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    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


    [private]  past and future
    #1



    Being here feels odd now that Vastra remembers most of her life as a horse. The periods where she was here were brief, though she knows now that things have changed. The Gates and the Amazon jungle are gone, replaced by new kingdoms that have too many names for her to even consider attempting to remember. Better to not try until it matters.

    Spring has arrived and Vastra flies over the meadow, observing the flush of green on the trees and the introduction of blooms among the grasses. Although she preferred forests and mountains as a hunter, she is finding she likes this meadow best. It’s easy to see almost everything around you, for one, and if she were to suddenly want to take to the skies (which she often does), then there is plenty of open space for her to stretch out her wings.

    Her mind is utterly blank and she is at peace as twilight arrives. Although there are a lifetime of memories to sort through, falling into her old habits of locking them away is easy. Why dwell on her lost parents or children? They are no different than the cubs she raised as a mountain lion, growing up and moving on.

    She knew she wasn’t sentimental before she had her memories back and now she just has confirmation. Her horse-born twins will be well into their adulthood now and with the strong blood in them she had no cause for worry.

    As she coasts to land, she does spot a familiar face. It is hard to miss the burning mare in the blue haze of the hour and Vastra has already angled so that she lands nearby before she can even think about it. Like a moth to the flame.

    “Hello Brunhilde.” The name of the other mare is not a gentle one, it is not smooth on Vastra’s tongue, but she likes it all the better because of that.


    v a s t r a

    artwork by space1993


    @[brunhilde]
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    #2
    BRUNHILDE
    I BET ON LOSING DOGS
    There are plenty of red flags waving loudly and brilliantly in Brunhilde’s face. She blinks at them, thinking they look like the red and orange that she bears—she thinks these red flags are so similar to her that their meanings change entirely. Every warning that arises only solidifies her adoration.

    Because she does not deserve to be loved fairly, or to be loved well; no, when she finds her lover’s red flags, she simply lets them ride proudly on her back. Brun becomes the monster she hides behind.

    The early spring day begins to wane, bright sun fading into the dark twilight of afternoon and night. Hildy’s glow splashes around her, accentuated by the hissing light of her fire wings. She casts sullen, golden eyes across the blooming flowers of the verdant meadow. The rise and fall of shadows across the foliage distracts her for a time—every now and again she will shift her body so that her light changes the shadows.

    Brun lifts her head to study the descent of a pegasus, finally torn from the mind-numbing studying of her flowers. Her eyes grow sharp with recognition, and they grow even sharper as she realizes the familiar face is approaching her.

    Shame changes Hildy’s demeanor. Where she once might have been slightly delighted to see her acquaintance, her face grows dark and dismissive. Brun is starkly aware of how her once supple frame is too-skinny, and how her once lusciously tangled mane is mostly knots. Vastra looks different, she notes. Healthier. This makes her even more self-conscious.

    “Hello,” Brunhilde parrots, voice terse. She blinks once, studying the cream of Vastra’s wings, then twice, studying curve of her face. There is nothing particularly kind about the shapeshifter; still, something in Brun’s chest melts. Her eyes soften and she releases the cold breath she was holding.

    Hildy wants to divulge of all of her suffering, to let flow the pain and fear she lives in; instead she sputters out, “I’ve missed good company.” She doesn’t know how to express her fondness, and she simply sits in the desperate hope that Vastra will not leave.


    @[Vastra]
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    #3



    There’s a small smile that plays across Vastra’s face at being considered good company - she’s not sure she’s ever been called that before. It might even be the first remotely complimentary thing anyone has ever said to her. Except her mother, but the time when she was young and small enough to stand still for a kind word was so long ago that Vastra cannot even remember more than just the impression of having a caring mother.

    She takes in the fire-mare now that she’s close, now that words have been exchanged and she hasn’t been chased off, and Vastra notices the differences. Well, she notices the weight that has been lost - the tangles are a fact of life for her and she does not consider a kept mane an indication of health. But no matter what shape she was ever in, the show of ribs was an indication of something being wrong.

    She takes a step closer, grey-blue eyes now darkened with something resembling concern. It is, beneath the surface, a more intense emotion than concern usually is - Vastra feels her emotions, all of them, strongly. It does not matter that Brunhilde is at best just an acquaintance - for better or for worse Vastra’s heart and mind treat everyone with the same burning intensity in all things.

    She’s forgotten to introduce herself properly, forgotten to share the things she had not been able to the first time they met.

    Instead, her question is blunt (though not un-kind). “Why aren’t you eating?”

    v a s t r a

    artwork by space1993


    @[brunhilde]
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    #4
    BRUNHILDE
    I BET ON LOSING DOGS
    I’m not sad, Brunhilde repeats to herself as she looks into Vastra’s eyes. She is just so alive, so alive and teeming with everything Brun wishes she is. The little flame sits in her assumptions, imagines her companion taking flight with all the confidence their world can muster. The tangles of her mane, the smooth cream of her coat—how beautiful she is in her feral, stoic nature. Brun knows almost nothing of this woman, but she paints such a beautiful picture of her in her mind, images so incredible that her pulse rushes and her legs itch to get away.

