06-07-2021, 02:47 PM
I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
She is quiet in the telling, opposite of what he was expecting. She had been jagged knives and sharp needles before, as prickly as a cactus and as biting as the wind that now brutally beats against them. Now those edges seem soft and thoughtful as she merely listens. He doesn’t expect an answer to his question of morality but she gives it none the less. He still refuses to look at her for he knows what he will find there. She isn’t a stupid creature and she had already figured him out once. The thought of her pity makes him squeamish and sick and that thing inside of him flails wildly as if caught in a noose.
“Maybe it’s better that they left.” A scornful scowl takes the tightness of his lips and twists it into something mean and hateful. It eases only slightly when she amends her opinion before he can jump in, before he can show her just how cruel his words can be. Still something acidic lingers in his mouth and his disgust is evident as he follows up her thoughts with some of his own. “He did make a family of his own and they left him too.” His words are a rumble that mingles with the storm but he knows she hears him. He just knows. Christ, why was he telling her so much? For a moment he blames it on the looseness of his tongue surely spurred by heavy drink. Forgetting that his buzz had worn off hours ago.
There had been no sign of the fairies that he had once known and grown up with since that day Cheri had gotten drunk amongst the flowers. All that remained was the nectar that they hid deep within the bowels of trees and roots, in fallen trunks flaking with dead debris. Easier to find for him since he had ascended to Fae but it didn’t make the hurt lessen, that they avoided him. Deep down he adds it as another point against the girl of green and onyx, another reason to feed to the flames of his hatred. Hatred and love were so hard to tell apart at times and since love seemed such a foreign concept to him, he cannot recognize it for what it is.
Revelrie thinks she is ugly but she isn’t. The strands of gold (not unlike the ones that weave within a tapestry of black) are as wild and feral as the boy in his story as they blow across her face in the tempest. The tattoos that glow across her body are as bright and bold as Light is when he dances across the stream at night. As bright as the stripes that wind across Aela’s sunlight limbs. He cares for the golden mare more then he was willing to confess and the tightrope they walk is a dangerous one.
He could care for Revelrie too (a raincloud mare streaked with lighting) as she reserves her judgement for a later day. As she doesn’t laugh at him. As she looks at him with eyes as bright as the sky when the sun has risen high and clear. Unclouded and light compared to the deep ocean of Aela’s. That is also something he is loathe to admit.
He doesn’t want to care for anyone just as nobody has ever cared about him.
He had taken this crown, this place of leadership, as if he had been born for it. And in a way, he had. The responsibility was not a crushing weight like it had been for Offspring but he can feel the shackles of it fall in place. There was always freedom in the nectar, in the pollen he spitefully inhaled, and it eased the bite of steel that he had willingly placed on himself. Whatever he made in the Pampas was his and whoever decided to linger here (regardless if they liked him or not and regardless if that feeling was mutual) was his to look out for. To defend and protect, to annoy and crucify. He had to care to an extent. Nobody else needed to know that though.
“You might regret that.” He yells across the squall as he breaks from the intensity of her gaze but his scowl has faded into something less harsh, an uneven smile that coaxes into a smirk. The ones he gives when his feelings are uncertain and the heat of his hatred cools. She is close to him now, her muzzle reaching to a long pointed ear and he can’t help but inhale the scent of her. A mixture of the wildflowers that make this place what it is, a mixture of the salt of the sea, a mixture of something feminine. These are confessions that fall heavily on to him, wishes he doesn’t want, and his gaze hardens when she steps away. As she dangled precariously close to the edge. All it would take is one buffet from this hellish wind to take her away. To jump and see if she grew wings or scales when her body hit the water (unless she was unlucky enough to hit the jutting rocks instead).
His teeth grit as his immortality fights against the ghostly remains of the mortality he had once owned. Before he steps right up beside her. There is a thrill running along his spine, enough to make his fur raise with anticipation. It would take a lot now to make him die. Immortal and a healer besides. Was this what it felt like when Crowns came close to death? There is something wild and mad in her gaze and he hesitates. “And what if we are simply what we are?” He asks her above the thrash of the storm, yelling enough to make his voice hoarse. He does not want her blood on his hooves and it’s merely a question now if he will jump with her and allow her to die or pull her back from the edge. The trickster in him wants to watch her fall (wants to jump himself) but the scared lonely mortal boy from the story wants to grip her mane and pull her back to watch the storms with him another day.
