"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
06-21-2016, 11:26 PM (This post was last modified: 07-10-2016, 02:42 AM by Phaedrus.)
PHAEDRUS
He is in a tree, a tree perfectly made for a Pegasus of his size. Nesting there he bathes in the sunlight. The forest floor below is busy with the sounds of scurrying creatures hurrying this way and that eager to finish their business and move on to the next best thing. Frustrated? Maybe, but that wasn’t the whole reason that he was out here, he had been lazy through this year, spending as much time with those he cares about as he can. It wouldn’t be long before they grew up, what was a year in retrospect of that? Especially Gyps.
His brow furrows at that thought, and the chin that had previously been resting on his bent knee now was tight to his neck, eyes piercing the fog in front of him. Using his hind legs and his wings the stallion beats the massive muscles into action lunging from the branches down to the earth below. With each movement the leaves and twigs grasped at his mane, his tail, his hide scratching and clawing him begging him not to leave his newly developed haunt. With a muffled thud he lands on the pine needles and dirt that surround the snarly tree. It contorts and bends like an old man in a drab cloak withered and scarred from many years of life. The face holds an open mouth and bulbous nose that drips with sticky gold. Phaedrus chuckles at the sight. I will see you again soon my old friend With that he turns and begins to walk away.
As he does so, something catches his eye and he turns once more to the tree looking at it curiously. Another snapping of a twig and his wings partially raise in alarm. Remaining quiet he patiently waits for what must come about next, be it pleasant or not, he was ready. It wasn’t often… no never had anyone disturbed his solitude. These he had managed to keep to himself over the years, but there is always a first for everything. His blue tail switches and impatiently he waits for what will come.
When did the Jungle become the more common Forest?
It had started out innocently enough; trying to discover just how deep into the Jungle the trail led only for the pain mare to suddenly stop and look around herself. These were not the same trees she had originally started off in, these were younger and not as tall, and the land here was more gray than green as if the shadows and the moss dwelled here more than Nature herself. She snorts, surprised at how deep in thought she had slipped to not have noticed the way the land shifted from one to the next.
As of late, all her forays outside the Jungle have been only to the Field in search of those displaying enough brains, brawn, and worth - all things the sisterhood needed. So to find herself here now, it is strange and her skin crawls from the way it seems much colder than back in the Jungle. Her thoughts had stolen her away more than anything else, and allowed her feet to become misguided in their trek. No matter, she’ll just turn around and go back the same way she can but she feels an odd pull towards the Forest, though it should have no bearing upon her hateful little soul.
She snorts, why is it so damn foggy here? It just is, she supposes, eyeing the thick soupy fog that swamps the Forest and sticks to her skin making her damp and even uglier. Such a scrawny thing was never meant to be thought of as beautiful and never would be, and Riva had no qualms with that - it allowed her to pass more freely through life, very spare and lean in look and manner. Except he’d taken a strange shine to her, and she (reluctance clouds her admittance of this, even to herself) to him as it seems to be, and all of a sudden her head picks up and her hawkish eyes narrow in on the fog. Riva smells him, and thinks of slipping away quickly with the fog as her cover but as she turns, she snaps a twig in half with her foot and freezes. Damn! He will certainly have heard that, she snarls inwardly at herself for such carelessness.
The bay tovero breaks from the fog; her head is held high in pure perfected haughtiness as she looks him over (still brawny, still scarred, still black and blue like a bruise that sits on her heart, a stain of feeling that she cannot shake no matter how hard she tries to) and says in exasperation so fake it is obnoxiously believable, “You.”
Meeting her in the field again hadn’t been on his mind… well more like shoved from his mind. He couldn’t decide if he was happy to see her, or if he was pissed at how she had just upped and vanished. He also couldn’t decide if he was okay with it, or if he saw it as disrespectful. Before he had just shrugged it off, but when she appeared out of thin air again, and had acted like nothing had happened, almost like she hadn’t known him. Making that rude comment that he knew was meant to spite him… ah well let the past be the past right? Wasn’t like he was going to be seeing her anytime soon. Shaking out his head, this day had proved to be a productive one, and taking a quick nap before continuing on his trek to the jungle, then later the falls seemed like a good idea at the time. Now that he was on the ground and not in the sky he couldn’t help but feel a little miffed that he wasn’t such a good flyer as to be able to leap from the nest into the air. No, now he had to walk out of the forest before he took to the skies.
