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Post by Deleted on Jul 20, 2015 15:10:12 GMT
inno
Downy-soft lips, cool and wet to the touch, feather down her body like mere drifts of forgotten love--or at least that is what it feels like, cocooned in an empty space laid to infinity with silence felt in the bones. There is peace here in this everlasting darkness, a sphere of existence outside of time. A feverish mind quieted when confronted with such vastness of the abyss. She ignores the delicate pattering that showers along her side, even as it each strike becomes metallic and sharp and heavy in their increasing chill, leeching the warmth from her as the relationship turns sour. The void is the focus, its purity the driving machine. Oh but if it only took her--the thought startles her suddenly, snapping her out of the stupor. Death was not foreign in her world by any stretch of the imagination, but to pine for it even for a fleeting second seemed sacrilegious. A religious guilt washes over her in a consuming tide. Her First Year marked by disease-bloated corpses of foals, their eyes pale and unmoving and staring at nothing, her would-be friends and siblings, with her the crowning survivor--a champion among the dead, queen of the plague. Why had it spared her? No fate seemed ordained for her, her life having been up until this point a series of happenings that unfolded with a trite regularity set in a frame of gruesome victory. She was, now thoroughly convinced, that despite her legendary start in this world she was utterly and unacceptably mundane. Merrick would understand--her confidant, her partner, her older brother of a different sire--but he was gone, somewhere in this strange new land, hellbent on carving out a place for himself, and she had followed after him, the thought of being haunted and alone in her life so terrifying the idea had become compulsory the very evening of its incarnation.
Keeping only her head lifted, the rest of her prone and lazily sprawled, she idly notes the source of those cold angel caresses--a frigid drizzle has taken hold, the sky pregnant with shadowy and vaporous clouds, so thick and hazy that half a mile out remains obscured. Fear lances through her heart--she had been asleep or very much close to it, with a storm having settled during that time. Were there wolves out there? A starved bear stirring from its long slumber? Horses of a less than friendly quality? A heavy droplet hits the tip of her sensitive ear and she flicks it irritably. She snorts, a puff of steam shot through her nostrils following its wake, then in a quick and unceremonious movement climbs to her feet to an unimposing height. A violent shiver courses through her with the power of a river, leaving behind a trail of twitching skin like skittering spiders. She is decidedly petite and compact in form, built for jags of speed, but such a sleight stature in both height and construction leaves her looking more like a prancing fae mount than the daughter of warriors who survived a disastrous culling. Not a speck of color on this creature, for she is coal black, an eternal sort of black, one that sucks all light and crushes it with the fury of a collapsed star. A splash of white with winding points like spokes on a wheel sits on her forehead to break the pattern of oblivion, partially covered by a messy frock the same sootiness and charred ash of her coat. From within this dark canvas, two jewels are fixed--ice blue, her eyes sweep across the visible landscape, a secluded isle of a tender grasses barricaded by weather where further out the field stretches from horizon to horizon in a sea of newly sprouted gold and green. Her slender inky figure stands aloof on a hill, stark against the pale steel of the mild squall, long onyx hair dampened to kinks and plastered slick against her neck and cheeks.
A rumble from her stomach breaks her survey and has her dipping her head down to nose through the spring shoots littered about haphazardly. The previous day spent fasting has left her pleased with her restraint and the level of mindfulness it brings, but now was the time to break it.
playing ~ mike monday - when the rain falls |
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Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2015 4:38:32 GMT
the red dragon of nowhere16.3hh|5yrs|chestnut/palomino chimera|belongs to no heart
This was the first spring rain the young chimera had experienced in Tathra. He had seen storm clouds heavy with the promise of showers drifting far across the horizon and had felt the longing to chase them down. To dance, to sleep, to let the droplets wash away the dust that had settled his patchwork hide. A little worm of doubt had wiggled it's way into his chest as spring began to come to a close with, what he guessed, was a half a moon cycle left before the summer heat descended upon these lands.
But, he had gotten lucky.
Now standing in a small glen under the downpour with his muzzle turned upwards to catch the drops on the sensitive skin, he felt as though he could accept this land as his home. At least for the time being. Vis couldn't deny that tug on his heart that attempted to pull him away, and he was sure it would without something he could tie himself to; a dock where he could moor his drifting ship for the coming years. Years..? No. The warmblood stallion couldn't let himself think now, not under the chilled drizzle he had finally chased down. Nothing would ruin this, except for the wraith that floated by the very edge of his nearly closed eyes.
