"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 has been lost, before. He has not belonged - an out of place piece in a puzzle that had already been completed. He was worthless once.
Perhaps that is why when the richness of his violet gaze falls upon her, he recognizes the distress that she does well to hide. He is nothing but the wind at the moment, subtle and drawn loosely over the pale green stalks of meadow grasses; a presence that is noticeable but at the same time, completely overlooked. There is nothing to him (or so it seems) besides the cool breeze that twists and turns absentmindedly, causing the wildflowers to brush against one another and a soft howl to whisper across the gentle slopes of the hills.
As he hides within the somewhat chilled breeze and spirals closer to the silvery lavender woman, single thought lingers menacingly: he is not worthless anymore.
Skandar materializes before her in a shimmering fashion - like the sun’s heat was playing tricks, wavering in and out playfully before deciding on one, singular shape. His skin no longer hides amongst the wind but solidifies in a myriad of violet and burnt orange, complete with constellations studding each inch of his body. The indigo of his forelock falls loosely across his face as his skin shivers and then stops, dedicating itself to his natural shape with a near-shuddering sigh.
His face is tilted towards the sky, much as hers is, curiously searching upwards for whatever it is she may be looking for. “Looking for something?” he asks quizzically, his bright eyes flicking down from his upward search to glance at her. There may be a smile playing on the orange of his mouth, but it could easily be mistaken for a sneer as he wrinkles his nose slightly.
01-03-2021, 04:20 PM (This post was last modified: 01-03-2021, 04:42 PM by Elestren.)
fell asleep inside a fantasy and woke up feeling lost
Magic was not the same where she came from. It was far simpler than what is here, and it only adds to her unease. She has seen wings and unicorn horns, has known those that could heal and others that could perform the smallest of manipulations (a flower blossoming here, a small spiral of water there). That all paled in comparison to what she has caught glimpses of here, and it only further fueled her desire to remain invisible.
When he appears before her, flickering and wavering, brilliant and beautiful, it nearly knocks the wind from her chest.
He is the color of galaxies that her mind could never fathom, strewn with stars and skin shivering with the kind of magic she has never seen. His eyes are bright but not especially kind, but still, she finds that she would rather look at him than at the sun. “I don’t know,” she answers him, though she knows the words sound stupid, and her tongue suddenly feels thick and awkward in the presence of someone so magnificent. “I don’t know how I ended up...here,” she continues, tearing her gaze from him to scan the meadow.
But her eyes are drawn back to him, staring at his skin – imagining what it would be like to touch it when it shivered and rippled as it had before. “How did you do that? Your skin,” she fights back her fear to ask the question with a breathless kind of wonder, struggling to keep her silver eyes on his face when all they want is to stare at the rest of him.
01-10-2021, 12:10 PM (This post was last modified: 01-10-2021, 12:10 PM by Skandar.)
Skandar:
Her reaction is something that doesn’t quite surprise him - Avelina had met him with as much, though she was far more enraptured while this beautiful stranger seems to be uneasy at the sight of him. She doesn’t turn from him, though, and for that Skandar gives her credit; the fluttering of his skin is rather unsettling to watch, even though his shapes are normally beautiful and vibrant in the end.
“Hm,” he replies thoughtfully as she tears her eyes from him. His own gaze follows, glancing around the meadow with a somewhat bored expression - there was nothing here of interest to him, besides her of course. It doesn’t take long for her to focus her attention back on him, watching him intently as if studying him. “Well, you’re in Beqanna,” he offers her as helpfully as he can with a casual roll of his shoulders. “Not that knowing that will help.” He pauses, tilting his head as the bright orange of his intense eyes flicker over her. “Where were you before - if you’re not from here?” He finds it surprising, as she appears to be a native, that she would be from anywhere else.
Or that there was the possibility of anywhere else. The idea intrigued him.
He wonders if she knows how lucky she is that he is the one who has stumbled across her; a god-like creation, with powers that are near unstoppable.
Or, perhaps, she is most unlucky.
Skandar grins at her question, his otherwise expressionless stature softening just a bit with its presence. “Magic, of course,” he replies with a tiny quirk of his brow, wondering if she truly knows nothing of Beqanna or if she is merely playing the part. “The same magic that brought you here, quite possibly.”
He shifts his weight, debating on whether or not to delve into the extent of his abilities, but deciding that if she has, in fact, come from another place, his natural form alone (as well as how he had come into her vision) was more than enough for the time being. “You can call me Skandar, by the way.”
