"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
He finds himself deep within the jungle, pressed against the damp foliage and brushing past them with unpurposeful strides, but ones that are forced and nearly angry. He pulls himself futher in as dark descends on Tephra, granting the steaming jungle with a soft night breeze to flow through the palms and ferns, brushing gently through the darkness of his forelock.
When he feels as though he’s come to what would seem like the epicenter of the thick jungle, he stutters to an ungraceful halt. His nose wrinkles slightly as his eyes glance upwards, peering through the canopy with a near hesitant gaze. Beneath the intertwining branches of numerous palms, the stars that would now shine brilliantly over his head are few to be seen. With a roll of his shoulders, Warden snorts with satisfaction before turning his gaze downwards to glance at the scenery around him.
The jungle’s colors become darker with each minute that passes, quickly becoming only a shadow of green and black. He wonders how dark it will get here, without any light from the beautiful sunset on the horizon (and later, the stars or the moon) and that only leads him to believe if the stars can’t find him here, perhaps no one will.
That thought, however devastating, does not disturb him.
No, the thing that disturbs him is the pinprick of silver that suddenly appears within the shadows far in the distance. A shadow flickers across his face as his expression falls flat, his gaze unwavering from that little point of dancing light.
There is a storm brewing on the horizon, she can see it in the outline of dark and tumultuous clouds, in the way the wind has shifted and picked up, gone still, wakes again. The world feels so uneasy, somehow, and she isn’t sure why, isn’t sure if she feels curious or scared or if the rising thrill in her chest is something completely unrelated. The wild in her heart urges her to stay and watch, to wait to greet the storm with bright eyes and a matching stubbornness, but logic wins out and she moves inland, away from the shore and the waves that seem eerily stagnant, unusually dark.
The forest is an easy choice, she’s always liked the thick tangle of green plants and damp, humid air. She likes the way the dew gathers across her skin like little beads of liquid diamonds, and the way the light refracts through her skin to turn the plants red-orange. She also likes the lack of watching eyes and piteous expressions she finds here in the growing forest-dark.
What she isn’t expecting, though, is the ball of shining light that darts out through the fronds and vines, bouncing around her body with an enthusiasm well-matched to that of a child. She is smiling at once, watching it play and move, reaching out to touch the shining glass of her nose to it in gentle curiosity. When it immediately moves away again, she watches it with a curious head tilt, trying to puzzle out the motives of this thing she would not have previously considered alive. Yet the way it moves and tracks her, the way it bounces close again to weave through her legs implies otherwise.
“Alright,” she says, and the storm behind her is immediately forgotten, her world narrowing to this new, delightful mystery, “how about I follow you for a bit?”
And so she does, winding like molten fire through dappled sunlight, cold and fiery, redder than she has any right to be and made brighter by the contrast of deep green jungle. She follows until even the light can reach them no more, and the shadows trapped beneath her skin make her look almost black in the growing dark. Only her face is a splash of red color as those golden eyes stay glued to the ball of silver light as it leads her on.
She is startled, though somehow not surprised, when suddenly a second face is illuminated in the dark. He is even darker than she is, almost invisible without sunlight to catch and pool in the angles of his handsome face, and it is the flash of galaxy blue in the horns atop his skull that finally brings a smile to her delicate lips.
“Warden.” She says, and there is such instant, easy affection in the gold of her eyes as she closes the distance between them to push beneath his head and nuzzle her nose to the front curve of his shoulder in an embrace. ”Is this a friend of yours?” She asks, stepping back only enough to see the outline of his face again, helpless to the urge to touch her lips to the curve of his heavy jaw. “Because she said you miss me.” Her eyes flash with mischief, bold and bright and endlessly beautiful. “Or at least she would have if I could speak star.” Because what else could this shining ball of light be, cool and silver and made for dark like this. What else, but a star, would have known the wish in her chest was to see Warden again.
When the silver light becomes something like an orb, Warden’s ears fall easily into the tangle of his dark mane as his stormy blue eyes narrow inquisitively, uneasy. He shifts his weight on dark, muscular legs while the hundreds of pale feathers at his sides whisper gently against each other when he instinctively flexes them. The stallion’s head lowers, those proud horns catching the dim light of the approaching orb, wondering briefly as to why his stomach has turned cold despite having no visions of this moment.