    “Wanna—” Brun begins to ask if Vastra wants to take to the skies when she cuts her off. Hildy’s glow dims and the butterflies that flutter around her spread out their orbits. She looks naked, shocked. “Must just slip my mind most days,” is her noncommittal answer, followed by a weak smile and a roll of her shoulders. She knows this is a blatant lie, that anyone with half a brain will see through her excuse—but she can’t bring herself to come up with a good lie, and that simply leads to—

    “Actually, uh,” Hildy pauses, swallows back her hesitation, “I’m sick.” It’s not a lie. She is sick (sick to want him, sick to miss him, sick to punish herself even as he punishes her). “Yeah,” she kicks a hoof into the grass, now, attempting nonchalance, “I just haven’t been able to kick a cold . . . or something.” Brun laughs, then sighs, then returns her downturned eyes to Vastra’s. Stupid, she thinks, so stupidshe’s going to know something is wrong because you lied. Stop fucking lying.

    “I never caught your name before,” Brunhilde quickly adds, desperate to change the subject. “Wanna tell me now?”


    @[Vastra]
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    #5



    She feels briefly guilty for causing Brunhilde’s glow to diminish (something she never, ever wanted to see) but that feeling evaporates when the other mare begins to speak. Vastra is sure that Brunhilde is lying to her, and for a moment those storm-coloured eyes narrow. She’s never encountered a moment where she has had to consider where she values honesty or not, but now she is finding that she does. But her acquaintance with the fiery, beautiful mare before her is short - and she attempts to tell herself that if Brunhilde is lying to her about something, that is the reason why.

    It is not a good reason, and not one she actually believes. But in a moment of grace, she decides not to press the issue right at the moment.

    So he does not ask, not yet. But she will not forget either. She accepts the redirect of the conversation and her stance relaxes a little bit. A small spark of a smile even ghosts across her expression. She had wanted to share this piece of herself with Brunhilde today, anyway. And it feels good to be able to answer this simple question with something other than a scowl and a shrug.

    “Vastra. My name is Vastra.”

    v a s t r a

    artwork by space1993


    @[brunhilde]
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    #6
    BRUNHILDE
    I BET ON LOSING DOGS
    If Brunhilde knew that she had disappointed Vastra with her blatant lying, she would balk. Whatever she finds within the shapeshifter (she doesn’t know what it is, the draw—the desire to curl into her strength, perhaps), she respects it. She sees her as an equal, strangely enough. There are not many that Hildy cares for, much less respects, but that level look in Vastra’s eyes has always soothed her. Maybe it’s the aloofness she observed when they had first met, or how Brun perceives Vastra as so rational—either way, she feels like she needs the respect returned. She feels like if this woman doesn’t hold her in high regard, then maybe her perception of herself has always been a lie.

    “Vastra,” Brun murmurs with a wistful smile, moving her gaze up to the sky and then gently back to Vastra’s eyes. “It suits you.” She means that, because it is not exactly a beautiful name; but it is certainly a strong one, and what Hildy admires most is the strength she sees in Vastra.

    Do you want to go for a fly? Hildy starts to ask, though bites her tongue before the first syllable can come out. She’s never been much of a flyer, and in her head Vastra is terribly elegant in the sky. Brun’s wings make her nervous, and she’s always liked them more for their aesthetic than their function.

    Vastra’s near-pleased expression gives her a jolt of strength, and she finally blurts, “Do you want to fly?” Her crackling wings loosen and a small grin lifts her lips. “I’m not very good at it. Maybe you can show me some tricks?” This admission is difficult, but it leaves her mouth smoothly, like she really doesn’t mind that she’s bad at flight. “I bet you can teach me a lot,” she purrs, surprise bubbling in her chest at the unexpected flirt. She blinks, though takes it in stride, feeling as if a little sliver of who she really is has found its way back to her.


    @[Vastra]
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    #7



    The compliment pleases Vastra and her wings ruffle slightly in response - finding that she likes the way her name sounds in the fire-mare’s voice, wondering if it tastes as good on her tongue as Brunhilde’s does on Vastra’s.

    She does not ask that question, but instead remains silent - gaze steady as she tries to work out what might truly be wrong with her friend. Vastra doesn’t have the social practice to know what words to use, what questions to ask, to coax the truth out of her - and then Brunhilde asks the one question that causes all other thoughts to blink out of existence in the shapeshifter’s mind.

    Do you want to fly

    A spark of a smile appears - flight was the quickest and easiest way to bring forth one out of the sandy dun mare. She takes a moment to admire the fire wings of the other mare, taking her time in combing over every inch of flesh and fire she can see. The admission from the other that she is not good does not bother her in the slightest. Like all things, practice makes perfect.

