"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
A crest overlooks an endless expanse of snow and ice, so he stands atop that hill, watching the gales blow flurries. Blush rouge compared to the alabaster that surrounds him, the icy blue that highlights each glorious shard of Winter. He finds the way the wind moves against the earth to be vexing, coiling into spirals and rolling like waves- you can see it now, here, because it picks up loose specks of snow as it rolls. A tide made of the element he commands, an ocean of sleet. It was true Winter here and he found it to his liking, yet there was news of celebration to the West, holidays- naturally he was curious.
Several times he stops for directions, the reshaping of the lands and his hermitage making the world unknown- foreign, for now.
When his amber eyes settle on the bridge of twilight he stops dead in his tracks. Hooves heavy, weighted, all because of what unfolds before his eyes. Stilled by the magnificence of the creation, awed by the careful craftsmanship of the structure. Minutes pass, eyes soaking in the sight, heart racing as his curiosity is peaked.
Crossing only increases the way his heart hammers in his breast, snow, ice in the middle of an island- it made no sense, and yet, it made all the sense in the world.
Father, he thinks, eyes wide, hopeful- had Father truly decided to come out of seclusion?
There is no scent, no tell tale smell of the man he knew so well, beloved- how could he not be?
Weir is not present, sinking like a stone in his belly, but there IS something familiar about it all. It’s why he begins manipulating the ice, forging the greatest and grandest of Christmas Fir’s in a clearing. Bows and boxes, gleaming ornaments and tousled tinsels wrapped carefully about the pine, a great star glinting in the light at its peak.
He would bring them out, whoever they were, he would have answers- or he would simply delight in the craftsmanship that was ice sculpting.
Scholar
my philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice
She hadn’t ever been overly fond of any particular season. She had her favorite moments in the seasons, favorite times and places and memories. But there wasn’t just one season she liked above the rest, unless perhaps you could the stormy times as a season. When the water rioted and the waves broke along the beach, when the storms whipped and lashed with rain and wind. Those days were her favorite. When she could stand on the beach, buffeted and drenched as the sky seemed to fall down around her. Or when she was in the air and her muscles screamed in exertion. Almost every time she thought for sure it was the last, her wings would break and her body would crash into the water.
And who would miss her?
Besides her family. She had no one. Kerberos. Kali. But they would live without her, could live without her. She was fringe. She was friend.
She felt like no one.
A sigh rushes past her lips, but the signs of Winter to come, and the signs of things Happening pulled her from her quiet seclusion. She finds her way into the snow, the ice and she can only smile a small smile as the flakes fall down around her face, landing across the curves of her blue and black body.
She sees him next, sculpting the biggest tree she has ever see. She makes her way closer, edging that way quietly with the soft crunches of her hooves hidden beneath the noise he made as he created. She is quiet, watchful, awed by what he was doing. So she waits until he pauses, and she speaks. “It’s beautiful.” She says, stepping closer now that she had made her presence known. “Magical.” Her golden eyes turning to look at him with a small smile on her lips.
Each needle was accounted for, shimmering threads of prickling, all made of ice- shining and magnanimous in the light. He worked tirelessly, piecing together the beacon of Christmas, making it just so. Making it just like he had watched Father do, closing his golden eyes in intervals, seeing in his mind’s eye the memory- recalling the way Father crafted scenes of merriment.
The ornaments kept taking on images of their world as he prepared them. Some were scenes of meadows, rife with lush grass. Others were great willows, with long drapes, adorned with tiny leaves. Foals in the clearings, kicking happily in the sun, rearing back on their hinds- tossing their dainty heads to the sky with laughter. Other equids, great horns against their brows, mighty wings against their backs- some with expressed magic in their veins.
Would he that he could know them all, place each meaningful vision of them upon the tree.
It brought a small smile to his lips, velveteen made of rust and froth. Whipped clouds the color of his blaze, running straight down the length of his poppy nose. A cheerful hum left him, caught behind his mouth, like a dam against a river.
Christmas..Santa...presents...Family...warmth..
“It’s beautiful, magical..”
A woman speaks at his back and his twists his head, looking around at her, though he is caught off guard. It takes a few seconds for his bearings to return, wide eyed and speechless for a breath- maybe more.
“Why thank you,” he beams stepping back to inspect his work, panning out. “It’s a Christmas tree, Abies, right, well- it’s a fir tree.” Caught up in explanations, voice quick and sharp, but he welcomes her anyway, smiling like an old friend. Though they had never met.