The light that darts towards him - now a silvery-blue upon its closeness - he believes will crash headfirst into him until at the last second, it bounds upwards into the canopy to alight the forest in all kinds of mixtures of shadow and light. Warden’s eyes have little time to adjust to the change from dark to light and the stallion blinks wildly, a rather unconventional look on his normally stoic and expressionless face.
It only takes a moment for him to realize that the ball of light melts away to reveal Flower and the way his brows rise shows a mixture of delighted surprise and awe on his pale face. The light melts across her glass skin in ways he could never fathom; like silver streaming through a river of rubies, illuminating each part of her that never could be captured if she were anything but herself. “Flower,” he replies with her name almost immediately, his voice unusually warm as she does not hesitate to come to him (as if he would ever dream of protesting). Her closeness nearly makes him forget about the dancing orb above them, especially when the sweetness of her breath hovers against the sharp curve of his jaw.
Warden only allows the ‘star’ (as she calls it) a glance of his dark eyes upwards, the rest of his face settling easily across Flower’s neck. He would have grumbled into her crystal mane, but she seems to approve of such a being playing sentinel above them and keeps the harshness out of his voice. “She?” he asks, still staring up begrudgingly at the star from beneath his furrowed brow, unwilling to part with Flower to take a step back and give the orb his full attention. He wishes it away (not in front of Flower, of course) and there is something that suddenly tugs at his mind that causes him to snort sharply. An intrusion of sorts - by none other than the star itself - causes the stallion to bristle outwardly.
“I did miss you,” he murmurs tenderly, closing his eyes momentarily to embrace her fully, inhaling her scent and listening to the sound of her soft breathing. A single eye opens after a few moments, staring up at the still perfectly poised light above them. “But how can you be so sure she’s mine?” He huffs into her neck, lowering his gaze to watch how his breath clouds gently against the ruby of her crystalline skin. As if listening (which she certainly was), the star dips down violently, spinning around them in a cyclone pattern. Instinctively Warden pulls Flower closer to him, his eyes trying to keep up with the spinning star, his ears pressed into his neck once again. After a few more circles around them, the star burns brighter suddenly, bouncing forcefully against the bridge of Warden’s nose before dimming and floating up into the canopy again - lustrous and still.
Warden snorts sharply, grimacing as he presses his ivory cheek to the gentle slope of Flower’s neck - the star is unwanted, unneeded; but she has already seemed to develop a sort of sentience as well as Flower’s favor, so he is at a loss. “It’s not a star,” he grumbles, though somewhere in the deep recesses of his heart, he hopes it is. “Stars are not alive; they feel nothing. Not like we do.” His voice softens, hearty and warm as his pale mouth traces gentle patterns on the soft curve of her neck.
She very much loves the way his face changes when he sees her. The way his ancient eyes grow wider and alight with something she recognizes as delight, something that seems soft and gentle and painfully kind. She can see it in the way the muscles along his cheeks soften, the way his jaw is less rigid as it gives way to a shape she thinks will become a smile in just a moment. She can guess at the feeling inside his chest that makes him change in this way, knows it intimately from the way it has come to live inside her, too.
He says her name and even that makes her glow inside, like she’s basking in the warmth of the tone she is so selfishly sure he saves just for her. Or at least she hopes he does, even though she has no right to. She can feel when his attention leaves her, but she doesn’t mind because she knows she is only sharing him with the gleaming star sitting patiently above them, and his face is still against her neck, his breath in her hair like maybe he craves this closeness.
She knows this feeling too.
“Yes.” She confirms, inching those few steps closer until she is pressed comfortably against him, the feathers of his beautiful wings just inches from where her wandering lips can reach. “I can tell because she’s bossy.” It’s nonsense of course, but she hopes it makes Warden smile nonetheless. His tenderness is a balm she did not know she wanted, and when he leans into her so deeply she can feel sparks skipping around inside her translucent chest. It feels so silly, and if there was any heat inside her body it would be pooling now in her delicate ruby face.
“I suppose I don’t know.” She tells him, and she does take a step back just so she can tip her head to look up at the twinkling ball above them. She watches it for a long moment, unaware of how the glow of it must be leaving red fractures of broken light across the angles of her delicate face, like rivers of glowing ruby light.
The star falls suddenly, spinning like a cyclone of light, and Flower is surprised to feel Warden draw her in close again. She watches him for just a second, studying the worry in his expression, this new guardedness as he all but glares the star into stillness again. It ignores him, bouncing off his nose before falling away into the sky above them again. “You know, I don’t think she appreciates your rejection.” Flower is smothering a smile, and there is a new gentleness in her eyes when he presses his pale cheek to her neck again.
