11-22-2020, 10:10 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-22-2020, 10:10 PM by grimjaw.)
GRIMJAW Sometimes he finds himself missing the swamp that he’d grown up in. There were crocodiles and cannibals, of course, but nothing particularly strange had ever happened to him there. Nothing beyond the floating lights that led a few children into the dark, that is. Even those he had been thoroughly warned about, though. Nothing ever prepared him for strange girls with gems for eyes who might curse him like this.
If they had, would he have grappled with the agony of his bones emerging through his skin? He supposes not. He dismisses the thought, frustrated with the lack of answers and understanding of it all. A slow sigh drags itself from the depths of his lungs as he begins wading through the meadow grasses with stiff, aching strides. There aren’t nearly enough years on this body to move like this but his muscles ache with all the bruising of his crash landing and the new bone armor.
Despite the dry thirst building in his throat, he avoids the river that he crawled out of. He isn’t prepared for the reflection he might see staring back up at him. There is a definite weight of some mask resting across his face and he can see the deep purple of it in the corners of his eyes. It curves beneath his left eye and swoops up and over the right, though there is a hole large enough for him to see easily through. When he runs his tongue over his parched lips, he can feel the sharp edges of the thing there.
It sends a shiver up his spine and turns his stomach.
Maybe this is who he is now. Maybe it can be undone. He isn’t sure, but his priority for now is to understand just where it is he’s wandering now. Grimjaw comes to a stop and shifts his weight. The little barbs running down the length of his spine grit against one another and he cringes at the feeling.
@[kahzie]
The spring grass here is decidedly lacking in salt, and though it is strange to not feel parched after a meal, it is a good sort of strange. I still wander toward the water by habit, and take a few short swallows. It is too cold for more than that, and I watch a few bits of ice from the Hyalinian snow melt travel further downstream.
When they are out of sight, my amethyst gaze catches on the nearest bit of motion. It is a stallion, and his black hide is accentuated by the purple bone that rests atop it. I have never seen anything quite like him, and I am intrigued. Holding my long-haired tail high to avoid getting it wet, I wade across the shallow stream. My fetlocks are just starting to lose their numbness as I arrive in front of the stranger.
“Hello!” I say brightly, having found that the leniency often granted to children is granted (albeit far differently) to pretty young mares. “I like your bones,” I tell him, “Purple is my favorite color.” It is the color of my own skin, after all, of the violets that climb my hindlegs and the amethyst ends of my three-pronged antlers. Now that I am nearer, his discomfort has become more noticeable. Or is it discomfort at me, I wonder? I have never discomforted anyone before, but the possibility remains a common worry for my adolescent heart.
“My name is Asena,” I offer, with an inflection to suggest that I would like to know his name as well.
@[Grimjaw] A S E N A will I remember to put a quote here before i post?
probably not
11-28-2020, 01:27 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-28-2020, 01:27 AM by grimjaw.)
GRIMJAW He doesn’t notice her approaching from the corner of his eye until she’s too close for him to walk away without it being painfully obvious. So Grimjaw remains in place, slowly turning his head to look at her more clearly. There is a moment where he narrows his red eyes and notes the jewel tipped antlers adorning her head. Of course, she is not the one who cursed him, so he tries to keep the scowl from his face. She seems nice enough and none of it is her fault.
“Hello,” he answers, his voice all gunpowder and Southern comfort. She says she likes his bones and he can’t help the way his head tilts in confusion at the compliment. Why would she like something so grim and ugly? But then she explains and he considers her reasoning for a moment more. He is her favorite color. His gaze drifts down her legs as he notices the flowers blooming from her skin.
“They’re painful, but at least they aren’t awful to look at,” he says with a shrug that summons a wince across his face. It’s unfortunate, having difficulty using his favorite gesture now. How else can he express his devil may care attitude? She shares her name and he repeats it aloud, wondering if it sounds as nice when it’s said in his callous voice. Probably not.
“My name is Grimjaw. Are you from around here?” he asks, gesturing to the wide expanse of land around them.