After his whispered moment with the tree, he heard the snap that caused him to pivot around to look for the creature that was running around and disturbing the peace. It’s only after a rabbit hopped across his path that the chilly ring of her voice pulls him to her location. His eyes narrowed, his muscles tensed, and for the moment there was only silence. He looked back up to the tree top mentally making note to train himself so that he no longer needed the ground in these neutral lands. The word hung between them almost as thick as the fog, You, it said more than a thousand words could have. Then a thought came to mind, one that had him grinning with a glint of smugness in his eyes. Do you make a habit of stalking? Or am I just that special? Instantly he regreted the words and looked sheepishly to the ground, his head lowered slightly, biting at his lip in a worrisome manner.
He Looked back up at her, for a moment he wasn’t so sure of himself, at the same time part of his dignity reared its head asking him why he should be the apologizing, she had been the one to walk away. Yea and she had looked so cute doing it too. Damn those hips… Another misplaced devilish smile wanes across his features, once again lost in thought looking her over. She might have been all angles, but to him it looked artistic, and watching her pout and stomp off had been the highlight of that day. She looked so delicate, so lithe and gentle, looking at her he could not see the strength of that bitter voice, looking at her, all he wanted to do in that moment was slide his wing around her and hold her close. Almost like the wind could knock her over if it had a mind to. The breeze could break her fragile bones in an instant, yet the power in her voice said otherwise. It almost dared the wind to do something of the nature.
He tucked his wings to his sides resisting the urge, but allowing himself one small indulgent by stepping closer to her. Extending his face in greeting, a polite exchange of air, so innocent, yet sooo, well there was a lot to be said about scents and their effects on creatures. He was no god to be able to resist a moment of weakness. Yet he still chided himself, and wished for more self-control. It could be considered an apology, but knowing her, he didn’t expect her to take so much from it.
Once again his eyes found hers locking in place studying her, searching for what it was that drew him to her. You know Riva… He sighs, and takes a moment to think all the words that he intended to say, all the angry spitefulness fell away, and the phrase comes out a gentle whisper, more saddened and thoughtful then he is normally accustomed to. He never bore his soul for anyone, and doing so now…. Well that wasn’t even a thought, and it simmered, sputtered, before snuffing itself out completely. There was just one thing he wanted to know… Why? What drew him to her, why couldn’t he just walk away and let bygones be bygones.
In the back of her brain, Riva knows he must be mad at her for vanishing into thin air. Neat trick, huh? It was instinctual - to disappear; after all, hasn’t her bloodline been doing that for years? Oh no, wait - that was abandoning, but to her it was the same thing, though not quite when she did it to him. In her mind, she hadn’t abandoned him - just left, after all, there was nothing to keep her there, no agreement that she would stay and split her time between the Jungle and him. Riva really doesn’t think she has done anything wrong, knows he might still be mad, but fails to comprehend why - he had others, so why should he care about her?
(No one ever had, see, except maybe Lagertha who had her own machinations in mind when it came to the paint mare.)
Yep, he’s mad… she can see the muscles tense beneath the black of his fur; a thrill of something (she’s not sure what exactly) goes tapdancing down her spine until he turns his grinning face to her and a sneer sits prettily upon her lips. “Neither,” she snaps back, and then he had to go and look all lost-boy on her, cowed suddenly by something she simply did not understand. His moods moved too fast for her to follow, left her head spinning as he flashed a devilish grin her way and Riva’s face wavered in its severity for just a moment, allowing a chink in her spiteful armor to show. There was something in the way he kept looking at her that unnerved her and caused her to snap at him again, “Stop looking at me like that!”
She snorted out her frustration and shook her head, suddenly peering at him from too much hair in her eyes - damn forelock, the thing was always in her way! The moment she was unguarded and silly-looking, he takes a step forward and she balks at the encroachment on her bubble of space - damn him! She thought, thoroughly disgusted as her own nose neared his in that age-old ritual all horses cannot keep from doing, even the spite-addled paint, as she blows air back at him in. Damn, he smelled like the plains, all that grass and sunshine, and she found herself curiously missing it, missing - WAIT A MINUTE, HOLD UP, HELL NO! Riva slams the door on that thought, locks it up tight, nails boards all over it and chucks the entire thing into the sea of I-never-thought-it and nonexistence.
Their eyes meet - sounds so romantic, and Riva feels sick to her stomach.