    That small smile turns sly at the flirt, and a new flame ignites within Vastra - her gaze snapping back to meet the topaz eyes of the mare before her. The few syllables she speaks are spoken carefully, deliberately vague. “Yes. I can.”

    She shifts then - into a small sparrow - and flutters around Brunhilde’s head, tugging on raven strings of hair, before retreating. Still in the air, she becomes herself again - sandy wings beating against the air as she continues to rise but does not take her burning storm-grey eyes off of the other mare. As though little seeds of fire from Brunhilde have already rooted themselves within her.

    “Follow me.”

    v a s t r a

    artwork by space1993


    @[brunhilde]
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    #8
    BRUNHILDE
    I BET ON LOSING DOGS
    It didn’t used to be that Brunhilde’s knees folded at even the slightest kind look. She used to hold her head high; she used to possess a gemstone gaze that glittered with the flames upon her back. When Brun digs deep enough, she can remember the day she awoke with wings of fire and thought that the universe was offering her some sort of escape. How foolish she was then, with not a thing to run from. Loess had felt empty compared to the rich history she held in Hyaline, but she would give anything to return to that time, when she thought the only prison to break out of was her family.

    “Oh,” Brun whispers to herself when Vastra smiles. A jolt of pleasure—like a shot of adrenaline to a stopped heart—spreads warmth through the rushing veins in her chest. What a pleasant, welcome thing she found her friend’s smile. It was different, that smile—Brun finds it wild and alluring. That pleasure races to the rest of her body and briefly reminds her of what it felt like to find Leokadia and Cleave; it’s different again, though. Though untamed, Vastra doesn’t feel frightening or alien.

    Now Hildy’s heart races with something other than the shock of kindness, a rush she’s never felt in her life. Innocent, unadulterated attraction, perhaps? She doesn’t recognize the feeling for what it is, though it spurs her to race with absolutely no hesitation after the flirty bird.

    “Anywhere,” Brunhilde calls to Vastra as she shakily rises to her friend. A smile lifts lips that for now don’t remember what it feels like to sit in a somber line.


    @[Vastra] i'm in love <3333
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    #9



    Although Vastra longs to rise as high as she can - high enough to feel the burn in her lungs as well as her muscles - she won’t. She’s feeling a different burn as she is joined in the air by the fire-mare, and that is certainly enough. She may not take it particularly easy on Brunhilde but she won’t make it incredibly difficult either. A short flight to stretch their wings and then when they are on the earth once more, coated with sweat and out of breath… and then…

    The rushing of air against her feathers clears her head. Perhaps it is a good thing that their wingspans mean it’s impossible to get close while in flight.

    Though she’s not too upset with the prospect of admiring her friend from a distance. Echoes of that single word, the promise that Brunhilde would follow her anywhere, reverberate in her mind in time with her heartbeat.

    Vastra leads the way at first, keeping them high enough to avoid any trees but still relatively low. Then she shifts so that she falls back to coast, maintaining an easy speed, and remaining side-by-side with Brunhilde. The sandy coloured mare’s wings are slow and even, the rush of flying making everything feel light. Making everything seem possible.

    “How long has it been?” The question is unintentionally vague, because Vastra herself doesn’t know whether she’s referring to flying or… something else.


    v a s t r a

    artwork by space1993


    @[brunhilde]
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    #10
    BRUNHILDE
    I BET ON LOSING DOGS
    Even while distracted by remembering how to fly, Brunhilde cannot take her mind off of Vastra. When she forces her wings down, the tip of one comes dangerously close to the shifter's, burning feathers launching up just before sizzling against skin.

    Vastra seems to swallow the sky as she flies. Her speed and skill greatly outmatch the wildfire mare's but oh! She how could she mind? The sky is clear and blue, her companion the right kind of earthy color that somehow clashes and melds with the bright white and blue. Vastra takes Brun's breath away. Such freedom is unlike anything she has ever experienced. The rush of it nearly makes her dizzy.

    A pleading and startled utterance of Vastra's name begins to leave Hildy's lips when the shifter draws back, levelling herself with slower mare. A secret smile lifts her mouth - how good it feels to recieve one of those small affections that reminds one they're being thought of. Brun hasn't felt so gently seen since she was a child.

    How long has it been?

    Swallowing back a hundred answers, Brunhilde turns her open gaze away from Vastra and out to the open sky. Her lips sharpen to a hard line.

    "I don't know," she says, quiet, small. I don't know answers so many of those versions of her companion's question. I don't know the last time I flew. I don't know the last time I felt safe. I don't know the last time I saw someone I love.

    I don't know.

    "I don't know," Brun repeats, unintentionally, blank gaze turning back to Vastra. "What about you?" she asks, then suddenly bursts into colorful laughter. What about you, what? she thinks. "I mean . . ." is the beginning of some sort of doomed-to-fail explanation, but she stops with no real answer to offer, mouth slightly agape in a semi-embarrassed smile.


    @[Vastra]
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