, and seemingly excited about something. He lands less gracefully than her but he manages not to faceplant into the northern grasses. This is a great enough achievement for now.
“Why are you yelling?” he asks, his blue ears perked forward to catch her voice. Crowns can’t help but mirror the eager grin across her face as he watches her. Each raindrop sends his wings rippling as he folds them across his back and shifts his weight. He wonders what this place is called but he keeps his questions limited for now.
11-17-2020, 12:39 PM (This post was last modified: 11-17-2020, 01:51 PM by Leilan.)
I’m not, you know, particularly bothered by the large electrical bird shifter in Nerine, not when she sweeps by, and not when she starts crying her heart out all over Nerine. She isn’t a threat to the land itself - she’s unpredictable, sure, but since when do I want predictable in the North? I should unseat myself if I did... though, I must say we have come to a bit of a lull these days. It seems to me all of Beqanna has, but still.
Silence before the storm. I know who’s bringing it, though, and I don’t mind.
I’m considering to not even show up at all and see what the outcome will be in time, but that would be rude - and not a great head-start if she does unseat Nev. Whom I frankly haven’t seen actively bothered by anything about Nerine in a while. Not that I was either, but I’m still trying to get people to look at the North as a whole, instead, and if someone shows up who’s able to light a spark, well - you won’t find me opposing the idea.
Some others might, though, so perhaps it’d be better if I just showed up anyway. Fae know I was looked down upon when I didn’t attempt to injure or kill the Pangean children for lighting winter on fire, so here I am now. Spreading my wings, I do not bother with a full shift, and take my time to follow the screeching bird. I land not too far behind her, shaking my crest and shoving the wings away.
Someone else has arrived by the time I’ve walked over, though it may be said that my gait has been rather lazy. It’s a boy, but I know he’s not from any of the northern lands. Deciding not to ask him how or why he came here, I just settle down between them. People usually know who I am by now, and if they don’t, the previous wings and my icy scales are clue enough for them to guess. If not, well - not my problem.
There is little being discussed right now, and much like when I claimed the Isle, this seems like a rather silent passing of leadership so far. The colt asks why she’s yelling, so I just roll my shoulders a bit. Careless maybe, but who am I to judge her if she’s not even started? She might have good ideas.
I’m listening, Popinjay.
The thought is only projected at the young mare, and I give her a bright look, almost a smile. I know she never introduced herself to me, but there were multiple Taigans who knew her when I asked about the bird who showed up on the Isle that day.
She must have some proposal, or at least a reason behind her claim. If she’s answering the colt, then she can answer my one, unasked question as well. If she wins, then what’s next?
they say I did something bad, then why’s it feel so good?
@[Popinjay] here to, idk see what happens I guess
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
11-20-2020, 08:24 PM (This post was last modified: 11-24-2020, 11:28 PM by Popinjay.)
She was not quite what you would call refined.
The storm swirls above, below, silence.
Below, she can taste chlorine on her lips.
Nerine is silent except for the thunder that follows the lightning that follows her. Empty, sleeping, brooding, but Popinjay doesn't mind, she will fill its skies with her lightning and its land with the shade of her wings. None come, no Nerinians, anyway, their bones too cold. A boy drops clumsily from the sky and the way his grin mirrors hers makes her own beam more brightly. She closes the distance between them in moments as though they are old friends.
"Why aren't you?" she asks him with a conspiratorial tilt of her head, "It's too quiet, don't you think?"
Overhead, bolts of lightning crack the grey sky and throw their strobing light over the pair while Leilan joins them. His mind voice sounds like ice groaning in her brain and the little mare turns her attention away from the boy with the river on his back to cast her dancing eyes across the northern king. No doubt he expects her to make a proclamation, to declare her worth, but she doesn't, only tosses the curls of her forelock so that it dances in that wild wind. What argument would he have her make except that she wants to do it, and so she has? For a moment, she keeps her place beside the blue-and-bay youth, but she leaves him for the roan, stepping in too close, her muzzle to his ear though she must nearly stand on her tip-toes to reach.
"I'll tell you a secret," there is electricity on her lips when they brush his jaw, though his scaling will protect him from the very worst of its bite, "they say lightning doesn't strike twice, but it actually hits me all the time."
She pulls her sparking muzzle away and grins her mischievous grin, and perhaps it is just enough time for him to leap back - just enough time for him to see the way the hairs of her mane lift and dance in the air, to feel the prickling on his skin - just enough time to avoid the enormous bar of light that engulfs her, arcing towards the sky with a sound that shatters the space around them. The lightning leaves eyes dark and ears roaring when it is gone, and she stands unscathed, laughing, at its center, and everything just a bit too close to her burnt and smoking.