He says her name, almost sighs it and there is a thing in that sighed name that worms its way into her. The sadness in his voice robs her of spite in a single breath. She doesn’t understand it, why is he sad? What is there to be sad about? Riva thinks it has nothing to do with her, it must be something else…
“Why are you… sad?” she asks, regrets it in the same instant she asks it. Riva tells herself that she doesn’t really care about his feelings, but a tiny part of her says that’s a lie - she cares, more than she likes to admit. Damn, since when did she start caring about shit? Damn him! He did this to her, made her weak and stray from her path of pure spite. It is easy to blame him, rather than to think that Riva is evolving into someone else. Much easier to blame him for everything, or rather convenient since he’s right there - big, black, and brawny, and why on earth was she thinking about all of that?! Riva shook her head, but still found that she could not move away from him and almost reached out to touch him but her muzzle clearly stopped short of its mark - his shoulder, and stayed there between them like a broken offering until she pulled it sharply back to her, tucking it high and tight against her neck like she’d been burned.
If he ever thought that the world is bad in this moment, then he has a big surprise in store for him in the near future. The Deserts would disappear, he would have grooves of missing flesh on two of his ribs, Sheba would be gone. Her words bite out at him targeting his pride, instigation is not something that he is used to having as a part of his character. He bites back a sordid remark, feeling the regret of his actions, and remembering how the antagonism had worked out for him last time. She interrupts his thoughts and he holds back another smirk. Like what? feigning innocence he looks her in the eye, wondering if she would be so brave as to say what had just occurred in that moment, or if she had the same thoughts on her own mind. His ears perk forward intent on catching every little nuance she offers him.
In a moment, she is vulnerable, and a raw undefinable part of her is there tugging at his desire to protect. He cannot resist the greeting, keeping his eyes trained on hers he sighs out the air from his lungs, taking in her essence to replace his air, he tastes the lush flavors of lush green, rich dirt, wet heat, and a refreshing wildness that he had come to associate with the Jungle. He takes in the pieces of her soul that she shares with him through her eyes. They stand there, the air tickles at his mane, it rustles his feathers, kissing at his skin. For a moment he is lost, he is lost in the moment, to time, to the world, to all the burdens of the kingdoms, to his own thoughts, and they are there. There where there is nothing, were nothing is everything, and everything is weightless, even beautiful at times, it swirls around them, like colors painted on the northern sky, creating a low tune that only the wind could seduce.
The nothingness takes shape it becomes something pressing, and full of color, it builds, it grows, it twines around itself faster, its chaos. He releases the word, her name, and suddenly all that is left is the black, empty, nothingness. She presses him, presses him in just the right way for what he needed, no wanted to ask her, to take shape and become palpable words on his tongue. I just wonder at what could have happened in the Dale, for you to hate it so much that you would run away from anything associated with it. He had been puzzling over her stay, over each word, over each look, over every small detail that he could remember. Even as much as he has no desire to do so, in a brooding mind, with few puzzles to solve, this one had consumed all the empty space. His own tragic story would probably be easily relatable for her, dare he share it? He had never shared it, no one knew the troubles of being gifted, yet not gifted enough.
He offers enough time for her to answer and whatever follows to occur, that is of course if she chose to answer at all, after which he attempts a smile for her shaking the moment off, hoping to give her a small peace offering through it. I am on my way to the jungle if you would like to join me? His tail flicks and his wings flutter, the sadness probably would always burden him, maybe that is why his broody behavior always comes off as a bit arrogant, especially with the strong confident gate of a soldier ensues, or the rigid stance he takes when not moving. He couldn’t say for certain, just that he wondered if disappointing is his allotted title in life. There are moments where he can believe that, that can change. Like when he got the promotion, or when he won his battles, but then he remembers the look of disappointment on others faces, like hers, and he remembers his place. Never get your hopes up to high.
Their eyes meet and she holds his gaze - not many can match her look but he always has; most quail beneath the fire in her eyes (not tempered steel like her once-Queen’s eyes held, Riva was always hot and smoldering), careful to look anywhere other than her ugly face, made more so by the hate that thinned her out and left her all bones and hardness. For a moment, she realizes that he always saw beyond that, even when surrounded by all his lovely plump little mares and there was Riva, striking in her severity, but for all the wrong reasons and he still looked at her like he saw more of herself than she ever did. He was a mirror that she refused to face head on, afraid to see what would be reflected back at her in his unwavering eyes and it is she who looks away first even as he challenges her with his ‘like what’ comment.