“Maybe it’s better that they left.” A scornful scowl takes the tightness of his lips and twists it into something mean and hateful. It eases only slightly when she amends her opinion before he can jump in, before he can show her just how cruel his words can be. Still something acidic lingers in his mouth and his disgust is evident as he follows up her thoughts with some of his own. “He did make a family of his own and they left him too.” His words are a rumble that mingles with the storm but he knows she hears him. He just knows. Christ, why was he telling her so much? For a moment he blames it on the looseness of his tongue surely spurred by heavy drink. Forgetting that his buzz had worn off hours ago.
There had been no sign of the fairies that he had once known and grown up with since that day Cheri had gotten drunk amongst the flowers. All that remained was the nectar that they hid deep within the bowels of trees and roots, in fallen trunks flaking with dead debris. Easier to find for him since he had ascended to Fae but it didn’t make the hurt lessen, that they avoided him. Deep down he adds it as another point against the girl of green and onyx, another reason to feed to the flames of his hatred. Hatred and love were so hard to tell apart at times and since love seemed such a foreign concept to him, he cannot recognize it for what it is.
Revelrie thinks she is ugly but she isn’t. The strands of gold (not unlike the ones that weave within a tapestry of black) are as wild and feral as the boy in his story as they blow across her face in the tempest. The tattoos that glow across her body are as bright and bold as Light is when he dances across the stream at night. As bright as the stripes that wind across Aela’s sunlight limbs. He cares for the golden mare more then he was willing to confess and the tightrope they walk is a dangerous one.
He could care for Revelrie too (a raincloud mare streaked with lighting) as she reserves her judgement for a later day. As she doesn’t laugh at him. As she looks at him with eyes as bright as the sky when the sun has risen high and clear. Unclouded and light compared to the deep ocean of Aela’s. That is also something he is loathe to admit.
He doesn’t want to care for anyone just as nobody has ever cared about him.
He had taken this crown, this place of leadership, as if he had been born for it. And in a way, he had. The responsibility was not a crushing weight like it had been for Offspring but he can feel the shackles of it fall in place. There was always freedom in the nectar, in the pollen he spitefully inhaled, and it eased the bite of steel that he had willingly placed on himself. Whatever he made in the Pampas was his and whoever decided to linger here (regardless if they liked him or not and regardless if that feeling was mutual) was his to look out for. To defend and protect, to annoy and crucify. He had to care to an extent. Nobody else needed to know that though.
“You might regret that.” He yells across the squall as he breaks from the intensity of her gaze but his scowl has faded into something less harsh, an uneven smile that coaxes into a smirk. The ones he gives when his feelings are uncertain and the heat of his hatred cools. She is close to him now, her muzzle reaching to a long pointed ear and he can’t help but inhale the scent of her. A mixture of the wildflowers that make this place what it is, a mixture of the salt of the sea, a mixture of something feminine. These are confessions that fall heavily on to him, wishes he doesn’t want, and his gaze hardens when she steps away. As she dangled precariously close to the edge. All it would take is one buffet from this hellish wind to take her away. To jump and see if she grew wings or scales when her body hit the water (unless she was unlucky enough to hit the jutting rocks instead).
His teeth grit as his immortality fights against the ghostly remains of the mortality he had once owned. Before he steps right up beside her. There is a thrill running along his spine, enough to make his fur raise with anticipation. It would take a lot now to make him die. Immortal and a healer besides. Was this what it felt like when Crowns came close to death? There is something wild and mad in her gaze and he hesitates. “And what if we are simply what we are?” He asks her above the thrash of the storm, yelling enough to make his voice hoarse. He does not want her blood on his hooves and it’s merely a question now if he will jump with her and allow her to die or pull her back from the edge. The trickster in him wants to watch her fall (wants to jump himself) but the scared lonely mortal boy from the story wants to grip her mane and pull her back to watch the storms with him another day.
obscene
@revelrie