He snorts and she smiles again, nudging at his shoulder. “I admit I haven’t met very many stars, so I’m not all that familiar with the qualifications.” There is laughter in the warmth of her voice and in the gold of her shining eyes. “But I do think you might want to speak more softly or it seems likely you’ll get punched in the face again.” Her eyes are sparkling now, and they lift to the sky, the brilliant light of the ball above captured within her irises. “I think maybe stars are the essence of those we’ve lost. Maybe not alive anymore, and not like us. But of us.” Her voice is so soft when her gaze drops to his again.
Nonsense it may be, but from her lips he can only find that he clings to each word like it is truth, allowing his heart to wrap around the idea of a sentient star coming down from the cosmos to waft between them, to orchestrate their meeting once again. It’s a hopeful feeling, one that he knows is fleeting and only felt so strongly within her presence, but a feeling he enjoys nonetheless.
Flower fits perfectly into the crook of his neck and his chest, resting against him in such a way that Warden feels as though he is perhaps stronger than he truly is. There is nearly a hum of satisfaction in his throat, brimming and threatening to spill and make her aware of the true contentment she gives him. But instead swallows it, afraid of the unfamiliar feeling, and meets her golden gaze with a deep navy of his own. Her slender face is alight in the silver glow, split beautifully into all sorts of fractiles of light and ruby glass. Warden’s pale lips press together thoughtfully and without hesitation, his own muzzle gently traces the fiery color of her cheek and feeling the familiar chill from her glass skin.
“She’ll have to get over it,” he murmurs, his warm breath fogging the crystal of her ruby skin. His eyes glance upwards once more but never once does he allow Flower any room to shy away from him, firmly keeping his embrace around her. “I have more important things to tend to,” he admits this hastily, his blue eyes flickering back towards Flower, refocusing his attention on her when her muzzle nudges the deep auburn of his shoulder.
Maybe not alive anymore, and not like us. But of us.
The horned pegasus snorts gently, huffing somewhat bitterly; only because there is a half of him that agrees with Flower’s interpretation of their companion. The notion is familiar, easily something that could have come from his own father’s mouth, but sounds all the more enchanting and real coming from hers. Warden’s voice becomes tender, thoughtful and pensive as he asks:
“Why do you think she’s come to me - why now?”
He draws close to her, almost as if the light of the silver star is too much to bask in
01-04-2021, 10:08 AM (This post was last modified: 01-04-2021, 10:09 AM by flower.)
“Oh do you?” She asks, and there is a lightness and laughter in her voice, a flirtatiousness she makes no effort to hide from him. These feelings had come quietly to her, snuck up in his absence and grew like flowers in the space between her ribs. She hadn’t known it when they met on the beach, hadn’t understood the gravity of such moments or the space they would take in the rest of her life, but she knows it now. He is not someone she wants to try and survive losing.
It is selfish though, because she is glass and she is fragile, not made to endure, and someday this love will outgrow her body. He will be alone with only the ghost of her, and the cracks in his chest will be shining and red and shaped like the flowers in her hair. So she will never ask him to love her singularly, though for her there will only ever be him.
He’s so close, and the warmth of him mesmerizes her as he runs his lips over the paths of long fissures beneath the surface of her cheek. She has seen how light gets trapped inside those valleys, how they fill with trapped fire, and she understands his quiet captivation. “It looks like the magma rivers of home, doesn’t it.” She whispers, shifting so the hanging ball of light flashes against one side of her face again, illuminating every last imperfection. ”It makes me feel beautiful instead of broken.”
She is not sad or bashful in the wake of her confession, and her voice is only ever soft and silvered with quiet starlight. It is nice to share these fragile pieces of herself with him because she knows he will keep them safe. “I don’t know.” She tells him, and even as his shifts close to fully embrace her at last, her golden eyes drift up to watch the star twinkling overhead. “Maybe she knew I needed to find you. Or that you needed me.”
Her golden eyes fall like twin stars back down to his, and there is a note of question in those last five words when she whispers them. She doesn’t know for sure that he did need her, can only assume from the way his face changed when he saw her, the way his gentle lips claimed every curve of her face. And she wonders if it’s written in the fractures of her delicate face how much she missed him. “Was she right, do you think?”
