"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
03-12-2017, 01:53 AM (This post was last modified: 03-12-2017, 04:58 AM by zai.)
have you ever thought about what protects our hearts? just a cage of rib bones and other various parts
It is strange to be back, to feel the threads of an old life pull at him, tug at old pieces of his should he thought long forgotten. When he wanders the meadow, like tonight, he can almost feel like his old self. He can close his grey eyes and imagine that his parents are back at home, that his siblings are waiting for him. He can imagine that they are all sitting around talking like old times and that he’ll walk up and see his parents turn their loving gaze to him. And he would be exuberant and bright and joyful—
All of the things he was before it all happened.
But they are not here. None of them. And it is difficult to not let a stone of bitterness sit in his chest, to eat away at him. It is difficult to not erect a wall around himself, to guard his heart against more heartache. His father had told him to go find himself, and so he had. He had wandered for years trying to uncover that which made him tick, to find his passion, and he had returned to their ghosts.
He was no longer sure he liked who he was, who he found.
Still, he cannot deny to himself that he continues to look, that he continues to stare at the night sky trying to find answers that he is not sure exist. He just wants to feel alive; he just wants to hold onto something that’s real. It was what brings him here tonight, to the land washed in silver and emptied of bodies. It is what has him walking along the borders, his spotted body slipping in and out of shadows.
Perhaps tonight will be the night that makes all of this worth it, that will make everything make sense.
He snorts. More likely, he’ll catch his death in the midst of all this snow.
Either way, it was better than just sitting around and hoping for something to change.
so it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess and to stop the muscle that makes us confess
She had been here wandering in the meadow for quite sometime now. Many would be searching and longing for a place to call home, but truth be told, Merida hasn’t had a place even remotely close to a home in years. Do not feel sorry for her – it was by her own choice, as everything in her life was. She was (and continues to be) a rolling stone, unable – though not unwilling – to stay in one place too long. It made her feel uncomfortable, like wearing a sweater that was one size too small, as well as incredibly scratchy. Even now she could feel herself becoming eager for a new scene. Days in the meadow were beginning to feel like achingly long months to the ebony and red mare. However, it could easily be the constant snow that was making her dislike her time in the meadow.
It’s nighttime and it’s positively soundless in the meadow. The freshly fallen snow seems to muffle everything that normally would be making noise this time of night. There was no brushing of leaves against each other in the night wind, or the sound of crickets to soften the sharp silence that was beginning to make Merida’s ears ache.
The sky is clear and bright, sparkling gently with brilliant stars overhead. The moon was large and full, bathing the meadow with silver light. As Merida walks through the frozen snow, unable to sleep because of the deafening silence, the moonlight spills gingerly on her black coat, accentuating the lean muscle beneath as well as illuminating the soft red that flecks her shoulders and haunches. The only sound she could hear was the incessant crunch of her hooves as they slice through the snow. The black mare wore a look of dislike on her face as she moves through the meadow, her lips twitching into a grimace. It was too damn cold.
A sound interrupts Merida’s grumbling thoughts and her ears prick graciously. Finally, there was something to distract her from the silent frozen world around her. She looks for the source, halting her steps and inhaling the bitterly frigid air. It was a stallion, and she spies him walking purposefully (like she had been pretending to do) along the meadow’s still borders. It was dark, but she could barely make out his shape not that far from her. She lifts her chin and whinnies to him invitingly, her breath warm against the winter’s chill.
Normally, Merida wasn’t the one to begin a conversation with someone, but she felt the silence of the meadow was draining her into insanity. Because of this, she was more than welcoming to a stranger’s exchange. She waits quietly, hoping that the spotted stallion would join her and give her something interesting to focus on, thus curing her boredom.
have you ever thought about what protects our hearts? just a cage of rib bones and other various parts
The noise of her call cracks quickly through the otherwise silent forest, sharp edges slicing through the darkness with ease. For a moment, he closes his eyes, groaning internally. This was precisely why he had come here at night—precisely why he had chosen tonight of all nights to traipse through all of the snow. For a moment (a brief, beautiful, glittering moment), he considers continuing on as if he had not heard her, as if her call had not reached his ears. They could be two ships passing in the middle of the night.
Their waters lapping, but their paths never actually crossing.
Except, of course, that he has paused, one spotted leg lifted and stilled, his head tilted subconsciously in her direction. Except, of course, that he was raised to be polite, to be friendly. He may have forgotten most, if not all, of his parent’s teachings, and he may look more homeless than regal now, but there was a time when he had been a prince. A colt born to a King and Queen of old, raised to be polite, to be caring. Despite how he wishes, he simply cannot turn that part of him off, cannot absolve him of it completely.
So, without great effort, he turns his head toward her, gray eyes startling clear as he finds the mare of onyx and fire. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling, fog plumes in front of his face, and then he sets his way toward her, cutting a path slowly through the snow, hooves practically dragging. When he is near enough to her (that is, near enough that he could be heard), he pauses. There is still space between them, still room for him to breathe, and he hopes that she will keep it that way. “Hello,” his voice gruff, a touch darker than his parents would have liked. He considers giving her his name, asking why she had called him over, but he decides against it. He had done enough by approaching her. He would leave it at that.
so it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess and to stop the muscle that makes us confess
Ever since Merida had been young, the mare had set her sights on greatness. She always strived for being the best when she was just a filly, and that really hadn’t changed much in the years that she had grown. The source of her thirst for came from her desire to be unique, and though her onyx coat flecked with fiery red spots were unique in their own way, this was not the level of uniqueness that Merida sought. Physical differences were not what attracted her; she wishes for magic all her own, a personal journey which she was not lucky enough to be born with. Not having any sort of magic or power of her own was discerning to Merida, and she vowed one day she would wield a power so strong, that she would not need anyone but herself to survive.
