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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    sell my soul for the high - any
    #1

    Maeglin’s feathers had been ruffled for days and showed no signs of settling. He felt like an unruly pigeon, the scattered feathers along his body refusing to lay in their usual sleek manner. The worst offenders were the ones by his ears, normally blending in and hidden by his forelock but now puffed up and brushing against the hairs so that his ears were constantly twitching.

    He needed to relax - he knew that. But knowing you need to relax and actually doing it are two entirely different things. Especially when some bizarre tornado takes you and your home into an entirely different world - and has the poor graces to bring your damned brother along. In fact, Maeglin had been rather hoping to leave a good number of faces behind and every time he spotted a fellow Stratosian he felt an unfortunate mix of relief and utter disappointment.

    They said Stratos wasn’t safe anymore, that they’d have to trade the clouds and endless skies for hard earth and stone, but even as Maeglin heard those words he knew he wouldn’t be following that advice. Of course he was going to return to Stratos, to see what was left of his home. Perhaps, if someone caught him there, he could pretend he was on a mission to check for stragglers - a foal too stupid to fly or, ideally, a pretty face.

    It was a good plan, but still his feathers didn’t settle. Even the feathers on his wings were puffed up once he landed after his flight, dispelling small wisps of darkening clouds. Like the sky around him, Maeglin was passing into twilight. The tips of his mane and tail were glowing with the same brilliant orange catching the edges of the clouds, his body a combination of deep reds and purples and just a hint of dark blue beginning to appear.

    It was his favourite time of day, these in-between times - where both sunlight and starlight were adorning him and capable of being called to his will.

    He gave another glance at his wings, muttering at them ‘we are relaxed’ like a mantra that had long lost it’s effectiveness, before turning his head and looking for whatever bananas reason they had been told Stratos wasn't safe.

    So far, he's unimpressed.



    open to any!

    also @Random Event you can scramble his wings
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    Messages In This Thread
    sell my soul for the high - any - by Maeglin - 08-04-2022, 05:56 PM
    RE: sell my soul for the high - any - by Adrestia - 09-12-2022, 12:46 AM



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