Crowns turns his sapphire head as he appraises the other stranger approaching. He’s covered in frosted scales, which delights the boy as he begins to circle him eagerly. As he slinks, still giving Leilan a respectable amount of space, little scales erupt across his skin and freeze over to mimic him. The boy makes little effort to stifle the laughter that bubbles up from his chest as he spreads his wings and carefully mimics the northern king’s pose.
“My dad has scales like these too,” he explains, feeling obligated to let Leilan in on the joke. “His name is Varick. Do you know him?”
His oceanic eyes search the other’s for a while before Popinjay answers his question. Then, just as quickly as they came, the scales shed from his body and are carried away on the frigid breeze. He meets her halfway when she nears him and he begins to wonder if he should also yell. It’s an interesting notion, but he has no idea just what he would even yell about. Crowns settles with giving her a shrug of his shoulders.
The boy observes her hair drift upward but he does not blink when the lightning crashes through her body with a roar. The burnt ground smells like the lava flows when he tosses little twigs and leaves into their path, but magnified. He wonders how much he would have to drop into the volcano to get a scent so strong.
Her words recapture his attention, though, and he tilts his head. To stop her? From what? Crowns supposes this is an invitation, so he lightly skims her mind for whatever it is she plans to do. He doesn’t understand the interest in thrones and power. They seem cumbersome, but perhaps he is missing some sort of allure.
“Do you want me to? Eight taught me all kinds of neat tricks,” he says with a grin, a child eager to show off a new toy.
11-25-2020, 07:16 AM (This post was last modified: 11-25-2020, 07:19 AM by Leilan.)
The colt seems to see something funny about me, which admittedly may be a first. Lots of kids were always scared of my rather thick draft built and color-changing eyes. Add the occasional maniacal grin and voilá, pointy teeth do the rest. The water-winged boy is different though, and I like that about him. Bold but not too touchy. When he’s done mimicking however, he throws out a name I do not recognize. So, I slowly shake my head. ”Can’t say that I remember the name. What’s he look like?”And, perhaps, the rest of his family - fairies know I haven’t kept track of some of my children, and especially not their mates and offspring. It is possible than one has inherited icy scales - or, just as likely not. I know most of my kids were roan and carried some gold, but whatever comes after I cannot possibly know.
Sometimes I wish I could read minds - in this instance, when Poppy’s head tosses, I would have enjoyed the bay woman’s answer, and probably accepted it as a good reason. Alas, no such tricks for me, so when she tosses her head I find no answer, only defiance. She comes close to tell me what I already know - lightning is with her, and the spark on her face only amplifies her words. A small zapping sensation reaches my ears, the only un-scaled part of my head, but my eyes have a green spark on them when she retreats with a mischievous grin of her own. ”Show-off,” I tell her but it is most likely lost in the thunderclap that follows. As a result, the ground beneath me doesn’t scorch, because I unload the charge in a rather different way. I don’t really know how it works, how for a moment lightning existed between us - but I’m glad for it anyway, seeing as I’m not ran through with the stuff but rather it seems to pass around me*.
A low chuckle follows. ”Don’t get boring. We’ve been through this before.” I tssk, then look at the boy just to check if he isn’t harmed by our decharging. Her question grows more serious however, and I suppose it’s time to make a stand. Trouble is, none of the so-called leaders or council members have followed me here. Which means they don’t get a say, I suppose. ”Depends. If you grow boring and plan on screeching only, I’d rather you bothered your adoptive mom with it than me.” I let my shoulders roll a little - it really isn’t much of a bother, just inconvenient if she turns out to be a disappointment rather than an investment. Time will tell, and I won’t claim to be good at predictions - when all I’ve tried to be is unpredictable.
they say I did something bad, then why’s it feel so good?
@[Popinjay] @[crowns]
*ice conducts positive charge but not negative charge (which lightning is), so he unloads in the opposite way (and most likely through poppy as she is the negatively charged one - yay physics - hope this is okay! Thought it was more fun than stepping out of range ^^
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
When the light fades, she is wearing her wings again, if only so she can ruffle them, self-satisfied, with the soft hissing, zipping, sound that feathers make when their edges rustle together. Their weight across her back is no longer a burden, and they do not remind her of her time in the Pampas any longer, but Leilan's words do and the bright grin on her face drops away, leaving darkness for a moment. The wildness of her eyes is not lessened by the change.
"It is already boring here, I can't make it worse."