But for now, the plain (or what she imagines) mare was merely mortal, nothing to offer Beqanna but colors of fire and smoke and a flaming personality to match.
Her golden eyes watch curiously as the stallion sluggishly arrives and for a moment she wonders if he’s caught his death in the frigid temperature. She had been living in the meadow for all of winter now and despite her hatred of the snow and ice, she had grown accustomed. She soon realizes (because she is not dim even if she is quick to trust), that his slow movement was not from sickness, but from lack of motivation. She snorts sharply, slightly offended but at the same time intrigued. He offers her a greeting, which had no feeling whatsoever, and her black hears tip back slightly. “I’m sorry,” she says, a touch of Scottish accent on her voice – she seems sincere. Her ebony eyelids shroud her piercingly golden eyes, squinting maliciously at the oh-so-forlorn stranger. “I didn’t realize my calling you over would be interrupting your very important mission of wandering aimlessly through the woods at midnight.” Her voice changes from sincerity to facetiousness.
Her eyes leave him, slightly rolling upwards as she fixes her gaze on the scenery around them. Stallions.
“All the same, hello.” Her voice is metallic, smooth yet fierce on the cold air. Winter was on its way out and subtle hints of spring were beginning to show – but right now the only visible thing was the shadows of trees and the moonlight illuminating whatever was left of snow and ice.
Merida flicks her black tail sharply against her hindquarters, a bad habit she acquired that gave her away when she was slightly annoyed. She doesn’t blame him, to be honest. The meadow was terrible and he probably has been wandering the same godforsaken piece of land the same as she has – searching for a place to call home but at the same time not really trying to find one. Her lips twist into a grimace and thoughtlessly she adds, “I hate this place.” It wasn’t even a statement really meant for him to answer or reply to, just an observation that she’s sure he might agree with.
She doesn’t offer her name or any other attempts at a conversation. She merely stands there silently and unmoving, wondering if he’ll continue on his way. She would be fine with pretending they hadn't crossed paths, not even exchanging names. Merida was definitely not one to try and drag a conversation through when it was so desperately obvious that it wasn't going to happen.
She was fiery and angry and part of him, albeit a very small part, almost felt bad for having offended her. It washed away though. After all, she was the one who had called him over—not the other way around. He could have easily ignored her and just continued onward; the fact that he had even bothered to answer her should have been enough for her. If she was expecting him to be jovial company or grateful to have his night interrupted then he would have nothing for her. He couldn’t give her something that he wasn’t.
“Apology accepted,” he grunted, rolling his spotted shoulders. He wasn’t thick—he knew that she wasn’t offering him a sincere apology, but to him, it was necessary all the same. She had interrupted him, after all. The least that she could do was at least apologize for making him traipse all the way over to her.
Still, he had been raised well (even if he did his best to make it seem otherwise) and so he dipped his head in a mild greeting, holding her gaze. “My name is Zai,” he finally offered, even though it felt like pulling teeth from him, the little bit of information yanked from between his molars and shared. It wasn’t that it was particularly revealing to share a name, but every bit of information felt personal, and he was an intensely private individual. All he had wanted was a moment to himself, and that had been taken.
“Why do you come here then?” he asked, regretting it instantly. He hadn’t wanted to encourage further conversation, but he couldn’t keep himself from wondering why she would bother coming to a place that she hated. Why expose yourself to something that would just make you miserable? His light grey eyes sharpened on her in thought, hating the curiosity that laced through him and kept him rooted to the spot.
if there is a line I'll cross it, no lesson will I learn even if I'm standing on it, no bridge that I won't burn
He offers her a name and Merida’s stance softens just a bit – muscles that were drawn taut beneath her onyx skin giving in just slightly, a vaguely softer look on her face. Her eyes, however, continue to stay wild and piercing from beneath the tangled mass of her flaming forelock, watching him quizzically as he stood so unhappily beside her. She snorts softly and with a casual flick of her head, gave him a name.
“Merida.” Despite her unequivocal look of frustration on her face (and the fact that her companion shared the same displeasure), she was secretly thankful for conversation – however short and tactless. Her tail swishes idly at her ankles, her gaze leaving Zai’s and glancing out over the meadow that would be brimming with sunshine and the smell of springtime in just a few short hours. Though for right now, the long green grasses were bathing in silver from the starlight, still silent and cold as the last of winter’s breath still chills the air. Merida inhales and then exhales sharply in a harsh sigh at his question, though not in annoyance that he had asked it. Only that she had been asking herself that same question for what seems like days upon days on end and it was irritatingly relevant to hear the question from someone else. “What, like the forest is that much better?” she shoots back with a hint of a smile on her voice, though failing to appear on her lips. Her voice dies on the stillness of the air around her and her face twitches into a thoughtful expression, continuing to look out over the silent meadow. She doesn’t particularly enjoy the idea of sharing with him the fact that she was homeless – whether it is pride or embarrassment holding her back from doing so. Or maybe it was the fact that she truly didn’t have any reason to be here – was it because she was looking for something? Was it because she was chained here by some kind of imaginary restraint, unable to leave? She thinks about the twins and shudders slightly, but quickly regroups and lifts her chin, as if physically trying to bring herself some courage. Perhaps this life of adventure had finally run her dry. She felt like she was empty and thin – stretched beyond her means. Her golden eyes glance upwards to the dark sky just in time to see a star scrape along the blackness then disappear through the horizon. “You obviously don’t come here for the company,” she muses thoughtlessly, no hint of disdain or scorn in her voice. “So why are you here?” Yes, let’s avoid answering questions and just ask them instead.
