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  • Beqanna

    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


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    [private]  you need something that i want
    #1
    Parish’s father always looked at her with some strange, proud gleam in his eye. He wasn’t particularly affectionate, but he watched the twins as their personalities and powers grew and felt an almost fatherly pleasure bloom in his chest. He would never feel quite like a father to them (those few emotions are reserved for his family back in Pangea, though Parish didn’t know that, not now).

    Pride isn’t something the feathered filly has learned to recognize—not yet—so when the demon’s eyes shine, she only feels a strange spur of magic and continues with her little tricks. As a babe, she conjured tiny rainstorms, throwing cloud after tiny, gray cloud over her brother until his feathers flared in extreme irritation and he bared his baby canines. She knows no other consequence than the annoying bite of his small teeth, so she has always continued her capricious practice of magic, giggling when Raum nipped angrily at her ankles and hide.

    It has always been this way: comfortably annoying in Hyaline, waiting patiently for Draco’s sudden arrival or another creative way to annoy her mother.

    As life shrank smaller, as Draco grew busier and more powerful and her mother more attuned to her tricks, Parish became bored; and that is what she is as she stands on the windy, winter-creeping border of Hyaline. She casts a long face behind her, awkward and gangly in the way yearlings are, but hardly feels any apprehension. Parish sets her mouth grimly instead, wondering if the magic she has practiced will hold well outside of these borders.

    So, she decides to test such magic, light trailing her faintly through the days it takes to arrive in the Pampas.

    There was hardly any talk of borders or politics among her family, so when she smells the air change, she barely gives it notice. Parish is more focused on the coalescing winter colors of the Brilliant Pampas autumn wildflowers. A curious hum (one so like her fathers) fills her ears as she calls a cloud down to water the flowers; but with her growing age comes growing power, and the young palomino accidentally summons a storm cloud at least a mile wide. She looks up, bright eyes blinking as the weight of her magic makes her hide shiver with exertion.

    “Wow,” Parish murmurs, eyes closing as a single raindrop splats violently against her muzzle.


    @“sickle”
    #2
    sickle
    Sulking did not come naturally to Sickle, though she had been doing her best. The news that she needed to stay here for a year made her restless - but mostly on behalf of her friends and family. She hoped to one day wake up to see Wishbone storming in, Malou beside her and spitting mad, and then she’d be whisked away back home.

    Would she be able to visit Asterope in her pond? Would Aeson remember her when she saw him again?

    Her young mind continued to be filled to the brim with questions, many of them going unanswered as she shied away from interacting with the residents here as much as she could. She felt watched here and it came with a confusing sense of familiarity (she’d always been comfortable in Tephra, knowing she was watched over by many eyes) and uncertainty (these were all strangers instead of family). This shyness came as unnaturally to her as the sulking, but fortunately, there was plenty to explore and it kept her mind occupied. Especially on days like today - when her phoenix companion was gone again in search of her mother.

    It is a sunny day and she’s playing her new favourite game - racing through the wildflowers like they are a forest. Today she’s a small, iridescent blue sparrow - mostly. She practices her shifting as she weaves, occasionally taking a smaller form (a dragonfly) when the spaces between the leaves and flower stems don’t provide enough room for her wings. She is darting around as a dragonfly when a large raindrop collides with her back. With an indignant shout, she shifts back into herself - sitting up in the flowers just a few paces away from a palomino girl she has not seen before.

    Her head cranes upwards though, mismatched eyes catching on the darkness of the sky and they widen in surprise and excitement. A few more raindrops hit her and she asks incredulously - forgetting her sulking and shyness entirely “Wasn’t it sunny a second ago?”


    @parish
    #3
    Parish is so tired now; but the desire to observe the rain as it falls and mutes the wildflowers' brilliance is stronger than her desire to lay down. She studies the gemstone colors: amethyst, topaz, ruby, emerald—all colors that seem so impossibly vibrant that she thinks they must be fed by plant-adept magic. Their beauty is almost too much, and Parish nearly admits to herself that she likes how the gray clouds wash out their colors.

    Surprise colors Parish’s widened eyes as a disgruntled filly plops into existence directly in front of her. The palomino takes a surprised step back, scattered rainbow feathers fluffing in apprehension. She frowns, blinking bright eyes as if just as disgruntled by Sickle as Sickle is by the rain.