@[Asena]
His voice sounds like the rumble of a summer storm, muted and far away across the sea – and from the depths of his armored head. He’s tilted that head, and she thinks it is in confusion but finds it difficult to read him with the shrug and wince that follows.
Painful?
Why is he suffering? Healers are not uncommon, and their magic has dangers of its own, but why hasn’t this stranger tried to seek one out? He could even have gone to Tephra, to find the waterfall. Instead, he’s standing here and wincing. Asena frowns, attempting to puzzle out his reasoning with what she knows of him. Precious little, she thinks, just his name and that his armor hurts him, and that his thunderstorm voice has a lilt to it she has never heard and does not recognize as coming from the Beyond.
“From the Meadow?” She asks, her amethyst eyes blinking at the audacity. “I might not have smoothed my mane in a few days but I don’t think I look homeless!.”
@[Grimjaw] A S E N A will I remember to put a quote here before i post?
probably not
GRIMJAW He studies her as though she holds some clue that will tell him precisely where he is in the world. His wild red eyes roam across her back, noting the way her tail connects to her mane where a pair of antlers sprout atop her head. Grimjaw supposes his own horn has become a part of this awful mask that obscures his face but he can’t be entirely sure. It hadn’t been anything as impressive as hers, so he wouldn’t particularly mourn the loss.
But then she speaks and he realizes he’s caused her some offense. Is living here really so terrible? Should he find a home of his own, then? He blinks in surprise before regathering his composure and shifting his weight. Asena says she isn’t homeless and it dawns on him that, while she may not be, he technically is. Hm.
“Well where do you live, then?” he asks as a smirk sneaks its way across his face. There is a subtle charm to him, even with the bone mask obscuring most of his features, but his voice maintains the gentle croon despite his new concerns. “I happen to be homeless, you see. Do I look it?”
He turns himself to give her a better view and he also looks over his shoulder to appraise himself. Grimjaw supposes the new barbed spine and the external ribs haven’t entirely ruined his appearances. And besides, the purple looks nice against the rich black of him. His gaze falls back to her now as he takes the first steps to accepting this new version of himself.
“Maybe you could recruit me to where ever it is you stay. I like to think I’m a decent catch,” he says with a honey-whiskey laugh.
@[Asena]
He asks where she lives, and Asena’s eyes narrow with suspicion. The question is invasive, but it is his charming tone that makes her most wary. He sounds confident, and almost as though he’s amused by her offense. Taking him up on his offer is done without thinking; it is easier to go along with his suggestion while devoting most of her attention to thinking of a way to politely extricate herself from this conversation. Her eyes find the place on his shoulder where the purple bone emerges from his black skin, and she traces its smooth surface to where it joins the more jagged protrusions along his spine.
Those look dangerous, Asena realizes. They’re more than a just a lovely colored accessory, and she wonders if he has cause to use them often. She is still thinking of this when he speaks again, and the young mare realizes she’s been watching him for some time.
First he implies she looks vagrant, and now he wants to be invited back to her home?
A good reason to leave dies on her lips at his warm laughter. She still thinks he is rude, and much too forward, but her overlong inspection has made her very aware that he’s more than a decent catch. There’s something else, too, something that feels like lightning in her veins. His laugh is a low rumble, as appealing to Asena as the blue-purple fingers of electricity that dance suddenly in the sky around them.
She is not entirely sure if it is natural or an illusion of her own making, drawn in likeness to what she’d compared her sensations too. It is a reminder to reel herself in though; she has no desire for the headache that comes of letting her magic run wild. Asena takes a breath, and her still-narrowed eyes have not softened.
“You seem the sort to get bored in Ischia.” She says at last. “and I don’t want to be the one held responsible when you do.” Responsible for whatever trouble he might cause if he were to get bored, she thinks, but also responsible for recruiting him to a place where the most exciting daily happenings were the comings and goings of the tides.
@[Grimjaw] A S E N A will I remember to put a quote here before i post?
probably not
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