01-03-2020, 08:18 PM
<center><table bgcolor=262626 style="border-color:#262626; border-width: 2px; border-style: solid;" cellspacing=10 cellpadding=10 width=620><tr><td><center><font color=e6e6e6 face=times style=font-size:9pt;line-height:8pt;letter-spacing:2pt;>here comes a candle to light you to bed
here comes a chopper to chop off your head</font></center><p align=justify><font color=bfbfbf face="times new roman" style="font-size: 10pt">note before we start: it's just Ripley not Nostromo
----
The monster is with its master when it is taken. The darkness of a new moon, of the stars shrouded in darkness, has always been its favourite time to hunt. Cunning black eyes see through the shadows with ease. A creature born to hunt, the night offers stealth when strength and speed are not necessarily required.
Something is on the air tonight and it makes the monster restless, eager to feed. It can feel the call, feel it heighten its already feral senses. Although cunning, there is no wisdom in the mind of this monster - no ability to question what it might be that is causing this stir. It can only react to what is happening, to the second call that is sharper. A snarl escapes the monster and it looks to its master to see what Anaxarete thinks of what is happening - if it can be let off the leash to hunt whatever is causing this reaction down.
But when the monster blinks, Anaxarete is gone.
When it blinks, it is no longer a monster - it is a mare. A pale, dappled grey mare with nostrils that flare at the scent of blood and soft, doe-brown eyes that take in the sight of the red plains before her. <i>She</i>, Ripley, stumbles when she takes a step. She has grown so used to her prehensile tail providing balance, to the crown of armour on her head, to the weight of those pieces along her sides and back. She does not need to look to know she is only flesh and bone now.
But she looks anyway. Sees the near snow-white tail that flicks behind her. It has never seen dirt, after all. Never been exposed to the elements. Nor has the matching mane which tickles her skin.
She’s focusing on these strange sensations, things she has not felt since she was two years old, because her mind has not <i>thought</i> in so long that it cannot grasp what has just happened. But her mind is a youthful one and unpraticed, and though it tries to shelter itself it cannot stem the wave that is memories of her life as a monster as it crashes in and cripples her with its weight - the dozens of horses she murdered while next to her daughter in the Pit, the violence of creating more of her kind, the near-normal foals she birthed and murdered or attempted to murder because they were <i>not</i> monsters.
Her heart breaks for every drop of blood she spilt, a cry of agony escaping her as she remembers those foals - her <i>babies</i> as they cried out in terror and pain when they should have been loved and kept safe.
Ripley has been trapped in a nightmare for the better part of a century and now she has awakened, here on the Plains. The only thing that stops her memories from drowning her is one simple wish - she wants her mom. She wants Ryatah with her now - wanting desperately to feel the soft comforting touch of her mom, to hear that it is going to be okay.
“Mom.” The word croaks out, the first word she has spoken in more years that she can count.
She longs for the presence of the white mare in a way she has not felt since she was a filly. Since before her mind turned feral. Back when she was adventurous and strayed, but always able to return home to a silly dad and a caring mom.
For now, however, she is alone. Her mom is not magically with her - she can’t even see anyone else through the tears that are forming in her eyes, just two large pillars of stone. One black and one green. She moves, each step becoming a little easier as her body rediscovers this new shape.
She drifts towards the black stone as her body shakes with sobs. The sharp points of the horns and inky blackness remind her of the monster she was but now, feeling the pain that she does, a part of her cannot help but crave losing herself in that mindless wild creature once more. <i>Take these thoughts, take these memories</i> she cries to it as she approaches.
The stone is as uncaring as the silent world of the Plains she has found herself in.
Ripley feels a change, but it is not a total change. It is, in comparison to what she had been, a very small one - her head feels as though it is splitting in two but she almost does not even notice the pain (what’s physical pain compared to the emotional turmoil storming within her?). She feels the weight of the change though and feels comforted.
She may not have her crown back but there are curving rams horns and the presence of <i>something</i> on her skull is so familiar that it helps settle her mind, helps her breathing become less ragged. It’s enough to enable her to look around where she is, to try to figure out what is going to happen next.