    “Yeah, it was,” she answers quickly, uncertain if she should admit it’s her fault she made the sun go away. There’s a small weight of shame tied to her tongue, a child’s fear that someone would be angry with her for accidentally creating a storm. The frown from before tugs at her mouth again and Parish sighs—as if the whole of the earth could not measure up to the decision she is faced with.

    Finally, the filly concedes, “I did it. I didn’t mean to. I can make small thunderstorms but I . . . I’ve never made one this big.” She looks up at the sky as she speaks, but immediately regrets it. As if just peering at the clouds made her power flow, the rain went from a smattering to an onslaught. Parish squeals and her feathers flare again as the rain forces her to shut her eyes and shield her nose.

    “I don’t know how to make it stop!” she cries, but a little giggle burbles out after, and she can’t quite say she’s unhappy with the downpour.
    #4
    sickle
    Although the storm had taken her by surprise, Sickle doesn’t mind the rain - especially now that she’s not a small bug that will get squashed by the raindrops. Her eyes widen a little further in their amazement when the other girl admits that the storm is her doing. Sickle has met a bunch of interesting individuals in her short life - but not one of them could control the weather.

    Or, influence it anyway - since the storm quickly doesn’t seem like it’s being controlled at all. Sickle’s attention isn’t on the dark clouds, though, she’s looking at the storm-maker with obvious awe. “It’s pretty impressive!” She manages to get this truth out in a normal voice just before the rain begins to pour down on them.

    “Why make it stop?!” Sickle shouts over the thundering noise of the rain - a bright laugh peeling out of her as she bucks. A storm like this demands one of two things - running around like an idiot or taking shelter. And there’s no shelter nearby so Sickle thinks the answer is pretty obvious. She whoops in delight as her short mane becomes plastered to her iridescent skin and she prances around, trodding flowers into the puddles forming while the ground can’t soak up the water fast enough to keep up.

    “Well come on!” The words come carried with another loud laugh, the greys and greens of the setting bleeding through on the brindles of Sickle's coat and making her match the storm itself.


    @parish
    #5
    It feels good to relax like this. No pressure from an unexpected visit from her father, no watching her back just to make sure her brother doesn’t sacrifice her to the entities. Pure, unadulterated childishness.

    It’s a rare sight for Parish.

    Though she has never known hunger or true fear, this relaxation is so deeply imperative to how she grows into herself. She’ll remember these carefree moments for the rest of her life, thankful she knew what it was like to ease her emotions before she was too old to truly escape.

    “I won’t!” Parish yells back with an unabashed laugh. She throws her head back and crows, never mind the fact that she couldn’t stop the coming onslaught even if she tried. Her laughter echoes as she stumbles into a gallop after Sickle, mismatched eyes glimmering with such playful delight. Parish’s heart races with the sensation of chasing, legs clumsily eating up the earth to try and catch her new friend.

    “Let’s play tag!” she screams as lightning flashes overhead. Closer and closer she draws to Sickle, when finally she is close enough to nip at her friend’s rump and then stumble into a pivot.
    #6
    It takes no time at all for Sickle to revert back to who she had been in Tephra. Before her dad showed up, before her brother disappeared, before she was taken here, before she spent every day waiting to see her mom come pick her up and take her home. All those things weigh her down but now, now she gets a chance to shake them off. They will still be waiting to haunt her when this rain and this fun ends. But for now, she doesn’t think about that.

    She is just trying to move fast, but not too fast, away from the other filly and then laughter bursts out of her again in another loud, unrestrained burst when she feels the nip on her skin.

    Sickle tries to pivot but she slides in the slick mud. Her shape changes out of instinct, the filly turning into a more flexible wolf that tumbles into the mud. When she is back on all four paws, she’s coated in rain and mud and some flower petals too and there’s a wild, thrilled grin in her mismatched eyes.

    She lifts her head to howl with delight before leaping back into the game - fur soaked to her skin as she chases after her new friend. A nip for a tag while she's in a wolf shape wouldn't exactly be nice so instead, once she's close enough, Sickle leaps through the air. Surely pouncing was the better option... right?
    SICKLE


    @parish




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