She thinks of striking back at him with something witty but the way their noses meet and linger as they share each other’s scent has her reneging on the thought of saying something altogether mean to him. Her eyes close for a moment - the same moment that he indulges in, where their thoughts spin away; his to here and there and then the nothingness in which her thoughts have already slid into, hard and fast, so that the nothingness of thought and time is tumultuous and causes her to tremble just the slightest. He might see it, that fine tremor that runs through her, and he might chalk it up to some angry tick of hers' or he might recognize it as fear - of the unknown, of what is growing between them just in that moment and the next. The storm that is building is chaotic, begs for release and gets it the moment he chokes her name out into the air between them --
“Who says I ran?” she spits, having come back to herself momentarily to gather enough venom to coat her tongue as she lifts her eyes to his - they are growing brighter and more fevered by the minute, her hate coming back to her on wings flaming like a phoenix’s. It is almost like he can see it in her - the royal blood that whored itself out to a pirate, thinking to make something of herself other than the family’s name and made only a small filly that had nothing special about her like all the rest did, no horn or pretty pair of wings, or ability to foretell the future or never die. Just some ill-made spawn that they muttered about and took in and completely forgot about all in the same breath. No one should be left behind, but they did just that to Riva - that illustrious bloodline abandoned her and she never forgot it, and will never forgive them for the injustices done to a poor starving foal who only wanted someone to love her.
How can she tell him that? That her vile bloodline began in the Dale and she will never set foot in that accursed land unless her sisters in the Jungle ask her to? But he asks her why she hates it so and her hate bursts inside her like a supernova and Riva thinks of lashing out at him with tooth and hoof, to pare a strip of his flesh from like Beqanna’s magic has done for making her remember. Then he shrugs and smiles like it doesn’t matter, like he never asked that question at all and she is struck dumbfounded by the sudden change in him. “My family left me,” is all she tells him, hoarding her hate and her secrets to herself but she gives him this much - this small token of why it is she hates the Dale with every fiber of her being, even as she takes a small unknowing step towards him, like a lost girl and almost - almost - brings her nose back towards his before swinging it away and looking in the direction he has turned towards, the Jungle, her haven.
“I will,” she amends softly, still at his side and almost conceding the lead to him as she inclines her head towards the path they will need to take. Then she brings her head up sharply and swings around to stand in front of him, blocking his way to the path behind her. “You never told me why you are sad,” and she cannot help the accusatory tone of her voice, but her eyes betray her - they say, please trust me, as the fires in them settle down to embers, almost warm and inviting because some part of her admits that it cannot stand to see the way he looks so downtrodden.
08-15-2016, 04:30 AM (This post was last modified: 08-15-2016, 04:30 AM by Phaedrus.)
PHAEDRUS
She turns her gaze away from him, and he grins with a bit of relief, knowing that he would have been the one doing such a motion if she had challenged his last comment. She hadn’t though, she had known exactly what was on his mind, only a horse with the same type of thoughts would understand what his look was all about. He doesn’t rub it in, instead he dips his head and they greet one another, he can’t help but notice the tremor. It undoes his resolve and for a moment he slips, dropping his wing to brush her forelock from her face.
When she snaps the words at him, he shrugs a tender smile acting as an apology. Whatever you decide to call it. dropping the subject he is about to turn to another, but she catches him by surprise with an answer. He nods solemnly taking her words into consideration. He once again finds himself at a loss to his impulses. Reaching a wing out to once again stroke at her forelock she turns away just as a small wisp of hair catches in his feather. He watches it float and drift into her face once again casting his gaze to the ground. Just as he takes a step she reminds him that he had yet to answer her. If you would like I can tell you the story along the way. I promise you it is woefully depressing, and on all accounts boorishly long.
She gives him the lead, but he paces himself to her gait, staying close to her side. He sweeps away the branches and brush as they walk allowing her to pass completely unhindered. For several minutes he thinks on the words to start with. I once heard of a colt that was born to a very decorated family, with three parents to be exact. This family was so curious that his father was blue, and his grandfather was part fish. At first the they waited, hoping that the colt would sprout some strange curiosity that they could applaud. He didn’t though, and after a week of waiting they decided that the changeless colt would not be useful amongst them. The colt was sent to his niece Nocturnal, there they thought that he would not be a completely waste of space. Though after several years of getting nowhere and clumsily screwing up the few chances offered to him, another child came. This one reminded the changeless colt of the blue father so much so that the foal was considered the reincarnation of the blue stallion. Taking the foal under his wing the changeless colt taught it the ways of being changeless. After a year or so though, it disappeared. Forgetting about the changeless colt, just as the niece had done not long before that. He ends the story, falling silent continuing to push the brush aside for them both.
With a shrug he finally turns to look at her, just a story, but still, always has a way of making me feel a little depressed after thinking on it. He attempts to brush it off with a smile, and casually drapes his wing over her shoulder to catch the low hanging branch before it snags on her. What he doesn’t do though is remove the appendage, at least not immediately. He waits for her to shift, or give him some reason to remove taking the moment to comfort her and himself before they break through to the Jungle.
i'll carry this flag, to the grave if i must
OOC: you want to get a reply up in the jungle? Sorry this took so long. <3
@[riva]