<p align=right><font color=e6e6e6 style=font-size:10pt;line-height:8pt;letter-spacing:7pt;>ripley <s>& nostromo</s></font>
<font face="times" size="1" color="e6e6e6" style="letter-spacing:1px;line-height:14pt">XXVIII<font color=262626>-----</font></font></center></p></font></tr></td></table></center>
Ripley is from Pangea!
here comes a chopper to chop off your head</font></center><p align=justify><font color=bfbfbf face="times new roman" style="font-size: 10pt">note before we start: it's just Ripley not Nostromo
----
The monster is with its master when it is taken. The darkness of a new moon, of the stars shrouded in darkness, has always been its favourite time to hunt. Cunning black eyes see through the shadows with ease. A creature born to hunt, the night offers stealth when strength and speed are not necessarily required.
Something is on the air tonight and it makes the monster restless, eager to feed. It can feel the call, feel it heighten its already feral senses. Although cunning, there is no wisdom in the mind of this monster - no ability to question what it might be that is causing this stir. It can only react to what is happening, to the second call that is sharper. A snarl escapes the monster and it looks to its master to see what Anaxarete thinks of what is happening - if it can be let off the leash to hunt whatever is causing this reaction down.
But when the monster blinks, Anaxarete is gone.
When it blinks, it is no longer a monster - it is a mare. A pale, dappled grey mare with nostrils that flare at the scent of blood and soft, doe-brown eyes that take in the sight of the red plains before her. <i>She</i>, Ripley, stumbles when she takes a step. She has grown so used to her prehensile tail providing balance, to the crown of armour on her head, to the weight of those pieces along her sides and back. She does not need to look to know she is only flesh and bone now.
But she looks anyway. Sees the near snow-white tail that flicks behind her. It has never seen dirt, after all. Never been exposed to the elements. Nor has the matching mane which tickles her skin.
She’s focusing on these strange sensations, things she has not felt since she was two years old, because her mind has not <i>thought</i> in so long that it cannot grasp what has just happened. But her mind is a youthful one and unpraticed, and though it tries to shelter itself it cannot stem the wave that is memories of her life as a monster as it crashes in and cripples her with its weight - the dozens of horses she murdered while next to her daughter in the Pit, the violence of creating more of her kind, the near-normal foals she birthed and murdered or attempted to murder because they were <i>not</i> monsters.
Her heart breaks for every drop of blood she spilt, a cry of agony escaping her as she remembers those foals - her <i>babies</i> as they cried out in terror and pain when they should have been loved and kept safe.
Ripley has been trapped in a nightmare for the better part of a century and now she has awakened, here on the Plains. The only thing that stops her memories from drowning her is one simple wish - she wants her mom. She wants Ryatah with her now - wanting desperately to feel the soft comforting touch of her mom, to hear that it is going to be okay.
“Mom.” The word croaks out, the first word she has spoken in more years that she can count.
She longs for the presence of the white mare in a way she has not felt since she was a filly. Since before her mind turned feral. Back when she was adventurous and strayed, but always able to return home to a silly dad and a caring mom.
For now, however, she is alone. Her mom is not magically with her - she can’t even see anyone else through the tears that are forming in her eyes, just two large pillars of stone. One black and one green. She moves, each step becoming a little easier as her body rediscovers this new shape.
She drifts towards the black stone as her body shakes with sobs. The sharp points of the horns and inky blackness remind her of the monster she was but now, feeling the pain that she does, a part of her cannot help but crave losing herself in that mindless wild creature once more. <i>Take these thoughts, take these memories</i> she cries to it as she approaches.
The stone is as uncaring as the silent world of the Plains she has found herself in.
Ripley feels a change, but it is not a total change. It is, in comparison to what she had been, a very small one - her head feels as though it is splitting in two but she almost does not even notice the pain (what’s physical pain compared to the emotional turmoil storming within her?). She feels the weight of the change though and feels comforted.
She may not have her crown back but there are curving rams horns and the presence of <i>something</i> on her skull is so familiar that it helps settle her mind, helps her breathing become less ragged. It’s enough to enable her to look around where she is, to try to figure out what is going to happen next.
<p align=right><font color=e6e6e6 style=font-size:10pt;line-height:8pt;letter-spacing:7pt;>ripley <s>& nostromo</s></font>
<font face="times" size="1" color="e6e6e6" style="letter-spacing:1px;line-height:14pt">XXVIII<font color=262626>-----</font></font></center></p></font></tr></td></table></center>
Ripley is from Pangea!