“So you like it? I do hope I’ve got it right.” Chest puffing as he takes in a breath, letting the air fill his lungs.
“I’m Scholar, a pleasure,” he blinks, then nods his head in greeting.
Scholar
my philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice
She cannot help but be intrigued by his level of interest in his work. It had been some time since she had felt that engaged by anything. When she had been young it had been her family, mainly her brother. She had doted on him, followed along after him almost everywhere and he had let her. It had been so easy between them back then, before they had grown and their interests had pulled them apart.
She missed Tycho. More than words, more than anything else in her life right now.
She is awed by the scenes in the ornaments, watching as each one takes on a different scene. The tinsel hang from the tree, glitters like lights as it is caught under the glare of the sun. She just waits patiently, her golden eyes falling from his to land once more upon his creation, giving him the time needed to mentally shake himself.
She listens, her ears flickering towards him with interest when he starts to talk and her eyes drag themselves from his beautiful creation. “Oh yes, it’s wonderful. There’s such detail. These ornaments are amazing! So life-like.” She steps a little closer to him, the truth blazing in her eyes as she met his again. “I think it’s perfect.” A small smile, almost shy, as her hooves stop her from getting too close. Their family had been exceptionally touchy and it was hard for her to remember that sometimes, the rest of the world wasn’t.
“Ah, yes, well-right then,” stumbling over words, thoughts coming too swiftly to break apart and make sense of. For a moment, breaths, seconds, and then he is falling into ease again. Straightening his posture and lifting his head, each crystal shard of his mane catching the light and reflecting against the tree.
(Locally sourced Christmas lights, and he hadn’t even meant to create those.)
He had heard a compliment before, always from his family, the type of praise you can never be too certain is heartfelt. They were kin after all, sort of obligated to say ‘hey that’s great’- weren’t they?
Then again, Father had been consistent with one doing their best, trying their hardest and come to think of it, he never missed a beat to correct him. Their education endless and ongoing, home schooled by the wisest man he knew. It was probably all in his head, thoughts making his amber eyes foggy and withdrawn. When he came to, he found his stare reflected back, mirrored from the portals against her blue facade. They were brighter than his own, or appeared to be, against the midnight shade of her hair.
“You think they are? Well, I’m sure we could make it a bit more festive, but I do wonder?” Looking around, then back to the woman, brow tilted in consideration.
“Who made the snow, was it you?” There she was, kindly fueling his sculpting and all this time, she had been capable of matching his skill. A chortle leaves him, it was silly, it was smart- cheeky. He thought she was spunky, ears wiggling in good nature, flicking around against his icy mane.
“Well, I must say, this is quite the spectacle- right in the middle of an island. You’re very talented Roma.” Looking around, he found the would be beaches divine with frost, blanketed in the purest, whitest of snowfall. Clever. Who would have thought of starting a party here, not himself, that’s for sure.
Scholar
my philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice
She finds his pause amusing, the way he seems to search for his words, like no one has ever given him a compliment before. If she wasn’t still trying to find her way through the heartbreak of knowing that a particular someone else who she would not name would never probably love her as she loved him, well she would probably find him adorable. Cute enough for sure to hit on. Let’s be real, she didn’t have three dads and a mom and not learn how to pick up someone she found interesting.
Which, she did, find him interesting that is. Maybe a little harmless flirting couldn’t hurt..right?
She wasn’t sure yet. So while he was gathering her thoughts she was having this internal dialogue with herself. Damn determined to stop moping around with her damn wounded heart and get on with her life. Maybe, just maybe she would going to have to bring it to the forefront of their conversations one of these times and tell He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named exactly how she felt, just to see what he felt in return. If it was nothing well she could move on and get over the heartbreak.
Her parents had raised survivors.
Anyways, once his eyes focused and met her own she refocused back upon him as well. She was intrigued that their eyes matched, that she could see the same color of gold, though perhaps a tad bit darker. More molten gold with the color of his coat. She laughs. “Oh no, my magic is only to shift.” And so she does, changing her form and shaking out her wings in her black swan form. She tilts her long neck up to look at him, making a soft noise before her body shifts back into a horse. “Thank you though, for thinking I look strong enough to create a snowstorm on an island.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief and her grin is obviously amused. She however, cannot help herself from lipping at the icicles that were his mane pleasantly.
“You are a fascinating man Scholar, with fascinating magical talents. Sometimes I wish I had more, could do things like you, like this.” Her head nodding towards the snow, her eyes turning to look at his tree before she turns back. “But then I am mostly glad to have what I have and try to use it often enough.”