FLOWER
i'm only steady on my knees
@[The Monsters] hi can you mess with her opal hooves
(we're pretending the eclipse happened while theyre in the dark forest and they just don't realize it yet)
01-04-2021, 08:56 PM (This post was last modified: 01-04-2021, 09:57 PM by Warden.)
I
resurrect the saint within the wretch
Warden likes that she feigns innocence for him and if he had been allowed a life without the weight of premonitions, the stallion’s eyes would have rolled sarcastically at her comment - because, of course, she is the only creature worthy of all his time and attention. Didn’t she know that?
The sweet lilt of her voice cascades like water over his body, like a salve that begins to heal wounds that are buried so deep inside him. For a moment he wonders if there is more to her than meets the eye - some hidden ability that surpasses understanding; something that, whenever she is in his presence, his mind is less muddled and the darkness just a little less heavy. Something magical, otherworldly. Something that fits so perfectly within the deep chasms of his heart, overflowing and brimming with whatever it is she brings him. In a singular moment, in her gentle and fragile embrace, he has an inkling of what feeling whole could be like.
And maybe - just maybe - it didn’t have to be a hope, but reality.
He’s enraptured with her and though he’s never said it, he wonders if she can tell in the intricate way his eyes trace her. It’s in the way his mouth hovers carefully across glass skin, touching the delicate features of her beautiful face in equal parts awe and (shamefully) in greed. She is a jewel, a treasure, and even the most honorable of hearts cannot deny the hunger that burns like a fire.
Perhaps they are both selfish in part, but in the most beautiful of ways.
Warden can feel her golden eyes watching him, staring up into his face with the fiery reflection of her cheek burning into the pale ivory of his soft skin. “You are beautiful, Flower,” he murmurs into that fragile plane of her cheek, drawing his mouth to the crook of her jawline, his voice rough with finality - she may not argue with him.
He is the one who is broken, fractile after fractile shattering into indiscernible pieces, beyond the chance of being put back together.
“If stars are ever to be right,” he says gently, his own dark eyes flickering up towards the nameless ball of light that hovers like a halo across their two intertwined bodies, “perhaps that would be the only thing they could say is true.” The overo stallion swallows as his voice trails off, his gaze falling to Flower’s with a quiet reprieve, finding solace and comfort in the rubied color of her lovely face as it peers up to him. “If it is stars that brought you to me, I just might have to start believing in them.”
He wonders, then, if this night would ever have to end.
Warden
@[flower]
@[The Monsters] hi there, can you see what happens to warden's star companion?
He calls her beautiful and in an instant the rest of the world falls away. There is no sky above them, no trees, no sound, no color. If the birds still sing then the songs fall on ears too deaf to hear them. There is certainly no ground beneath their feet either, because it feels like she is falling and he is the only thing that can catch her.
And he does.
With four simple words, he does.
She imagines that if there were an ounce of blood in her body, it would be searing hot now. It would pool in her face until the skin was hot and pink and flushed so bright he might laugh kindly. For once, for maybe the first time ever, she is glad to be such an empty masquerade of life. His mouth touches her jawline, and she closes her eyes so fast it actually steals the breath right out of her lungs - an oddity that glass needs to breathe at all. Does she need to breathe at all? She opens her eyes again and is lost at once in the nearness of him.
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I think you might be mistaken.” She’s only teasing, trying so hard to find her feet again but it’s impossible when every word out of his mouth, every gentle touch against her cool skin unsteadies her.
But he is stubborn in his affection, and when he speaks again she can feel the words force a stillness inside her that leaves her tongue-tied. She can merely watch him, merely listen as he speaks of her and them and his faith in the stars that would bring them together. There is a question on her lips, and she fights the urge to set it free, fights to keep it a secret until the timing is better, until she can be sure that none of this tension between them is imagined.
“Warden?” She asks, her brow frozen beneath her forelock, her forelock whispering against the sweet flower petals growing there. But as soon as his name escapes her lips, she finds she cannot speak anymore. There is too heavy a weight on her chest, too much a burden, and she reminds herself that it is not fair to tell him that she thinks she might love him, not when that love belongs to someone so ephemerally made. So instead she finds new words, words as true as the ones she keeps hidden away inside her heart, and she whispers them in a kiss she presses to the warm corner of his mouth. “Can I stay here with you tonight?”
FLOWER
i'm only steady on my knees
@[The Monsters] is it too soon to try messing with her opal hooves again? i'd like another 'different' slot instead of it just disappearing <3
@[Warden]