His chiseled head snapped towards the motion and palomino ears thrust forward to pick up any sounds from the black creature. The overcast light aiding in picking out the form and it took him but a heartbeat to pick it out as equine and relax a bit. Ra'avis tossed his sage green gaze back across the rain battered grasslands to scan for any more movement before mismatched limbs carried him through the long, wet stalks at a lope towards the knoll the stranger perched upon.
The dragon let out a heavy snort at the hill's base in greeting - and possibly to announce himself on the off-chance she didn't notice the large, red and gold brute's approach - before slowing his pace to climb the rise. Nearing the top, he was surprised to find how short and utterly black the mare was. The only marks on her coat he could see were a small star and two bright blue eyes that cut through the droplets with ease.
Vis maneuvered his powerful form to face the girl at a slight angle while still being able to cast his eyes past her forequarters and across the grasses. While he wanted to keep watch for any other signs of life under the drizzle, it would be hard to keep his attention away from her icy gaze.
"Doesn't seem like many are out enjoying the rain." His head took on a curious tilt as he spoke his next few words. "What brought you into the open?"
 words: 474 | tag: @miya | notes: not as long as yours, but I hope it'll do!
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Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2015 22:53:13 GMT
From such a keen vantage point as the crest of the smooth knoll, it is not long before the little charcoal marionette owlishly cranes her neck for a straight look at the stranger. Feeding forgotten--It is a slow awareness of him that comes about, as sure and promised as the ebb and flow of the tide, immaterial and murky at first until sharpening with a brilliant clarity. The world tends to come about for Inno either through a foggy grey drugged detachment or as a vividly intense, intricate experience; there is no middle ground for her spectrum, sometimes fluctuating between the two states in a matter of hours. Or weeks. Now she is shifting, transcending through perception and emotion, triggered by the sudden change in circumstance. She is slow to rouse, but when she does, the transformation has her inhabiting a new form. No longer so casually emotionless, for her unchanged stance now harbors a vibrating energy. It feeds off the condensed ozone and the glorious psalm to life that is the gentle storm, some electric current sewing them together through the fabric of the universe since the primordial dawn. It's like color bleeding through monotone.
The storm does not cease. It beats a steady rhythm, on and on and on, and soon a fluttering in her stomach matches the torrential chorus. Butterflies burst free in her gut, clogging her throat, making her want to gag as a nervous burn begins to bleed into her sinuses. Steamy breath blossoms smoke-white around her shapely muzzle as she chuffs, the sound almost like a warning bark to the male so ingrained she herself hardly notices. It isn't so much fear that floods her system, as it is a heightened state of intrigue and the scholarly anticipation of knowledge. Other equines sometime appear to her as puzzles, something an intelligent and robustly curious mind ought to ponder and solve. The depths of their social complexities were perhaps more interesting than the subjects themselves, but nonetheless something goes off--a fire ignited, a burning desire to discover. "I didn't even notice it," she says, but she sounds dead. Enthralled by the dead. Her doe eyes are demure, lids drooping low enough--bejeweled gaze peering from behind a fan of thick lashes so coy. "Others eschew their earthly trappings, fancy they are in possession of something immortal somewhere in their hearts, when they have naught but blood and bone and tissue as any other thing. So they remove themselves from the celebration of the Cycle in their terror of the all-end, which relies on death to be completed. Life is not pure, it is the mud on my legs and dirt and sorrow as much as it is rebirth and purity. It is everything; how could not help but revel it?" But there is a twist to her lips, her features, which suggests she is amused by her speech, not invigorated by it. Some storytelling to observe his reaction? Her voice is sweet, poetic, beguiling, a worldly siren with a distinct and bitter edge.
"I'll not be addressed by some stranger so mundanely. I am Inno, of the Astraukas. Who are you?" This inquiry of hers, it's almost clinical. She is fire and ice, like planeswalkers of yore. A frozen castle with a smoldering core, capable of searing with fire, burning the soul. The mare is not so much dominant as bold and cocky-like. |
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