• Logout
  • 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


    [open]  The bridges are burning, the heat's on my face
    #1

    Everything he knew is gone. It's gone completely up in smoke, burned to the ground as the dark forces that opposed his father overcame their opposition. Thousands dead, hundreds more displaced, sent fleeing into the night with nothing more than a fleeting hope to guide them. 

    Good riddance.

    It can all burn as far as Skyfall is concerned. The Old Country may be where he was birthed, but it wasn't his home -- he holds no fond ties to anyone or anything that may have been left behind there. Why? Life is hardly easy for the bastard son of a king. He'd been described by his sire as an unfortunate mistake, far too bright and loud; a blight on their family. Oh, daddy is going to pay for those words one day.

    The brightly colored outcast looks around. The autumn colors are beginning to come into play, nearly matching his own skin. Skyfall huffs and lowers his head, grazing, though he remains attentive. It wouldn't do to have something sneak up on him.

    SKYFALL

    sins of the father

    [Image: hlsSsGK.png]
    Reply
    #2
    She has avoided the field. She is not a recruiter, saying pretty, convincing, words to snap up those seeking homes. She has not, in truth, cared to offer a home to anybody, although it has happened once before. That one had been an accident, a fluke, and somehow, an unfortunately prophetic one.

    Neverwhere appreciates the fortune telling a little less than others might.

    Maybe more than a little.

    She is running. She hasn't run in years, not really, and not outside Nerine. There's an exhilaration in this galloping but it is a freedom unceremoniously quashed by other responsibilities and the twist in her gut when she forgets to forget just why it is she can see again. It is not because her eyes have healed, they remain milky white over blue like clouds over the thin winter sky, yet her vision is better than it has been since foalhood.

    When she slows, she has reached the field of the homeless and her eye gravitates to him immediately. It must, of course, he is so conspicuous, so ridiculous. She could have seen him even if she were still as blind as she appears. Her ears turn back and she looks over her shoulder to where the meadow calls her, but she recognizes the angry way he grazes, his whole body a snarl, and she changes her mind. The dappled mare approaches him, only announcing herself with a rough snort as she settles nearby to graze as well.

    She does not recognize herself in the moment, and it makes her sneer into the grass, but she says no words. Not yet.

    Neverwhere
    ...


    Ooc: hello, have a work post lol
    Reply
    #3

    Skyfall is ridiculous. His mother had told him so, but for her, it was with a smile and a nuzzle. She had intense markings as well, though more muted than her winged offspring. Due to his obscene color, Skyfall had been subjected to near constant attack by predators as a colt, and if he's truthful, it's a miracle he even made it to five years old. Ridiculous. Tacky. A bright orange absurdity.

    A deaf, dumb, and blind horse could see that boy.

    Even now, the stallion keeps an eye for wolves. At seventeen hands, he's no lightweight and generally speaking, most predators aren't interested in the fight he'd give them. Deer and elk are more their speed, but that doesn't mean it pays to be complacent. He's gotten real good at breaking cougar jaws.

    It isn't a cougar that comes out from the brush, though. He jerks his head up, ears pricked, grass hanging out of the side of his maw as he watches another horse enter the field. Oh. Well, better than a pack of cackling coyotes come to bother him. She seems content to graze for now, which is ... refreshing, but odd. For a while, he simply eats nearby, though his ears remain flicked in her direction. After a time, Skyfall lifts his head. 

    "I'm not usually the muted type, so..." He huffs. "...Hi?"

    SKYFALL

    sins of the father

    [Image: hlsSsGK.png]
    Reply
    #4
    Not long is how long it takes him to break the silence she has created between them. Neverwhere does not lift her head to observe him when he turns to watch her, or even when he speaks, but she does pause a moment in her grazing. Her response is slow, letting his lackluster greeting hang in the air for a time. Her tipless ears flicker forward and back, and at last she lifts her head, leveling a cool look at his wildly marked face.

    His height forces her to look up to meet his gaze, a position she despises, so she settles back slightly on her haunches, one hind resting on its edge, and tilts her head just enough to take him in fully. Somehow, with her head cocked, she manages to look more skeptical than inquisitive. The firm line of her mouth, perhaps, does not help, nor the slight narrowing of her eyes that causes small wrinkles to form at their edge. It's already as bad as she expected it to be, this recruiting thing, and the bald-faced mare resolves to leave it to Eurwen from now on.

    "Color me unsurprised." Her voice is a drawl, More's the pity. "I suppose you already know you look ridiculous, so we'll move on from there," a small dig, prodding for a reaction, "Is there a point to all that?"

    And so saying, she gestures at him, her muzzle tracing a small circle in the air. Is there a point to that, to him, to looking the way that he does? She can't see it. The question could be as easily turned on her, it's unlikely he had any more choice in the patterns on his skin as she had in the warm grey-brown tone draped across her own. Such concerns have never held her back, however, she is brash and prefers to speak without care for how the words will fall on those who hear them.

    Awaiting his answer, she looks away, turning to the orange-gold of the early autumn field. The clarity of the world is discomfiting, but she does not let the strangeness color the cynical scowl of her face with wonder or interest. If anything, she looks a bit bored, though her eyes linger over-long on the defined edges of each blade of grass and the sun-bright gleams of light that reflect from the central lake. If she looks as if she'd rather be anywhere else than here, well, that is close enough to true that it almost doesn't matter.

    Neverwhere
    ...
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)