Boring and quiet and sad. That signature smile leaps to her lips again and she resolves to screech over the Isle just as much as possible. Perhaps it is unwise, but Popinjay fears no dragons, neither ones of fire nor those of ice, she may have learned caution, but fear still evades her.
The boy asks her if she wants to be stopped and she turns to look at him curiously. She does not want him to stop her, but she does love tricks. How is she supposed to choose? Her first difficult choice as leader, it is barely a choice at all. Small ears flick forward, eager, trembling.
"I do not want you to stop me, no, but I would very much like to see whatever you'd like to show me."
Crowns realizes, suddenly, that he has never mimicked his father beyond the frost-covered scales and the sharp teeth. He supposes he could try to copy his color? His brow furrows and he concentrates until the bay is exchanged for more of the brilliant sapphire blue. Then, he peppers that roaning gold across his body until he supposes he looks enough like his father. When he supposes he looks enough like Varick to get his point across, he turns his gaze back to Leilan and beams up at him, a miniature of his sire.
“Oh! Except he doesn’t have wings. That’s just me,” he laughs, realizing his mistake before turning back to Poppy. He watches the lightning arc between the two and he tilts his head slightly. Leilan seems entirely unamused, but there Crowns is thrilled with the display.
Popinjay says she does not want to be stopped and so he obliges her. But she does want to see a trick, which leaves him wondering just what kind of display he would like to show them. Something exciting to match theirs, certainly? Crowns sheds his disguise, the gold dripping from his back like melting ice to reveal the bay splashes once more.
“Okay! What kind of trick do you want to see? I can make fire, or be a snake, or make spooky things. And teleport!” he explains, delighted that he remembered the word Rosemary taught him. It does not occur to him to add changing colors to his repertoire now.
The colt is currently - yes, I hear myself thinking it - more interesting than the mare. The sapphire blue I don't recognise, but the gold roaning is a dead giveaway. "Hmm." I answer non-descriptively, contemplating this matter as I inspect the boy's coloring. I wonder if we're talking grandchild or worse, but then the colt laughs and leaves out his wings. Some impressive tricks indeed - not a lot of horses have the capability to alter that much about themselves. Before I can finish my conversation with Crowns however, Poppy makes a lightning show, which momentarily distracts us all. Nevertheless it is just a distraction and unfortunately for her, I've lived long enough not to be impressed by every single display. "Then make it better." I task her in reply; she'll have to do more than just show up, be a loudmouth and throw around some lightning, but honestly it can't hurt to see her try and make Nerine more alive. Fairies know where Neverwhere is now, but apparently she feels unobliged to say anything about it right now.
So, I've decided to leave the matter be and see what Poppy does with the place.
As the boy lists what his tricks comprehend, I start to realize just how much magic he holds. I blink once, then grin a little, opting for a mental approach and wondering if he'll be able to respond in kind. "I bet you could even take her lightning and shape it into whatever you wanted." I'm an old, grumpy trickster, alright. I'm not even saying it to annoy Popinjay - I'm really just curious how he reacts to a suggestion.
they say I did something bad, then why’s it feel so good?
@[Popinjay] @[crowns]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
12-14-2020, 01:39 PM (This post was last modified: 12-14-2020, 01:39 PM by Popinjay.)
She is not bothered by Leilan's easy dismissal, perhaps because she is not concerned about his opinion of her, and, if he hasn't come to put a stop to her take-over, then she has no further need of him. She certainly does not need him to defend an empty territory - what is there to defend beyond grass and granite and a few twisted trees? Besides, while Popinjay may enjoy being the center of attention, she is not jealous of that spotlight, She's just as happy to watch a fireworks show. And a spectacular one, at that, if the Tephran youth's magic is as far-reaching as his list seems to suggest.
The silvered roan turns to the indigo-spotted youth with a question on his face, and it's clear that he is using that thought projection again. She snorts, derisively. It's an intrusive ability; to wheedle your thoughts unasked for into someone else's brain, and annoying, like a fly buzzing buzzing buzzing around your head in the heaviest heat of summer. If she knew what Leilan asked of the boy, she might scoff more, Poppy can likely shape her own lightning without the colt's help, but she cannot hear the mind-speech, instead, she considers the question that has been asked of her. What would she like to see? Popinjay is a creature with a storm inside her, something hungry and wild and she craves the things that make the storm run savage and turbulent in her heart, makes its beat a tornado, carving out the ground of her soul.
@[crowns] shorty short post, poppy is eager to see The Crowns Show, but honestly if you just wanna pretend he does does something, and end the thread since it's sort of turning off subject, I'm all about that head canon lol
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